The Millionaire Makeover (Bachelor Auction) (18 page)

Her father hovered behind Niall, twisting his hands and flinging flustered glances in their direction. At that moment, Niall’s gaze located her, and heat flared in his blue eyes, stunning her. The last time he’d looked at her on that sidewalk outside Bailey’s, his stare had been so cold, emotionless. But now…

He effortlessly wound a path through the people in the room. Or more accurately, they parted before him like the Red Sea. Within seconds, he stood in front of her, so close, so…
here
. His wild rain and wind scent clung to him, his own special cologne, with the freshness of the winter night he’d just emerged from. Eyes like the hottest sky burned down into hers from a face that haunted her days and nights—not her dreams, because in the last five days she hadn’t slept much.

And the reminder of why she’d become an insomniac rippled through her on a dissonant chord.

“What are you doing here?” she murmured.

Every pair of eyes in the room were focused on them, but if Niall noticed the stares and whispers, he didn’t acknowledge them. His intense inspection never wavered from her face.

“Mr. and Mrs. Richardson,” he said, not attempting to keep his voice low. Though he addressed her parents, he still didn’t avert his regard from her. “I apologize for intruding on your party without an invitation, and I hope you’ll forgive my barging in. But since Khloe was here, here is where I needed to be. If you’ll bear with me…” He edged back a step, and for the first time she detected the case in his hand. His fiddle case. Surely he wasn’t… “There’s a song I’d like to play that I wrote for Khloe. It’s called ‘Álainn.’ In Gaelic, it means, beautiful.”

Beside her, Rosalind gasped, as did several of the women in the room. But Khloe, she remained frozen, afraid to wonder what he meant. Afraid to…hope.

He moved to the center of the room, and with the practiced movements of an accomplished musician, soon had the fiddle removed from its case, readied. Moments later, a pure, rich melody as lovely as its name. The notes reached into her chest and cradled the heart she’d believed broken beyond repair in its hands. Though the song didn’t have words, the poignant strains spoke of love gained then lost. Of faith it might be found. He didn’t need words. She understood him, the musician, the man. For Niall to expose himself to a roomful of people and play a personal piece of music he’d composed
for her
… He’d rendered himself defenseless and vulnerable
for her
…

He loved her.

Niall Hunter loved her.

Joy that couldn’t be contained by so small an organ as her heart soared within her, spilled out of her in tears on her cheeks. And by the time the last note resonated in the room, she was already running those short, but so damn long, steps to launch herself at him. His arms enclosed around her as she wound hers around his neck, though he still held the bow and fiddle. She clung to him, burying her face in his neck. Breathing him in. Relishing the big, hard frame of his body pressed to hers once more when she’d begun to doubt she would ever feel it again.

“I love you, too,” she whispered.

His low chuckle warmed her ear. “I didn’t get to say it yet.”

“Yes you did,” she argued. Tilting her head back, she smiled at him. Perched on her tiptoes to graze her lips over his. “And no one has ever said it in a more beautiful way.”

“I do love you,” he vowed, his voice urgent, as if willing her to believe him. Gently, he cupped her face between his palms, brushed his thumbs over her lips…then repeated the caress again almost as if he couldn’t help touching her. “Like you, there will never be another one for me. I’m just sorry I hurt you while figuring it out. Michael was right. I’m not worthy of you, but you…” He pressed his forehead to hers, his breath sweeping her mouth in a barely there kiss. “You make me worthy. You make me want to be the best version of myself I can be. For so long I’ve defined myself by what I’m not instead of what I am. And what I am is in love with you. Nothing else matters. Not the fears, doubts, insecurities. Not the record company or the life I have in Dublin. For you, I would sacrifice it all with no regrets. That’s the kind of man Michael hoped for you. And I’m him. I’m. Him.” He leaned his head back, stared into her eyes. And in his she glimpsed nothing but certainty…and love. “You are my world, Khloe. My joy, my heart. I’m sorry for giving you one moment of unhappiness where you ever doubted that. And if you’ll have me, I’ll spend the rest of my life making up for them.” Pressing his mouth to hers, he murmured, “
Mo ghrá thú
. You are my beloved. Marry me.”

“Was that a question?” she teased, tightening her embrace.

“It was a demand to put me out of my misery.”

“Well in that case,” she whispered. “Yes. A thousand times yes.”

Around them, cheers and applause erupted.
Well, hell
, she winced. She’d forgotten about their audience.

She groaned as Niall grinned down at her, true happiness and peace radiating from him. Not able to resist, she claimed some of that delight for her own, giving him a proper kiss, and setting her body humming.

