“That’s awesome.” Gavin’s rich voice rang with admiration. “I’d like to see your photos, too.”
“Form a line, form a line,” joked Elle, raising her glass. “But seriously, Robert Pattison? I wish I was a jet-setting photographer and not a lowly administrative assistant.” She did a mock pout.
Bree very much doubted that Elle was just a “lowly administrative assistant.” She waved and chatted with everyone as if she was the owner of the company, not the owner’s right-hand woman.
“Hang tough, Cinderella. You’ll get to go to the ball one day. But in the meantime, you’d better find your boss. I haven’t seen him anywhere.”
“I’ll go track him down. Nice to meet you, Bree, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Elle marched smartly off into the crowd.
“Brock has been a bit distracted lately.” Gavin leaned in until his delicious masculine scent stole over her. “A lot going on.”
The clang of a spoon hitting a glass snagged their attention.
Bree turned to see a gray-haired man in a conservative suit, wreathed in smiles. Amazingly, the entire room fell silent.
“It’s our oldest client,” murmured Gavin. “Walter Prentice. We’re here to celebrate the launch of a new campaign for his company planned by Celia, one of our account execs. It’s going really well.”
“It’s a great pleasure to spend an evening with the most impressive creative talent in the entire United States.” The older man’s voice carried through the crowded space. “In the years my company has worked with Maddox Communications, I’ve been pleased to get to know many of you as personal friends. I’ve just learned that Flynn Maddox and his lovely wife, Renee, are expecting their first baby. I’d like you to join with me in celebrating their new family with a champagne toast.”
Already waiters carried trays full of champagne glasses around the room.
“Flynn is Brock Maddox’s younger brother. He got back together with his wife recently after a long separation.” Gavin’s warm breath tickled her ear.
“How lovely.” Bree smiled and accepted a sparkling glass of bubbly. “And very sweet of your client to make a fuss.”
“He’s a nice guy. Very family oriented. Been married to his wife, Angela, for forty years.”
“Impressive. Nearly all my dad’s friends are divorced. Some of them several times.”
“That’s a shame.” Gavin sipped his champagne. “Marriage should be for life—otherwise what’s the point?”
His earnest gaze met hers—and made her gulp champagne too fast. “I’m sure you’re right. But I’ve never been married, so I have no idea what it’s really like.” Her words came out a bit rushed. It was downright freaky to be discussing marriage on a first date, let alone a first date with a man like Gavin Spencer.
“Me, either.” He grinned, boyish and charming. “But I hope that when I do tie the knot, it will be the kind of marriage I’ll toast with champagne forty years later.”
Bree tugged her eyes away. Okay, she must be dreaming. This couldn’t possibly be real. There was no such thing as a gorgeous, dashing and successful man who wanted to stay married to one woman for life.
Was there?
Walter Prentice raised his filled champagne glass. “A toast to the happy couple! May their family be blessed with many years of happiness, and not too many sleepless nights.” He grinned. “My own children have brought me so much joy. I know that Flynn and Renee will be fantastic parents.”
He looked down, then directly at a tall, black-haired man, who Bree guessed might be Flynn. “You know our company slogan—family is everything. Well, it’s not just a slogan, it’s a way of life.” He raised his glass.
The room buzzed with cheers. “Oh, my gosh, that really is their slogan, isn’t it?” Bree laughed. “I’ve seen their ads on TV.”
Gavin’s gray eyes twinkled. “I guess sometimes believing your own publicity isn’t such a bad thing. Hey, there’s Brock. Come meet the big boss.”
Bree’s eyes widened as he slid his fingers to the small of her back to guide her across the room, claiming her as his date in front of everyone—friends, coworkers, clients. Almost as if he was showing her off.
She fought the urge to pinch herself. Any minute now she’d wake up in her own bed, with Faith and Ali stretched, purring, on the duvet next to her. But until then she’d better keep a smile on her face.
