been thinking when she bought it. Shimmying
out of tiny panties she checked out the back in the full length
mirror. The dress sat snugly above her buttocks.
“I don’t know.”
She bit down hard on her bottom lip. “I feel naked.”
Worse, she felt
vulnerable, torn between adoring the dress and being scared to
death. Dinner with Nico wearing this was asking for trouble.
Especially after the way he’d been looking at her this afternoon.
And yet was she going to deny herself the chance to flirt with a
man who set her hormones on fire?
Rosie lifted a
brow and shook her head, hands on her hips.
“You know, I
don’t get you at times.”
Bronte met her
friend’s eyes in the mirror and raised a brow.
“You
don’t?”
Rosie’s
expression was quizzical. “It’s been almost two years since you’ve
had activity of a sexual nature.”
Here we go
again; Bronte suppressed a long suffering sigh. Keen to avoid a
debate about her lack of a love life, she released newly shampooed
hair and rubbed her scalp.
Then she picked
up a hair brush and turned to Rosie who’d plonked herself on the
bed.
“You’re
obsessed with sex. And your point is?”
“I’m only
obsessed with sex because I’m not getting any,” Rosie muttered,
then added before Bronte could interrupt, “Anyway, I’m not talking
about me. My point is an incredible man looked as if he could
swallow you whole this morning. And you lost the ability to
remember your name.”
Bronte sat on
the bed with a bump. Perhaps the whole dinner thing was a bad
idea.
Even though the
physical attraction couldn’t be denied, she didn’t need all these
conflicting emotions or the complications a man like Nico would
bring into her life. She rummaged around her small clutch bag and
found her Blackberry.
“I’ll tell him
I’m ill, a migraine.” Bronte rose, paced back and forth as her
friend watched her with big eyes and an even bigger grin. “No, I’ll
leave a message with Alexander to tell him I’m unwell and I can’t
make it.”
“Bronte Ludlow,
you’re running scared. Talk to me,” Rosie ordered.
She kept
pacing. “My skin feels too tight for my body.”
Rosie scowled.
“You mean he creeps you out?”
Bronte shook
her head, her brows knitted as she tapped the phone on the palm of
her hand.
“No, just the
opposite. There’s a strong connection. Too strong. I don’t like how
it makes me feel.”
“For goodness
sake, woman, get a grip. It’s only dinner with the man. It’s not as
if Nico Ferranti is in the market for a wife. He’s the king of love
them and leave them. He’s never been engaged and he’s never been
married.”
Bronte simply
stared at her.
“And how do you
know all this?”
“Google is my
friend,” Rosie said, without embarrassment or shame.
“You searched
him on the internet?”
“Of course. My
best friend is being chased by a lovely Latin. I want to know all
about him.”
“You need to
stop sniffing out men for me, I mean it.”
“I do not sniff
out men for you.” Ignoring Bronte’s snort, Rosie continued, “Well,
okay, I’ll admit to keeping a weather eye open for a likely
candidate. But you snagged this one on your own. Go, Bronte!”
“You watch too
many American sitcoms.”
“They’re the
best. You would’ve done the same for me.” Rosie told her, and then
thought for a moment. “Or maybe not. You have nothing to worry
about, my dear Bronte. Nico is not a keeper. He’s perfect for
you.”
“I’m not sure.
He only wants one thing.”
She sank onto
the bed.
Rosie held up
her hands in a ‘whatever’ sign.
“Yeah. Trust me
on this. It’s not only bricks and mortar.” Rosie caught her hand
and looked into her eyes. “You deserve to have fun, remember all
work and no play makes you a dull girl. I put good money on it Nico
is a fully paid up member of the screaming orgasm club. You could
do with a couple of those to exorcise that low life scumbag,
Jonathan.” She leaned back, raised her
out of tiny panties she checked out the back in the full length
mirror. The dress sat snugly above her buttocks.
“I don’t know.”
She bit down hard on her bottom lip. “I feel naked.”
Worse, she felt
vulnerable, torn between adoring the dress and being scared to
death. Dinner with Nico wearing this was asking for trouble.
Especially after the way he’d been looking at her this afternoon.
And yet was she going to deny herself the chance to flirt with a
man who set her hormones on fire?
Rosie lifted a
brow and shook her head, hands on her hips.
“You know, I
don’t get you at times.”
Bronte met her
friend’s eyes in the mirror and raised a brow.
“You
don’t?”
Rosie’s
expression was quizzical. “It’s been almost two years since you’ve
had activity of a sexual nature.”
Here we go
again; Bronte suppressed a long suffering sigh. Keen to avoid a
debate about her lack of a love life, she released newly shampooed
hair and rubbed her scalp.
Then she picked
up a hair brush and turned to Rosie who’d plonked herself on the
bed.
“You’re
obsessed with sex. And your point is?”
“I’m only
obsessed with sex because I’m not getting any,” Rosie muttered,
then added before Bronte could interrupt, “Anyway, I’m not talking
about me. My point is an incredible man looked as if he could
swallow you whole this morning. And you lost the ability to
remember your name.”
Bronte sat on
the bed with a bump. Perhaps the whole dinner thing was a bad
idea.
Even though the
physical attraction couldn’t be denied, she didn’t need all these
conflicting emotions or the complications a man like Nico would
bring into her life. She rummaged around her small clutch bag and
found her Blackberry.
“I’ll tell him
I’m ill, a migraine.” Bronte rose, paced back and forth as her
friend watched her with big eyes and an even bigger grin. “No, I’ll
leave a message with Alexander to tell him I’m unwell and I can’t
make it.”
“Bronte Ludlow,
you’re running scared. Talk to me,” Rosie ordered.
She kept
pacing. “My skin feels too tight for my body.”
Rosie scowled.
“You mean he creeps you out?”
Bronte shook
her head, her brows knitted as she tapped the phone on the palm of
her hand.
“No, just the
opposite. There’s a strong connection. Too strong. I don’t like how
it makes me feel.”
“For goodness
sake, woman, get a grip. It’s only dinner with the man. It’s not as
if Nico Ferranti is in the market for a wife. He’s the king of love
them and leave them. He’s never been engaged and he’s never been
married.”
Bronte simply
stared at her.
“And how do you
know all this?”
“Google is my
friend,” Rosie said, without embarrassment or shame.
“You searched
him on the internet?”
“Of course. My
best friend is being chased by a lovely Latin. I want to know all
about him.”
“You need to
stop sniffing out men for me, I mean it.”
“I do not sniff
out men for you.” Ignoring Bronte’s snort, Rosie continued, “Well,
okay, I’ll admit to keeping a weather eye open for a likely
candidate. But you snagged this one on your own. Go, Bronte!”
“You watch too
many American sitcoms.”
“They’re the
best. You would’ve done the same for me.” Rosie told her, and then
thought for a moment. “Or maybe not. You have nothing to worry
about, my dear Bronte. Nico is not a keeper. He’s perfect for
you.”
“I’m not sure.
He only wants one thing.”
She sank onto
the bed.
Rosie held up
her hands in a ‘whatever’ sign.
“Yeah. Trust me
on this. It’s not only bricks and mortar.” Rosie caught her hand
and looked into her eyes. “You deserve to have fun, remember all
work and no play makes you a dull girl. I put good money on it Nico
is a fully paid up member of the screaming orgasm club. You could
do with a couple of those to exorcise that low life scumbag,
Jonathan.” She leaned back, raised her
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