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‘Oh!’ Amelia chewed nervously on her bottom lip, almost whimpering at the delicious thought of a massage and facial before she braved the cool stares of Melbourne’s most elite. But, given her rather shaky relationship with her credit card at the moment she could hardly justify it—and Paul certainly wasn’t going to sign it off as a necessary claim. ‘I was just going to have a bath up here.’
‘Well, do you want them to come up to your room?’ Vaughan asked, with all the arrogance of the truly rich.
‘I can run my own bath, Vaughan,’ Amelia answered testily. ‘And I’ve had years of practice with a mascara wand.’
‘Fine,’ Vaughan clipped. ‘It just seems a shame to waste it when it’s included in the room. I’ll let them know you won’t be—’
‘It’s included in the room?’ Amelia swallowed her squeal of delight, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible as she punched the air in joy. ‘Oh, well, in that case it would be a shame to waste it. Tell them I’ll be right down.’
Vaughan was just leaving as Amelia arrived, grinning from ear to ear in her towelling robe. Like a child let loose in a sweet shop, she ran her eye along the impressive list of treatments.
‘Do you have any plans this afternoon?’ Amelia checked. ‘Anything I ought to…?’
‘Nothing.’ Vaughan smiled. ‘Take your time. You deserve an afternoon off.’
Oh, she did, Amelia thought wickedly. She decided there and then to have everything on the list—well, maybe not everything, Amelia mentally corrected, as the stragglers on her eyebrows were waxed away in seconds.
Brazilians must have a markedly high pain threshold!
Whoever had said that money didn’t buy happiness certainly hadn’t spent two hours in this hotel’s health spa being wrapped in mud, massaged, pummelled and exfoliated to within an inch of their lives, hadn’t felt the sheer bliss of a scalp massage, nor lain in a reclining chair as their finger and toenails were simultaneously painted, hadn’t known the sheer heady pleasure of staring down at two newly pretty feet that were finally actually fit for the jewelled impulse-bought sandals awaiting their mistress at the bottom of her suitcase in the top floor of the hotel! Absolute bliss!
Stepping out of the lift, padding along the floor towards her room, Amelia felt good enough about herself to smile at the stunning woman walking towards her, clouds of dark hair billowing over her shoulders, wafting a perfume that Amelia could never afford. She was more than happy to impart just a touch of her buoyant mood, and shrugged to herself when the smile wasn’t reciprocated, when the rather haunted-looking beauty pointedly avoided her gaze and walked swiftly past.
Only as she reached her room did the smile fade from Amelia’s face. The heady perfume that had filled the corridor was noticeably absent now, but Amelia knew, just knew, where the haunted beauty had come from.
Heart in her mouth, she retraced her steps, closing her newly made-up eyes in regret as she reached Vaughan’s closed door, inhaling the heady fragrance.
Money did buy happiness.
The blissfully decadent two hours she’d just spent meant nothing now. The health spa hadn’t been included in her room…
Vaughan had conveniently got rid of her.
She sat on her bed, huddled into her robe, staring unseeing into space, appalled at the jealousy that assailed her. A full hour had passed—a full hour watching the shadows on the wall lengthen, a full hour berating herself for even daring to dream that someone like Vaughan could ever really change and, more pathetically, that she, Amelia, might be the one to change him.
She should be getting ready!
Amelia winced as she glanced at her watch, and her expression blew into a full-face grimace as a pounding on the door forced her attention. She pulled off her robe and poured herself into her dress in record time, and headed to open the door.
‘Can you sew?’
It wasn’t the greeting Amelia was expecting when she opened the door to impatient knocking.
Her lilac strappy dress really deserved the garnish of a strapless bra and heels before it was seen—not, Amelia realised, that Vaughan would notice in his current state. She flattened herself against the wall as he strode impatiently in.
Wired to the max, he practically marched into her room, impossibly restless but still beautiful in a charcoal suit, his shirt impossibly white, a dark grey silk tie hanging around an unbuttoned shirt.
‘Well, sewing’s not something I pride myself on,’ Amelia responded, deliberately missing the point. If he wanted her to sew for him then he could damn well ask her properly!