Never a morning person, Bree had barely managed to drag herself out of bed by the time Elle showed up at her door. She and Gavin had stayed at the party until nearly 1 a.m. Once again, he’d dropped her home without dropping a hint about coming in.
And without trying to kiss her.
“Hey, Bree!” Elle kissed her on the cheek like they were old friends. “I brought your bear claw and some coffee. I bet you need it after last night. Gavin must have introduced you to everyone in the room.” She handed Bree a to-go cup full of steaming coffee.
“He may have even introduced me to some of them twice. It was all a blur after about ten o’clock. Come in.” She ushered Elle into the bright room. Ornate Victorian paned glass covered one wall and part of the sloped ceiling, creating the bright studio light that gave the space its name.
“Oh, my lord, look at the view.” Elle put the paper bakery bag on the small dining table and moved to the window. “I bet on a clear day you can see Japan from here.”
“Almost.” Bree grinned. “I do love watching boats in the bay.”
“I guess you’ll miss the view when you move in with Gavin.” Elle lifted a brow.
Bree froze. “What? There’s nothing going on between Gavin and me. I only just met him.”
“Really?” Elle’s eyes widened. “I got the definite impression that you two were a serious item.”
“He was being very…solicitous, but I only met him the night before.”
“You’re kidding me.” Elle’s eyes narrowed. “I know you and I only just met, so I shouldn’t even ask this, but you’ve kissed, right?”
“Not even a peck.” A prickle of embarrassment ran over her. If she were cute like Elle, he probably would have tried. “I think he’s just being friendly.”
“But he kept putting his arm around you.” Elle cocked her head. “That’s not the kind of thing you do with a friend. Nope. He’s definitely after you. Probably just taking it slow.”
Bree shrugged, hoping the heat in her face didn’t show. “Let me get some plates.”
They chatted about the house and the neighborhood while they ate their pastries and sipped the strong coffee. After they ate, Bree showed Elle some of her photos.
“You have an amazing eye. In each picture there’s something of the essence of the individual. I know how hard that is to capture. I can’t take a decent portrait to save my life. I’m lucky if their eyes are open.”
“I wish I could offer some tips, but I’m afraid I’m not sure how I do it.”
“Genius. Talent. All those things I don’t have as a photographer.” Elle smiled. “It’s not hard to see why Gavin’s crazy about you.”
“Oh, stop! First of all, he’s not crazy about me. Second of all, he hasn’t seen my photos.”
“Yes, he has. He was showing everyone the Black Book in the office on Friday.”
“Was he really?” Bree bit her lip.
“One word. Besotted.” Elle crossed her arms. “A man in love. Sometimes it happens that fast.”
“Oh, come on. What could Gavin possibly see in me? I’m definitely not the type men fall head over heels for.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Well, let’s see. My hair has a mind of its own, which changes with the barometric pressure. I need to lose weight. And the only famous person I bear a resemblance to is one Duncan Kincannon, Tenth Laird of Aislin. You can see him halfway down the stairs in the main hall, wrapped in a gilt frame.”
Elle giggled. “I bet Gavin loves your sense of humor.”
“That’s about all there is to love.”
“What nonsense! Though…” She tipped her head to one side and pressed a figure to her lips. “If you don’t mind my saying so…I can see a little room for improvement.”
Bree cringed inside her baggy college sweatshirt. “More than a little room, I’m afraid.”
“You’re lovely as you are, but you could be lovelier. I spent a summer working at a froufrou spa in Santa Barbara. I learned all kinds of brilliant tricks there.”
“Like what?”
“Your hair. It’s curly, right?”
“I think frizzy is a better description.”
“No, seriously, will you take it down for a sec?”
Bree pulled the ponytail band from her hair with shaky fingers. The heavy mass fell—frizzily—over her shoulders.
“Oh, yes. You’ve got lovely ringlets in there. We just have to set them free.”
“How do you do that?”
Elle smiled mysteriously. “We need to gather a few tools.”
It was nearly four in the afternoon by the time Elle was satisfied with her work. They’d spent an hour in the sun while Elle filed and polished Bree’s nails, and they waited for artfully applied lemon juice to scorch highlights into Bree’s hair.
