Kiss Me Kate (The English Brothers Book 6) (10 page)

Kate whipped the matronly black cocktail dress off her body and hurled it across the room, knocking over her bedside lamp and eliciting an angry growl from Oliver, who jumped off the bed and scurried out of her bedroom.

“Sorry, Ol,” she called, plopping down on her bed and staring at her open closet with frustration. Tony was due to pick her up in forty-five minutes, and Kate hadn’t even chosen a dress yet, let alone done her makeup or hair, which still needed to be twisted into an elegant, conservative chignon.

She groaned, staring at the veritable wall of drab black, brown, and gray fabric before her and conceded that Étienne was one-hundred percent correct. Except for the simple white blouse she’d purchased for her meeting with him on Wednesday, almost everything Kate owned was too big, too baggy, and as plain as the Amish on Sunday. Glancing over at the pile of expensive, boring dresses flung haphazardly across her bed, it was a mountain of neutral colors, every dress just a little larger than necessary, all making Kate’s body look utterly shapeless. Not one was youthful. Not one was sexy.

When exactly had Kate sidelined herself from being found attractive by the opposite sex? Or worse, being found attractive at all? Had she always been like this? Afraid of her body? Embarrassed by her curves?

Standing up in her black strapless bra, black underwear, and black spanx pantyhose, she checked herself out in the floor length mirror on the back of her closet door.

Kate was a solid size sixteen, which, she decided objectively, wasn’t really that enormous. No, she wasn’t about to win a runway modeling contract, but she wasn’t exactly an elephant either. She was tall and big-boned, not delicate, and a good deal of her weight gathered in her breasts, hips, and backside, leaving her a nice waist and a soft, but relatively flat, stomach. She stuck out her breasts a little and stifled a giggle. They were full but pert like a 40s pin-up girl, and a tingling swept up the back of her neck, flushing her face, as she remembered Étienne’s stark perusal of them before he left her office on Wednesday.

Right after he told her about him and Connie.

She grimaced, twitching her lips. She had no right to feel jealous—she had no right to feel
anything
—when Étienne mentioned he was attending tonight’s event with Connie Atwell, but she couldn’t help the sudden rush of fury she’d felt imagining them together. Connie, who had dated Kate’s cousin, Weston, for a while, was a whiny, manipulative brat and Kate should be glad that Étienne was saddled with her. But she wasn’t.

“I wish he was saddled with me,” she whispered softly, then gasped as she realized what she had said.

“No, no, no, I take it back,” she insisted to her reflection in a strong, defiant voice. “I don’t wish that! I don’t!”

But the words were already out, mixing it up with the dreariest cocktail dresses ever made. The reality Kate was forced to finally, grudgingly accept? She
did
wish it. Part of her wished for a second chance with beautiful, complicated Étienne. The more time she spent with him, the more uncertain she became about their shared history. She couldn’t shake the feeling that before Tony had interrupted them on Wednesday, he’d been about to tell her something important. His eyes had been searing and honest as he admitted, “
Because it was you. Because you were…important to me.”
While it had moved her to tears to hear him say those words, and everything about the way he said them sounded credible, Kate wasn’t totally sure how they could be true. If she’d really been important to him, he would’ve connected with her after they parted ways that night, right? She frowned at her reflection. Something wasn’t adding up, and even as she felt nervous about digging back into their painful past, she still felt an urgency to figure out what exactly had happened.

Her phone buzzed on her bed, and Kate grabbed it, finding a message from Tony reconfirming that he was picking her up at eight o’clock. Kate felt a shot of guilt as she realized that despite the fact that Tony was picking her up in a few minutes, the only man she was thinking about tonight was Étienne. She shrugged. What Tony didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. And besides, Étienne had always been a force for her heart to reckon with—suddenly working with him again was mucking up everything in the past that should probably be left behind.  If she could…

But she couldn’t, and when the thought of model-slim Connie Atwell flitted through Kate’s mind again she made a quick decision. No, Kate couldn’t compete with adorably tiny size two Connie, but she wouldn’t be wearing a size eighteen black, long-sleeved sweater dress tonight either. She wasn’t a sexpot, but she could make more of an effort to dress her age.

