Chapter Two

I stalked to the bathroom and reached for the robe with FH embroidered on the left breast. I would have time to finish The Millionaire’s Virgin Bride then read all the others I’d planned. It would be fine. In fact it would suit me very well. I slammed my hands into the robe and let the softness embrace me.

The phone trilled to life on the bedside table. I picked it up.

“Ashley, Ashley, is that you?”

“Hi, Derek.”

“Ah, good, excellent, you made it through the snow then, it’s getting pretty heavy out there and you left later than me. You still looked up to your head in work when I passed by your office.”

“Oh, er, yes, just reading through positions.” Not alarm positions though, the sexual positions Tobias was dreaming up for his new wife’s first night of pleasure. He’d come up with a very naughty idea of bending her over the ship’s bridge. A plan of tying her hands to the rail and finding her elusive hot spot from behind. My stomach had flipped as he’d mulled over his plan and I was still waiting to find out if he carried it through. Would it hurt? Would she like it? Would it be the best position to find her G-spot? I’d heard all about G-spots but had no experience of finding my own.

Derek was talking again.

“Um, sorry, what?” I asked, rubbing my temples.

“I’ll collect you from your room if you’d like. Save you walking in alone.”

“Oh, er.” Bless him, he was old enough to be my grandfather and to be honest he sometimes treated me as if I was his granddaughter.

“What room are you in?”

I responded, “217,” automatically, then kicked myself for my hasty answer.

“Okay, I’ll be there in ten minutes. Be ready, poppet.”

“But, but I don’t think I will be—” The line rang dead in my ear, a sharp monotone hum. “Going for dinner,” I said quietly. Damn. I should never have picked up the phone. I should have let him think I was stuck in the snow or maybe even told him I was sick. Or I should have screamed that stupid Dawn had switched my outfit in her pathetic attempt at livening up my life.

I stalked to the minibar. Pulled out a tiny bottle of white wine and poured it into a tumbler. Glugging back the oaky liquid, I thought of the heroines in my books. What would confident-but-waif-like Saffron do in my position? Or the wild and untamed Henrietta from the Swashbuckling series? I pictured them in a luxury hotel, a sexy outfit and a room full of people downstairs. Would they stay in? Would they curl up with a book? Realization dawned on me as I polished off the wine. Of course they wouldn’t stay in. My heroines wouldn’t even consider it.

But I wasn’t those girls.

I glanced at the clock. I had ten minutes.

Okay, so I wasn’t Saffron or Henrietta but I would try on the dress. Just quickly. If it was awful I would actually make myself sick so Derek wouldn’t force me to go to the meal. And if the dress was okay, then perhaps I’d think about wearing it, although, who was I kidding, it wasn’t likely to be okay, not with my slim hips and lack of chest. On me it would look like a shapeless sack.

I slammed my glass on the table and walked into the living room, letting the robe slide from my arms and land in a heap on the floor. I stared at the black lace underwear. May as well try it on too, I didn’t fancy wearing the graying sports bra I’d had on all day, and definitely not the knickers I’d dampened thinking about Tobias.

Oh, the new thong fit like a dream. I’d always thought lace would be itchy but no, so soft, so smooth. And it sat neatly, and surprisingly comfortably, in between my butt cheeks.

The strapless bra held my modest breasts upward, as if they were being displayed on a shelf. The flesh spilled to the very edge of the cups and looked soft and slightly wobbly. Like Dawn’s did in the summer, when she wore low tops and laughed. I’d never seen my breasts look so feminine and stared at them in the long wall mirror, fascinated.

