Her skin needed practically nothing in the way of foundation, for it still carried a light tan, but she rubbed in a little concealer to get rid of the shadows underneath her eyes. It would be early nights after tonight, she decided grimly, brushing the heavy lids with a slick of silver colour and adding two coats of mascara onto the long, curling lashes. The result was startling. Starry aquamarine eyes sparkled back from the mirror.
Next she slid on wisps of lavender-coloured underwear—a vivid underwired bra which gave her a show-stopping cleavage and a wispy little suspender belt with panties which matched. She turned her head to look at her rear view, and wriggled her lace-covered bottom experimentally, thinking that she co-ordinated very nicely with the room! Softly sheened stockings and strappy, high-heeled black shoes and she was almost ready.
She knew exactly which dress to wear—the one which made her feel both attractive and unselfconscious. It was dark grey and starkly cut, and merely hinted at the body beneath—but there was no doubt that it was a very sexy dress indeed—in a cool, understated kind of way.
She took a final glance in the mirror. Her newly washed hair had fallen into place now—with the highlights and lowlights merging to create one glorious, shimmering whole. She picked up her bag, locked the door behind her, and went downstairs to find Drew.
The red-headed woman on the reception desk in the oak-panelled hall had been replaced by a sleek-looking young blonde.
‘Ah!’ She looked at Shelley with interest. ‘Miss Turner?’
‘That’s me!’ answered Shelley. ‘I’m impressed! Do you know all the guests by name?’
‘Of course we do,’ said the blonde smoothly. ‘We only have twelve rooms. Mr Glover said to tell you he’s waiting in the restaurant.’
‘Thank you.’ Mr Glover? Why did the blonde say his name with the kind of reverence she might have used if the President of the United States was eating dinner in her restaurant?
But as soon as she saw Drew seated at the window table she wondered why she had bothered asking herself a question which was so fundamentally easy to answer.
The blonde had spoken like that because, quite honestly, he looked like a million dollars. In fact, it took a moment or two for her to recognise him, but judging from the slightly bemused expression on his face it seemed that the feeling was mutual.
Shelley blinked as he rose to his feet. He looked…well, he looked…unbelievable. Not just handsome. Not just strong. Or dependable. He looked smart. Drew Glover looked smart!
‘Hello, Shelley,’ he murmured, looking with wry amusement at the stark grey dress she wore. ‘What’s this—school uniform for big girls?’
‘I don’t know if the designer would be very pleased to hear you say that!’ She stared at him. ‘You’ve changed.’
‘So have you.’ His eyes narrowed at the expression of surprise on her face as she examined his suit close up. ‘Were you expecting me to eat in a place like this—’ and he jerked his head in the direction of the other tables ‘—wearing jeans and an old T-shirt?’
A waiter appeared from out of nowhere and pulled her chair back, and Shelley slid into it, taking the leather-bound menu he offered her with a smile of thanks. But instead of running her eyes over the starters she found that they were still riveted on the man sitting opposite her.
‘I’m just not used to seeing you all dressed up,’ she said slowly.
‘You haven’t seen me for two years,’ he pointed out. ‘And you still haven’t told me whether you like it.’
Like it? It was a bit of a shock to see such an essentially outdoor man wearing a jacket and tie and a pair of navy trousers which seemed to emphasise his long legs even more than the jeans had done. And the outfit was exceptionally well made, she noticed with surprise. So Drew no longer bought his suits off the peg. Had she thought he looked like a million dollars? Make that a million and a half!
‘Er, yes,’ she said stiltedly. ‘It looks very…um…smart.’
‘Damned with faint praise!’ he murmured.
‘Oh, dear! Does your ego need constant massaging, then, Drew?’ she enquired sweetly.
Their eyes met.
‘Not my ego, no,’ he told her deliberately.
Shelley flushed and leaned across the table. ‘Let’s get one thing straight, shall we?’ she said, in a low voice. ‘I may be in need of a square meal—but I’ll walk straight out of here and order toasted cheese in my room if you continue to make references to sex all evening!’
‘Sex?’ he enquired innocently. ‘Who mentioned sex? I thought we were talking about my ego?’