Design
and Scandal
By
Annabeth Leong
Blurb:
Costume
designer Kahala Lin didn't get into her line of work to make clothes for tiny
models. She dreams of creating high-fashion masterpieces for BBWs such as
herself. When she's hired to work on costumes for the science fiction movie Laser Sentinel, she passes up the
opportunity to dress the film's heroine and ends up with the hardest job on
set—pleasing the demanding and devastatingly handsome star, James Corwin.
James is
one of Hollywood's best known actors, but he's in trouble when he's forced into
working on this dud of a movie. James can't relax and enjoy the shoot on
Hawaii's black sand beaches. He needs to prevent this film from becoming an
embarrassment, starting with making sure he's not shot wearing nothing but
spandex, a headdress and a ray gun. His collaboration with the new costume
designer starts out promising, but soon he's so busy taking off her clothes
that he's hardly thinking about what he'll wear at all.
The
press, however, discovers their relationship almost before it begins, and the
resulting scandal threatens both their livelihoods and James' chances with
Kahala.
A
Romantica® contemporary erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave
Excerpt:
“Is James Corwin as hot in real life
as he is onscreen?” Kahala Lin winced a little at the question, but couldn’t
help herself. Apparently going to work on the set of an honest-to-God big
budget film excited her more than she’d let on when Lani had first asked if she
wanted the job.
Her friend Lani grinned, revealing a
bit of the fangirl herself. “Hotter. I don’t think the camera captures exactly
how beautiful his eyes are.”
Lani pulled her truck into the
makeshift parking lot on the edge of the set, just out of sight of the black
sand beach where the first two weeks of filming would take place. Kahala
figured she’d better get the silliness out of her system now, so she could act
professionally once she actually met her new colleagues and the contingent of
movie stars.
Kahala winked. “Eyes. Not exactly
the body part I was thinking about.”
Lani slapped her arm. “You are so
bad.”
Kahala shrugged. A serious
expression spread over Lani’s wide, friendly face. She narrowed her dark eyes
and peered at Kahala. “They’re really strict about that, you know. They don’t
want you bothering the stars.”
“I’m not going to embarrass you,
Lani. Don’t worry.”
Lani rolled her eyes. “Sorry. I know
you’re not a teenager. You nervous?”
“Nervous?” She shook her head
firmly. “This is a fun job to me. I’m not looking for a career in the movies.
Believe me, these aren’t the people I’m really hoping to dress. My designs are
for women with meat on their bones, not size negative two like Madison Marin.”
Lani tapped her fingers against the
steering wheel. “I hear what you’re saying. I appreciate it. You made me a
gorgeous wedding dress, anyway.” She smiled, then paused. “I just don’t think
you should dismiss the opportunity. You might make some good connections. The
work you do here is going to be seen by millions of people. That has to be worth
something, even if your clothes are on a skinnier girl than you’d like.”
Kahala looked out the window. The
Big Island was prettier than she remembered, way less developed than Honolulu,
where she lived. Here she could actually see glimpses of what the island must
have looked like when her ancestors had lived there.
Lani took her hand. “What’s the
matter, Kahala? Other than being excited to see James Corwin in person, you’re
acting like you don’t want to be here.”
She summoned a smile. Her friend
didn’t deserve to feel bad about this. “I’m really glad you set me up with
this, Lani. Don’t get me wrong. I need seed money to get my design business
into higher gear. It's just that I swore I wasn’t ever going to make clothes
for tiny girls.” She closed her eyes, remembering how she’d felt when she’d
gone shopping back in high school, looking for knockoff versions of styles
she’d seen in Vogue and W. “They didn’t even bother to make sizes larger than
twelve for most of the clothes I wanted to wear when I was younger. When I
started making my own stuff, I promised myself I wouldn’t make anything smaller
than twelve. I want the skinny girls to wish they were bigger so they could
wear my stuff.”
“This doesn’t take away from that,”
Lani said. “Don’t worry about Madison Marin. You might not even end up working
on stuff for her.” Lani lifted her shoulders and spread her hands wide. “You
ready to do this, girl? For the next three months, we’re going to drink,
breathe and eat this place. I hope you like coffee, because your next full
night’s sleep won’t be until August.”
