Authors: Kate Perry
“You never talk about your mother,” Summer stated out of the blue.
The question caught Em by surprise. She froze with her sandwich wedge halfway to her mouth. It’d seemed like a brilliant idea to have the impromptu picnic on the park bench. The day was unusually clear, if cold, and they hadn’t had lunch together in a long time.
But she was going to regret suggesting the outing if Summer was going to bring things up like this. “My mother?” she said finally.
Summer nodded, picking a carrot out of her salad and eating it. “You never mention her. Aren’t you very close?”
“Close is a relative term, isn’t it?” She took a big bite of her sandwich so she’d have an excuse not to talk, but it turned to mealy paste the more she chewed.
Her friend picked at her salad. “How often do you speak to her?”
Never, if she had anything to say about it. She pointed to her mouth and shook her head, not even trying to swallow.
“I used to talk to my mother every day.” Summer set her salad aside and looked up at the sky, tears glistening in her eyes. “Last night, I got home from the office and caught myself picking up the phone to call her.”
Em wilted, feeling awful for her friend. She forced the last mouthful down and took a sip of her water. “I’m sure it’ll get easier,” she said, feeling out of her depths.
Summer gave her a watery smile.
“You know what you need?” Em brushed the crumbs off her skirt and stood up. “You need to go shopping for something pretty.”
“Lingerie?” her friend asked hopefully.
She chuckled. “Sure, if that’s what you want.”
“I know the perfect store.” Summer threw away the rest of her salad and stood up.
Em looked at the sandwich wedge in her hand and tossed that, too. She’d lost her appetite. She wrapped the uneaten half carefully and took it along. “Do you mind if I make a quick stop before?”
Summer glanced at the food in Em’s hand. “The shoe man?”
She shrugged, not wanting her friend to make a fuss about it. They turned the corner back onto Regent Street and walked toward the corner where he usually sat.
His smile brightened when he saw her, but he was chatting merrily to the man whose shoes he shined. Not wanting to interrupt, Em set the half sandwich discreetly to one side, winked at him, and rejoined Summer.
“You’re a sweet girl, Em Shepherd,” Summer said, twining her arm through hers.
“He goes hungry to make sure his family eats,” she admitted hoarsely. His children were lucky they had such a great father. She couldn’t count the number of times she’d gone to school hungry because her father had taken the milk money for his drugs.
Summer patted her arm. “One day, you’re going to make a great mother.”
“You think so?” She’d always worried about following in her mother’s footsteps. The apple never fell far from the tree. She’d always controlled her urges tightly.
“I really do. Here we are.” Summer opened the door and ushered her in. “I feel better already.”
“This is lovely,” she said, picking up a pink demi bra. “It’ll look gorgeous on you.”
“I don’t own anything pink, but there’s always a first time.” Summer looked for her size in the bra and the matching thong and then looked around the store. “And now for you.”
“Me?”
“You need to try something on, too.”
She shook her head. “No, I don’t need new underwear.”
“It’s not about needing it.” Summer held up a red satin bra. “This would look fabulous against your skin.”
She looked at it longingly. She
loved
red, but she never wore it because it’d been her mother’s favorite color. “I don’t know, Summer.”
“Just try it on.” She pushed it at Em, forcing her to take it. “Shall we?”
She followed reluctantly, feeling like she held a viper in her hands.
It was okay. She’d try it on, tell Summer it didn’t fit, and that’d be that. She wouldn’t even look in the mirror, so she wouldn’t get tempted by it. She went into the dressing room, resolute.
“Do you have it on?” Summer asked a few minutes later. She poked her head into Em’s dressing room.
“
Eep.
” Em startled, crossing her arms in front of her chest.
“Let me see.” Her friend pushed her arms away. “Em, you look amazing. Look at yourself.”
She grudgingly faced the mirror. The red satin cupped and propped her up, offering her breasts like they were a luscious dessert. It made her look ripe and tempting.
She hated it.
“You have to get it,” Summer insisted. “I can’t believe you hide that under your boxy clothes, Em. Most women would kill for a figure like yours.”
She shrugged, turning away from the mirror.
