Diamond Girl. Diana Palmer

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СКАЧАТЬ an outrageous smile.

      She glanced at the trash can, measuring it for his head. He followed her gaze and chuckled softly.

      “Go ahead, honey,” he dared her in a soft voice. “Try it.”

      “I wish I were a man—I’d cream you!” she burst out.

      “Haven’t you ever heard of women’s lib?” he asked casually. “Men aren’t supposed to be superior anymore. Come on, honey, throw a punch at me.”

      “Do I look stupid?” she asked, taking in the sheer size of the man. “On second thought, if I were a man, I wouldn’t come at you with anything less than a bazooka!”

      “That might be wise,” he agreed. He leaned back against the desk, unusually attractive in his navy blue pinstripe suit. She always noticed his clothes; he had a flair for picking styles and colors that gave him a towering elegance.

      “Anyway,” he continued, bending to crush out his cigarette, an action that strained the material across his muscular arms and his broad back, “what I have in mind is transforming you.”

      She stared at him warily. “I’m not sure I want to be transformed.”

      “Don’t be ridiculous, of course you do.” He glanced up and down at what he could see of her figure behind the tall chair. “First order of business is going to be a haircut. I know long hair is supposed to be sexy, but yours looks like barbed wire most of the time.”

      “Oh, you’re just great for my ego,” she ground out.

      “And the second order of business is a bra,” he continued, unabashed, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t you know that the worst thing you can do is sag?”

      “There’s not enough of me to sag,” she said miserably, avoiding his eyes.

      “I’d bet there is,” he returned, not unkindly. “You’re tall, and you have nice legs. You have a natural elegance of carriage that could work well for you. And with the right makeup, the right clothes...” He pursed his lips, nodding. “I think you might be more than enough to catch my brother’s wandering eye.”

      “You’ve forgotten something,” she advised.

      He cocked a bushy eyebrow. “What? Your teeth are all right,” he began.

      “Oh, thanks, and they’re all my own, too!”

      He chuckled softly. “You’ll do. Well? Do you want to be alone for the rest of your life, or do you want to take a chance?”

      “I can’t,” she said, exasperated, as she came reluctantly around the chair. “What you’re talking about costs money, and I’m not independently wealthy. All I have is my salary, and out of it has to come my rent, utilities, groceries, clothes...”

      “I’ll take care of it,” he told her.

      “Like fun you will,” she tossed back, her eyes flaring up.

      “I said I’ll take care of it,” he replied. “It was my idea, and it’s my brother I’m trying to save from that Latin temptress. I don’t want a money-hungry tramp in my family.”

      “No, you’d rather have a secretary with no money, no connections, no social position...”

      “Do I look like a snob?” he asked incredulously.

      “I didn’t mean it like that,” she confessed. She drew in a deep, steadying breath. “Anyway, what’s Denny going to think if he knows you’re footing the bill?”

      “He won’t know,” he promised, “because we’re not going to tell him. I’ll pick you up Saturday morning at your apartment, and we’ll get started. Make yourself an appointment with Frederickson’s downtown.”

      “But they’re horribly expensive!” she protested.

      “Make the appointment early,” he continued, “because when we finish there, we’re going to Almon’s to have you outfitted.”

      Almon’s was a charming boutique with a resident designer and some of the trendiest new styles in the country. She stared at him as if she couldn’t believe her eyes.

      “You’ll go to the ball, Cinderella,” he promised. “Even if you have to ride in a Mercedes instead of a coach drawn by white horses.”

      “There isn’t a ball...”

      “There most certainly is, next Saturday night at the Biltmore, and I’m taking you.” He shot back his white cuff and looked at his watch. “And that’s all the time we have this morning. Get back to your ashes, and don’t breathe a word to Denny next week. I’m going to have a photographer along just to capture his expression when he sees the new you.”

      “Could he get my expression while he’s at it?” she asked hopefully. “I’ll need something to convince me I’m not dreaming.”

      He looked at her for a long, long time before he spoke, unsmiling. “Have you ever had an expensive gown?”

      She avoided his eyes and walked toward the door. “The only way I’m going to have one now is if I get to pay you back, counselor. I mean that,” she added, looking over her shoulder. “I pay my own way, frugal though it may be.”

      “All right, we’ll deduct a little from your check each week,” he agreed, moving around behind his desk. “When you make the coffee, how about bringing me a cup?”

      She nodded and closed the door quietly behind her. She went down to get the mail in a daze and wondered if her unfulfilled longing for Denny had finally pushed her over the brink into insanity. The morning had been unreal.

      Chapter Three

      Kenna hadn’t given Regan directions to her apartment, but he seemed to know the way. She had just finished dressing in slacks and a long-sleeved blouse and sweater when the doorbell rang at eight-thirty sharp the next morning.

      Regan spared her a brief glance from hooded eyes. “Ready?” he asked carelessly, looking as if he were regretting the whole thing already. “Let’s go, I’m double-parked.”

      She followed him into the elevator, approving of his casual slacks, deep burgundy–colored velour shirt and tweed jacket. The shirt was open at the throat, and she saw a glimpse of darkly tanned skin and thick, very thick hair in the opening. It made him look even more masculine, more threatening, and she wished she’d never agreed to this. Being around him at the office was bad enough, but this was...unnerving.

      “I won’t rape you, I promise,” he said out of the blue, cocking an eyebrow at her as she retreated to the other side of the elevator.

      “If you did, you’d be disappointed.” She sighed, not rising to the bait. “Twenty-five-year-old virgins aren’t much in demand these days.”

      He seemed shocked at the comeback, and she grinned at him.

      “I’m not a Victorian miss, as you reminded me the other day,” she said with a sheepish grin, “but СКАЧАТЬ