Free I'm No Angel by Patti Berg Page B

crimson gown. But his overt scrutiny did annoy her, as did his suggestion that she might be for sale.
    â€œ I won’t be on the auction block,” Angel stated.
    â€œHow about that dress? I’d pay a pretty penny to—”
    â€œExcuse me, sir,” Morganna interrupted, her tone contemptuous to say the least. But a smile touched her dark red lips when Tom stepped out of the glaring light and into the dressing room. “Ah, it’s you, Mr. Donovan. I didn’t recognize you at first.”
    â€œThat’s quite all right, Morganna.”
    The ageless designer flitted across the room and touched Tom’s darkly tanned forearm. “I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Donovan, but this is a private dressing room and even though you’re one of my most favorite people on this whole entire planet, I’m afraid I must ask you to step out of the room, that is, of course, unless Miss Devlin invites you to stay.”
    Actually she’d love to have him leave, but she had the feeling Tom was up to something, and she wanted to know what.
    â€œHe’s more than welcome to stay,” Angel said, examining him just as thoroughly as he’d studied her, fastening her gaze on Tom’s crocodile cowboy boots, the slim cut of his faded Levi’s, the snug fit of his white T-shirt, and the muscles that threatened to burst through the fabric. Slowly she inclined her head toward Emma and Morganna. “But would you mind terribly if I asked the two of you to leave so I can share a few private words with Mr. Donovan?”
    Emma’s eyes narrowed. “Sure. No problem. Keep me in the dark about what the two of you have to say.”
    Ever the good and proper albeit nosy business-woman, Morganna smiled and moved to the door. “I’ll take Miss Claire into another dressing room. I have several items I’m sure she’d love to try on.”
    Emma bounced out of her chair, her raven-colored ponytail swishing to and fro. “You wouldn’t by any chance have something in lime green, would you?”
    â€œOf course I do, Miss Claire. Please follow me.”
    When the room was empty, Angel turned her full attention to Tom. “Mind if I ask what you’re doing here?”
    â€œLast night ended on a rather sour note. I was thinking maybe we should try again.”
    Angel ignored his statement and strolled across the room, more than aware of his eyes on the feathery red dress that revealed an awful lot of her chest and nearly every speck of her back, right down to her tailbone. In a gracious-host gesture that would have made Mrs. Alexander of Portia Alexander’s Academy proud, she filled one of the delicate pieces of crystal stemware with champagne and offered the glass to Tom.
    As he took it from her, she watched his gaze trail lazily over her barely hidden breasts.
    â€œVery nice.” Tom took a swallow of champagne, his eyes sparkling at her over the glass. “Is that what you plan to wear to your gala?”
    â€œI haven’t decided yet.”
    Angel took a sip from her own champagneglass. “So, Mr. Donovan, how did you find me this morning? Did you follow me here?”
    â€œIt’s Tom, remember. And no, I wasn’t following you or anyone else. As a matter of fact, I was across the street talking with an antiques dealer when I saw you come in here with your friend.” He wandered about the room, taking in every speck of Angel’s anatomy, trying, she assumed, to make her nervous and failing miserably. “Since I never saw you come out, I thought I’d drop by and see if you were still here.”
    Angel turned. She smacked him with a radiant smile, eyes bright and alluring. She didn’t bat her lashes. That was for amateurs. She just made damn sure he saw the twinkle in her eyes and got him to focus on her face instead of her body. “So now that you know I’m here, what do you want to discuss?”
    â€œHow I can buy the