The Cinderella Act. Jennifer Lewis

on the wide double bed. “I can’t believe how beautiful this gray silk dress is. How on earth did they weave the silver and blue into the fabric?”

      “Probably took someone years. Things were done differently back then. Each item was a handmade work of art.”

      “I suppose ordinary people never even touched anything like this.” She fingered the delicate fabric with its intricate ribbon detailing. “Unless they were helping madam fasten her corset, of course.” That’s what she would have been doing back then. Hey, she was still more or less doing it now, in a time when most women her age sat in plastic cubicles talking on the phone all day. She let her fingers roam inside the deep pleats at the waist and sighed. “What a stunning dress. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

      “Why don’t you try it on?” Sinclair’s deep voice surprised her. She’d almost forgotten he was there.

      “Me? I couldn’t possibly. They’re museum pieces, and my waist isn’t nearly that small.”

      “I disagree. About your waist, that is.” His eyes settled on her waistband for a moment, making her stomach clench. Had her boss ever glanced at her waist before? She didn’t think so.

      Her heart pounded with excitement at the prospect of trying a dress on. Of course she could always wait until she was all alone in the house. But then someone would notice it had been worn, and she’d look foolish. What if this was her only chance? “Well …” She plucked gently at the peacock-blue evening gown. “I still don’t think they’ll fit, but …”

      “That settles it. I’ll discreetly turn away until you need help with the fastenings.” He strolled to a tall arched window on the far side of the room.

      Annie’s heart quickened. She had an odd sense that a line between them was about to be crossed. Sinclair wanted her to try on the dresses. What did that mean?

      Nothing, silly. He thinks it would be fun for you and he’s humoring you. Don’t get carried away. Really. This was foolish. She’d end up ripping a seam. “I’m sure they’re supposed to be worn with all sorts of elaborate corsetry and I don’t think—”

      “Do you want to go back up and hunt for the cup?” He lifted a dark brow.

      She hesitated, her fingertips still pressed against the rich fabric. A tiny smile tugged at her lips. “Maybe just one dress.”

      Sinclair nodded, a smile in his eyes, and turned away.

      How sweet of him to let her try on a family heirloom. But which one? Without hesitation, she chose the rich peacock-blue. She held it against herself for a moment—the length was about right—and though the waist was narrow, it wasn’t quite as tiny as she’d first thought. Maybe it would fit, after all.

      She resisted the urge to turn and check on Sinclair as she unbuttoned her Oxford shirt. She knew him too well to imagine even for a second that he’d be sneaking a peek. He had women falling all over him wherever he went, and barely seemed to notice them.

      She lowered her khakis and stepped into the crisp blue fabric. It was creased from being folded and smelled slightly of camphor, but otherwise looked fresh as if it were sewn yesterday. The tiny pearl beads tickled her arms as she pushed them into the short, puffed sleeves. The low-cut neck revealed a broad expanse of her white Cross Your Heart bra, so she quickly undid the bra and slipped it off through a sleeve. She had done up nearly half the tiny, fabric-covered buttons by the time Sinclair asked if she needed help.

      “Just a few hundred more buttons.” She smiled, already feeling like a princess in the luxurious gown. It fell to the floor and gathered there slightly, suggesting she should wear heels.

      “Wow.” Sinclair had turned and stood, staring at her. “Annie, you look spectacular.” His eyes widened slightly as he surveyed her, slowly, from head to toe. “Like a different person.” He crossed the room and fastened the last few buttons. “As I suspected, it fits.”

      “Odd, isn’t it?” She fought the urge to giggle like a little girl playing dress-up. It didn’t help that Sinclair’s fingers were so near her skin that she felt giddy. “But why would we think people had different bodies two hundred years ago? They weren’t so different from us.”

      “No, they weren’t.” Sinclair’s voice was lower than usual. Done with the buttons, he moved in front of her again. His gaze rose over her neck and cheek, and she self-consciously tucked away a loose curl that had escaped her bun.

      He frowned slightly. “You look pretty with your hair up.”

      “I always wear my hair up.” She reached self-consciously for her bun.

      “Do you? I don’t know why I didn’t notice it before.” His gaze heated her skin.

      “It’s the dress.”

      “Maybe it is. You hide under your clothes and conceal the fact that you have a beautiful figure.”

      Her breasts swelled inside the fitted bodice. The cut of the dress acted as a bra, lifting things front and center. “Funny, I’m not sure I’ve ever had cleavage before.” She tried to laugh, to hide her shock at her own bold statement, but the sound withered under Sinclair’s stern regard.

      “It suits you,” he said gruffly. “You should dress up more often.”

      “I don’t really get the chance.” She glanced across the room where she could see a partial reflection in the mirror on the large wardrobe. She looked imposing in the long dress, and the dramatic blue brought out red-gold highlights in her hair. Sinclair’s tall form blocked one half of the view, his broad shoulders concealing the cleavage he admired. From this angle they almost looked like a couple, the distance between them foreshortened as if they were pressed together.

      Like that could ever happen.

      She attempted another carefree laugh, and again it vanished in the air, which suddenly felt hot and oppressive. Sinclair’s frown deepened, and she shivered under his fierce stare. Words failed her as their gazes locked for a second, two seconds, three …

      Sinclair’s lips met hers with sudden force as his arms gathered her close. She melted, her mouth welcoming his and kissing him back with six years of unspent passion.

      His kiss was intoxicating as strong liquor. Annie’s legs wobbled and she clung to him as their tongues wound together. Her nipples thickened against the luxurious silk.

      His scent was subtle, masculine and inviting. She’d never been this close to him before. His skin looked smooth, but now she could feel the roughness of his cheek as he nuzzled her. His fingers wound into her hair, loosing her bun, and a rough groan escaped his mouth.

      A coil of lust unwound inside her. His desire, his need, was palpable. She could sense it vibrating in his thick muscles and heating his tanned skin. His breath grew hot on her cheek, further stirring the passion unfolding in her belly.

       What are we doing?

      The thought seemed very far away, as if someone else was thinking it. Her fingers climbed into his thick, dark hair. It was silky to the touch. She could feel his hands sinking lower, to cup her buttocks, and she arched against him as he squeezed her. His breath came hard and heavy, giving their kisses an air of fevered desperation.

      I’m kissing Sinclair. The thought flashed in her brain like a power surge. But instead of setting off alarms of warning, it sent ripples of excitement dancing to her fingers and toes. How many nights had she lain awake imagining this moment?

      His kisses were rougher and harder than she’d imagined, fueled by desire more powerful than she’d dared to dream of. His hands fisted into the delicate fabric of her dress, feeling for her body beneath. He pulled her closer and his thick erection jutted against her. She gasped at the sensation, such a bold sign of his desire—for her.

      His name fell from her lips in a rasped whisper. She pulled his shirt loose from his pants and reached for the warm skin of his back. His muscles, thick and