‘I’ve lost my top button.’ Vaughan attempted an explanation. ‘Housekeeping said they’d send someone to mend it, but that’s going to take for ever. I’m supposed to be down there in five minutes.’
‘Here.’ Smiling sweetly, she picked up the miniature sewing kit that hotels always provided, handing it to him and watching his frown deepen. ‘You can use this.’
He didn’t say it, but Amelia swore she could hear the irritated curse that was on the tip of his tongue. ‘Amelia—’ Taking a deep breath, attempting a pleasant smile, Vaughan tried again. ‘Would you mind sewing my top button on for me?’ He held up his arms to reveal two shiny silver cufflinks. ‘I haven’t got time to take my shirt off. Please,’ he added, completely as an afterthought, as still she stood there.
‘Seeing as you asked so nicely—’ Amelia smiled ‘—then I’m sure I can manage a button.’
Or she should have been able to. It wasn’t as if she had to rummage for a needle—one was provided, threaded, even, in the little kit the hotel provided—but he was too tall, too close, and way, way too near. She fumbled with the neck of his shirt, tried to keep her breathing even, tried to ignore the full mouth just a breath away.
‘What did you do while I was gone?’ Amelia asked lightly, way too lightly, holding her breath, mentally begging for an explanation—and dying a bit inside as she heard him lie.
‘Slept.’ Vaughan shrugged.
His skin was deliciously smooth, yet the blue-black suggestion of tomorrow lay just beneath the surface. Horribly clumsy, Amelia managed to push the needle through the stiff fabric without major incident, missing his jugular by mere centimeters. Her hand was shaking so much, and she knew that for the rest of her life, because of this moment, never again would she perform this minor task without remembering the scent, the feel, the sheer lusty presence of this man.
How easy it would be to just give in, to allow herself the luxury of even only once letting him in.
‘Done.’
Slamming that door closed, Amelia stepped back.
He nodded his thanks, and a completely steady hand knotted his tie. Amelia vanished into the bathroom, her own hand not quite so steady as she touched up her lipstick and squeezed her feet into impossibly high shoes, before eyeing her reflection in the mirror. She was almost pleased with her appearance, almost pleased with the reflection that stared back at her. Except for the sight of two jiggling bosoms that really needed support.
If she’d had the courage to wander into the living room and rescue the offending article from her case she would have. But with Vaughan firmly in situ Amelia decided to risk going without. Rearranging her rather ample décolletage, and squirting another quick layer of perfume, she braced herself to face him in the bedroom.
‘Shall we go down?’
She started speaking before she even left the bathroom, deliberately not looking at him as she set about packing her small evening bag, throwing in a lipstick and her room card. But she burned with awareness. It was the first time they’d been in a bedroom alone together since that one steamy kiss, and she knew he was remembering it too—could feel his eyes on hers as she fiddled with her hair in the mirror, finally daring to meet them with the safety of her back to him.
‘You look—’ A beat of a pause, and she watched as he walked a step nearer, close enough for her to witness a tiny swallow, the bob of his Adam’s apple in his throat before he continued, ‘You look beautiful.’
She always did, Vaughan thought, but tonight, despite the make-up, the glittering earrings and skilfully blow-dried hair, for the first time since they’d met she looked like the woman who had woken him so rudely—the woman who had spun into his office and into his life.
Her eyes were huge in her tiny face, tendrils of hair wisped around her face, and Vaughan tried to place just what it was that was different, what it was that reminded him so much of something. And then he got it. The smart business suits she’d worn since then had gone. Instead she was wearing clothing of her choice, and the sheer lilac was close to the shade of the top she had worn that first day he’d met her. That overtly feminine body was more visible now, without the harsh darts of her tailored suits, without the anonymous safety of muted greys. Her pearly shoulders were on display, and a teasing glimpse of her spinal cord, and his fingers bunched into a fist, fighting the urge to reach out and touch her.
He could see the swell of her bust in the mirror, the teasing movement of her unhindered bosom. The ruched top strained an erotic fraction with the rise and fall of her breathing—and if he’d wanted her before it didn’t compare. He was hollow with lust now, could feel with total recall those full rosebud lips on his, the weight of her bosom in his hand. And he couldn’t not touch her. Could no more just offer his arm to casually escort her than fly to the moon.
