the tight fit across her bust. She quickly tried the second, a brilliant pink strapless satin that clung revealingly like a second skin, making her wonder what on earth her mother was able to wear underneath it. The third was a slight improvement, but only because it had narrow straps and was a simple black. The skirt had a deep slit up the back, but Shea could zip it up and her chest didn’t pop out of the top, so she figured it would do for the hour or so that she’d have to spend at the fundraiser getting what she needed to satisfy Harvey.
She pulled it off, put on her jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt again and carried the dresses out of the bathroom.
Her mother was sitting on the wide bed, studying her nails. “I thought you’d at least show me,” she scolded without much conviction.
Shea hung the rejects on their hangers and slid them back into their plastic sheaths.
“Ah. The black,” Gloria deduced. “Boring and safe but presentable.” She rose and went to a full-length mirror that she pulled back to reveal a hidden jewelry case. “You’ll need earrings.”
The thought of wearing a pair of her mother’s heavy earrings all evening was vaguely nauseating.
Earrings aren’t what’s making your stomach queasy.
Shea ignored the annoying voice of her conscience.
“Here.” Gloria turned and held out a pair of sparkling earrings on her outstretched palm. “I hope you’ll take time for once to put on some blush, too. You need the color. Honestly, Shea. You’d be a pretty girl if you’d just put a little effort into it.”
“Ever helpful, Mom.” Shea took the dress and the chandelier earrings even though she knew she’d never wear them. It was easier to go along than argue. “I’d stay for more motherly advice, but I’ve got things I need to take care of.” She had to admit that her mom was generous with her clothing when the situation called for it. “Thanks for the dress. I’ll have it cleaned before I bring it back.”
“Don’t go covering yourself up with a sweater, either.” Gloria followed her down the staircase. “The one thing you’ve got going for you is your figure.”
“It’s February,” Shea reminded. “It’s cold.”
“A coat!” Gloria turned on her heel and ran back up the stairs.
Shea wished she’d kept her mouth shut.
A moment later, Gloria returned with a long black coat. “Here.” She pushed it into Shea’s hands. “Just promise you won’t wear it once you’re at your little event. If you’re going to insist on working all the time, you might as well show yourself off while you’re walking through the hotel lobby. Maybe you’ll catch someone’s eye.”
“Mom! What do you want me to do? Advertise that I’m open for business?”
“Don’t be so dramatic.” Gloria put her hand on her trim hip. “I’m not suggesting you’re a prostitute. A smart woman gets a ring on her finger before she starts giving away her favors. I learned that the hard way with your father, didn’t I? But do you think I would have ever gotten Jonathan’s attention if I’d have been covered from head to toe in black wool?”
“Jonathan was the cosmetic surgeon who did your butt lift,” Shea reminded dryly. “And I’m not looking to give away any favors to earn husband number one, much less number seven.” She knew the conversation had nowhere to go but down, and it was already low enough. She could only imagine what Gloria would have to say once Shea told her she was pregnant after what was essentially a one-night stand.
Her mother had had a lot of husbands for the simple reason that she claimed not to sleep with anyone before marriage—aside from Shea’s dad. That, and the fact that she bored easily. Jonathan had lasted eighteen months now, but Shea figured his time was probably not as limited as it might otherwise have been, considering her mother’s avid pursuit of plastic surgery to stave off any sort of natural aging process.
“I don’t know how you ended up so judgmental,” Gloria lamented. “You’re just like your father.”
Shea’s father lived in Europe with his fourth wife, who was younger than Shea. Last she’d heard, Number Four was trying to get pregnant. If she succeeded, the baby would be Shea’s only sibling actually related by blood. The news had come in her only communication from her father in a year—a Christmas postcard. Written and signed only by Number Four, yet she supposed it could have been worse: no postcard at all.
“Not being judgmental, Mom, just stating facts.” Her temples pounded and she’d been with her mother for less than thirty minutes. A new record. “Thanks again for the dress.”
Gloria brushed her lips in the air near Shea’s cheek. “You’re welcome.” Her gaze went past her to the expensive car that was pulling into the driveway next to Shea’s four-wheeled heap, and her smile widened. “Jonathan’s back from his tennis game.” As if Shea were already gone, Gloria jogged out to greet the dark-haired man who was only five years older than her daughter with a long kiss.
Neither one of them noticed when Shea hastily got into her car and drove away.
If Pax ever met her mother, he’d understand why she wasn’t a believer in enduring relationships.
Right on cue, her stomach rolled.
Groaning, she rolled down her window, hoping the cold air would blow away her nausea and wishing that everything else in her life could have such a simple solution.
* * *
“That’s her, isn’t it?”
Pax glanced down at his sister, Beatrice, as she tucked her arm through his. Her gaze was focused where his had been—on the entryway to the hotel ballroom where the fundraiser was being held.
Shea had arrived and was standing there, surveying the room through her digital camera.
“I suppose this is your doing.”
His sister shrugged, too innocent for belief. “I sent out a press release or two,” she allowed. “But I’m right, aren’t I? That’s her. The reporter you’ve been mooning over.”
He’d hoped that, with the distraction of the auction, he could get through a few hours without thinking about Shea. Yet there she was. In the flesh and looking like a million bucks. “I’m not mooning.” Laughter cackled inside his head.
His sister’s eyebrows were situated halfway up her forehead in disbelief. “When’s the last time you had a date?”
He’d been on plenty of dates over the past few years. Casual ones that hadn’t tied him in knots at all. But he hadn’t been out with anyone since the ice storm.
He wasn’t sure what bugged him more: Shea’s continued elusiveness, or his unaccountable unwillingness to move on from what even his own common sense told him was a losing proposition.
“Don’t you have things you’re supposed to be attending to here?” As the event planner, Beatrice had put together the high-brow auction.
She gave him a look. “Please. I’m good at what I do, Brother dear. An event by Beatrice runs as smoothly as a Merrick & Sullivan Yacht cuts through the
