Can't Stop Loving You (23 page)

T
he morning sun had barely peeked between the two buildings across the street when Maggie padded into the bath. So much rode on today.

Please, please let the show be a success,
she prayed. If it flopped, she'd never get another chance. Never be able to hold up her head.

If it was a success…She shook her head. She couldn't go there. Not yet. Didn't want to jinx it.

She took a quick shower, did her makeup carefully, and fixed her hair in a messy twist. When she opened her closet door, she didn't even try to curb her heartfelt sigh. The outfit she'd wear today hung front and center. She'd designed it with as much care as she'd put into any the models would wear.

The slim black pants and hunter green and black printed tunic top fit her perfectly. A short leather jacket with zippers galore finished it off. Oh, and the boots. They were almost orgasmic. The outfit was a mix of edgy and professional. It shouted successful and chic. She loved it.

For right now, though, she threw on a pair of jeans and a tee. She still had far too much to do. She'd take the outfit with her and change at the studio.

Sophie roused enough to give Maggie a sleepy smile as she tiptoed past, boots in hand.

“You leaving?” she asked.

“In a few minutes. Will it bother you if I make a cup of coffee?”

“Not at all.” Sophie rubbed her eyes. “You have no idea what mornings are like back home. This is heaven.” She nestled down into her pillow and fell instantly asleep again.

Any other morning, Maggie might have envied her, but not this morning.

Flying high on adrenaline, she impatiently watched the coffee gurgle into her cup. She slathered a piece of toast with peanut butter, grabbed her coffee, and rushed out the door. A taxi, like a hungry shark on the lookout for prey, cruised slowly along the street, and she flagged it down.

Even though she'd checked and double-checked everything before she'd left her studio yesterday, she needed to be there when the movers loaded the racks of clothing into the van for their trip to the show venue.

Zandra arrived ten minutes after she did.

“Did you eat this morning?” she asked Maggie.

“Toast and coffee.”

“You need protein.”

“I put half a jar of peanut butter on my toast.”

Zandra slid her sunglasses down her nose and looked at Maggie over the top of them. “I seriously doubt that.”

“Okay. I might have overstated, but I did cover it with PB.”

Rather than bothering to answer, Zandra punched in a number on her cell and ordered two full breakfasts from the corner deli. “We can eat while we wait for the transport guys.”

“I'd argue, but I've got an idea this will be our last chance at food for quite a while.”

“You are so right, Kemosabe.” She frowned. “What did the Lone Ranger call Tonto? If you're Kemosabe, who am I?”

Maggie laughed. “I have no idea. But honestly, Zandra? I don't care what you call yourself. You're a gift from heaven. I couldn't have pulled this off without you.”

“Oh, I think you'd have done fine.”

A knock sounded at the door before Jeb from the deli stuck his head inside. “Got a couple breakfasts here. Anybody hungry?”

“Starving,” Zandra said.

Maggie pulled some bills from her top drawer and handed them to Jeb. “Here you go.” She took the bag from him.

“Break a leg today, Ms. Sullivan.”

“Thanks.”

They sat cross-legged on the floor in the middle of the studio and ate. Maggie realized that, despite her toast, she was ravenous. After last night's dinner, she hadn't thought she'd ever eat again. Annie had ordered enough food for an army. Half of it was stacked in plastic in her fridge.

The door popped open again, and a flash went off.

Startled, Maggie dropped her fork, then laughed. “Jarvis. Good morning.”

“It is that.” He hadn't shaved, and his clothes looked thrown together carelessly. Maggie was certain, though, he'd chosen each piece carefully to gain exactly that effect. As a photographer, he knew better than anyone that this business was all about image.

“Thought I'd take a few shots of you doing last-minute prep on the collection.”

“Instead you caught me stuffing my face. Hungry?” she asked.

He dropped to the floor, picked up one of the plastic forks, and took a bite of her scrambled eggs. “Not bad. But I'm not all that hungry. Not for breakfast.”

The look he sent her told her exactly what he craved.

Zandra shot to her feet. “I think this is where I exit left and find something in the office to keep me occupied.”

“No.” Maggie stood. “I need you right here to help with the loading. The men will be here any minute.”

Jarvis shrugged. “Nothing ventured…” He wandered to the racks. “Looks like everything's under control.”

“I sure hope so.”

