So today, he would act the part of a besotted lover. He would tempt her. Lure her. He would whisper sweet words. Poetry. Flowers. Jewelry. Whatever it took. His lip curled. How hard could it be?
He dropped the razor to the counter, wiping the last vestiges of shaving cream off his face with a towel.
He would not, repeat, would not—he glared at himself—take her to his bed.
Damn it, he wouldn’t!
He heard a door slam and suddenly Eve was standing behind him. His jaw dropped as he looked at her in the mirror. She smiled back serenely.
“Good morning.”
“Eve.” He whirled around with a gasp. “What have you done?”
CHAPTER FIVE
EVE had been beaming at him, but now she felt suddenly shy. She put her hand to her hair, which yesterday had hung past her breasts but now barely touched her collarbone. “I had my hair cut.”
“I can see that.”
“So why did you ask?” she retorted pertly, squaring her shoulders. “Honestly!”
He ignored that, walking around her in a circle in the wide marble bathroom, looking her up and down.
She lifted her chin defiantly, daring him to criticize her.
The sleekly modern, rather than sexy, blunt-cut pageboy hairstyle wasn’t her only change. Instead of the tight red dress and overflowing cleavage she’d had last night, she was now dressed in a cotton jersey cardigan and long knit skirt in pale rose. The simple garments were still pretty, she hoped, but natural—not to mention stretchy against her expanding pregnancy. And the pink flat sandals were certainly easier to wear than the stiletto heels.
She now felt comfortable in her own skin rather than like someone trying to gain attention through her clothing.
But he only frowned at her.
“I don’t understand,” he muttered, lifting his hand as if to touch her, then dropping it again. “Where did you buy this?”
“At a boutique in the Mercerie recommended by the concierge.”
“Did you take Kefalas with you?”
“Yes,” she sighed. “I didn’t want to, but he insisted on it. He wouldn’t even let me use the credit cards in my purse, but insisted I charge everything to your accounts.”
“Good.” He peered down at her. “You look different,” he mumbled.
Different as in bad? She shuffled her feet, feeling awkward under his scrutiny.
“Why the makeover?” he asked, tilting his head.
She took a deep breath. How could she explain how horrifying it had been to have men constantly gawking at her? How to explain how wretched she’d felt when Talos had nearly started a brawl against five men just because of some strangers’ low whistles and murmured appreciation of her charms that were too flagrantly on display? She licked her bare lips.
“Um,” she managed, “the clothes in my suitcase just, er, didn’t fit right.”
He lifted a dark eyebrow. “That’s not what you said when I bought them for you in Athens.”
“You bought the clothes?” she blurted out. “Even the red dress?”
“Yes.”
She swallowed. Now she’d sounded ungrateful. “They were all lovely. Really. But…”
“But?”