Reaching forward, she shoved her drab dresses to the right side of the closet and licked her lips as she looked at four colorful dresses hidden to the far left: bridesmaid dresses. Hmm. In the mantra of every bride since the beginning of time, Kate had been assured that she’d be able to wear the dresses again, and damn if she wasn’t about to put that promise to the test.

Hands on her hips, she narrowed her eyes and evaluated her choices:

1.              
   An Alfred Angelo floor-length satin dress in emerald green with an asymmetric draped neckline, gathered natural waistband and fitted skirt.
   
2.             
   A Monique Lhuillier plum, strapless floor-length gown with a bandeau neckline and Watteau back.
   
3.             
   A Badgley Mishka knee-length champagne-colored strapless dress with a sweetheart neckline and unflattering peplum pop at the waist.
   
4.             
   And finally…a Watters and Watters strapless lace sheath in cobalt blue that fell just above the knees with an A-line skirt and shirred, fitted sweetheart bodice.
   

Kate reached for the blue dress, turning it toward her with one hand and fingering the heart peaks of the bodice with the other. She remembered how boldly it had accentuated her breasts, and recalled that her dance partners had tripled at that particular wedding, despite the fact that Kate had felt immodest and exposed in the wisp of dress.

Considering it, she pulled it from its mates and held it against her body, turning to the mirror and feeling a smile spread across her face as she realized that the color was just a little deeper than her eyes. She tossed her messy curls around her shoulders and her smile grew broader. Placing the dress gently on her bed, she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and grinned.

Tonight she wasn’t going to be elegant, conservative Kate. Tonight she was going to be twenty-seven-years-old and sexy, damn it!

Whether Étienne notices or not doesn’t matter,
Kate told herself as she dusted slightly darker-than-usual eye shadow on her lids and chose a glossy pink lipstick from the bottom of her makeup bag. She brushed out her hair and instead of twisting it up in a tight up-do, she found a crystal pin in her jewelry box and pinned one curl behind her ear instead. Fishing out the sapphire tear-drop earrings she almost never wore, she fastened them into her ears and added the sapphire and diamond tennis bracelet her parents had given her for her twenty-first birthday.

Her excitement chasing away any misgivings or nerves, she marched back into her room and took the dress off the bed, shimmying it over her hips and reaching behind to zip it. She must have lost a couple of pounds since wearing it last summer because she didn’t need to suck in her breath to fasten the top clasp, and though the little dress looked fitted, it didn’t look ready to burst.

Placing one hand on her hip, she looked back at her reflection and chuckled lightly, looking at herself with wonder.

Before this moment, Kate hadn’t even known she could look like this. She’d wondered from time to time if she could turn on the sexy at will, but she hadn’t felt the confidence or need to venture out from the comfortable, acceptable elegance she’d become accustomed to. Smiling at herself in the mirror for an extra minute, she jumped when she heard her doorbell ring. She still needed to choose shoes, a wrap, and a purse, but Tony could fix them a drink while she finished getting ready.

Heading for the front door in bare feet, she felt a pang of guilt as she reminded herself that her date tonight was Tony, despite the fact that it was Étienne who had been her motivation for changing things up. Then again, she thought, trying to make herself feel better, perhaps dressing a little sexier tonight would be just the thing to move her relationship with Tony to the next level. A girl could hope.

Kate opened the door with a flourish, offering Tony a playful smile.

“Kate!” he exclaimed, his brows screwing up in confusion as his eyes traveled from her face to her dress to her bare feet and back up again. “What have you done to yourself?”

Her heart plummeted.

“What do you mean?” she squeaked.

He gestured to her hair first, then dress, with an elegant hand. “What is this?”