“Come stand by the window. I want a couple shots with the buildings behind you, the racks of clothes in front of you.”

She rolled her eyes.

“It's all part of the game, Maggie.”

“I know.” Sitting on the window ledge, she sent him a megawatt smile.

Jarvis blew out his breath. “Don't understand how any man still breathing can resist that.”

His camera clicked, once, twice, three times.

Two hours later, Maggie stood looking over the venue. The pristine white tent in Bryant Park symbolized her dream come true. Rather than wait for September Fashion Week, she and Owen had opted for an off-season showing. In just under four hours, the first model would walk down that runway wearing one of Maggie's designs.

Right now, though, not another soul was here.

Annie and Sophie, along with Zandra, understanding her need to enjoy this moment alone, would arrive shortly. The movers had finished, and her outfits hung on covered racks. She'd actually ridden in the truck with the guys to oversee the transfer.

Right now, though, at this moment in time, it was only her, a dream, and row upon row of empty chairs. She tried to envision the room full of people and worried again that no one would show up for an unknown's premier.

Overhead, chandeliers sparkled. The stage crew would be here any minute to do their job with lighting and backdrop, and the florists would show up to handle that part of the staging.

Slowly, she walked to the runway, ran a finger along the edge of it. Had Valentino, Versace, or Carolina Herrera ever been this nervous? Doubted their vision? Not that she considered herself in their league. But then,
they
hadn't been in their league, either, when they first started out, had they?

She made her way around the stage to the back. The dressing area, the makeup section, the cubbies for the hairstylists. Unable to resist, she stepped through the opening and took a walk down the runway—with attitude. At the end, she stopped, pivoted, and bowed. Then, laughing out loud, she sauntered back and slipped through the curtain.

God, she loved this!

With any luck, she'd be back for a repeat performance next year and the year after that. She prayed she never took it for granted. Never lost this magical feeling.

For the actual show, there'd be lights and music. More magic.

Last night with Annie and Sophie had been wonderful. Had grounded her. Today, her mom and dad, Pops and Dottie, Cash and Ty would all be here to share her special day. Initially they'd considered flying in early, then decided to wait. Last night had been girls' night. Today, they'd meet her at the show, then they'd all go to dinner.

If some small part of her cried foul because Brawley would be missing, she shushed it. After all, she'd made it more than clear she didn't want him to attend. She'd been celebrating without him for years.

Not true
, the devil on her left shoulder chided.

And darned if her right-shoulder angel, the one who should be on her side, didn't nod in agreement.
He's always come when it's important. He's been around for every big day of your life.

Well, too bad. He wouldn't be here today, and that was that.

Security had been stationed out front, both to ensure her designs remained secret till the unveiling and for crowd control. Attendees had to be vetted. Since they had a limited number of seats, it was crucial they accommodate invited guests and photographers before admitting the public.

Again, Maggie smiled. She could only hope that would be a problem!

A florist burst through the door holding a fragrant bouquet of white and purple lilacs. “For you, Ms. Sullivan.”

“Thank you!” She took the vase and inhaled deeply. Was there anything that smelled better? She read the card and smiled. Brawley had sent her flowers. He would be part of today. She wanted to cry. She missed him, damn it.

One by one, and in small groups, workers, models, and stylists trickled in, and Maggie set the flowers on one of the workstations. Pushing Brawley farther to the back of her mind, she wished she had handcuffs and duct tape to keep him there.

She peeked at each outfit again, checking for the hundredth time that everything was exactly right.

At their stations, hairdressers and makeup artists set out the tools of their trade. Zandra zipped around the room, lending a hand wherever needed. Sophie and Annie, after a quick sniff of lilac, sat down in a couple of the makeup chairs.

Once the show started, this area would turn to chaos regardless of her planning. She understood that. But the whole show had to be choreographed to the second. Inside twenty minutes, the backstage team would send all her models down the runway. She couldn't afford to screw up.

Not wanting to be thought of as a one-note designer, but understanding the risk, she'd included a little of everything in today's show. A belted thigh-length hooded leather jacket over a silk top and black leggings. A camel-brown leather skirt and a cashmere top. A woolen jacket paired with a skirt in alternating corduroy and leather panels. Tights and cowboy boots would finish that outfit, a nod to her Texas roots.

