and tried on another one.
It was much better, and she felt a surge of hope.
It clung to her body, but not in an indecent way, and the fabric was thick enough that she could wear underwear beneath it. The netting on this dress was brown, and it was only used for a stripe across the top as well as a flirty ruffle from midcalf to the floor. In between was a glittering puzzle pattern of gold, brown, purple and green material.
Sinclair turned. She liked the way the ruffle flowed around her ankles, and the dress molded nicely to her rear end and her thighs.
There was another rap on the door. “How are you, madame?” called Jeanette.
Sinclair opened the door.
Jeanette cocked her head to one side. “Not bad,” she said of the outfit. “You’ll need some shoes with a little jazz to compete. And maybe a little more support in your bra.”
Was Sinclair offended by that last remark? No way. She was starting to like her new image.
“One moment,” said Jeanette.
She returned promptly with a bra, matching panties, a pair of stockings, and some spike-heeled, precarious-looking, rhinestone-studded sandals.
When Sinclair walked out of the change room, she nearly took Hunter’s breath away. The dress was a dream. Well, mostly her body beneath it was a dream. She looked glamorous and stylish, and it only added to her innate class.
“Can you hang on a minute?” he asked Richard Franklin, one of the Osland International lawyers.
“Sure,” Richard responded.
Hunter covered the phone. “Perfect,” he stated to Sinclair.
She smiled and, as usual, it lifted his mood. He found himself thinking about the evening ahead, and tomorrow, and the next few days. What could he show her in Paris? How could he keep her smiling?
He forced himself to switch his attention to Jeanette. “Can you do two or three more like that? And a couple of ball gowns, and some daywear?”
“Absolument.”
“You look fantastic,” he said to Sinclair.
It was a rocky start. But then she reflexively glanced in the mirror beside her, and he could tell by the shine in her eyes that she liked the outfit, too.
“Try to have fun,” he told her.
“I’m getting there.”
He gave her a thumbs-up.
They’d need some jewelry to go with it, of course. But that could be tomorrow’s mission.
It occurred to Hunter that he was probably having a little too much fun at this himself. But he shrugged it off. Dressing a beautiful woman ought to be fun. And if a man couldn’t have fun spending his money, what was the point in making any of it?
Jeanette herded Sinclair back into the change room, and Hunter returned to his phone call.
“Thanks for waiting,” he said to Richard.
“Do you have a contact name?” asked Richard.
“Seth Vanderkemp. The Castlebay Spa headquarters is on Rue de Seline. Do we have a contract lawyer on standby?”
“We do. In fact, I can get someone there overnight. When will you know?”
“Tomorrow. If it looks like we can get a contract, I’ll give you a call.” Hunter knew this was their last chance to get Luscious Lavender into a spa chain in time for the Valentine’s launch. If Castlebay was open to making a deal, he didn’t want to lose a single minute.
He ended the call.
Immediately, his phone rang again.
“Hunter Osland.”
“What the hell?” came his cousin Jack’s voice.
“What the hell what?” asked Hunter, reflexively cataloguing his actions over the past couple of weeks to see what could have upset his cousin.
“One, you’ve got Sinclair in Paris? Two, there’s trouble with her job. Three, you’re dressing her like an android hooker. And four, you’re probably sleeping with her? Take your pick.”
“Oh, that,” said Hunter.
“That’s your answer?”
“What do you want me to say?” Hunter could tell his cousin to shut up and mind his own business. It was hardly a crime to go shopping. And he was behaving responsibly, particularly considering the attraction that still simmered between them.
“That you’re not sleeping with my sister-in-law.”
“I stopped.”
“Good. Stay stopped. She works for us. And you’re you.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“You know what it means.”
Hunter sighed in exasperation. His reputation as a womanizer was not deserved.
“Tell Kristy I am not having a fling with her sister. Sinclair’s job is not in jeopardy. And she doesn’t look the least bit like a hooker.”
“And you’re not going to break her heart?”
Hunter pulled the phone away from his ear and frowned at it for a second. Then he put it back.
“Obviously, that was Kristy’s question,” Jack went on.
“What exactly have you told her about me?”
“Anything she asks. Plus, Gramps gave her the lowdown on some of your previous relationships. And you and Sinclair did start out with a one-night stand.”
“Thanks for the support there, cousin.”
Hunter hadn’t had that many relationships. All right, some of them may have been short-lived. But they simply hadn’t worked out. It wasn’t as if he went around breaking hearts on purpose.
“Personally,” said Jack, with more than a trace of amusement in his tone. “I’m more concerned about you. She’s got red hair.”
Hunter didn’t bothering answering. He hit the end button and shoved the phone back in his pocket.
His cousin’s joke was lame.
When Hunter was sixteen years old, he’d accidentally burned down the tent of an old gypsy fortune-teller. The woman had predicted Jack would marry a woman he didn’t trust. They’d lose the family fortune. They’d buy a golf course. And Hunter would marry a redhead and have twins.
So far, the only thing that had come close to happening was Jack marrying Kristy before he trusted