Kahala grinned. “You love this
work.”
Lani smiled back. “Craft services is
rewarding. Everyone’s so hungry and tired, they love everything we do. Believe
me, I never felt so appreciated working in a restaurant kitchen.” She slapped
the top of Kahala’s thigh. “Let’s go. This’ll be fun.”
***
Lani dropped Kahala off with
Lawrence Marsh, head of costumes. His office was a trailer nestled under a
stand of papaya trees. Whip-thin and more than six feet tall, the man’s pale
skin shone bright and startling against the lush, tropical background. Kahala
hadn’t known a person could be that color in Hawaii—even the whitest people
typically had the grace to turn red. Lawrence wore a woman’s shirt, skinny
jeans and more rings than a gypsy fortune teller. He greeted Kahala with a hug
but broke it off to grab a papaya off the tree behind her.
Kahala smiled nervously while he
produced a small knife from the back pocket of the skinny jeans and sliced the
fruit open with surprising expertise. He ate a piece of juicy flesh off the
point of the knife. He didn’t wait to finish chewing before speaking with a
cultured British accent that, given his behavior, seemed incongruous. “Kahala
Lin!” He sounded much more pleased to see her than she’d expected. “Lovely
online portfolio. Very fresh.”
She started. “Thank you!” Lani had
made it sound as if she’d pulled strings with the union to set Kahala up with
this job. She hadn’t thought anyone would have paid attention to her work.
“I wish I had a star worthy of your
talents,” Lawrence said, leading the way into his trailer. The inside looked
like an exploded dress shop. Pieces of odd fabrics mingled with half-destroyed
specimens of the latest designs from Fashion Week. A dressmaker’s form wore nothing
but thin gold chains. Scissors and measuring tape tumbled off tables, and
Lawrence possessed more sewing machines than one person could reasonably use.
Tilted against the trailer’s AC unit, a laptop showed flashes of an odd shape
rotating slowly in a computer-assisted design interface. “Don’t mind the mess,”
Lawrence said, shrugging. “It’s my creative process. You understand. Pull up a
chair.”
Kahala blinked. She couldn’t see a
chair to pull up. The only thing around remotely resembling a seat looked about
half as wide as she was. She stayed standing. “I’m really glad you liked the
portfolio! What were you—”
Lawrence took another bite of
papaya. “I loved it. Most designs for plus-sized women try to hide the body.
You let the body do the work. You have a very nice eye for accentuating natural
features. I can see it in the dress you’re wearing now.”
Was she blushing? “I did make it
myself! How did you—”
“You couldn’t have bought a dress
with that stitching for under three thousand these days.” He shuddered.
“Machines are so much sloppier than most people realize.” He slapped the papaya
down and took Kahala’s hand dramatically. She flinched but tried to roll with
it. “I’m going to ask you to betray every instinct that makes your work
special. Can you do it for me, Kahala?”
She blinked. “What are you talking
about?”
“This is science fiction. The
clothes need to do the work, not the body beneath them. Madison Marin’s got no
body to speak of. You can’t rely on her shape. You have to give her a shape.
Designers like bodies like hers because they can give them any shape they
desire. I’m asking you to betray your obvious appreciation for the female form
and work with the alien specimens we have here on this project—otherwise known
as actresses.”
Kahala stared. “You’re assigning me
to work with your female lead?”
“I believe in delegating.” Lawrence
smiled tightly. “I’d planned to work with her myself, of course. I spent months
drawing sketches for her. You’ll be following those, making adjustments as
needed to the costumes I’ve started creating. I’d do it myself, gladly, but
ever since I arrived on set I’ve had a certain problem that’s—James Corwin.”
“James Corwin?” Kahala echoed,
confused. “That’s your problem?”
“Oh, James Corwin is about to be his
problem, all right,” said a deep male voice behind her. Kahala jumped, turned,
and found herself face to face with the screen idol himself, all six solid feet
of him. James Corwin had played football in high school, and Kahala could see
why. He had a linebacker’s build and muscle. He gripped the doorframe with big
hands. His face wrinkled with distaste at the sight of Lawrence Marsh, but as
his gaze settled on Kahala, his expression changed. His famous golden eyes
focused on her and she caught the subtle flicks he used to check out her body
below the neck. Kahala’s face heated and James smiled slowly, his nostrils
flaring. His dark skin seemed much warmer in person than it did onscreen. The
red tones in it caught the light so he almost gleamed.
