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‘No, you shouldn’t,’ he agreed shortly.
‘He’s lovely, Drew,’ she said, meaning it. ‘When did you get him?’
‘He isn’t mine.’ His eyes were wintry. ‘I’m just walking him for somebody else.’
‘Anybody I know?’ The question came out before she realised that she had no right to ask him things like that.
He clearly thought so, too. ‘What would you say if I told you I was out walking him for a sweet, little old lady?’
The trouble was that she would believe him. ‘I’d say that you were a model citizen. An upstanding member of the community.’
‘Would you?’ he queried softly, and let his gaze drift unhurriedly over her face. ‘Would you really?’
Shelley shifted. She was used to men staring. That was what men did in Italy. It was acknowledged and recognised as perfectly normal to gaze at a woman in open appreciation, as you would a fine painting, or a delicious meal. But the way Drew was looking at her was making her feel uncomfortable. As if she were some bit of flotsam he had found washed up on the beach.
And he was shaking his head, as though he didn’t like what he saw. ‘What on earth have you done to yourself?’ he demanded in a low, incredulous voice.
He made her feel like Cinderella before the transformation scene. ‘Done to myself?’ Her indignation was genuine. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
He shrugged. ‘Well, the dog wouldn’t have knocked you over if you hadn’t been so damned skinny.’
‘Skinny?’ she gritted. The word was insulting—as he had obviously meant it to be. ‘Don’t you know anything, Drew? That a woman can never be too thin—’
‘What a load of rubbish,’ he interrupted with quiet, curling distaste. ‘Haven’t you heard that the waif look is out? You look like you haven’t eaten a square meal in years.’
Should she bother telling him that women in Milan watched their figures like hawks? Which was why they looked beautiful and elegant in the wonderful fashions which the city was so famous for. ‘Clothes look much better if you aren’t carrying any excess flesh,’ she told him smugly. ‘Everyone knows that.’
‘Well, I prefer to see a woman out of clothes,’ he drawled, noticing with pleasure that she flinched when he said that. Good! He smiled as his gaze lingered in a way which was now very Italianate. ‘And when a woman is naked a few curves are infinitely preferable to looking like a bag of bones.’
‘Bag of bones?’ she repeated in horrified disbelief, feeling quite sick at the thought of him with naked women. ‘Are you saying that I look like a bag of bones?’
He shrugged. ‘Pretty much. You sure as hell don’t look great. Mind you—’ and his gaze narrowed ‘—the clothes don’t help—and what on earth have you done to your hair?’
Shelley could hardly believe what she was hearing! She had learnt a lot about looking good while she had been living with Marco. From a rather wild and windswept girl, she had become high-maintenance woman. She had transformed herself from small-town hick to city slicker. People admired the way she looked these days—her hips were as narrow as a boy’s and she only ever wore neutrals.
But Drew didn’t seem to be one little bit impressed by her new-found fashion know-how.
She glanced down at her admittedly rather crumpled grey linen suit—and then back up into a pair of judgemental navy eyes.
‘I agree that this isn’t what I would normally wear to walk on the beach,’ she allowed. ‘But this suit was designed by one of Milan’s most desirable couturiers.’ She saw him pull a face, and as the events of the last days took their toll something inside her snapped.
‘Most women would give their eye-teeth to own an outfit by this designer!’ she fumed. ‘And as for my hair! For your information, it is shaped and tinted with highlights and lowlights every six weeks, by one of Milan’s finest cutters. Have you,’ she heard herself asking inanely, ‘any idea of how much it costs to look like this?’
But as soon as the words were out and she saw the look on his face she wished she could unsay them.
Distaste wasn’t the word.
‘I should have guessed that money would have been at the top of your agenda! So no change there.’ He gave a scornful little laugh. ‘Well, for your information, kitten—you were done.’
‘Done?’
‘Yeah, done. Conned. Fleeced. Cheated.’
Shelley couldn’t believe her ears. ‘What?’
‘You heard,’ he whispered softly. ‘You’ve become one of those women who know the cost of everything and the value of nothing, haven’t you, Shelley? Seems like I had a lucky escape.’
