He had to get Princess Estella out into the open. Explain to Shelley that she had inspired his new creation. Ask her to model for him.
Not in a body stocking or a skin-tight spandex sensor suit, though his pulse quickened at the thought of it. No. In her gender-neutral gardening gear. But with her long hair let down. Maybe with a fan floating it around her face and behind her like a banner. He would ask her to pose for him so he could get the hair and face right for Estella.
There would be a generous modelling fee, of course. It would all be above board and without any hint of exploitation. He could draw up a contract. Maybe include a share of royalties—he could afford it.
He didn’t want dishonesty between them. Outing Estella was the only way to go.
Buoyed by the idea, he had asked Shelley to come to the house so they could discuss it asap.
At the sound of the bell at the front door he took the elevator Lisa had had installed—‘for when we’re old and can’t make the stairs’—down from his top-floor office to get to the door more quickly.
He would put things right with Shelley.
But the Shelley who stood on the porch outside was not the Shelley he was expecting. The only thing he recognised about her was her smile—and even that was a subdued version of its usual multi-watt radiance.
His gardener was no longer an amazon but a glamazon.
Gone was the ugly, khaki uniform, replaced by a stylish, elegant outfit that emphasised the feminine shape the uniform concealed. Narrow trousers clung to long, slender legs, the shirt unbuttoned to reveal the delectable swell of her breasts, and the high-heeled boots brought her closer to him in height and gave her hips a sensuous sway.
Subtle dark make-up emphasised the beauty of her eyes, and the lush sensuality of her mouth was deepened by lipstick the colour of ripe raspberries.
For a too-long moment he stared at her, struck dumb with admiration—and an intensely masculine reaction that rocked him.
‘You wanted to see me?’ she asked, with a puzzled frown.
He could not keep his eyes off her.
He had to clear his throat before he spoke. ‘Yes. Come in,’ he said as he ushered her through the door.
‘I hope there’s nothing wrong,’ she said with a quiver in her voice.
‘Of course not,’ he said.
But everything had changed.
He needed time to collect his rapidly racing thoughts.
He led her through the grand entrance hall, her heels clicking on the marble floor, to the small reception room where he’d first interviewed her. Light slanting through the old lead-light windows, original to the house, picked up the gold in her hair. She brought the sunshine with her.
Immediately they were in the room she went straight to the window. ‘What a beautiful view of the garden,’ she said. ‘It’s starting to take shape. In a few weeks that wisteria arch will be glorious. I’ve trimmed it but it will need a good prune when it’s finished flowering. You have to cut it back well and truly before the buds form for...for the next season’s flowering.’
Her words trickled to a halt and she didn’t meet his eye. Did she sense his heightened awareness of her as a woman, his ambivalence? She moistened her lovely, raspberry-stained lips with the tip of her tongue. The action fascinated him.
The full impact of his attraction to her hit him like a punch to the gut. He fisted his hands by his sides. He’d been kidding himself from the get go.
This wasn’t about Princess Estella.
It was about Shelley.
It had always been about Shelley—warm-hearted, clever, down-to-earth, gorgeous Shelley. Even in the drab uniform with her charmingly eccentric interest in rusty old rakes and broken-down fountains she had delighted him from day one.
He could no longer kid himself that his attraction to Shelley was because she sparked his creative impulse. She sparked male impulses a whole lot more physical and urgent. She was a beautiful woman and he wanted her in a way he had not imagined wanting another woman after his wife had died.
He could not ask her to pose for Estella.
No way could he invite her to spend hours alone with him in his studio while he sketched her. It would be a kind of torture. That idea had to be trashed.
But he found he had to say something else to justify him calling her into the house. ‘I wanted to tell you I had a note from the neighbour thanking me for getting rid of the ficus benjamina.’
Now that full-beam smile was directed at him.
‘It wasn’t to...fire me or anything?’
‘Of course not.’ How could she possibly think that? He realised that under her brightness and bravado lay a deep vein of self-doubt. That although she seemed so strong she was also vulnerable. It unleashed a powerful urge to protect her.
‘That’s a relief,’ she said. ‘I was racking my brains to think of what I’d done wrong.’
He had to clear his throat of some deep, choking emotion to speak. ‘You’ve done nothing wrong.’
He ached to take her into his arms and reassure her how invaluable she was, how special. But that was not going to happen. He recognised his attraction to her. That did not mean he intended to act on it.
He now could admit it to himself. Admit the truth that welled out from his subconscious and into his dreams. Now, when he was battling the insomnia that had plagued him since the night his wife had died, in those few hours of broken sleep it wasn’t Lisa’s face that kept him awake. It was Shelley’s.
And that felt like betrayal.
‘That’s great news about the neighbour,’ she said. ‘Makes it all worthwhile, doesn’t it? And, hey, you spoke Latin. Uh, instead of computer speak. That I don’t speak at all. I mean, I can use a computer, of course I can, but I—’
‘I get it,’ he said. There she went—rabbiting on again. He found it charming. He found her charming. And way too appealing in every way.
He realised she was nervous around him. Was he looking particularly forbidding today?
She twisted the strap of her handbag in her hands. ‘Thank you for telling me that but, if that’s all, I have to go. As I said, I need to take a longer lunch hour today.’
‘A date?’ he blurted out without thinking.
Jealousy speared him again. Who was the lucky guy who would be seeing her dressed up like this?
‘Not a date,’ she said with a perturbed frown.
Of course she would be perturbed. He had no right to ask about her personal life. She would be quite within her rights to tell him to mind his own business.
He could not deny his relief that she wasn’t going out with a man. But if it wasn’t a date, why and where was she going?
He forced his voice to sound casual, unconcerned. ‘Lunch with a friend? It’s quite okay for you to stay as long as you like. I know what hours you’ve been putting in out there in the garden.’
Her mouth twisted downward. ‘Nothing as nice as lunch with a friend, I’m afraid. I have to look for somewhere to live. I share with my sister but she’s just got engaged and her fiancé wants to move in.’
‘There’s no room for you?’
‘No. It’s a tiny apartment.’ She sighed. ‘Now I’m heading off to inspect a place in Edgecliff. Along with all the other people desperate to find somewhere with reasonable rent close to the city. I want to stay in this area.’ She held up both hands with fingers