But I didn’t have the luxury of time so I reached for the dress and slipped it over my head. The material was an indulgence, not silky or satiny but smooth, dense and somehow light too, and it smelled new, like shops and fresh air. As my head popped through the neck and the thin straps settled in the groove of my shoulders, the rest of the dress fell around my body. After fastening the concealed side zip, I looked down, shocked for a moment to see such a bright color on my usually drab torso. The neckline sat the merest fraction above the bra, which meant the soft wobbliness of my new curves was still displayed. The waist nipped in and as I smoothed my hands into the dip between ribs and hips, I realized it hugged my shape perfectly. The flare over my thighs was slightly looser as I walked to the mirror, which meant I could move comfortably, in fact no, more than comfortably, I could walk with the luscious material sliding around the top of my legs—it felt wonderful.

I dragged in a breath and blew it out slowly. Roamed my gaze from my knees to my shoulders. I had never, in all my life, seen my body look so shapely or so curvy. The dress gave me breasts, a waist and hips like Marilyn Monroe. And the color. It made the skin on my arms and chest glow, as though I’d been in the sunshine for a week. Not only that, it reflected onto my cheeks, often too pale this time of year; I looked as if I’d had an invigorating walk in frosty woods.

Turning, I examined my butt. The dress hugged the outline but not so much that it looked tarty. The round globes of my cheeks could be made out but not in explicit detail and there was no hint of the underwear beneath.

I remembered the tale of A Mistress for Midnight and how Georgina had worn a red dress to hunt down her man. The red dress had given her the self-assurance and the confidence she needed to pull off her dangerous plan. Red had suited her. Red, it seemed, suited me too.

I glanced at the hold-up stockings. I would need something on my legs if I wore this dress to dinner. But seriously, fishnets? Couldn’t Dawn have just gotten me a nice, thick pair of opaque tights? They would have suited me much better and been so much more practical. Sliding the stockings from their pack, I tickled my fingertips over the delicate holes. They were so dainty yet so sexy. I couldn’t imagine wearing them.

Sitting on the sofa, I carefully maneuvered my toes into the ends of the stockings. Unfurled them and watched, fascinated, as my ankles, calves, then knees and thighs transformed into someone else’s. Someone sensual and sexy, someone who had the right shape legs to wear fishnet stockings. I smoothed the dainty lace rim at my upper thighs, stood and let my dress drop over them. My gaze once more went to the mirror. They looked right with the dress. More than right, they looked great. My legs had taken on a different shape, my calves looked a little rounder and more elegant and the tiny diamond holes on the stockings were more subtle than I thought they would be.

Mmm, two out of three couldn’t stop me going to dinner. There was no denying the dress did suit me and the stockings felt amazing.

I looked at the red shoes sitting on the floor by the sofa. They were bad shoes, sinful shoes, shoes that made you think of stripping naked or pressing the spiked heel onto the chest of a tied-up, aroused man and making him beg for his sexual release. Stolen and Seduced sprang to my mind once more. Oh, I loved that book—the thought of being held captive and handing over all responsibility for my pleasure to someone edgy and dangerous was such a naughty turn-on.

But the shoes were where Dawn had gone too far. They would never work for me.

Slipping my toes into the pliable leather, I was instantly two inches taller. I looked in the mirror and was surprised to see myself more than just stretched. The small of my back had arched inward, which jutted out my breasts slightly. My legs appeared longer, my ankles more elegant. Somehow I was balanced.

I took a tentative step forward and felt the spikes dip into the lush cream carpet. But it was okay, the shoes didn’t nip or rub and were quite secure to walk in. Lifting my right leg, I studied the silver heel. Pointy and glistening, it was a statement stiletto. A stiletto that said, “I can handle what comes my way so don’t start something you can’t finish.” Daisy had said that to Gray in The Barmaid’s Brew.

I gulped as I realized that these shoes made me like Daisy. These shoes said I could handle what came my way. I pushed my hands through my hair. But could I? I wasn’t a busty barmaid with a gutter mouth. I was Ashley Jones, employee of the year at Safe as Houses Chelsea branch and lover of romance books. I couldn’t take what Daisy had taken from Gray. What that guy had done with a whip and a neck-scarf had had me trembling as I’d scrolled down the pages.

There was a sudden sharp bang on the door.