Next, Elle conditioned her hair. She’d rinsed, then applied yet more conditioner—gloppy handfuls of it—and made Bree swear she’d never let her hair dry without conditioner on it again.
While Bree dripped conditioner onto the wood floors, Elle rifled through her wardrobe, tut-tutting and holding items up to Bree’s complexion. In despair, she marched Bree—hair still damp—out the door and down to Union Street, where she encouraged her to try on, and ultimately buy, three very expensive new bras and several mix-and-match pieces from a trendy boutique. Elle made the whole thing so enjoyable, Bree felt as if they were BFFs out for an adventure rather than two women who’d only met the night before.
Once coordinating shoes were found, they hurried back to the apartment where Elle applied a loose powder all over her face, “to brighten you up a bit,” as she said. She brushed light blush over Bree’s cheekbones, and smudged gray-green shadow around her eyes. A touch of rose-pink lipstick gave a subtle punch to her color, without making her look like a clown.
“Your hair’s finally dry.” Elle arranged it about her shoulders. “Why don’t you look in the mirror?”
Half afraid of what she’d see, Bree made her way across the studio—no small feat in the heeled ankle boots Elle had talked her into.
A long mirror hung behind the bathroom door, and she inhaled as she pulled it open.
She squinted for a moment, looking the image up and down. Then she laughed aloud. “Who is that woman in my mirror?”
“It’s you, babe.”
“Not possible. This woman is trim and elegant, and has silky ringlets with blond highlights.”
“It’s all you. Standing up straight is a big part of it. Tall girls like you often stoop because you’re afraid to stand out. If you do those yoga poses I showed you just once a day, you’ll really see a difference in your posture.”
“It never would have occurred to me that clothes which fit could make me look thinner!”
“You have a gorgeous, curvy figure and you should show it off.”
“Who knew?” Bree grinned at her reflection. “And I swear on my life, I’ll never let my hair dry without conditioner again.”
“That’s my girl. So, when are you seeing Gavin next?”
Three
Gavin called on Sunday and invited Bree to a gallery opening on Tuesday night. A photography show. Said he wanted her opinion of the artist’s work.
Naturally, she said yes.
For the opening she chose a wrap dress in a dark eggplant color that was subtle and dramatic at the same time. The cut flattered her hourglass figure—who knew she had one?—and made an asset of her height. For the first time in years, she wore heels, which probably made her about five foot eleven. She’d bravely “washed” her hair using only conditioner and it had come out shockingly well—a mass of shiny ringlets. As she sparingly applied some of the subtle makeup Elle had left for her, she wondered how Gavin would react.
At seven o’clock on the dot she heard a knock on the private door to her studio.
Heart pounding, she crossed the slippery wood floor as gracefully as possible in her heels and pulled it open.
“Hi, Br—” Gavin’s mouth fell open.
“Hey, Gavin.” She smiled. “How was work today?”
“Great. It was really good.” He blinked, and peered at her curiously. “You look different.”
“Just a little.” She shrugged and turned into the loft. Part of her wanted to laugh out loud. “New dress.”
“It looks stunning on you.” His voice was deeper than usual. He looked devastating himself, in dark pants and a white shirt with a barely visible gray stripe.
“Thanks. Let me get my bag.” She slung the small beaded vintage purse, which used to belong to her mom, over her shoulder. “I’m looking forward to the exhibit.”
“Me, too.” She turned to see him staring at her, a furrow between his brows.
“Something wrong?”
“Oh, no.” He blinked. “No, nothing at all.” He glanced lower, taking in the soft drape of her new dress over her hips. Her skin hummed under his hungry gaze.
He does find me attractive.
The feeling was utterly new, a strange and surprising thrill. She pulled her shoulders back, trying to maintain the posture Elle had showed her, and to hide the fact that her pulse was still pounding and her palms sweating, despite her composed appearance.
Gavin cleared his throat. “My car’s downstairs.”
