Lydia saw a person she didn’t recognise, with traces of herself lingering here and there. She was glad Milan had not gone for the full vamp in red or black—that was not a look she felt ready for yet, if ever. But the combination of sexy and sweet, tasteful and naughty, made her feel more feminine and fuckable than she had ever done before.
She laid her cheek against Milan’s hand when he loomed up behind her and took hold of her shoulders, leaning over her to gaze at her reflection. For that moment, Maxine melted away and they were the lone lovers, enjoying their desire for one another.
“See what a difference it makes,” he whispered, then he growled in her ear, causing her to shudder and visualise herself melting into a puddle on the floor. “If I could have you right here…”
He let his palms brush down her upper arms before stepping back.
“A dress,” he said to Maxine. “Something to bring out the curves, yes?”
“Like this?”
She handed over a halter-necked piece in royal blue satin, polka-dotted and ruched across the chest.
Milan grinned. “Just like that.”
“She’ll need petticoats.”
Lydia stepped into two layers of stiff netting before slipping the dress over her head. Looking again in the mirror, she was open-mouthed with awe at the sudden appearance of dangerous curves, swelling above and below her nipped-in waist.
“Every man is going to want you,” said Milan. “I’ll have to watch out.”
“She looks fabulous,” said Maxine admiringly. “She needs a strong lipstick and something doing with her hair. And some heels, of course. How could I forget the heels? Let me find some.”
She returned with beautiful shoes in a Mary Jane style, but with a thickish high heel and a slender ankle strap above the T-bar, in the exact shade of blue to match the dress.
“I never wear heels,” said Lydia nervously.
“You’ll need to practice your walk, then,” advised Maxine. “Come on. Strut. Wiggle your hips. Put one foot exactly in front of the other—it gives you a sashay.”
“It’s hard—I have to concentrate,” said Lydia, frowning at her feet.
“Don’t look at your feet. Shoulders back. Chin up.”
Feeling as if she were performing a military drill, Lydia paced the floor until Maxine was satisfied she had acquired the skill of walking in heels.
“Perfect!” Maxine applauded at last. She tied a blue polka-dot scarf in Lydia’s hair, which she flicked out to cover her shoulders. “Gorgeous. You recognised the potential there, Milan. Congratulations. But it’s far too cold to go out without a coat, and that thing she was wearing before is far too offensive to the eyes. How about this?”
She held up a long black coat in some kind of matted velvet fabric, with faux-fur at the neck and cuffs. Milan shrugged and put it on Lydia, who found that it fitted quite snugly once buttoned, and was both warm an
d striking.
“My goodness, you are going to slaughter them out there,” exclaimed Maxine. “Shall I just throw the old things away? Burn them?”
“No!” protested Lydia, but Milan was laughing at the suggestion and nodding his head.
“Keep them,” he said. “If she ever wants them back, she can come and collect them.”
Outside the shop, Milan put his hands either side of Lydia’s nipped-in waist and gave her a long, hard look.
“Maybe I could get my hair done,” said Lydia timidly, too aware of being a sex bomb only from the neck down.
“Hair done? Why?” Milan seemed lost in a world of distant thought, disconnected from reality.
“For the opera?”
“Opera? We’re not going to the opera.”
“Oh, but I thought—”