“What? You shopped for me?”
He raised one dark eyebrow. “Not me. I phoned the concierge. She picked up some things.”
“You did this without consulting me?”
“What was there to consult about?”
Emily stared at him. He sounded genuinely baffled.
“How about checking to see if that was OK, for starters?”
“You just said you have nothing suitable to wear.”
“Well, yes. But—”
“I repeat, what was there to consult about?”
“Well…well, color. Size. Style.”
“Sapphire blue. Or a somewhat paler shade.”
“Did it ever occur to you,” Emily said coldly, “that I might not like blue?”
He shrugged. “It is a good color for you.”
“Your opinion, but I—”
“Your eyes are blue. Sometimes they are dark, like an angry sea. Sometimes they are light, like a mountain sky early on a summer morning.”
His voice had gone low and husky. Her gaze flew to his. Something hot and electric flashed between them.
She felt a flutter low in her belly.
“That’s not…” She swallowed. “That’s not a good reason for—for—”
“It is an excellent reason.”
Arrogant. He was so damned arrogant!
“As for the size…” His tone was casual again, the voice of the master dealing with a servant. “I described you. The concierge thought a size six.”
“I’m an eight,” Emily said. “See? You’re not always… What do you mean, you described me?”
Another shrug. “Height. Shape. I described you and she said six and I said that sounded right.”
“Was Jessalyn a six?” Emily said, and could have bitten off her tongue.
His smile was slow and sexy.
“Jealous, cara?”
“Certainly not. I just wondered how you could make that determination so easily.”
“I have not lived my life in a monastery.”
No. She was sure he hadn’t. Who knew how many Jessalyns had been in his life, how many would continue being in it now that he was free?
“So, there will be a dress. A gown, actually. Shoes. The necessary accessories.”