Along with the casual, she'd created office and evening wear. She'd added chunky jewelry and big bags. There was nothing shy about her collection.

The last rack held the real showstoppers. Two wedding gowns. One an A-line flow of champagne-colored velvet, the other a white silk chiffon strapless dress with a deep front slit and lots of layers. They couldn't be more different—and she loved them both.

She'd hesitated to include them, then figured what the heck. After Annie's wedding, a lot of brides had tapped her to create their gowns. Why not go for it? It was a part of the business she adored, designing a dress for the most memorable day of a woman's life.

While the last of the models drifted in, Maggie and her assistants busily steamed dresses, slacks, and tops. The noise escalated. She closed her eyes and took two seconds to envision the earlier quiet, the peace that reigned when she'd first entered, and tried to match that with the present madhouse.

She couldn't and grinned. She loved it.

I
f Lady Luck hung with him, he might make it. Thankful he hadn't checked any baggage, Brawley swung the strap of his carry-on over his shoulder and headed for outside.

New York air, heavy with late spring heat, smog, and noise, hit him the second he stepped through the doors. And this was the world Maggie chose—just as he'd picked Dallas.

Hadn't he always missed Maverick Junction, though? The longing to return had grown every time he'd visited. Each time he and Maggie bumped into each other.

Hailing a taxi, he told the driver to take him to Tiffany's. Before he went to his hotel to change, he had some shopping to do.

An hour and a half later, arms folded over his chest, Brawley leaned against a tent pole. It had been almost a month since he'd seen Maggie, and this first sight was as sweet as honey drizzled over one of his mama's warm, homemade biscuits. God, he'd missed this woman.

Totally in her element, Maggie looked absolutely stunning in a black leather jacket and boots, slim pants, and a dark green and black top. With her wild red curls somewhat tamed into submission in a sexy twist, she was a vision. Surrounded by high-paid fashion models, she outshone them all.

He watched her sew on a loose button, find a missing shoe, and handle a hairdo problem without missing a beat.

One of the models approached her. “Don't you think this dress would have been better in a brighter fabric? Red maybe?”

For the briefest second, Maggie's eyes flashed. Then a thin veneer of cool professionalism covered her redhead's fiery temper. “No, I don't.”

With that she walked away, leaving the pouting diva behind.

When she stopped beside a vase of flowers, he recognized them for the ones he'd sent, and his heart staggered into a crazy Texas two-step. She traced a leaf and leaned in to smell the lilacs, her lips curving in a smile.

Good. She was thinking about him.

With one heavy-lidded glance her way, he touched the box in his pocket and slipped from the doorway. He'd stepped back here to wish her luck. It didn't look like she would need it. From what he'd seen, Maggie Sullivan should be all the rage come tomorrow morning. New York's newest darling.

She wouldn't be coming home.

He pulled out the ticket Rita had palmed him and tracked down his seat. Scanning the crowd, he recognized a lot of celebrities. Owen Cook had done his job, got the right group here. And Maggie would wow them with her work.

He took his seat in the nick of time. The curtain parted, and the first model stepped out to wild applause. One after another, they paraded down the runway in Maggie's designs. The show eclipsed anything she might have wished for. He caught a glimpse of her as she peeked through a crack in the curtains and knew she had to be over the moon.

Every single piece was enthusiastically received.

When Sophie glided down the aisle in her black, floor-length gown, the crowd went crazy. Beside him, Ty beamed with pride. Then Annelise Montjoy Hardeman, the darling of the press, stepped onto the runway in a short two-piece outfit. It was insane, and Brawley's chest swelled with pride right along with Cash's.

Maggie had outdone herself.

When the models lined up for their last walk down the runway, Brawley breathed a sigh of relief. Not a single glitch.

The last disappeared, and Maggie stepped out. If she was nervous, if her stomach was doing some major cartwheels, it didn't show on her face.

She sent the crowd a dazzling smile, and Brawley figured every male in the place instantly fell in love. How could they help it?

The blinding smile in place, she looked out over the crowd as cameras flashed. How many times had she pinched herself? he wondered.

He knew the exact moment she saw him. A few feet down the walk, she missed a step, her mouth opening slightly. He sat immobile beside her parents, Pops, Dottie, Ty, and Cash. Brawley grinned at her, giving her a thumbs-up, and recognized the quick start of happiness in her eyes. She winked.

