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Sneered at her old brown anorak? The poor woman had probably never before seen such a downmarket object in her hallowed space! She swallowed a hysterical giggle and her mouth was still wobbling when Sebastian finally joined her. To stop herself from bursting into a humiliating mixture of wild laughter and fountains of tears that would get them both thrown out on to the street, she watched the regal lady disappear through a gap between the mirrors and grumped at him, I don’t know what you think we’re doing here. Let’s get out. Quick. Before she comes back. I don’t need or want a new dress, or whatever. And I feel such a fool!’
His long mouth twitching, silver eyes dancing, he captured her chin between his forefinger and thumb. ‘Silencio. And stop putting yourself down. You’re far from being a fool, so how could you look like one? Besides, I don’t want the maybe-mother of my child looking like a tramp.’
Rosie swallowed. Hard. She struggled to absorb what had sounded like a very backhanded compliment. Difficult when she was totally absorbed in the electrifying sensations engendered by the touch of his lean fingers against her skin.
‘Don’t!’ she muttered, twisting her head away from that totally enervating touch, knotting her fingers in her lap. ‘Don’t talk like that! There probably won’t be a baby. And what happened was as much my fault as yours. You didn’t force yourself on me, remember? Anyway, how would you like it if I took you some place and made you sit like a lemon while I bought you some new trousers, or vests, or something?’
Right on cue the regal lady returned, just as Sebastian flung back his dark head and roared with laughter. And it was just as well, otherwise she would most definitely have slapped his handsome face!
As it was, she had to contain herself. She couldn’t slap him in front of an audience. And there were two of them now, a perfectly manicured thirty-something in a very elegant black suit pulling a fancy-looking dress rail behind her, crammed with garments on padded hangers.
One by one the hangers were removed, the garments reverently held out for Sebastian’s inspection by the older woman. Those he nodded at were put back on the rail. A shake of the head had the thirty-something stepping forward to receive the unapproved whatever and drape it over her arm.
Not that there were too many of those, Rosie decided, wondering what he was playing at. Everything she had seen was mouthwatering, but useless. When would she ever get to wear something that reeked of good taste and a bottomless pocket?
When she found herself in a fitting room as large as a normal person’s sitting room, surrounded by mirrors, accompanied by the fancy dress rail, she gritted her teeth and got on with it.
She was supposed to try everything on and parade in front of him—presumably so he could make his choice—she, obviously, had no say in the matter, she thought mutinously, determined to be as quick as she could about it. Humouring Sebastian Garcia certainly had a big downside.
Telling the surprised thirty-something that she didn’t need any help, but it was nice of her to offer, Rosie stripped down to her serviceable white cotton bra and briefs and pulled on the first thing that came to hand, carefully not looking at herself in the mirrors.
She didn’t want to see herself wearing fabulous clothes. She might get to covet them. She was happy with her lifestyle as it was. She didn’t want to want things she could never have.
Like Sebastian. The thought made her feel ill. She pushed it firmly out of her head and went on with the silly charade of parading the whole selection in front of him.
No comment. Just the slow drift of his eyes over whatever she happened to be wearing at the time. Someone had given him a flute of champagne. All right for some! He was having a nice relaxing cold drink while she was going demented!
Stripping, she dived into the last thing on the rail. A beautiful suit in soft cream cashmere. She buttoned the jacket, trying hard not to love the way it felt as if it had been made just for her. There was a selection of shoes in all styles and colours, presumably to go with all the differen
t outfits. She hadn’t worn any of them. She wasn’t wearing stockings, so she couldn’t, so she’d padded out in her navy blue socks, not looking at the regal lady, because she just knew she’d be sneering.
‘Keep that on.’ It was the first remark he’d made.
Rosie nearly fainted with relief. While she hadn’t wanted him to buy a single thing for her, she’d been feeling more and more agitated at his seeming total lack of enthusiasm for any of the things she’d modelled. The queenly owner of the establishment would have been seriously miffed if she’d gone to all this trouble and Sebastian had turned down everything she’d had to offer.
Back in the changing room she looked at her reflection and was definitely shocked. The suit was really gorgeous. It made her look classy. She could scarcely believe she was seeing herself.
A pair of taupe leather classic courts with two-inch heels was produced, together with a pair of sheer tights, and Rosie accepted them from the now smiling regal lady with relief. She hoped Sebastian wouldn’t grumble at the extra expense but it would have been sacrilege to wear her clumpy brown lace-ups and navy socks with such a beautiful work of art.
A grin split Sebastian’s face as Rosie rejoined him. He’d been spot-on. Wearing the right clothes and make-up, she looked absolutely stunning. A truly classy beauty with a sparkle, an inner warmth that other perfectly packaged and groomed females of his acquaintance signally lacked.
He narrowed his eyes and ate her up. The soft colour on her delicate cheekbones owed nothing to artificial blusher and her glossy, full lips were slightly parted, hovering on a smile. He could see the intriguing pulse-beat at the base of her elegant throat where the suit jacket parted in a discreet V, just hinting at the naked delights beneath the soft fabric.
His blood heated, charged through his veins, and if he didn’t switch his mind to something else, pronto, he was going to embarrass himself. Hugely.
Avoiding her radiant eyes, he stared at that pulse-beat. There was something lacking. Something else he could do. Something that would take his mind off sex.
Roughly clearing his throat, he gave her his arm to hang on to.
‘Let’s go!’ He swept her out to the waiting limo. ‘We need to be some place else.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
MADRE Di Dio! It hadn’t worked.
Neither had the long walk they’d taken in Regents Park after the visit to the jeweller’s.
Sebastian ended the call he’d been making to the firm of caterers he always used when he entertained at his London apartment, thrust his slim mobile into his inner breast pocket and joined Rosie in the back of the limo. At least the caterer’s presence this evening would ensure he didn’t jump her.