The flush in her cheeks was so hot, it was almost painful. How embarrassing. How outrageously embarrassing. He didn’t think she looked hot. He looked surprised, and maybe even a little disapproving.

She stepped back, allowing him into her apartment, keeping her eyes down and trying not to cry. If she cried, she’d completely wreck her eye makeup, since she’d gone extra heavy with the mascara.

“Oh, sweets,” he said, chucking her playfully under the chin gently. “What a cad I am.”

Kate looked up at him as he closed the door.

“You just look different. I’m used to my solid Kate in reliable black.”

“Well,” she said, searching his face, and feeling a bit of pique rise up inside at being called solid and reliable, “I decided to make a change tonight.”

“You sure did,” he replied, giving her an encouraging smile.

She chuckled softly. “Is it really awful, Tony?”

“No, no. It’s just…different,” he reassured her unconvincingly, heading to the kitchen to make them each a martini. “Maybe add a sweater or something? You’re bound to get chilly in that tiny little dress.”

A part of Kate wanted to take his disappointing appraisal and apply it immediately: run to her room, put on a basic, black cocktail dress, wipe off her extra makeup and twist up her hair.

Except
, Kate thought as she walked silently back to her room to the music of Tony pouring and shaking,
I
like
how I look tonight.

Prior to Tony’s disapproval, Kate had felt playful and optimistic, sexy and strong. For the first time in a long time, she was anticipating a social event with excitement, and she wasn’t counting down the minutes until she could return to her apartment, change into pajamas, drink wine, and lurk on Facebook. For the first time in a long time, Kate wanted to go out. Kate felt…like a woman.

And suddenly she realized that no amount of time would fix what was wrong between her and Tony. He was elegant, charming (
most of the time,
she conceded with a slight eye roll), and eligible, but he wasn’t for her. Not now. Not ever. He was safe because she felt so little for him, and she knew that Lib was right—Tony was just a place saver, not a true contender for her heart.

Slipping into black peep-toe heels Kate had only worn once, she filched a black velvet wrap from the top shelf of her closet, and found the matching blue bag she’d carried at the wedding where she’d worn this bridesmaid dress.

Yes, she’d attend tonight’s ball with Tony. But after tonight, it was time to say goodbye.

***

Connie had run into her sisters, Felicity and Hope, when they’d arrived in the hotel ballroom, and after exchanging pleasantries with her sisters, Étienne had told her to meet him at the bar. He wasn’t in the mood to listen to Atwell gossip. Truth told, he wasn’t in the mood for anything from an Atwell at all. The only thing he
was
in the mood for was a certain English…which rather sucked, because the only one he wanted to see didn’t appear to be in attendance yet.

“Come on, brother,” said J.C., appearing behind him and throwing his arm around Étienne’s shoulders. “Let’s get a drink while the Atwells are busy.”

Led by J.C., Étienne walked haltingly across the room to the bar, leaning on his cane, turning back occasionally to check and see if Kate had arrived yet.

“Seems like you’re looking for someone,” commented J.C.

“Nope,” denied Étienne, ordering a vodka on the rocks.

“How are things going with Kate English?”

“Superb,” he answered tersely, taking his glass from the bartender and throwing back the drink, only to hold out the glass, asking for another. He wasn’t in the mood to talk to his brother—or anyone else—about Kate.

“Well, speak of the devil,” murmured J.C., nudging his brother gently in the side.

Étienne had been raising the glass to his lips, but his hand stilled as he caught sight of Kate English walking into the ballroom.

He stared at her, gaping, unable to move, unable to look away, because
oh my God
, she looked so fucking hot, just staring at her made heat shoot like a bullet to his groin. She wore a short blue dress with a plunging neckline that barely held her creamy breasts in place but created the most delectable valley between them. Shiny black heels encased her feet and her hair fell around her shoulders in waves, with only one small portion pinned back behind her ear.