Her father and grandfather both looked proud enough to blow a gasket. Her mom blew her a kiss, and she blew one back. One last wave to the audience, one last bow, and she disappeared behind the curtain.

The applause died down and, while the crowd milled, her family made their way backstage. That's when Brawley saw him. The man in the tabloid photo. He looked like a mussed bed—or like he'd just crawled out of one. It better not have been Maggie's.

The creep put his arms around her and gave her a very unprofessional, non-brotherly kiss. A muscle in Brawley's jaw jumped.

This wasn't the Maggie he'd grown up with, the one he'd played cops and robbers with. The one he'd slept with. This Maggie, the one kissing the unmade bed, was a mature woman. Determined. Insightful.

She'd see through this jerk who had his hands all over her. The same one she'd had dinner with—at least once.

What did she see when she looked at
him
? Brawley wondered. Another jerk? One who'd been too stupid to realize how deeply she loved him? One who'd been careless with that love?

Before he hurt her again, he'd do well to sort out his feelings for this older, wiser Maggie. Curiosity? Nostalgia? Love? Sweat popped out on his forehead.

Maybe tonight wasn't the right time for this soul searching. It could wait until tomorrow.

“Boy, Brawley. Once again I'm amazed at how well you clean up.” Maggie ran a hand over the collar of another of his impeccable dark suits. Irresistibly handsome in jeans and a T-shirt, he was mouth-wateringly devastating in formal dress.

“You look incredible, Mags.” He took her hands. “You've lost weight.”

“It's been a busy month.”

“Today was a huge success.”

“You think?” Uncertainty still nagged at her.

“I know.”

She grinned, then looked down. “What? No boots?”

“Not today. I've gone city.”

She laughed, but she missed her cowboy.
Her
cowboy? No.
The
cowboy. She missed the cowboy in him. She touched a hand to his face and realized she rarely saw him without at least a couple days' stubble. Today, he was clean-shaven. Gorgeous, but still dark and dangerous.

A little territorial, though. She hadn't missed the scowls flying between him and Jarvis and hated that it gave her just the tiniest thrill of satisfaction. Could Brawley be jealous?

Jarvis disappeared backstage to speak to one of the makeup artists.

“What's up with him?” Brawley did a head-jerk in the direction the photographer had gone.

“He's my photographer and a friend.”

“Friend, my ass.”

“He is attractive, isn't he?”

“Wouldn't know,” Brawley growled. “He's not my type.”

“He's not mine, either.”

“Sure wouldn't have guessed that from the picture in one of those tabloids they carry in Sadler's.”

“You saw that?” Zandra had told her about the picture.

“Yeah.”

“Why, Brawley Odell, I had no idea you read that kind of trash.”

“I don't. Missy took forever to ring up my poker night groceries. Out of boredom, I picked one up, and there you were, all cozied up with your
friend
. A friend who wants to get you in bed.”

His words, soft, silky fire, burned through her.

“That's nonsense,” she bit back even as her mind flashed back to the kiss she and Jarvis had shared outside her apartment. His warning.

Brawley shook his head. “Afraid not. I've been watching him watching you. He hasn't had you yet. He's too hungry. But he wants you, darlin'. Bad.”

“Well, he can't have me.”

Brawley smiled. “You hold on to that thought.” He dug into his jacket pocket and came out with the little blue Tiffany bag. “The package is kind of crushed, but that won't change what's inside.”

He handed it to her.

Reaching into the bag, she came out with the jeweler's box. Her eyes went wide. “Brawley—”

He held her gaze. “Go ahead. Open it.”

“But—” Her tongue flicked out, slicked across her lower lip. She looked at the box as if it would bite.

“Oh, for—” The first lick of temper flared in his eyes. “It's not a ring if that's what has you looking like you're about to pass out. It's a gift to celebrate today, that's all. Something to add to the charm bracelet I gave you when you turned sixteen—if you still have it.”

“I do. It's one of the things I brought to New York with me.” She brushed at a strand of hair that had fallen into her eyes. Opening the box, she smiled. “Oh, Brawley. It's perfect.” She lifted the charm, a tiny pair of silver scissors. “I love it.”

Not stopping to think, she threw her arms around him. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Brawley closed his eyes and held her tight. Just for a minute. This one moment when she'd forgotten to be angry and hugged him the way she used to.

