“Think how much time you’ll save shopping this way,” he coaxed. “And how much surer you’ll feel about your purchases once two people have approved.”
“That,” she said, “really is dirty pool.”
He smiled unrepentantly. “Go upstairs. I’ll wait here for the fashion show.”
He pushed his luck by swatting her bottom.
“Do not try that again,” she warned, shaking her finger. Zane’s expression was angelic.
Upstairs, in a hallway paneled with dark wood and hushed by a thick carpet, she counted five cabin doors. The final one on the left was ajar. Striding toward it, she grumbled about Zane’s highhandedness . . . at least until she saw the clothes that lay on the bed.
Zane must have given Sybil instructions. Everything the shopper had selected was a transformed version of Rebecca’s everyday work wear. Dark pants and skirts were paired with light-colored button tops. The difference was that the styles and fabrics were heaps nicer.
“Silk,” Rebecca said unsurely, stroking one pale blue shirt. The cloth felt delicious against her fingertips.
“It’s washable,” Sybil assured her. “And you can wear a camisole under it. I also brought a selection of accessories. Dress up any of these outfits with jewelry, and you can go anywhere short of a formal ball. That shirt you’re touching certainly suits your fair coloring.”
Tears stung Rebecca’s eyes. This was so thoughtful . . . and so smart! She looked helplessly at Sybil, unable to say a word.
“Why don’t I select a combination you can start with?” she said.
All the clothes Rebecca pulled on fit. More than that, everything flattered her.
“He guessed my size,” she blurted, twisting back and forth in front of the full-length mirror.
A moment later she realized Zane must have scads of practice guessing women’s measurements.
“Would you like to model this outfit for him?” Sybil suggested politely.
“Oh no,” Rebecca said, braced by the reminder of who Zane was. “That’s too damn Pretty Woman. If you think these clothes are all right, that’s good enough for me.”
Sybil might have hid a smile as she helped her remove the blouse again.
In the end, Rebecca chose five outfits, a simple cultured pearl necklace, and two pairs of low heels she expected her calves would tolerate. Sybil presented her with the total and accepted her credit card. If she noticed Rebecca’s tiny wince, she was too tactful to let it show.
The shopper had been professional, pleasant but not chatty. To Rebecca’s surprise, Sybil touched her arm to stop her before she left.
“Zane’s gift for you is hanging in the closet. I’m sure he’d be pleased if you put it on for him. Maybe I shouldn’t tell you, but this is a first for him. Although I’ve shopped for him and Mr. Hayworth, you’re the first female he’s called me in to help. I’m sure he doesn’t mean his present to come with strings attached.”#p#分页标题#e#
“You like him,” Rebecca said.
Sybil blushed even as she lifted her chin slightly. “Mr. Alexander is a gentleman. You don’t see that often these days.”
Rebecca supposed you didn’t—especially not in a man of so much privilege.
With Sybil’s testimonial to goose her on, she opened the room’s closet. A fragile dress hung inside, mid-thigh length and lovely enough to steal her breath. The fabric was a silver silk so shiny it shimmered like water. The matching sandals were tall enough to kill her if she weren’t careful.
She saw at once it wouldn’t be possible to wear underwear with it.
Oh boy, she sighed privately. She wanted to put that dress on; wanted to show Zane how she looked in it as much as she wanted to see herself.
He’s earned this, she thought, sitting patiently in the living room all this time. Maybe he was hoping she’d put out in return or maybe, as Sybil Spaulding claimed, he wanted her to have it without strings.
Unable to resist and feeling disconcertingly as if she were sixteen again, Rebecca stripped naked and dropped the dress over her.
It was beautiful. She was beautiful. For the first time in a decade, Rebecca acknowledged that. Her face held a hint of the girl she’d been, but her body was a woman’s. She looked seductive in the thin clinging silk: firm where she ought to be, soft where a man would like. She was better than naked wearing it. She was enchanting.
Squeezing her feet into the teetering sandal heels brought her back to reality, but she was determined not to do this half-assed. She’d always taught the twins the best thank yous were wholehearted.
As a precaution, she gripped the handrail when she went down the stairs. Zane was in the living room, working on his laptop. He looked up at the clack of her sandals. His reaction was priceless. He rose to his feet, hand on heart, as if she were a bolt of lightning that had struck him.