They walked into the Razor gallery arm in arm. She was only a couple of inches shorter than him in her new heels. Eyes, once again, turned to stare. But this time they weren’t glares of female indignation that she—lowly and insignificant plain Jane—was on Gavin’s arm.
No, this time the men were looking, too.
Bree tossed her curls behind her shoulders as she accepted a glass of white wine. “Shall we look at the images?”
Even her voice sounded sultrier, as if overnight she’d morphed into a more sophisticated version of herself.
They looked closely at the photographs. Large digital prints of people, mostly at parties and nightclubs, the colors highly saturated and intoxicating. “I can almost hear the music,” she said, looking at a couple entwined on a dance floor, perspiration gleaming on their barely clad bodies.
“That’s why I like Doug’s images. They invoke the other senses. I’m hoping he’ll do a vodka campaign I have in mind. It’s hard to make a flat piece of paper say ‘drink me,’ but I think this guy could pull it off.” He pointed the artist out to Bree—a short, skinny guy with numerous piercings, a goatee and an air of manic enthusiasm.
“Now, he looks like an artist,” she whispered. “Maybe I need to pierce my nose. What do you think?” She tilted her head, fighting the urge to grin.
“Definitely not. Your nose is absolutely perfect already.” Gavin’s warm gray gaze rested on her face. Her skin sizzled slightly under the heat of his admiration. “Your eyes are green.”
“Yes.” She blushed. “I got contacts.” Elle had talked her into trying tinted ones.
“They’re cute. And I can see you better without glasses in the way.”
“Aren’t we here to look at art? I’m starting to feel self-conscious.”
Though she had to admit it was a good feeling to be admired. When Gavin went to get them fresh glasses of wine, a tall man with spiky blond hair approached her and made small talk about the images.
The look on Gavin’s face when he returned was priceless.
He had to get Bree out of here.
Gavin tried not to scowl at the punk who’d horned in on her while he turned his back for a moment. He recognized the guy, a Finnish video editor with a tinny laugh. They’d worked together on a storyboard. “Hey, Lars. How’s it goin
g?”
“Good, Gavin. Good.” He turned his gel-crusted head back to Bree. “So you’re a photographer, too?”
“Yes.” Bree smiled sweetly. Gavin hadn’t noticed how full and lush her lips were before. Lust mingled with irritation in his veins. “Well, kind of. I haven’t actually done a professional shoot yet.”
“Bree and I were just heading out to dinner.” His statement was more of a growl than he’d intended.
Every man in the room was looking at her. And who could blame them? The richly colored dress draped her curves in a way that should be illegal. In her heels she was probably the tallest women in the room, and with the regal tilt of her head and her cascade of shiny gold-tipped curls, she shone like a goddess.
“I’d love to take a quick peek at the images in the next room. Lars was just telling me about them. They’re portraits of the artist’s friends.”
Gavin decided he’d like to tell Lars a thing or two. But he resisted the primal urges surging in his blood. “Sure, let’s go look.”
He slid his arm through Bree’s, claiming her, and guided her across the floor. He couldn’t resist scowling at one dark-haired charmer who shot Bree a look so flirtatious it was downright tacky.
“Oh, look at this sweet couple,” she exclaimed. He peered into a small square-framed image. A pair of teenage lovers were wrapped in each other on a park bench.
Gavin could readily imagine being in such a clinch with Bree. Her lush curves called out to him, urging his palms to explore their hills and valleys.
Arousal surged through him, and he tugged his gaze from Bree’s breathtaking cleavage back to the artwork at hand. “Very nice,” he murmured.
She tossed her cascade of curls behind her shoulder. He could almost swear her hair looked totally different last time he’d seen her. It had been tied back—maybe that was it.
It wasn’t just the hair. Something was very different about Bree. She’d been pretty in a quiet and unassuming way when they’d met. Now she was undeniably a knockout. Even the way she carried herself seemed altered. Before, her shoulders were rounded, apologetic. Now she threw them back proudly.
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