“Just so you know,” she said, cradling his wonderful, beloved face between her palms. “I don’t think my parents will be inviting us to any future Christmas parties.”

His laughter rang out with pleasure, happiness, and love.

Just like the future they would have.

Together.

Epilogue

Six Months Later

“Guurl, you are doing the damn thing in this dress,” Laurence purred, strolling around Khloe in a circle, his sharp eye inspecting and cataloguing. He leaned forward, smoothed a wrinkle that must’ve been invisible to the every naked eye except for his. Finally, he straightened, popped his hands on his narrow hips, and grinned. “You are the most fierce bride I’ve ever seen.” His southern accent elongated “fierce” into two syllables.

“And it has nothing to do with the fact that he chose the dress,” Terry drawled. “Close your eyes,” he instructed, and spritzed her hair with an apple-scented spray. Stepping back, he examined her, his chin-length bob swinging against his jaw. Hazel eyes, still unnervingly cat-like, narrowed before he nodded, satisfied with his creation.

“Of course not,” Reese piped from the dresser where she’d set up her make-up kit.

“Ooh, there’s ssssssuch hateration in this room,” Laurence lamented as if Tara were burning. “Anty-way.” He whipped around to face her, and she couldn’t contain her chuckle at his antics. “Khloe, are you ready to see yourself?”

“Absolutely. It feels like I’ve waited a lifetime.”

“Come on, honey.” He clasped her hand in his and led her across the bedroom to the cheval mirror in the corner. “Here you go,” he whispered, and shifted out of the way.

Like that night six months ago when Laurence, Reese, and Terry had first transformed her, Khloe stared at the reflection, stunned, speechless.

A bride.

The strapless wedding gown molded to her body, the deep sweetheart neckline sparkling with tiny, crystal rosettes that scattered down the torso as if tossed by a summer breeze. The white satin wrapped around her torso and hips, flaring out from her thighs in a huge train of roses and ruffles. It was a sweet, fun, fantasy of a dress. Silk flowers in her drawn back curls complemented the gown, and her fresh, elegant make-up completed the image of a deliriously happy bride.

Well the gown, hair, make-up, and the tiny baby sleeping in her belly. She smoothed a palm over her still flat stomach. They’d just found out a week earlier. Come early December, she and Niall would have a son or daughter.

A knock echoed on the closed door. “Come in,” Khloe called, and her mother entered the room seconds later. “Hey, Mom.”

Rosalind’s eyes widened slightly at her first glimpse of Khloe’s glam squad. But to the other woman’s credit, she didn’t falter in her stride across the room. Growth. In the last six months since Niall crashed their Christmas party, her parents had melted in their icy manner toward him. Maybe having their daughter living in another country had jabbed home the realization that the three of them were all each other had. Niall made sure she flew back to Boston at least once every couple of months to visit her mother and father, but her place was in Dublin with him. The relationship her and her parents had wasn’t perfect, but it was…better.

Her mother paused next to her, staring at their mirror’s image. Tears didn’t cloud Rosalind’s eyes, but it did thicken her voice. “You look beautiful, Khloe.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

Clearing her throat, Rosalind stretched out her hand. “I brought something for you. Your something borrowed.” Diamonds winked on her palm, and the tears her mother didn’t allow, burned Khloe’s eyes. “They were your grandmother’s. I wore them on my wedding day.”

“Mom…” she rasped, reaching for the earrings in her ears, removing them, and replacing them with the large studs her mother had gifted her with. Turning her head from side-to-side, she admired their simple elegance. “They’re beautiful. Thank you so much. I—”

“Don’t you dare ruin my make-up by crying,” Reese shouted, leaping forward with a tissue. As the artist carefully blotted the corners of her eyes, Khloe laughed, the sound definitely waterlogged.

“Well, I’m going to leave you to finish up,” Rosalind said, hesitating, but clutching Khloe’s hand and squeezing. “I’ll see you out there.”

As her mother slipped from the room, Khloe smiled.

In less than a half-hour she would be meeting the man she loved to unite herself to him in front of family and friends with their own family inside her.

Today was perfect.

Sunlight poured in through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the ballroom where their reception was in full swing. Khloe laughed as Morgan strolled by, arm in arm with one of Niall’s groomsman. Earlier, her friend had informed Khloe that she might relocate to Ireland and become Khloe’s assistant in her freelance software development company if the men were so “delicious.”

“What’s funny?”

She grinned at Niall. “Morgan. I think she’s considering defecting thanks to your groomsmen.”

Laughing, he leaned back in his chair, circling her shoulders with a long arm. “I warned them about her,” he said. “I told them she bites.”

“That’s awful.” Pretending offense, she smacked his chest. But ruined the effect by snickering.

