French, of course. And expensive. Sheer, sexy and something she wouldn’t wear in a million years.
Except—
Heart thumping, she took off her coat and hung it up, feeling as if the underwear was watching her, blaming her for being a coward.
Did Élise really wear that sort of thing? No wonder Sean was always walking around with a smile on his face.
What was to stop her doing the same thing?
From downstairs she heard a clash of pans in the kitchen and relaxed slightly. One thing she was sure of—there was no way Tyler would come looking for her. He was obviously as uncomfortable about the whole thing as she was.
After stripping off her clothes, she ran herself a deep bath and sank into the water.
She thought about the underwear lying on the bed.
It wouldn’t hurt to try it on, would it? Then she could at least thank Élise and Kayla, tell them it was a lovely thought but that it hadn’t fitted.
Leaving the comfort of the deep bubble bath, she wrapped herself in a towel and walked into the bedroom. The only light in the room came from the lamp next to the bed, and she dropped the towel and reached for the underwear. It felt soft and flimsy in her fingers, a whisper of wicked temptation.
Pulling it on, she turned to look at herself in the mirror. She’d never worn anything so light and delicate. It was like wearing nothing, and the tulle bra fitted her small frame perfectly.
She had a feeling Coco Chanel would have approved.
Piling the heavy mass of her hair on top of her head, she pouted and struck a pose and then shook her head.
She looked ridiculous.
If she walked into Tyler’s room looking like this, he’d laugh. She could imagine his expression.
And then the door to her bedroom opened, and she didn’t have to imagine his expression because he was standing in the doorway looking as if he’d been caught in the path of an avalanche. And there was no sign of laughter.
“Holy—”
“Tyler! What are you doing here? Get out!” She dropped her arms and tried to cover herself, then snatched the damp towel from the floor but it caught in her foot and she crashed down onto polished wood in a tangle of long limbs and black transparent underwear.
Dignity shredded, she lay sprawled at his feet thinking that when Coco Chanel had referred to a date with destiny, she hadn’t anticipated that it would look anything like this. She felt as if she’d let the whole of womankind down.
Sorry, Coco.
She heard Tyler inhale and assumed it was because he’d never witnessed anything more clumsy or less provocative in his life.
“Are you all right?”
“No, I’m not all right! You’re supposed to at least knock or something. Oh, my God, Tyler, just—go!” She felt the burn in her cheeks, and anger mingled with frustration, all aimed at herself. Élise or Christy would have given him a feline smile and beckoned him into the room. They wouldn’t have fallen over and yelled at him.
“Are you hurt?” Instead of leaving, he hunkered down next to her so that those powerful shoulders were eye level.
“Yes. No.” Her pride was hurt. Her confidence decimated. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to say— I wanted to—” His gaze dropped to the tulle bra. “Why are you wearing that? Where are you going?”
She could hardly tell him she was about to march into his bedroom and make an indecent proposition. He’d laugh at her, and she couldn’t even blame him.
“I was getting dressed.”
“Why?” His eyes darkened, his mouth unsmiling. “Are you going out with Josh again?”
“No!”