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Stopped by a red light, she glared at her shoulder bag, which she’d thrown on the right-hand seat. Her cell phone was in there, and it wasn’t ringing.
She could ask the twins for fashion advice, but they wouldn’t be as useful as Zane. He’d founded a magazine around what people ought to buy. He must know his Gucci from his Dior.
“You are so transparent,” she muttered. How could it be a good idea to fight her attraction to one man with her yen for another? Trey and Zane were friends. The phrase sailing close to the wind was invented for this sort of thing.
When her cell phone buzzed, she jumped a foot in the air. Knowing better than to talk and drive, she swung her car into a miraculously open spot at the curb. She dug the phone out before it stopped buzzing.
“Yes,” she said.
“You’re there,” came Zane’s voice. “And you’re answering.”
She wasn’t coy enough to pretend she didn’t recognize him. “Hi, Zane,” she said as her nipples tightened and her panties dampened yet again. “How are you doing?”
“Hopeful,” he said, his charm apparent even through the phone speaker. “Could I tempt you to a picnic on my boat? The skies are supposed to be clear tonight, and I anticipate a breeze.”
Rebecca squeezed her temples. “That sounds—” ridiculously romantic? her girly side suggested “—really nice, but I sort of need to ask a favor.”
“A favor.” He sounded curious rather than displeased.
Was asking this the lesser of two evils? Rebecca jumped in before she could decide. “I need to add to my wardrobe. Nothing crazy like a bunch of ballgowns, but a couple outfits I can wear for the public aspects of my new job. You seem to know about women’s clothes.”
“I know about them intimately,” he agreed waggishly. He was silent for a moment. “Suppose we both get what we want tonight?”
His tone ran through her like melting caramel. “Is that a trick question?”
“Maybe.” He laughed. “Meet me at this address at five. I’ll take care of everything.”
“You could explain what you mean.”
“No I couldn’t,” he twitted her. “You’re going to have to trust me to take all your needs into account.”
He texted the address and then he hung up, leaving her gaping at the little screen. She should trust him and show up? Did he realize who he was talking to?
He did, of course, and presumably this was why he thought it was funny.
“Zillionaires,” she muttered, maneuvering her car away from the curb. Thought they could arrange the world. A cab let her into traffic, and she lifted her hand in thanks.
She’d go on Zane’s mystery date. She’d squeezed herself into a corner where she more or less had to.
“I didn’t do that on purpose,” she said.
Her protest wasn’t convincing. She knew she was excited to find out what he’d planned for her.
~
Naturally, the address Zane gave her was a boat slip in Boston Harbor. Which of the small yachts belonged to him couldn’t be mistaken. For one, his was the biggest, and for two, the name painted on the back was Bad Girl.
Rebecca grinned when she saw that. Really, she couldn’t help herself.
Zane trotted out to greet her as she walked up the pier, an indicator of eagerness she was too flattered by. Zane probably treated all his dates nicely—the ones he hoped to sleep with anyway. In spite of knowing this, she couldn’t suppress a flutter as he handed her up the ramp. This was heady stuff for someone who’d once washed dishes to cover grocery bills.
“Welcome to the Bad Girl,” he said with a brilliant smile. “We’re nearly finished setting up.”
We referred to him and a nicely dressed older woman who stood by two long racks of clothes. The living room was spacious enough that the racks weren’t close to filling it.
This was a home Rebecca had entered. Teak wood, highly varnished, gleamed in narrow planks on the floor. A long white sectional—one she suspected wouldn’t have fit in her house—stretched beneath a broad window. An open stairway led up to a second level: sleeping cabins, she presumed. To her right, she caught a glimpse of a kitchen with white marble countertops.
She had no doubt it was better equipped than hers.
“This is Sybil Spaulding,” Zane said, after she’d finished her quick gawk. “She’s a personal shopper. I’m sure you’ll find something you like among what she’s brought to try on.”