When he opened his eyes, he caught Annie's. She gave him a big thumbs-up. He smiled. Maybe he did have somebody on his team after all.

When Maggie stepped back, he kissed her cheek. “Congratulations. You're a huge success, Red. I'm proud of you.”

He was. So damned proud and happy, even though he knew in his heart her success spelled the end for any hope he still held.

They all went out to dinner. Jarvis, Zandra, and Owen joined her family and friends.

Owen insisted the night was his treat. He raised his glass. “To the first of many, many successful shows for Ms. Maggie Sullivan.”

Everyone clinked glasses and echoed the sentiment.

“Thank you, Owen,” Maggie said. “And to all of you. Every one of you had a part in this day.” Tears threatened, and she blinked them away. She held up her own glass. “To quote the Bard, ‘My heart is ever at your service.'”

She caught Brawley's eyes and looked away quickly.

“Okay, let's eat,” Cash said. “I'm starved. Lunch was a lifetime ago.”

“Amen to that,” Ty agreed.

Over caviar, champagne, and the best steaks Maggie had ever tasted, they shared stories of the day.

With Jarvis on one side and Brawley on the other, she felt a little like the 38th parallel between North and South Korea. Between their jabs at each other and the fact her phone never stopped ringing, Maggie had a hard time following the conversation at the table.

Her phone rang again. It was Doc Gibson.

“How did your show go, Maggie?”

“It was beyond anything I could have hoped for. Let me put you on speakerphone.”

Everyone chatted for a few minutes.

“When are you coming home?” he asked.

“I don't know. I'll probably be back in a month or so to check on things at the shop.”

“You be sure to save some time for me. Maybe lunch at Sally's?”

“It's a date.” She laughed, and they said their good-byes.

No sooner had she hung up than the phone rang again.

“Hey, Mel,” she answered.

“How's it going, dollface?”

“Great!”

“Don't suppose there's any chance of snagging some photos and an exclusive interview to run in tomorrow's edition is there? I stayed late, just in case. The fourth estate never sleeps, you know.”

She chuckled. “So ask away, pal. You've been granted that exclusive. Jarvis is here, but I doubt he'll share any of his photos.”

Beside her, Jarvis shook his head. “I can't. I'm under contract.”

“That's what I thought,” she mouthed.

“Who's Jarvis?” Mel asked.

“He's my photographer. I've been working with him on the collection, and he covered the show.”

“I have pictures.” Brawley glared around her at Jarvis. “Lots of them. Tell Mel I'll download several and send them to him when I get back to the hotel.”

And I'll bet they're great
, Maggie thought.
Artistic
. He had an eye for exactly the right moment, the right shot, the right angle.

“Did you hear that, Mel?”

“I did. Tell him not to forget.” He paused. “I thought he said he wasn't going.”

“Yes, that's what we all thought.” She eyed Brawley who was now ignoring her. “Turns out he had a convention in New York this week.”

“
Hmmm
. Pretty convenient.” Laughter laced his words.

“Yes, wasn't it?”

They talked for a couple more minutes and he asked some questions for his interview. “I'll let you go, Maggie. I know you're busy. Congratulations. Maverick Junction is proud of you.”

“Thanks, Mel.” She pressed the off button and turned to Brawley. “He told you not to forget those photos.”

“I won't.” He scooped up a forkful of baked potato. “Eat. Your food's getting cold.”

Dinner ended, and Zandra and Owen caught cabs. Jarvis made noises about sharing a private celebration with Maggie, but she cried off, claiming exhaustion.

The tension between him and Brawley had grown palpable, testosterone and animosity oozing from both. When Jarvis hailed a taxi, she stood at the curb, relief flooding her as it pulled away.

Her mom and dad had an early flight and wanted to get to bed. Ty and Sophie had rented a car and intended to steal three days in the Poconos for the honeymoon they hadn't quite managed between kids and work. Annie and Cash planned to drive to Boston for a quick visit with her family before going back home.

Dottie and Pops? She couldn't quite believe it, but they were flying south—to Disney World. They'd both wanted to visit there forever and were finally going to do it. Maggie was glad.

As happy as she'd been to see them all, it broke her heart to say good-bye to everyone. Hugs, kisses, and tears made the rounds.