‘Ro?’
‘To your left, Seb,’ Rowan called.
Seb turned and followed her voice, walking around a wooden partition, and blinked in surprise. Thick, old-fashioned oak chests spilled garments over the rough blankets Rowan had placed on the floor, and in the centre of the clothes-spill Rowan stood in front of an antique full-length mirror framed in oak, dressed in a sleek black gown and three-inch heels. Even with her hair in a messy ponytail and a make-up-free face she looked stunning.
‘What do you think?’
‘That’s a hell of a dress. Did you spray paint it on?’
‘Ha-ha. Your gran was slightly skinnier than I am.’
His grandmother... He’d never known her, but he’d like to know how anyone could have so many clothes. He stepped over a pile of coats and looked down at the garments closest to his feet. Jeans, a thigh-length leather jacket, a velvet trenchcoat, a white linen suit.
‘These are too modern to be my grandmother’s clothes.’
‘I think they’re your mum’s—what she left behind. There are a couple of nice dresses... Do you mind?’
Seb felt his throat clench and forced himself to shrug carelessly. ‘Knock yourself out. She left them here, didn’t she?’
Rowan looked at him with sympathetic eyes and he hoped that she wouldn’t say anything. He didn’t discuss his mother—ever. The longest discussion he’d had about her had been with his father a week or so ago.
Rowan ran her hands over her hips and turned back to the mirror. ‘What do you think of this dress?’
Seb looked at her properly, felt the saliva disappearing from his mouth and swallowed several times. Hot, hot, hot. He couldn’t find the words...
‘Uh...’ he grunted as his brain shut down.
Rowan looked at her reflection and tipped her head. ‘You’re right. I never liked this shade of black.’
How could she possibly take his silence to mean that he didn’t like the dress? Was she mad? It was figure-hugging, cleavage-revealing, backless and strapless.
It sent every blood corpuscle heading south.
Seb smacked the ball of his hand against his temple to reboot his speech function. ‘I love the dress, And black is black...isn’t it?’
Rowan sent him a pitying look. The kind women reserved for those moments when they thought men had the understanding of a two-year-old. ‘Of course there are shades of black. Obsidian, peppercorn, domino, raven, ebony...’
Seb felt as if he’d fallen into an alternative universe. ‘Peppercorn is a shade of black?’
‘There are many shades of red—fire engine, cherry, scarlet—why can’t there be shades of black?’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about. And I really don’t care.’ All I want to do is get you out of that dress. To distract himself from that thought, he looked around again. ‘Good God, look at these clothes! I never knew there was so much still up here.’
Rowan’s eyes were shining with pleasure. ‘They’re fabulous. I’ve seen six cocktail dresses I want to try on.’
‘I like that one you have on,’ Seb said gruffly. ‘Wear that.’
Rowan shook her head. ‘This is a ballgown—too much for a cocktail party. I just couldn’t resist trying it on.’
‘Aren’t they out of fashion?’ Seb asked, toeing a froth of purple silk.
‘Designer dresses like these are never out of fashion.’ Rowan disappeared behind a screen in the corner. ‘And it seems like your gran’s taste ran to classic, timeless outfits.’
Good for Gran, Seb thought as he walked to the centre of the room and sat on the dusty floor, crossing his legs at the ankles.
‘What do you think?’
Seb glanced up and swallowed his tongue. The dress was red, a shocking slap to the senses, low-cut, and with what seemed like a million tassels falling to just under her backside. ‘It’s red. And short.’
‘It’s raspberry, and I’m decent underneath.’
Rowan twirled, the tassels whirled, and Seb saw the high-cut shorts underneath in the same shade.
‘It’s a heart attack dress,’ Seb said. ‘A bit too much for a corporate do.’
Rowan looked at herself in the mirror. ‘Mmm, maybe you’re right.’
Seb removed his smartphone from the back pocket of his jeans and checked his e-mails while Rowan changed again. Why she had to disappear each time to change was a puzzle for another day. He’d seen—and tasted—every inch of her, quite a few times.
‘Ready for the next one?’ Rowan asked cheerfully.
Seb grinned. ‘Hit me.’
Seb leaned back on his elbow and almost choked at the puffball that sashayed across the wooden floor. It was orange, it was ruffled, and it was hideous. He searched for something to say and decided that no words could describe the awfulness of the dress.