“Hello,” James Corwin said, dragging
the word out to two syllables and lifting his eyebrows with appreciation.
“Um, hi.” Kahala was relieved that
her voice didn’t squeak.
Lawrence dropped a hand onto her
shoulder. “I’m impressed again, Kahala. That’s the first civil word I’ve heard
come out of this fellow’s mouth. Even if it reeks a bit of the chauvinist pig.”
James Corwin grinned. A slight gap
between his front teeth marred his perfection just enough to make him
convincingly real. He didn’t take his eyes off Kahala. “I can be nice if given
reason.”
“Well I’m afraid I don’t have DD
reasons,” Lawrence shot back.
Kahala bit her tongue before she
could add that she wished they were just DD. Bra shopping would have been so
much easier if Lawrence had been right about her size.
“Lawrence, that’s crass,” James
said. He leaned in toward Kahala, his voice dropping and turning
conspiratorial. “Don’t think I’m not a gentleman just because of the way I’m
looking at you. I’m not saying I don’t appreciate the full package, but I also
enjoy learning about a beautiful woman’s personality.”
A thousand red flags went up in
Kahala’s mind. This man was trouble. It couldn’t have been clearer if he’d
tattooed the word on his forehead in capital letters and accentuated them with
glitter. Unfortunately she could be as circumspect about this as she wanted
inside the sanctuary of her own thoughts, but that didn’t help to control her
glee at the movie star’s compliments. He’d still made her grin like a fool.
James winked, mischief pulling one
side of his smile higher than the other. “Well? You didn’t sound shy when you
were talking with just Lawrence a minute ago.”
“I’m not,” Kahala admitted. She saw
his challenge and raised him. Surveying his body frankly, she allowed herself a
wicked grin. “I can’t make a call on your full package yet. I haven’t seen
enough of it.”
James liked that response, clearly.
He moved even closer. His fingers twitched against the doorframe as if they
wanted to move to Kahala’s frame instead.
Lawrence broke into the moment
before she could see where it would lead. “Whoo!” He fanned himself and
continued with high-pitched sounds of appreciation. “It’s gotten very, very hot
in here. Almost as if you two are forgetting the full workday we have in front
of us.”
Kahala blushed. She’d gotten so caught
up in coming up with cool responses to James Corwin’s flirtation that she’d
forgotten to act professionally. “Sorry.” Instinct told her to leave the two of
them to their business, but she couldn’t see a graceful exit out of the cramped
trailer. Whether she ducked left or right, any attempt to leave would involve
an intense negotiation between her body and that of James Corwin. She stepped
back instead, then looked to Lawrence for direction.
Lawrence drew himself up even
taller, so his Adam’s apple poked prominently out of his long, thin neck.
“Before you arrived, Mr. Corwin, I was in the middle of delegating loads of
work to Kahala here. She’s going to take over dressing Miss Marin for me, all
so I can devote the bulk of my time to satisfying your demanding self.” His
words sounded light and irreverent, but Kahala caught a strain of sincere
irritation running through them.
Corwin must have picked up on that
too, because he scowled in response. “I don’t know if I want any more of your
attention, Lawrence. That’s what I came to talk to you about.” He sighed. All
the playfulness he’d shown with Kahala had gone out of him. He seemed tired and
far less glamorous. “The studio’s leaning on me to be here, but that doesn’t
mean I have to like it. I’ll be professional, I’ll do as I’m told, but I won’t
tolerate being made to look or behave like a fool.”
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Links:
Bio:
Annabeth
Leong has written erotica of many flavors. She loves shoes, stockings, cooking
and excellent bass lines. She always keeps a new e-book loaded on her phone and
a paperback stashed in her purse, but her eyes are still bigger than her
stomach whenever she visits a bookseller. She blogs at annabethleong.blogspot.com, and tweets @AnnabethLeong . Watch for
her next contemporary erotic romance from Ellora's Cave, Heated Leather Lover.
