Avoiding Intimacy (Avoiding #2.5)(20)
Author: K.A. Linde

Another woman in an obnoxiously glittering dress with diamonds dripping from her neck, ears, and fingers smiled at the waiting crowd. She took a step forward and began speaking. “Thank you for being here for this very important moment in Marco’s fashion line. I am Giselle, Marco’s personal assistant, and I am happy to introduce you to the man himself.”

The small crowd of people fell silent as an attractive man with a staggering confidence walked out in front of the store. He was every bit the man Chyna had read about—tall, dark-styled hair, deep penetrating eyes, and impeccable taste.

What she hadn’t read was the thing she couldn’t describe even to herself. From where she was standing twenty feet away from him, some type of pull, a magnetic pull, drew her to him.

“Thank you all for coming,” he said in crisp, clear English with the faint trace of a gorgeous Italian accent. “My name is Marco Moretti, owner and designer of Marco’s Italian fashion merchandise. I am very pleased to have such a warm welcome in the States at the grand opening of my newest boutique. Thanks to my wonderful business associates, I have had a very easy transition onto your Madison Avenue. I am happy to call it home.”

Frederick squeezed Chyna’s hand.

“He’s looking at you,” he whispered.

Chyna was already well aware. She hadn’t taken her eyes off of him since he had walked in front of his new building.

To say her pull to him was magnetic was beginning to become an understatement.

She didn’t believe in love at first sight.

She didn’t even know if she believed in love at all. All she knew was that she knew it when she felt it—desire. She was sure she was dishing out her fair share in his direction, but his eyes hardly portrayed otherwise.

The second or two he spent staring at her during the pause in his speech were breathtakingly long. She was thinking of a thousand places in the nearby vicinity where she would let him take her. How much effort would it take to convince him?

“After much anticipation, I am here to announce the opening of Marco’s on Madison, the freshest Italian line to cross the Atlantic.” He smiled like a true charmer and took the giant scissors from the woman holding them. She offered them up enthusiastically. With a gorgeous smile on his face that really lit up the camera, Marco leaned forward and cut the red ribbon into two.

As the ribbon fluttered to the ground, the white curtain followed, revealing live models posing in the all-glass storefront.

The crowd applauded at the castle-like building’s completion. The gold Marco’s sign overhead was the perfect finishing touch on the classic design. Everything at eye-level rested on mahogany shelves.

Plush red pillows with gold tassels and antique-looking clothing racks completed the display, portraying an overall feel of lavish royalty.

Chyna caught the eye of the young Italian designer once more before he turned away from the crowd, pushing the front doors open for the first time. A chill ran up her spine from his earlier gaze, and her mind traveled far away again. She needed to reel it in.

She had plans later, and she couldn’t let this interfere. It was just an opening for a boutique. She wanted to go shopping, say she was one of the first to get a Marco design off Madison, and then leave. She wasn’t afraid to drag Frederick out of there, if need be.

Following the surge of people moving forward into the store, Frederick grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the crowd.

They wandered the perimeter of the store.

She was almost as interested in the amazing craftsmanship of the interior design, admiring its difference from the modern stores she was used to. Frederick kept a continual conversation going, yammering in her ear about the layout, the state of the furniture, the cost of the upholstery, and on and on.

She couldn’t deny the exquisite taste of Marco’s designs. His lines were even, colors perfectly integrated, and style replete with both unique pieces and mix- and-match options. She didn’t even know him, but she could feel his touch on every item, which was a hard thing to manage.

As she fingered a turquoise silk button-up, she felt a presence behind her.

All she wanted to do was turn around and confront whoever was having such a profound effect on her. Instead, she continued to stare down at the beautiful piece of work, ignoring the person now hovering behind her.

“I think you would look better in something like this,” Marco said, holding out a purple shirt with gold accents in a similar style. “Matches your skin tone and complements your green eyes.”

“My best friend wears a lot of purple,”

she said with a shrug. “It’s alright.” She tried to sound indifferent. She had never needed fashion advice before. But, this wasn’t advice. This was the designer.

He smiled, seeing through her attitude.

“Hardly,” he said, turning her around to face a mirror. He placed the shirt in front of her body. “See.”

Chyna stared at her reflection in the mirror. The colors really did work for her in just the way he had said they would.

She should have trusted him, but sometimes she just liked what she liked.

“You’re right. It’s better,” she told him.

“I know,” he said, taking a step back.

“Marco Moretti.”

He offered her his hand, and she placed hers in his gently. He leaned forward and kissed both of her cheeks softly. She knew it was just a greeting, but her heart leapt at the contact.

“Chyna Van der Wal,” she said, licking her lips when he pulled back.

“You have a very impressive store.”