“I’ll let you change.” Summer backed out.
Em quickly took the red off and carefully rehung it on its hanger. She buttoned her blouse all the way to the top and left the bra hanging in the dressing room when she left.
Her friend frowned at her. “You aren’t getting it?”
“It didn’t suit me.”
“But—”
“I like this one though.” She picked up a white bra from the table in front of her. It was cotton, plain, without even a tiny bow to give it any excitement.
“But that’s so—” Summer shook her head, seemingly at a loss for words.
“It’s perfect.” She forced a bright smile and marched to the register to pay for the ugly bra.
Chapter Fourteen
Rosalind’s phone rang as she stepped out of the shower. She glanced at the screen, saw the goofy picture of Bijou she used as her ID, and smiled wide. “You have impeccable timing,” she said as she wrapped herself in a towel.
“Are you getting it on?” her best friend asked with her usual bluntness.
“Alas, no.” She sighed, thinking of Nick and how he’d been so resistant to her advances.
“Wait. That sigh meant something.” Bijou gasped. “Is there a boy?”
“He’s all man, and I’m not sure. He seems interested one moment and then pushes me away the next.”
“Is he British?”
“Yes. Why?”
“British men are strange.”
She shook her head as she pulled out clothes from the dresser. “He’s not strange. He’s being gallant.”
“And that’s strange. You need a dude who’ll bang you silly, especially given the recent family events.” Bijou paused. “How are you holding up?”
Sitting on the bed, she considered the question. “Good, I think. I miss home, but it’s okay being here.”
“Portia isn’t giving you shit?”
“Of course she is.” She smiled wryly. “I’m in London, not an alternate universe.”
“Your mom?” Bijou asked, her voice serious.
“Mum is”—she shook her head—”acting oddly.”
“That makes sense. Her husband died with another woman.”
“But it’s a nice odd. She asked to see my designs.”
“Whoa.”
She nodded. “I know.”
“When are you coming home?” Bijou had a way of getting to the core of the matter.
Sighing, she said, “I don’t know.”
There was a contemplative pause, and then her best friend said, “Then I’m giving you homework.”
Rosalind grinned. Bijou had been giving her “homework” since boarding school, and it always had to do with the opposite sex. “Yes?”
“Get this strange Brit you’re infatuated with naked.”
“Why do you think I’m infatuated with him?”
“Please.” Bijou snorted. “You’re my girl. I know.”
Rosalind hung up, a huge smile on her face and a plan formulating.
The doorbell rang.
Rosalind was ready for it. She opened it quickly, her belly fluttering with nerves. “Hello, Nick.”
She wondered if he heard the huskiness in her voice. She wondered if he knew why she’d called him over.
“Rosalind.” His gaze ate her up like she was dessert. The way his eyes lingered on her lips, she knew he wanted to kiss her as much as she wanted him.
This was the right thing to do. He’d open her father’s office for her so she could search without Portia getting in the way,
and
she could take care of her homework with Nick.
Win—for her, in any case.
She held open the door and motioned him in. “Are you ready to be a dragon slayer?”
“Where’s this beast you called about?”
She pointed down the hall. “The door to my father’s office is locked, and no one knows where the key is.”
His gaze followed where she indicated. A frown furrowed his forehead. For a moment she thought he was going to refuse, but then he said, “Let’s go look.”
She took his hand, happy when his fingers tightened on hers. When they stopped at the door, she looked around to make sure Portia wasn’t around. Her sister would go ballistic if she knew what she was going to do.
“You look like you’re afraid of getting caught,” Nick said.
“Of course not.” Reluctant—sure, but not afraid. She gestured to the door. “Have at it.”
He tested the doorknob, kneeling down for a closer look. Then he got out his wallet from his back pocket and pulled out a credit card.
“You can’t be serious,” Rosalind said.
He slid it into the crevice between the frame and the door and it popped open.
Rosalind frowned. “I was looking forward to you kicking it in with your foot.”
Putting his wallet away, he stood up. “If it’s a manly display you’d like …”
He slung her over his shoulder and carried her inside.
She squealed in surprise, laughing, her hands bracing herself on his back as he jostled her up and down. He tossed her onto the leather couch near the fireplace.
