Free A Spring Affair by Milly Johnson Page B

that sexy Mediterranean look.
    ‘Nice colour, by the way.’
    ‘Sorry?’
    ‘Hair. You’ve have it done since last time. Looks nice. It suits you.’
    Then Tom Broom climbed up into the driver’s seat and was gone before Lou could register that, before today, she couldn’t remember the last time a man had complimented her appearance.

Chapter 10
    A long soak in a deep bath would have been a nice birthday treat, but the less said about that the better. Lou gave her quarter-finished building site of a luxury bathroom a hard, frustrated look, shook her head and went into the ensuite for a shower before she could get so wound up that she risked spoiling what had been, so far, a lovely day. Bloody Keith Featherstone! A name to make a saint swear.
    Phil refused to get involved in Lou’s dispute with the builder. She’d wanted the fancy bathroom so she could sort it out. He reckoned she should cut loose from the man and organize another firm–it wasn’t as if she’d paid Featherstone in advance or anything stupid like that. Phil was quite happy with the shower in their large ensuite anyway. He couldn’t see the point of wasting time lying about in water full of the filth you’d just soaked off. He told Lou to use her feminine charms. Builders always responded to a bit of eye-fluttering and a nice cleavage. Well, lazy useless unreliable bloody Keith Featherstone hadn’t.
     
    Lou had a blissful half-hour after her shower reading aMidnight Moon romance, a big cup of coffee in her hand, and nibbling on a couple of the Godiva truffles that had been put through the letter box, courtesy of Des and Celia Winter-Brown. (That Lou had missed their visit was a big fat added bonus to the day.) No ordinary ‘Brown’ surname for Celia–she had insisted they both adopt a double-barrel after their wedding vows. How she and Deb had laughed at Celia’s fancy signature with its cascading loops, like Elizabeth I did on her death warrants. God, she so wanted to pick up that phone now and dial Deb’s number.
    Lou took a lovely long time getting ready for her birthday surprise. She wondered what sort of restaurant Phil was taking her to. Anything would do, but an Italian really would just add the cherry onto today’s cake. There was little to beat the relaxed romantic ambience of an Italian bistro.
    When Phil arrived home at half-past six, he had a strange sneezing fit in the kitchen that nearly made him drop the bags he was carrying.
    ‘Have there been any animals in here, Lou?’ he said.
    ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Lou. Whoops.
    ‘I have presents, I have champagne,’ he announced. Champagne was pushing it a bit. It was very brutal Cava relabelled Vintage P.M Autos . He would give a bottle to every new owner of a Phil Winter car, along with a P.M. Autos keyring and a pen. After a glass, who could tell it from the proper stuff anyway?
    He had two presents for Lou, one in a white plastic carrier and the other in a gold gift bag.
    ‘Here you go, babe. You know I’m no good at wrapping.’
    Well, blokes weren’t, were they, agreed Lou silently, not that it mattered to her. She opened the white bag to find another of his amazing electrical appliance purchases.
    ‘Oh, an omelette-maker! Great–thanks, love,’ she said, overdoing the enthusiasm a tad to override the guilt she felt because she had already earmarked it for the charity bag. Phil seemed very keen for her to open the other present. Smiling, Lou reached in and pulled out something frothy and black on a plastic hanger. She held it up to the light, not that there was all that much to hold up. It was a minuscule nightie in something scratchy with holes in strategic places. It came complete with a set of panties with a frilly slit where the crotch should have been. Phil’s hands came from behind and twiddled Lou’s nipples as if trying to tune into The Archers .
    ‘I thought we could have some fun with it when we get home later.’
    ‘We’ll see.’ Lou smiled a