Lucy eventually drifted off. When she awoke, daylight poured through her bedroom window, and a delicious smell tickled her nose. Whatever it was, it drew her out of bed like a black hole draws antimatter. She jumped in the shower, then stepped into a pair of white silk panties. Scarlet had given her about a dozen pair of the most delicious panties, all still in their packages. Apparently designers and clothing manufacturers sent freebies to the magazine all the time, hoping models or celebrities would wear them for photo shoots.
Lucy only had two of the magical push-up bras, though. When she’d seen the price tags on them, she’d nearly fainted. Who paid $80 for a bra? She would, she realized, now that she’d seen the miracle it performed.
Ordinarily, if she wasn’t going to work, she’d put on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. But Scarlet told her those clothes were out-they didn’t go with “Lindsay’s” new look. She would have to get used to wearing clingy knit pants and miniskirts, tiny crop-tops and blouses that revealed lots of skin.
She picked an outfit at random-a fawn-colored miniskirt and a fitted, sleeveless blouse with a subtle gold stripe. She didn’t worry about makeup or jewelry-she would put them on only if she was appearing in public. She certainly didn’t want Bryan to think she was trying too hard.
When she emerged from her bedroom and entered the kitchen, she found out what smelled so good. Bryan was making Belgian waffles, with fresh strawberries and real whipped cream.
“I’m going to be big as a house if you keep feeding me this way.”
“Good morning to you, too.” Bryan kept his attention on his cooking, never even glancing her way. “Sleep okay?”
No. I lay awake thinking about your blasted kiss. “Fine, thanks.” She tried not to look at him, because if she did, she would think about kissing him. She couldn’t help herself. He looked absolutely mouthwatering with his dark hair mussed, his face unshaven. He wore running shorts and a well-worn T-shirt with a Boca Royce Country Club logo on it. She recognized the name as an exclusive Manhattan club patronized by the very, very wealthy.
She was so in over her head.
He didn’t look at her. He was busy filling mugs from a coffeemaker that looked like it belonged at NASA. The fragrance blended with the smell of waffles and strawberries, and her stomach growled.
“I’ve been out for a run-I do that most mornings,” he said. “You can come with me. I also have a home gym.”
Lucy had never been much of a jock before. “Maybe I should try running.”
“If you like eating, it’s a necessity.”
She’d never been all that interested in food-maybe because she’d always had plenty. Growing up on a farm, the dinner table was loaded with meat, potatoes and fresh vegetables. But her mother had always urged her to eat more, claiming she was finicky as a cat.
When she’d hung out with In Tight, everyone had been more interested in drinking than eating, though there had always been something available-pizza or burgers.
She’d eaten just enough to maintain her weight, so she hadn’t ever felt the urge to work out.
Now she was ravenous. She dived into her waffle, savoring the pure maple syrup and the crunchy-outside, tender-inside texture. “Yeah, I’m going to have to do something, or all those pretty clothes Scarlet gave me won’t look too hot.”
“You can run with me tomorrow.”
“I don’t have any running shoes. Or gym clothes.”
“You can buy some when we go out for your contact lenses.”
She wondered how much money she had in her purse. Sixty dollars maybe, if she was lucky. “I can’t use my credit cards, right?”
“No. No transactions involving your real name, for any reason. No telephone calls, either-not to anyone, even someone you think the bad guys would never be watching. I don’t know the extent of their reach, but these guys are connected.
Really connected.”
That reminder brought Lucy back to earth in a hurry. She shivered as she thought about those “bad guys” in her apartment, searching through her things, listening to her on the phone.
When Bryan finished the last waffle, he popped it onto a plate and finally spared a glance for Lucy. He did a double take.
“You can’t expect me to be glamorous twenty-four hours a day,” she groused.
“Scarlet might have changed some of the trappings, but I’m still Lucy Miller.”
“Did I complain?”
“No. But you were looking at me.”
“I was looking because the clothes and hair color are still so different. I have to get used to them.”
“Me, too. I hadn’t realized how positively frumpy I’d become. But even in my wilder days, I still looked like me.”
“You still look like you.” He came and sat next to her at the bar, then leaned close enough that she could smell the faint scent brought on by his morning exertions. Not expensive cologne, but soap and sweat. A healthy, male scent.
“Your smile is the same. You have a very pretty smile, only you don’t use it enough.”
“I don’t have much to smile about.” But that really wasn’t true. Yes, she’d become the target of some unsavory people, and yes, she’d lost her job and her home and her very identity. But she just didn’t care that much about those things. She was hanging out with a dangerously sexy spy and she was going to help him solve a crime. She had a wardrobe to die for and a personal-style consultant any woman in the world would give up her acrylic nails for.
“That’s better,” Bryan said, and Lucy realized she’d given him the requested smile.
Four hours later Lucy was in Victoria’s Secret, feeling a bit like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. Bryan had taken her first to get the contacts. She’d been fitted on the spot with a pair of bright-green lenses, and she’d walked out of the optometrist’s office feeling unburdened without the heavy glasses. She could see better, too. She’d forgotten how superior vision with contacts could be.
Next, Bryan had taken her shopping for all the things Scarlet hadn’t provided-mostly athletic clothes. He’d bought her a pair of first-class Nike running shoes and a couple of color-coordinated designer outfits. She’d never worn designer clothing before yesterday, thinking it was silly to pay so much for a label. But she’d found out the clothes really were superior in quality.
The fit and feel were fantastic.
She’d mentioned that she didn’t have any sleepwear, so Bryan led her into the pricey lingerie store.
“We don’t have to do anything this fancy,” she protested. “You’ve already spent so much-”
“I can afford it. I want you comfortable, and you can’t be comfortable in some cheap polyester pajamas.”
“I can’t be comfortable in a peek-a-boo nightie, either,” she pointed out. But as she looked around, she realized the sleepwear here was gorgeous-not the least bit sleazy. She saw beautiful silk nightgowns in the most delicious pastels, but she also saw some pretty cotton nightshirts, and she knew that was what she should choose. Something supercomfortable.
“Uh-oh,” Bryan muttered as she tried to find her size in a peach nightshirt.
Lucy’s skin prickled with nerves. “What?” Had the bad guys tracked her down already? She glanced around, wondering if there was anyplace she could duck for cover if bullets started to fly.
“It’s my stepmother. Of all people.” He sounded disgusted. “Put down that nightshirt. I wouldn’t buy a girlfriend anything like that. Here.” He grabbed three skimpy nightgowns from a rack and thrust them at her. “Go try these on.
Maybe you won’t have to meet her. Oh, cripes, she’s seen us. Too late.”
The woman in question was petite and very thin, with unnaturally platinum hair in an expensive cut. She wore a pair of snug, low-rise jeans and a clingy shirt that looked pretty good on her surgically enhanced figure.
She might have been pretty but for the superior sneer on her face, which Lucy guessed was perpetual.
“Bryan, what on earth are you doing in a lingerie store?”
“Hi, Sharon,” he said without much enthusiasm. The two didn’t touch. “I’m buying a gift. This is Lindsay Morgan. Lindsay, my stepmother, Sharon Elliott.”
Sharon nodded her acknowledgment while giving Lucy a thorough once-over. “Soon to be Sharon Styles again, thank God.”
