Read Online Evening Storm by Anne Calhoun - Free Book Online Page B

reliever?”
    He jerked as if she’d poked him hard in the ribs. His hand fell away from his shoulder and he straightened. “No, ma’am,” he said. “I’m fine.”
    â€œThank you,” she said again, but he was already through the door and taking the stairs to the street two at a time.
    She carried the orchid into the workroom and set it on the table closest to the three-way mirror. Daria was still behind the screen. Ryan leaned against the table, legs crossed at the ankle, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his phone. He glanced at the orchid. “Nice,” he said.
    He lived in a world where a monthly delivery of four hundred dollars worth of orchids was
nice
. “It is,” she agreed.
    â€œWho’s it from?” he said absently.
    â€œNo idea,” she said, but she had an idea, and it was as bad as if Ryan had sent it to her.
    Daria emerged to stand in front of the three-way in a strapless gown of rich cream brocade that set off her flawless skin and eyes to perfection. The gown hung open, baring her slender back to her tailbone. Tucking his phone in his front pocket as he walked, Ryan stopped behind her and zipped up the gown. As the zipper went up, his fingers grazed her spine. Standing slightly behind them, Simone watched Daria’s eyelids flutter as a frisson chased up her spine.
    Chemistry. It couldn’t be manufactured or bought. Two people had it or they didn’t. Ryan and Daria had it.
    â€œA beautiful choice,” Simone said as she studied the cut of the dress’s back and bodice. “Allow me to bring you some items that may suit.”
    â€œOh, please do,” Daria said with a smile. “Thirty-two B, probably.”
    Simone made a whirlwind tour through the showroom, selecting structured bras with lines that would suit the dress, and matching panties. Lorrie seemed to have the showroom under control, so she brought the selections back to Daria. “That one,” Daria said after they retreated behind the folding screen again. She pointed at a bra made of cream silk charmeuse. “You’re French,” she said as Simone helped her into the bra then into the gown. She wore white cotton bikini underpants, a practical choice that made Simone smile. No artifice here.
    â€œYes,” Simone said. “I began my career in Paris and moved to America about a year ago.”
    â€œWhich houses were you with in Paris?” Daria said as she studied her reflection in the three-way.
    â€œI was with Demarchelier,” Simone said. “Perhaps something with more lift?”
    â€œAgreed,” Daria said. They made the exchange, and returned to stand in front of the mirror. “Demarchelier designed my gown for the BAFTAs last year.”
    Simone did not remember that, partially because she never worked in the evening-wear division of her family’s house, and partially because last year they designed gowns for two actresses far more recognizable than Daria. “Did you work with Julian, or with Genevieve?”
    â€œJulian,” Daria said as she studied herself in the mirror. “Do you know him?”
    â€œHe’s my brother.”
    â€œThat certainly explains the showroom,” Daria said. “You have a similar eye for fabrics and structure. He knew how to design for a woman’s body so she made something beautiful out of the dress as much as the dress made something beautiful out of the woman.”
    â€œThank you,” Simone said, genuinely pleased. “Our father taught us as his father taught him, and his father taught him.”
    Daria turned from side to side, studying her reflection in the mirror as she hunched her shoulders and stretched to check for gaps. “That’s perfect. Are there matching panties? I don’t wear thongs unless I absolutely have to. No wardrobe malfunctions.”
    Ryan chuckled, reminding the women of his presence on the sectional behind them.