“You take care of all of them. All your family.”
“Yes.” He searched her uplifted face carefully. “I was rude to you.”
“You were hurting,” she said simply. “Wounded things always lash out.”
“You sound as if you know a lot about wounded things.”
She lowered her eyes to his spotless white shirt. “Oh, a little perhaps,” she said with a smile.
His lean, immaculate hand started toward her shoulder, then hesitated. “I’m keenly aware that some people dislike being touched,” he said when she looked up, surprised by this hesitation from a man who acted as if he never paused to ask permission.
“I don’t mind,” she said, surprising herself, because she was one of those people who didn’t like it.
He smiled, and his hand smoothed over the shoulder of the garment. His fingers traced the embroidery. “Where did you get this?” he asked. “I haven’t seen stitching like that since I was a child, watching my grandmother make blouses for my sister.”
“I made it,” she said simply.
He stared at her. “You made it?”
“I like the Tudor period,” she said. “I don’t have a college education, but I love history and I like to read about the Tudors. I saw a similar design in a painting of Elizabeth I, and I adapted this from it.”
His hand stilled on her shoulder. “You designed this? And embroidered it?”
She nodded.
His breath caught. “Good God!”
“It isn’t too flashy or anything?” she asked uncertainly. “I mean, outlandishly so?”
His hand smoothed down the sleeve, savoring the soft warmth of her arm under the satin fabric. “It’s virginal,” he said. “Pure. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”
“Miss Raines thought it was overdone.” She spoke without thinking, from pain.
His hand slid down to her fingers and tangled sensuously in them. “She’s quite mistaken,” he said, deciding to do something about Miss Raines before she destroyed this budding talent. “It’s elegant,” he added, his deep voice soft and reassuring. “Beautiful.”
She smiled shyly. “Thank you.”
His heart was acting up. He cleared his throat and withdrew his hand from hers. He’d never experienced such a feeling before, as if something inside him were melting sweetly.
She looked up at him with curious, trusting eyes.
His lips parted as he let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “You’re twenty-two,” he said involuntarily, remembering what Virginia Raines had told him.
“Yes. And you?”
“I’m thirty-seven,” he said, smiling. “Ancient, in your young eyes, I imagine.”
“Oh, no,” she said at once. “You have the sort of face that age is kind to. You won’t look old even when you are.”
“Flattery, too,” he mused, chuckling. “You’re a charmer, Miss Keene.” He was attracted and he didn’t want to be. He moved away from her discreetly. “I want that design,” he said.
She was reeling from the effect he had on her; that, and his withdrawal, his sudden coldness. “This...dress?” she faltered.
He turned. “Yes. I want it for the upcoming collection.”
She was stunned, and it showed.
“I’ll send word to Miss Raines. Furthermore, I want you involved in design projects from now on.”
“She won’t like it,” she faltered.
“I don’t give a damn if she likes it or not, I give the orders around here!”
His temper was quick and hot. She was reassured by it, rather than frightened, because she knew that a man who let off steam often was less likely to become homicidal all at once. Repressed anger was the dangerous kind, the psychologists said. She smiled.
“Well?” he asked. “You’ll get a bonus if your design sells at the showings in January. I think it might—it has potential for a wedding gown as well as an evening dress. On the strength of its originality, I’m going to promote you to junior design status. That will mean a raise in salary, too.”
She couldn’t find the words to express her delight. Her open mouth spoke for her.
He chuckled at the rapt pleasure she couldn’t hide. “You’re welcome,” he said with a grin. He glanced inside the apartment and found several pair of curious eyes directed toward them. “Uh-oh. I see a scandal developing.”
“A scandal?”
“Us.” He smiled down at her confusion. “I’m seducing you, Miss Innocence. Can’t you tell, from the wolfish grins and the noses pressed against the windows?”
“Oh!”
“Not to worry. I’m not the rake I used to be. I’m too old and too tired for instant seduction. But watch those male models. Some of them are straight, and you’re green for your age.”
“A lamb among wolves?” she teased.
“Good analogy.” He was moving toward the door.
“Thank you for giving me a chance, Mr. Kells,” she said seriously. “I won’t disappoint you.”
He glanced at her. “Curry. Not Mr. Kells.”
“Curry.” She frowned. “It’s unusual.”
“It’s my grandmother’s maiden name,” he explained. He opened the door for her. “Into the breach, as they say. Harry Lambert’s drooling over you. He’s the tall brown-haired man wearing the red tie with his dinner jacket—something of a roué, but nice people. You could do worse. He’s one of my vice presidents.”
“Yes, I know, he’s in charge of our division. I’ve seen him in the elevator. I don’t really want to get involved with anyone,” she added honestly.
He closed the door. “Why?”
She shifted uncomfortably. “You ask a lot of questions.”
“I’m a curious man.”
“I don’t really think I should offer you the story of my life.”
“I’d hardly expect it from a casual acquaintance. But you and I are going to be considerably more than that.”
Her eyes sought his and were captured by a glittery black gaze that seemed to penetrate right into her mind. Her knees went wobbly at the intensity of emotion he kindled