“Not that it put any of them off. Hell, I think—”

“Excuse me, Niall?”

They glanced up, and smiled at David Keith, the head of Duir Music’s legal department.

“Hey, David,” Niall greeted. “Thank you for coming.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it. Congratulations, Khloe.” He nodded to her, a faintly troubled frown creasing his brow. So different from his usually pleasant expression. “Uh, this is kind of awkward, but…” He reached into the inner pocket of his suit and withdrew an envelope. “I don’t know how else to say this, but this is from Michael.”

Shock slapped her in the face, driving the breath from her chest. She shifted her gaze to Niall, and all emotion had disappeared from his face. His mouth had firmed into a hard line, his cheekbones sharp blades under his skin. But his eyes blazed.

“I don’t understand,” he ground out. But he did. The same “intuition” that had led Michael to write the original letter warning him away from Khloe had probably led him to pen the one David extended to him now. Another warning? A “go to hell” from beyond the grave?

“About four years ago, right after you and Michael returned from a trip to the States, he gave me this letter, and instructed me to deliver it to him at your and Khloe’s wedding reception. But since he’s not here…” He colored slightly. Coughed. “Anyway, I’ve never opened it, so I’m not sure what it contains.”

“Mine and Khloe’s wedding,” Niall murmured, accepting the letter from the lawyer. He glanced at Khloe. “How could he have…?” Carefully, he opened the envelope and removed a plain, white sheet of paper. While he scanned it, his lips softened, eventually curling into a wide smile tinged with sadness.

Finally, he lowered the letter, met her gaze.

“What?” she demanded, curiosity, excitement, sadness, joy, and a host of other emotions tumbling through her. “What did it say?”

Instead of answering, he kissed her, the embrace soft, lingering. Then he rose from his chair and approached the microphone at the far end of the table.

“Excuse me, everyone.” His deep voice flowed across the room, melodious but attention-grabbing. All eyes focused on the groom. “I realize it’s not time for speeches yet, but I have a special one here that I wanted to share with my wife.”

He turned, and captured her with the intensity she’d come to claim for herself. The
you are my everything
intensity. Releasing her from his gaze, he lowered his attention to the letter.

“Well, I always knew you were a rebellious, stubborn bastard. God willing, I’m sitting next to you on this beautiful day, but just in case I’ve gone on to my next, great adventure, consider this my best man speech—because I know I’m the best man. After putting up with you since we were thirteen, it’s the very least you owe me. Seriously, though. Niall, you are the strongest, most gifted, loyal, and giving man I know. And you deserve a woman who will love you, stand for you, protect you, and face down the world for you. Khloe is that woman. The reason I’m writing this in a letter—and giving it to David for verification and safe-keeping—and not just saving it for my speech is that I want to prove to you how long I’ve known that you were meant to be. Maybe your grandmother is right—maybe I do have the Sight. Or maybe it’s just obvious to anyone who knows you both as well as I do.

“At her birthday party, I watched her watch you. No, you didn’t notice, and she would probably scream and punch me in the gut for saying this, but you are her superhero. She believes you could leap tall buildings in a single bound, deflect bullets, but still acknowledges you’re not perfect. And she loves you even more because of it. You need that, Niall. You deserve that. But as hard-headed as you are, I knew the only way to open your eyes and get you two together was to order you away from Khloe. Only then could I pry open the door for the two people I love most in this world to be together. I hope you can forgive my sneakiness and gloating as I say this with the utmost relish: I told you so. I wish you and Khloe every happiness. Enjoy each moment you have with one another. Love one another. As much as I love you both.”

A deep quiet hung over the room. On shaking knees, she rose from the table and made her way to the man she adored, her partner for life, her husband. He stretched out a hand to her, slowly tugged her closer until her chest gazed his. Tearing her gaze away from his for a moment, she searched out her parents.

There. Her mother sat, leaning against her father, her hands covering her mouth. Tears tracked Carter’s cheeks as he pulled Rosalind close and pressed a kiss to her temple.

Michael had given all of them the best gift. Her, the best present of all.

Niall.

“To Michael,” Niall saluted, holding a glass of champagne high. “He still managed to have the last word.” Laughter filled the room, and he waited until it quieted. “And to my beautiful wife. Khloe,” he murmured, brushing the backs of his fingers over her jaw before gently cupping it. “You’ve given me love, joy, hope, faith, and now a family. I’ll spend the rest of my life loving you, and it still won’t be enough. Thank you for choosing me as your hero.”

And as his mouth caressed hers, she finally believed in fairy tales, handsome princes on white steeds, and even might’ve glimpsed one of those rainbow-shitting unicorns.

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