Before he could step away, she grabbed him by the jacket and brought him down on top of her, taking his mouth with hers.
It was delicious.
She sighed, loving the heavy feel of him on top of her. She wrapped her arms around his body and burrowed closer.
“Rosalind,” he murmured against her cheek.
“Before you say we should back off, let me assure you we really should. Trust me.” She tugged his jacket off his shoulders and began unbuttoning his shirt. “There’s only one way this could be better than it already is.”
“If we were naked?”
“See? We even think alike.” She pushed him up and pulled her top off.
He froze, staring at the thin, silk camisole she wore. She didn’t have to look down to know what he saw: the thin silk and the shadow of her breasts underneath.
She took his jacket and shirt off at the same time, admiring his built shoulders and chest. She traced a ridge of muscle—he obviously worked out. Unbuckling his belt, she said, “Take your shoes off.”
He sat back and toed his shoes off, one by one, his socks following. “You’re taking advantage of me, you know.”
“I’m the worst sort of predator.” She did a double take at his feet. “Are your toes pink?”
“I got a pedicure.” He held a foot out for her to inspect.
She grinned, climbing onto his lap. “Do you feel pretty?”
His fingers wove into her hair, holding her head gently as he looked into her eyes. “Pretty fabulous.”
The office door creaked open.
They both looked up to find a startled Fran in the threshold.
Rosalind cursed under her breath, backing off Nick’s lap and smoothing her hair. “I didn’t know you were here this afternoon.”
“Obviously.” Her former governess’s curious gaze stuck on Nick. “I reckon you found the key.”
“Nick helped me get in.”
“Is that what he helped with?” Fran asked with an amused lift of her brow.
Rosalind sighed, giving up any pretence of making the situation look less damning. “Fran, this is my friend Nick. Nick, Fran Watson is part of the family. She raised all of us and has abysmal timing.”
The older lady laughed as she backed out of the room. “Portia is due home shortly, and you know how she is about this room. Nick, it was a pleasure. Not as much a pleasure as it seems to be for Rosalind”—she winked—”but a pleasure nonetheless.”
Nick smiled, watching Fran discreetly close the door behind her. Then he faced Rosalind. “You said she raised you? Where was your mother?”
“Being a socialite.” She smiled wryly. “She had her charities and functions. It was fine. No one could have loved us more than Fran.”
He nodded, obviously thinking.
“I’m sorry we got interrupted. It’s as though the universe stepped in, isn’t it?” She put a hand on his leg. “I have an appointment tomorrow. I’d love it if you wanted to tag along.”
He held her hand, his smile warm again. “I’d love that.”
Chapter Fifteen
Nick arrived at the Summerhill house a few minutes earlier than Rosalind had asked him to come. But she answered the door almost instantly, so she must have been just as eager to see him as he was to see her.
“Hi,” she said, smiling at him with her whole being. Her hair was loose today, and her lips were glossy and inviting.
She raised on her toes to kiss his cheek. “I’d do better,” she whispered against his cheek, “but I’m afraid we may have an audience again.”
He brushed her hair aside. “Fran?”
She shook her head. “No, my niece. She’s fourteen, and I don’t want to set a bad example for her. Although for all I know she could teach me a thing or two about sex.”
He took her arm and led her away from the front door. “Do you want children?”
She shrugged. “With the right person, I suppose. I haven’t thought too closely on it. You?”
“Yes.” He wanted her to know what she was getting into. “I want at least two, with all the trappings.”
She nodded thoughtfully as they walked. “You’d be a good father.”
He blinked, surprised by the surge of pleasure her good opinion caused. “You think so?”
“Yes. You listen, and you care.” Her mouth turned down. “My father did neither of those things. Actually, he didn’t really want any of us.”
“But he had”—he caught himself before he said seven children—”a lot of daughters.”
“He wanted a son, so he had to keep trying, didn’t he?” Her smile was tinged with bitterness. “We were always a disappointment to him.”
“Is that why you moved away?”
“Primarily.” She shrugged. “My best friend grew up in San Francisco, and I used to spend all my holidays there. I fell in love.”