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СКАЧАТЬ she heard herself say flirtatiously, and he smiled at her a long moment before picking up his fork again.

      It was the most wonderful lunch of her life, and she told him so afterward.

      “I wanted to do something special,” he confessed, looking deeply into her eyes. She had the feeling that if Tony hadn’t popped in just then, dressed as Charlie Chaplin, Paul would have kissed her, but then she was probably imagining things. They had a table between them, after all, even if it was a small table. The waiter had disappeared with the remains of their meal. Tony didn’t bother with ceremony.

      “Phone call for Mr. Spencer.”

      The intent look disappeared from Paul’s face, replaced in swift sequence by irritation, disappointment and, finally, resignation. “I don’t suppose you got a name?”

      Tony’s smile was somehow galling. “I didn’t ask. It’s a woman, though, if that helps.”

      A muscle ticked in the hollow of Paul’s cheek. He rose to his feet, speaking apologetically to Cassidy. “I’m sorry, but I’d better take it.”

      “Take your time,” she said, getting to her own feet as the waiter returned, ostensibly for the table and folding chairs. “I’ll be in the sewing room. Show him in, please, Tony, when he’s ready.”

      Tony twitched his glued-on mustache and quickly doffed his bowler. Turning on his heel, he waddled away, feet aimed in opposite directions. Paul followed, the stiffness of his manner implying anger. Cassidy wondered at that, but then it really wasn’t any of her business. Her business was costumes, and she’d best remember it. Sighing, she went off to the sewing room and began pinning her designs onto the bulletin board there for that purpose. Paul joined her in a surprisingly brief time, apparently unruffled.

      He made no explanation about the call, but then she expected none. Instead, he looked around thoroughly and then approached the bulletin board, his hands clasped behind his back. He studied the drawings intently, his head turning this way and that. Once in a while he made an inquisitive sound. Otherwise, he betrayed nothing of his thoughts. After some time, he stepped back and looked at her.

      “Do you have a favorite?”

      The question surprised her. “Er, yes, actually I do. This one.” She pointed to the center design. He stepped forward once more and studied that particular drawing. Then he nodded and stepped back again.

      “When can we begin?”

      “Begin?”

      “Yes, I, um, assume fittings will be required.”

      “Of course, but—”

      She had been about to say only one or two. He interrupted with an upraised hand. “Will Saturday work for you then, or would you rather not do it on the weekend? I’ll understand, of course. I simply thought... That is, Saturday would be good for me.”

      She usually worked half days in the shop Saturdays—mornings. For some reason she said, “Saturday afternoon?”

      He smiled, beamed, actually. “Excellent. Would you like to do lunch again?”

      “Oh, no!” she said quickly, thinking of the expense he’d gone to. “I mean, that won’t be necessary.” He seemed a bit crestfallen, so she added, “We could have coffee here, though, if you like.”

      He smiled again. “All right, I’ll see to it.”

      “No, no, let me,” she insisted. “I-it’s just coffee, after all.”

      “All right,” he said. “Will three be suitable?”

      “Three is fine,” she told him, completely forgetting that she’d promised her mother a visit.

      “Three then.” He pointed at the design upon which they’d settled. “Good work. Thank you. I know it’s an imposition for you at this busy time.”

      She shook her head. “I’m happy to do it.”

      He stepped close, one eyebrow arching, gaze intent on hers, saying conspiratorially, “Perhaps you ought to inform young Charlie then. He seems to think you’re much too busy to be indulging in luncheons and extra work just now.”

      Cassidy gasped. Oh, that scamp! She closed her eyes in embarrassment and said shakily, “Young Charlie should learn to mind his own business.” She would have to talk to Tony, again, not that it would do much good.

      Paul chuckled. “I’d say he has a crush on you.”

      Cassidy rolled her eyes, muttering, “I should crush him.”

      “Now, now,” Paul chided gently, his hand curled beneath her chin, tilting it slightly. “A boy’s ego is a tender thing.”

      Cassidy burst out laughing. Only a man such as Paul Spencer could so adeptly put the matter into perspective. A boy, indeed, especially when compared with the man standing before her. “Maybe a good spanking, then.”

      Those blue-gray eyes darkened to the color of smoke. “Let’s not encourage him,” he said huskily, and again Cassidy sensed that he wanted to kiss her. For a moment she could neither breathe nor move, but then it passed, and he stepped away, his smile gone wry and tight, his hand falling to his side. “I have to go,” he said.

      She smiled to cover her disappointment. “You’ll have to press the buzzer on Saturday. I lock the doors at noon.”

      “We’ll be alone then?”

      She had to swallow before she could answer. “Yes, alone.” To her relief, her voice sounded nearly normal.

      He smiled, softly this time, privately. “Saturday, then.”

      “Saturday.”

      She found herself smiling when he’d gone. She might be just a costumer, but he liked her, William Penno’s sister or no, and it was terribly mutual. All too mutual. And it could come to nothing. He was as good as engaged to be married. Her smile faded to wistfulness. Then it occurred to her that she should have something ready for him to try on when Saturday came around—and she hadn’t taken a single measurement! Well, she’d just have to do it on Saturday, which meant this thing was going to require a bit longer than it might have—and she didn’t really mind, despite her full schedule. It was foolish, she knew. But when, she thought with a sigh, had she ever done the sensible thing? She should start, she knew, and she would...as soon as Paul Spencer was out of her life, which he would be all too soon.

      

      The blustery, wet day was enough reason to stay indoors and cancel previous commitments, but Paul reminded himself that this was important. He told himself sternly it wasn’t just that he wanted to see her. All right, she was interesting—a costumer, for heaven’s sake!—and possessed of a quirky sense of humor. She was gentle, as well, and shy, almost painfully so at times, and pretty, in an unconscious, wholesome way that intrigued him. She seemed utterly without artifice, in itself a good joke, considering her occupation, which was what brought him out on a day like this—her occupation, that was.

      Doggedly determined to keep this meeting brief, to the point and all business, СКАЧАТЬ