There again, she supposed it was her own stupid fault if they all thought she was on the make. She should never have curled her long auburn hair and worn it provocatively over one shoulder. Or let Vanessa talk her into borrowing her outrageous gold and crystal earrings, which were five inches long and looked incredibly sexy.
On top of that, she hadn’t been able to wear a bra under the petticoat-style party dress she’d bought specially for the occasion, and her naked nipples were patently obvious under the silky material. She should have bought the black one she’d first tried on, but the salesgirl had talked her into the green, saying it matched her eyes and complemented her auburn hair.
If she’d tried the dress on instead of just holding it up against her, she’d have known that the green didn’t camouflage her body as well as the black. Angie began to worry that from the back she might look totally naked under the dress, despite wearing tights with built-in knickers.
Spotting a glassy-eyed chap making a beeline straight for her across Bud’s crowded living-room, Angie whirled and made a dash for safety, gripping her glass of wine firmly in both hands lest she spill it all down her front. She found a temporary sanctuary in the kitchen, where Bud’s wife, Loretta, was happily refilling serving dishes with all sorts of party snacks.
‘Oh, hi, Angie. My, but you do look slinkily glamorous tonight. Bud said you had all his workmates drooling. Now I can see why. You had a jacket on when you first arrived, didn’t you? Darn, there goes the front doorbell again. Could you get it for me, love?’
‘Sure.’ Angie didn’t mind at all. It was better than going back into that room with all those heavy-breathing yuppies.
She sipped her wine as she made her way along the downstairs hall towards the front door, thinking as she went that Bud had really done very well for himself for a country boy from Wilga. A thriving career as an advertising executive, a lovely home in the leafy North Shore suburb of Turramurra, a very pretty wife and a delightful little boy, named Morris after their father. All this, and only thirty today. Remarkable.
Angie opened the door and promptly froze.
The man standing on the front porch, with his hands deep in his trouser pockets and an overnight bag at his feet, had his back to her. But she knew immediately who that well-shaped fair head belonged to. She’d have known him from any angle.
It was Lance.
CHAPTER FOUR
HE TURNED slowly at the sound of the door, moving with that lazy, indolent grace which she remembered oh, so well. There was no man who could mount a horse like Lance. There was no man who looked like him, either.
Even at thirty-one, Lance was still breathtakingly handsome. The lines around his eyes and mouth did not detract from the brilliance of those beautiful blue eyes, or the sensual appeal of that perfectly sculptured mouth. If anything, they added a very attractive maturity, which Angie preferred to his once almost pretty-boy look.
His body hadn’t changed, though. Perhaps it would have been better if it had. A few pounds of flab to mar its male perfection might have provided some protection from the way it had always affected her.
How was it, she wondered caustically as her eyes travelled with an almost resigned fascination over him, that he could look so sexy in an ordinary pair of grey trousers and a simple white shirt?
A bitter taste invaded her mouth as she recalled the occasion of that unexpected meeting in Sydney, when she’d been flustered and tongue-tied. Angie vowed that this would not be a repeat performance, despite the way her heart was instantly racing.
Her green eyes stayed cool as they lifted to meet that brilliant blue gaze. ‘Hello, Lance,’ she said casually. ‘Long time, no see.’
For a few seconds he didn’t reply as he gave her as thorough a once-over as she had given him. It piqued Angie when his expression revealed a degree of surprise, plus something else that she couldn’t quite identify.
‘Yes, it is,’ he said slowly. ‘I see you’ve changed somewhat.’
‘For the better, I hope,’ came her almost challenging comment as she sneakily moved her glass to cover her left nipple, the one which her hair didn’t reach.
His smile was wry. ‘Hard to improve on perfection, Angie.’