The Consequence She Cannot Deny. Bella Frances

      He sipped water and looked at her.

      ‘I’m not easy to dress.’

      ‘I’m not sure I follow.’

      ‘I mean I have my own style.’

      It was the best thing she could say in the circumstances. What was the alternative—pointing out her huge backside and overflowing boobs? No way!

      ‘You will not be difficult to dress at all. Stand there.’

      He tilted his head and scanned her body, his eyes trailing slowly from her neck to her chest and down to her waist.

      He walked around her. ‘Of course what you are wearing could be covering up some grave imperfections. Or perfections.’

      ‘I’m well aware of what suits me and what doesn’t.’

      She watched his inscrutable face. He could be looking at a lump of rock for all he was giving away, but she was feeling electrified as his eyes slowly scanned her body.

      ‘The question is—what are you hiding under that dress? The perfect hourglass?’

      He stepped closer and walked around her again. Coral felt her heart begin to thunder. She felt an unbearable desire for him to touch her with his hands.

      ‘You know, my longest love affair was with women’s fashion,’ he said, lifting her left arm up by the fingertips and scanning her from wrist to shoulder. ‘I remember going along to my mother’s couture fittings. Even as a very young child I was fascinated by the process—the illusions that could be created or destroyed. That’s one of the reasons I started Heavenly. It’s all behind me now, but I spent my first two years after college working on American Vogue, copywriting. And dating models.’

      ‘I’m no model, I can assure you,’ said Coral, suddenly cringing at the thought of her generous proportions.

      He had stopped behind her. She could feel the heat from his body, his broad shoulders and firm biceps framing her. She could feel the roar of desire rampaging through her veins.

      ‘But you are incredibly beautiful. And you have a body that is driving me almost mad with curiosity.’

      His words landed close to her right ear and she shivered uncontrollably. He moved around her, now lifting her right fingertips and staring down the length of her arm.

      ‘As an artist, you will know that fashion is a creative process. But you should never ignore the fact that what is pleasing to the eye mirrors desire. For example, I’ve never been clear why it is that just this curve—may I?’

      She looked down to where his bronzed hand moulded the space between her waist and her ribs. Her breathing stopped...her body seemed to wilt. She leaned back a tiny fraction and her bottom grazed his loins. She felt his chest against her shoulder blades. A wall of heat flamed between them.

      ‘Why do some designers ignore the lines and curves that you have to such perfection—that instantly fire a man’s desires? I cannot understand why they do not design clothes that flatter and complement nature’s basic lines. So many make awful clothes that suit...nobody.’

      Briefly he lifted her skirt, looked at the fabric. ‘This is nice.’ He dropped it and stepped away. ‘Perplexing, isn’t it? I could dress you. Very easily. There are rooms full of vintage here—couture and off the peg.’