Sybil shook Rebecca’s hand. “I’ve taken the liberty of laying out a few selections in one of the upstairs bedrooms.”
“Great,” Rebecca said, returning her gentle grip. “Maybe I could meet you up there.”
The minute she disappeared, Zane came over and kissed her.
“Mmph,” she said, pushing at his chest as she tried to fight the inevitable melting of her spine. Zane’s kiss was comprehensive, to say the least. “Zane, I want to talk to you.”
“I know.” He angled his head for another sleek penetration, which she admitted she enjoyed. He pulled back and smiled. “Now that you’re not so tense, maybe you’ll listen to what I say.”
She was more relaxed, especially since his big hands were smoothing up and down her back. It didn’t hurt that the kiss had affected him. A definite bulge nudged her from behind his pants.
“All right,” she surrendered. “Explain yourself.”
“Sybil is aware your budget isn’t as big as some. As long as you don’t go crazy and snap up everything she brought, you’re not liable to break the bank. And, much as I hate to restrain myself, I’m only asking you to accept one small gift from me in return.”
“Zane. That isn’t— I can’t—”
“I know. “ His smile was warm, his blue eyes seeming to glow with genuine affection. “Accepting gifts from men you barely know isn’t appropriate. Please just indulge me this little bit.”
“Zane.” Her treacherous hands rubbed his chest, the muscles of which felt awesome beneath the navy silk shirt he wore.
“Think how much time you’ll save shopping this way,” he coaxed. “And how much surer you’ll feel about your purchases once two people have approved.”
“That,” she said, “really is dirty pool.”
He smiled unrepentantly. “Go upstairs. I’ll wait here for the fashion show.”
He pushed his luck by swatting her bottom.
“Do not try that again,” she warned, shaking her finger. Zane’s expression was angelic.
Upstairs, in a hallway paneled with dark wood and hushed by a thick carpet, she counted five cabin doors. The final one on the left was ajar. Striding toward it, she grumbled about Zane’s highhandedness . . . at least until she saw the clothes that lay on the bed.
Zane must have given Sybil instructions. Everything the shopper had selected was a transformed version of Rebecca’s everyday work wear. Dark pants and skirts were paired with light-colored button tops. The difference was that the styles and fabrics were heaps nicer.
“Silk,” Rebecca said unsurely, stroking one pale blue shirt. The cloth felt delicious against her fingertips.
“It’s washable,” Sybil assured her. “And you can wear a camisole under it. I also brought a selection of accessories. Dress up any of these outfits with jewelry, and you can go anywhere short of a formal ball. That shirt you’re touching certainly suits your fair coloring.”
Tears stung Rebecca’s eyes. This was so thoughtful . . . and so smart! She looked helplessly at Sybil, unable to say a word.
“Why don’t I select a combination you can start with?” she said.
All the clothes Rebecca pulled on fit. More than that, everything flattered her.
“He guessed my size,” she blurted, twisting back and forth in front of the full-length mirror.
A moment later she realized Zane must have scads of practice guessing women’s measurements.
“Would you like to model this outfit for him?” Sybil suggested politely.
“Oh no,” Rebecca said, braced by the reminder of who Zane was. “That’s too damn Pretty Woman. If you think these clothes are all right, that’s good enough for me.”
Sybil might have hid a smile as she helped her remove the blouse again.
In the end, Rebecca chose five outfits, a simple cultured pearl necklace, and two pairs of low heels she expected her calves would tolerate. Sybil presented her with the total and accepted her credit card. If she noticed Rebecca’s tiny wince, she was too tactful to let it show.
The shopper had been professional, pleasant but not chatty. To Rebecca’s surprise, Sybil touched her arm to stop her before she left.
“Zane’s gift for you is hanging in the closet. I’m sure he’d be pleased if you put it on for him. Maybe I shouldn’t tell you, but this is a first for him. Although I’ve shopped for him and Mr. Hayworth, you’re the first female he’s called me in to help. I’m sure he doesn’t mean his present to come with strings attached.”