“One minute,” I called. “I’ll be there in one minute, Derek.”

“No rush,” he called back, his voice muffled through the wood.

I stared into my green eyes. The hazel flecks at their base seemed even more pronounced. Must be the wine. Was I really going to do this? Was I really going to wear the dress Dawn had sneakily put in my bag? Could I? My figure looked great, there was no denying it, and the shoes and stockings made me feel sexy and hovering on the edge of confident. The underwear beneath the dress a secret only I knew, a sensual and elegant extension of me.

I swallowed a nervous lump the size of a Christmas tree. I would do this. And if it went horribly wrong I’d blame Dawn.

“Ashley, how are you doing?” Derek called through the door. “Don’t want to miss the pre-dinner champers now, do we?”

“Just coming,” I said, grabbing the volume hairspray Dawn had provided. I didn’t read the label, just finger brushed my waves then, flicking my hair around as though I were on some cheesy advert, liberally sprayed the lemon-scented mist. It worked. I suddenly looked as though I had twice my normal amount of hair. Who would have thought that was possible in five seconds?

Knock, knock.

“Coming,” I called, reaching the makeup bag from the side of the holdall and tottering up close to the mirror. I added a quick flick of powder, a sweep of jet-black Double-Ur-Lash mascara and finally a slick of fire-engine red lipstick—phew! It was so red!

“Coming now, Derek,” I said, shoving the lipstick into my small, black clutch bag and giving my wrists a squirt of my floral perfume, which thankfully Dawn hadn’t removed. I dashed to the door, rubbing my wrists together, and yanked it open.

Derek stood before me, a navy pinstripe suit straining over his generous belly and a green tie dotted with tiny Christmas crackers hanging beneath his double chin.

“Wow,” he said, his eyes widening behind his glasses. “Is that you, Ashley?”

A knot of doubt clenched my stomach. What the hell was I doing? I was stupid to think I could pull off a look like Dawn’s. I would be a laughingstock.

I stepped backward into the room. “I, er don’t feel so good,” I said, my mouth forming a lie about nausea and sickness, a contagious rash and a sky-high fever.

“Well, you certainly look good,” he said, following me in. “In fact, you look, if you don’t mind me saying, absolutely stunning.”

I turned to him, a bubble of hope rising in my chest. “Do you really think so?”

“Hell, yeah.” His gaze flicked to my toes then back to my face. He blew out a breath that made his jowls wobble. “Blimey, if I was thirty years younger and didn’t have my Janice, you would be in trouble, young lady.” He gave a good-humored chuckle. “I love your party look, glad you don’t wear it to the office though, the guys on the next floor wouldn’t get anything done, particularly Gareth.”

I smoothed my hands over my hips and looked at my shoes.

“Really,” he said, his voice quieter, “you look perfect for the Christmas party except…”

I gulped. “Except.”

“I’m a guy and I don’t really know about this sort of stuff, but do you have a pair of earrings or a necklace? My Janice always puts something a little sparkly on, especially for a Christmas night out, she says it makes her feel nice.” He smiled gently at me.

“Oh, yes, actually I do have a necklace…somewhere.” I dug into the side pocket of the bag and pulled out the silver necklace my parents had bought for my twenty-first birthday. It was a thin link chain with a tiny diamond-encrusted heart pendant.

“Here, let me,” Derek said, reaching for it with his podgy fingers.

I turned and scooped up my puff of hair to expose the back of my neck. He lifted the necklace and fastened the clasp at my nape.

“Thanks,” I said, studying my reflection in the mirror one last time. I looked good, Derek was right, what I was wearing was perfect for a Christmas party and, it seemed, was perfect for me too. I tried to feel angry at Dawn, but staring at my new image all I could feel was gratitude. I should have listened to her earlier, years earlier. Because now I felt like Saffron and Daisy and Henrietta all rolled together.

I licked my bright-red lips and tasted a hint of the strawberry gloss the lipstick was infused with. I was ready to come out of my hole.