“Thank you. I like it.” He smiled at her and drew her away from some of the other customers. “These. This and this,” he said, grabbing a pair of dark skinny denim pants, a gold tank, and light brown boots.

“Go!” he commanded, pushing her off into the dressing room.

She barely had time to process before she was following his order. She took the outfit out of his hands and quickly stripped down behind the dark wooden dressing room door. When she reemerged in the outfit he had picked, she could hardly believe the man’s taste. Honestly, he was almost too good.

“Perfetto! ” he said, examining her outfit. “You’ll wear it out.”

“Mr. Moretti, would you like me to ring that up for her?” a gorgeous woman with slick blonde hair hanging down to her waist asked. She was dressed in black from head to toe with some faint gold accents in between.

“That won’t be necessary, Lydia,” he said with a smile. “I believe Giselle might need some more help up front.” The woman nodded curtly and left the dressing room, understanding his need for privacy.

Chyna wondered where Frederick was at that moment. Had he noticed her leaving with Mr. Moretti…with, the owner of Marco’s fashion line? Why did she even care right now? He was gorgeous and alone with her in a dressing room . Oh, the possibilities!

This was much better than thinking about her meeting later. She had been putting it off for far too long already. She didn’t know what to think about everything that had happened. All week, Alexa had been convincing her, convincing both of them, to just talk it out, but Adam hadn’t relented, and it had hardened her fortitude.

At this point, she would rather be alone with a fashion designer in his dressing room while a crowd waited outside. Who was she to care if anyone heard her?

Alright! Alright! She cared. A little. A lot. She needed to figure out what she was doing anyway. At least she could enjoy her time with this handsome Italian designer.

“So, Miss Van der Wal—” he said with a charming smile.

“Please, call me Chyna,”

she corrected.

“Chyna,” he said as if he were tasting her name on his tongue. “That outfit looks better on you than any of my models.”

“Thank you,” she said with a self- satisfied smile.

“Have you ever been photographed before?”

“No,” she said, narrowing her eyes cautiously.

“Would you like to be?”

She scoffed. “Is that your best pick-up line?”

Marco laughed at her catty remark. He didn’t look like a man used to hearing rejection. Not that she had necessarily rejected him. She was still pretty open to the idea. She just hoped he would be a bit more creative. She could make him work for it—of that, she was sure.

“So, is that a yes?”

“I mean, I’m not opposed to it,” she said with a smile. “Would I be wearing this?” She trailed her hand down the side of her sheer purple blouse. The gold tank under it shimmered in the dressing room lighting. She liked the way his eyes followed her hand, taking her in.

He took a step toward her, closing the distance. “In that,” he agreed. “Just that.”

Her eyebrows rose at his blunt answer. She had expected him to be coy, flirting around his true meaning. She had expected cat and mouse even. Looking into his dark brown eyes, she was wondering why she’d had expectations at all…and where they had come from.

This man didn’t need to play games.

He won them without entering.

A chill ran down her spine at his heated gaze, and she felt a familiar stirring in her body. He reminded her of someone…someone she was trying to forget ever existed…someone she wanted to stomp into oblivion. His very presence was dangerous, and all she wanted to do was revel in it. But, she had been there with this type of guy before, and she knew the road that laid ahead.

She tried to push those thoughts away, focusing on the present. A very important fashion designer had just asked to photograph her nude. How often did these kinds of things happen?

“I’m sure your fashion line would skyrocket to the top with that ad,” she said with a wink.

“Hasn’t it already?” he asked with a cocky tilt to his head.

“Are you saying that I wouldn’t improve it?”

“If anything could improve it, you wearing this blouse would do the trick,”

he told her.

Chyna laughed. She ducked her chin and looked up at him through her dark curved lashes. “Thank you. Though, I do have to get going. I was very happy to see your line opening on Madison Avenue, and I’m thankful that you provided me with an invitation.”

“Did I?” he asked, tilting his head slightly to the left as if he was trying to place her.

“Did you not?” She bit down on her bottom lip, not sure how else she would have come across the invitation. It didn’t make sense that Marco would have delivered it to her directly. He didn’t know her at all. Still, how else would it have gotten there?

“I didn’t make the list, but it’s possible. When did you receive the invite?” he asked.

Chyna wasn’t sure how that would have anything to do with it, but she told him anyway.

“Two days ago.”

“No, that can’t be right,” he told her with a conniving smile. “Unless your envelope was lost, I sent them out three weeks prior.”

Chyna stood there in silence, contemplating all over again how the invitation had landed on her doorstep.

Bernard had sworn that it wasn’t someone with the postal service, and if Marco had sent them through the mail, then something was really off. She just didn’t know what was off about it.