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822 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1997
I’m not your type any more than you’re mine.”
“No, you’re not,” he agreed. “Still, I occasionally enjoy sampling something . . . different.”
“I’m not a new recipe.” She pulled her hand free, pushed her plate aside. “And I came here to have, as you termed it, a civilized discussion.”
“This seems civilized to me.”
“Don’t pull out that reasonable tone.” She had to squeeze her eyes shut and count to ten. She made it to five. “I hate that reasonable tone. I agreed to go to dinner with you so that I could make myself clear, so that I could do so without losing my temper the way I did earlier today.”
For emphasis, she leaned forward a little, was distracted by discovering that there was a thin gold halo around his pupils. “I don’t want you meddling in my life. I don’t know how to make it any more plain than that.”
“That’s plain.” Since they seemed to have finished the meal, he picked up the plates and carried them to the counter. Sitting again, he took a cigar from his pocket, lit it. “But there’s a problem. I’ve developed an interest in you.”
“Yeah, right.”
“You find that difficult to believe?” He puffed out smoke, considered. “So did I initially. Then I realized what kicked it off. I’m driven to solve problems and puzzles. Answers and solutions are essential to me. Do you want coffee?”
“No, I don’t want coffee.” Didn’t he know it drove her crazy the way he could slide from one topic to the next in that slow, southern drawl of his. Of course he did. “And I’m not a problem or a puzzle.”
“But you are. Look at you, Kate. You white-knuckle your way through life.” He reached out, deliberately uncurled her fist. “I can almost see whatever fuel you bother to put inside you being sucked away by nerves. You have a loving family, a solid base, an excellent mind, but you pick at details as if they were knotted threads. You never consider just snipping one off. Yet when you’re faced with the injustice, the insult of being fired from a job that was a huge part of your life, you sit back and do nothing.”
“This is so incredibly dumb.” Naked, Kate fidgeted and blew the bangs out of her eyes. “I feel like an idiot.”
“Leave your hair alone,” Margo ordered. “I worked too hard on it to have you screw it up. And stop gnawing on your lip.”
“I hate wearing lipstick. Why won’t you let me see my face?” Kate craned her neck, but Margo had draped the mirror in the wardrobe room. “I look like a clown, don’t I? You made me look like a clown.”
“Actually, it’s more like a twenty-dollar hooker, but it’s such a nice look for you. Hold still, damn it, so I can get you into this thing.”
Suffering mightily, Kate lifted her arms as Margo hooked her into what seemed to be some instrument of medieval torture. “Why are you doing this to me, Margo? I cut the check for your dippy string trio, didn’t I? I went along with the truffles—even though they’re snuffed out by pigs and hideously expensive.”
Her face set like a general leading troops into battle, Margo adjusted the bustier. “You agreed to follow my guidance for your image tonight. The Annual Reception and Charity Auction is Pretenses’ most important event. Now stop bitching.”
“Stop playing with my tits.”
“Oh, but I love them so. There.” Margo stepped back, then nodded in satisfaction. “I didn’t have much to work with, but . . .”
“Keep it up, Miss D Cup,” Kate grumbled, then looked down and goggled. “Jesus, where did they come from?”
“Amazing, isn’t it? In the right harness, those puppies just rise.”
“I have breasts.” Stunned, Kate patted the swell rising above black satin and lace. “And cleavage.”
“It’s all a matter of proper positioning and making the most of what we have. Even when it’s next to nothing.”
“Shut up.” Grinning, Kate slicked her hands down her torso. “Look, Ma. I’m a girl.”
“You ain’t seen nothing yet. Put this on.” Margo tossed her a thin swatch of stretchy lace.
Kate studied the garter belt, tugged it, snorted. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m not putting it on for you.” Margo patted the bulge under her sparkling silver tunic. “At seven months and counting, bending over isn’t as easy as it used to be.”
“I feel like I’m in dress rehearsal for a porn flick.” But after a struggle, Kate snapped the garter belt into place. “It’s a little hard to breathe.”