meet you there at—”
“No. I’ll come by and pick you up.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary.” Indeed, until she got her feelings under control, it bordered on cruel and usual punishment.
“If this is about last night—”
“It’s not,” she lied.
“Still, I feel I should apologize again for … what happened.”
What did it say about her, Elizabeth wondered, that she would much rather he apologized for what hadn’t?
“Don’t! I mean, there’s really no need. As you said last night, we both just got a little carried away.” Not nearly far enough that she’d woken up feeling boneless and satisfied, but enough that his obvious regrets now were starting to make her feel like a first-class idiot.
“Yes. We did.” He was quiet a moment. His tone was oddly resolute when he said, “I’ll pick you up. Just tell me what time.”
“Does five-thirty sound okay?” Arguing would only make her seem more foolish, she decided. It would make it seem as if she didn’t trust herself to be alone with him. In a car. For a short drive. To a restaurant. For spicy food.
“Sure. Five-thirty.”
“At my office,” she added hastily. “I’ll be out front at five-fifteen.”
She trusted herself, but still …
“What’s with the Abbey-wear?” Mel wanted to know even before Elizabeth had a chance to boot up her computer. “I thought we agreed that you would burn that overly conservative getup and donate the shoes to an old folks home.”
“It’s comfortable.” Elizabeth sniffed.
“Comfort can be attractive, hon.”
Her friend should know. Mel looked perfectly at ease strutting around in a pair of stilettos. Today, the stilettos were a bright raspberry color and she’d paired them with a navy suit that might have been considered conservative if not for the high slit in the skirt and Mel’s well-defined curves.
She looked gorgeous, of course. And stylish. Standing near her, Elizabeth felt especially frumpy. She was one hundred and eighty degrees the opposite of Delphine and her cacophony of colors all right. Unfortunately, that still didn’t make Elizabeth’s wardrobe choices any more fashionable.
Her irritation came out in the form of defiance.
“I’m not going to change my appearance and contort myself to fit into someone else’s ideal of beauty, especially when he probably wouldn’t care anyway.”
“Okaaaay.” Mel pursed her lips. “I was going to ask how last night went, but I think I have my answer. I take it Thomas wants you to dress differently and you’re rebelling by wearing your, um, least flattering attire.”
Frowning, Elizabeth replied, “This suit isn’t that bad. It’s a high quality label, I’ll have you know. It didn’t come cheaply.”
“Then in addition to committing a fashion crime, you were robbed,” Mel remarked blandly.
Elizabeth let it drop since the price tag really was a moot point. Instead, she plucked at the jacket’s prim mandarin collar, determined not to recall the way Thomas had fumbled with the buttons on her blouse the previous night, and said, “Actually, this is how his Beth would dress.”
“His Beth?”
“You know what I mean, Mel. That’s his fiancée’s name as far as his grandmother is aware. I’m just the stand-in for the girl of his …”
“Dreams?”
“More like imagination.”
“So, in order for you to be plausible as his Beth, he’s encouraging you to play down your best assets.”
“No. Thomas has never said anything one way or another about the way I dress.” Elizabeth frowned again. “Although, last night after dinner, he did remove the headband I was wearing.”
He’d seemed agitated at the time. Frustrated?
“Is that all he removed?” Mel bobbed her eyebrows twice.
Another time, Elizabeth would have laughed. Mel was good at that. Her knack for levity had served them both well over the years, and it never failed to put their clients at ease. But her words had Elizabeth recalling the shirt she’d been helping Thomas remove.
“Nothing happened.”
“Nothing?” Mel crossed her arms.
Sighing, Elizabeth slumped down onto the seat of her chair. “Nothing much. He … kissed me again.”
“And you liked it. Again,” Mel surmised. “Face it. You like him.”
Some of Elizabeth’s annoyance with herself and Thomas leaked away. Frustration and a fresh dollop of confusion took its place.
“What’s not to like?” She sighed in defeat.
Her friend levered a hip onto Elizabeth’s desk. “Are we talking about the kiss in this case or the man responsible for it?”
“Either. Both.”
“Uh-oh.”
“There’s no ‘uh-oh,’ Mel. There can be no ‘uh-oh.’ Thomas is a nice guy, and he’s very likeable.”
“Don’t forget hot,” Mel inserted on a wink.
“No need to remind me on that score.” But now that she had, Elizabeth’s internal thermostat was working its way into the red. “The man sure knows how to kiss. But we’re not dating.”
She said the last part a little too emphatically. Mel’s eyes narrowed. “I gather you’re having a bit of trouble remembering that.”
“Guilty as charged. I wasn’t expecting—”
“Fireworks,” Mel finished.
Oh, yeah. And a dizzying display, no less. But since mention of their sexual chemistry was too damning to dwell on, Elizabeth said, “Actually, I wasn’t expecting us to have much, if anything, in common.”
“But you do.”
“We both like Hitchcock movies and spicy Chinese.” She chuckled at the memory of Thomas fumbling his food during dinner. “Even if he can’t use chopsticks to save his life.” Her grin was short-lived. “God, Mel. He’s exactly the kind of man a smart woman steers clear of.”
“But you have common interests, and I thought you just said he was nice and likeable and hot?”
“We do and he’s nice and likeable and hot, all right. He’s also smart and sexy, and … from
