‘I guess they are,’ she answered thoughtfully.
‘Nothing exciting about wearing those clothes.’
‘That’s true. I just bung them on and go.’
‘It shouldn’t be like that, Lucy. You should love the clothes you wear.’
She gave him an arch look. ‘This is your mother talking now.’
‘Mum’s right. Clothes should lift your spirits, make you feel good about yourself. The attitude of this will do, is an expression of compromise, accepting you’re not worth more. It’s a downer. You should never do that to yourself.’
‘Well, I’ll let you have your way with me tomorrow,’ she declared, feeling she had let herself down in this area.
‘Not my way. Your way.’
‘But I might get it wrong.’
He shook his head. ‘It will be in the smile on your face, the zing in your heart. The right clothes for the person you are do that for you. All you have to do is go with that flow. Trust it and don’t let anyone else’s opinion spoil it.’
Lucy took a deep breath and resolved to be boldly free, choosing whatever thrilled her and made her feel sexy. No more work clothes. No more work hair-do. She grinned at the thought of James trying to work out the new Lucy Worthington when she presented her on Tuesday morning.
Having arrived at the parking slot where they had left the MG, Josh steered her to the driver’s side. ‘Better get in some practice,’ he pressed.
Lucy baulked. ‘I can’t drive your pride and joy.’
‘To my knowledge, the only car you’ve driven is your mother’s Ford with automatic gears. James Hancock had one thing right tonight. A sports car is different.’ He opened the door. ‘Get in. I’ll give you a lesson.’
‘But what if I dent it or something getting out of this parking station?’ she fretted.
He gave her a devil-may-care grin. ‘I’ll take the risk.’
The dancing challenge in his eyes spurred her on. After all, it was what she’d determined to do…take the risk. She stepped into the MG and settled herself in the driver’s seat. Her hands curled around the wheel.
This is it, she told herself.
I’m going for it.
Starting now.
By Tuesday morning she’d be on a roll and James Hancock wouldn’t know what hit him. It was a delicious thought.
‘Right. Give it some juice,’ Josh instructed, having settled beside her.
She giggled and switched on the ignition.
Juicy Lucy…
Starting now.
CHAPTER SEVEN
WITH a spring in his step, a smile hovering on his lips, and a lively sense of anticipation tingling through the rest of him, James opened the door to his secretary’s office, fully expecting to find Lucy at work preparing for his arrival. It was instantly deflating to see no sign of her.
He checked his watch—five minutes short of nine o’clock. She wasn’t exactly late, yet she invariably came in earlier than this. He’d never known her not be here before him. Her failure to do so on this Tuesday morning was aggravating, particularly since he’d given her Monday off.
As it was, he’d hardly done any work yesterday, distracted by her absence from the office and the gnawing desire to move their relationship onto new ground. Despite telling himself over and over again it was stupid to mess with what had been an ideal working partnership, he couldn’t block out the temptation that had been raging through him since Friday night.
He wanted Lucy Worthington.
He hadn’t even stayed with Buffy after the ball. Nor had he felt the slightest spark of interest in any of the women at the party he’d attended on Saturday night. There was only one woman he wanted to be with and she was frustrating him again right now.
A hopeful thought struck. He strode across her office and opened the connecting door to his. She wasn’t there, either. Feeling doubly vexed, James didn’t even think of settling to work without Lucy. He walked over to her desk and propped himself against it, arms folded in displeasure, ready to confront her with her tardiness when she did arrive.
There was no excuse for it. Getting from Bellevue Hill to this office building in Woolloomooloo presented no real difficulty. She didn’t have to drive through inner-city traffic and Lucy wasn’t ignorant of how to get into the basement car-park. She’d been a passenger in his car many times. He was not going to be drawn into worrying about the possibility of an accident. A woman in as much control of her life as Lucy Worthington was, did not have accidents.
Everything seemed unnaturally quiet, now that the other offices on this floor had been vacated and the company of solicitors that had taken them over wouldn’t be moving in until next week. He had no client appointments this morning so there was only Lucy to come—Lucy to break the loneliness that had so irked him yesterday.
The hurried clack of heels on the tiled corridor leading from the elevators, momentarily straightened him up. Aware that his body was suddenly buzzing with tension, James forced himself to relax against the desk again. He was not going to look eager for Lucy’s arrival. He was the boss here, not a lap-dog panting for his mistress’s attention. The situation could get completely out of hand if he didn’t remain master of it.
A woman whirled into the office, closing the door he’d left open, arrogantly assuming the right to seal off privacy. Annoyed by the unwelcome intrusion, James snapped upright again. A few terse words were about to spill off his tongue when the woman swung around and froze, shocked at being directly faced with his unexpected presence.
‘James!’ His name hissed out on a long, shaky breath.
Lucy?
Stunned disbelief rendered him speechless. A wealth of shiny brown hair swirled around her shoulders, wisps of it flying out as though electric from being in the wind. Her face was vibrant with colour…glowing cheeks, glossy red lipstick and sparkling green eyes. Quite clearly green, and fringed by long dark lashes. She wasn’t wearing spectacles!
And what she was wearing hit him like a punch in the gut, taking his breath away. The clingy lime-green singlet top was a long way from conservative. Not only did the bold colour leap out at him, but so did her breasts, the stretchy material outlining them perfectly. Small breasts compared to Buffy Tanner’s but firmly rounded and delectably tip-tilted at him—no sag anywhere, sideways or downwards—and she certainly wasn’t wearing a bra to aid their shape. Much, much better without one. No aid needed at all.
Floating between the provocative peaks was an embroidered butterfly—its wings a neon glow of violet and red and green. And it wasn’t the only butterfly. Her skirt was printed with them—a virtual kaleidoscope of brilliant butterflies on a white background, flying every which way. It was a short straight little skirt—shorter than anything Lucy had ever worn before—hugging her hips and ending mid-thigh, with a couple of rows of frivolous little frills around the hem, giving a swinging effect that was very cutely sexy.