More Than One Night. Sarah Mayberry

not answering my question. Do you think you look good or not?”

      Charlie glanced at herself. The black mesh of her top reflected the candlelight on the table and clung to her breasts in what she could only describe as an outrageously sexy way. The satin of her pants glowed with a more subtle luster, somehow lending her usually gangly legs a new voluptuousness.

      “I look okay,” she finally conceded.

      Gina shook her head. “You’re hopeless. You’re the hottest woman in this room and you don’t even know it. What a waste.”

      Charlie made a disbelieving noise.

      “You don’t believe me?” Gina asked.

      “You don’t need to blow smoke up my skirt. I know exactly where I fit in the man-woman food chain.” From the moment she hit puberty she’d known. She wasn’t blonde, she wasn’t perky, and she didn’t have that unknowable “something” that made men want to howl at the moon. A painful realization at the time, but now simply a fact of life. She’d long ago accepted that straight, mousy-brown hair, plain brown eyes and nondescript features were not going to set the world on fire.

      “So where do you fit, then?” Gina asked.

      “On a scale of one to ten? Five. Maybe six on a good day.”

      “You’re nuts.”

      “Why are we even having this conversation? Let’s talk about something else. Tell me more about this Spencer guy you’re seeing.”

      Gina frowned. “Is this why you never went for it with Hamish in Townsville?”

      “Good God. You have a memory like an elephant.” Charlie took a gulp of champagne, hoping the action would hide the fact that she was blushing.

      Her crush on Hamish Flint had not been her proudest moment. She’d mooned over the sexy, handsome warrant officer from afar for more than a year and never gotten the courage to do more than talk work with him.

      Gina rested both forearms on the table and leaned toward Charlie. “I want you to indulge me in a little experiment. I want you to do a lap of the restaurant. All the way around the perimeter. And I want you to pay attention to how many men look at you.”

      Charlie rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to do that.”

      “Why not? Afraid I’m right?”

      “I know you’re wrong.”

      “Off you go, then. One lap, and pay attention. And no crossing your arms over your chest or sneaking around.”

      “Get off the grass.”

      Gina made a chicken sound.

      Charlie rolled her eyes. “How old are you?”

      “How scared are you?”

      “I’m not scared.”

      “Then put your moneymaker where your mouth is, lady,” Gina said.

      A surge of annoyance brought Charlie to her feet. “Fine. I’ll do it. But be ready to eat your words.”

      Gina gave her a finger wave. “I want an accurate tally. No fudging.”

      Charlie snorted as she turned from the table. Gina was an idiot. Well intentioned, but an idiot nonetheless. Charlie had lived with this body and this face for thirty-two years. As she’d said, she knew her place in the dating food chain. And it certainly wasn’t at the top.

      A server was backing away from the next table and she waited until he’d passed before taking her first step. Immediately she felt the subtle sway of her breasts against the top and had to quell the urge to cross her arms over her chest.

      She lifted her chin and walked toward the first table for four. It was full of men in suits who had clearly come straight from the office, and all four of them glanced at her as she walked past. Two of them fixated on her breasts, the other two on her legs. There was no mistaking their interest and Charlie felt an odd squirm of… something in the pit of her stomach.

       Okay, clearly a fluke.

      The next table boasted six couples. Two men and one of the women gave her a fully body scan. Out of the corner of her eye she saw one of the men turn his head to check out her ass as she passed.

      She frowned, adding two more to her tally. Gina hadn’t told her to count women, after all.

      Next up was a family grouping—three generations, if she was any judge.

       No takers here, I’m sure.

      She was almost out of range when the gray-haired patriarch looked up from opening a gift to offer her a cheeky, spontaneous smile, while the two teenage boys turned and stared unashamedly at her breasts.

       Seven, eight, nine. Bloody hell.

      By the time she’d reached the bar area at the rear of the restaurant she’d racked up seventeen checkouts. She inspected her trousers to make sure her fly was done up. It was. There was no other explanation, then—it had to be the pants and top. Somehow, a bit of slinky fabric had convinced everyone she was a sexy siren. How… bizarre.

      And, if she was being honest with herself, kind of exciting. She’d spent far too many nights talking shop with the boys while watching other servicewomen beat off admirers with a stick to be above enjoying the very flattering male interest. She was only human, after all.

      And maybe more than a little bit tipsy.

      Experimenting, she pulled back her shoulders and injected some sway into her hips as she wove her way through the bar.

      More eyes turned her way.

       Huh. Look at that. I’m really getting the hang of this thing. Who knew it was so easy?

      The thought had barely registered when she stumbled down an unexpected step. Her hand flew out instinctively, grabbing the nearest object—which happened to be a very solid male arm holding a very full glass of wine.

       CHAPTER TWO

      RED WINE FLEW as her weight dragged the arm down. She let out a startled yelp as her hip crashed into her unsuspecting rescuer. For a second she teetered on the brink of losing her balance completely, but he moved incredibly quickly, twisting to face her while his free hand grabbed her other arm. She glanced up and found herself looking into a pair of dark-lashed chocolate-brown eyes that were half concerned, half annoyed.

      “You all right there?” he asked.

      “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t see the step.”

      “But you’re okay now?”

      “Absolutely.”

      They were standing very close, almost chest to chest. She could smell his aftershave—something woodsy, with leather and spice notes—and she could see the fine lines around his eyes and mouth.

      She realized she was staring and took a hasty step backward. Which was when she noticed the huge red stain down the front of his steel-gray shirt. “I ruined your shirt.”

      He glanced at himself. “I guess you did.”

      “I’ll pay for dry cleaning. Or a replacement. And I’ll buy you another glass of wine. Whatever you want.”

      His gaze dipped below her face as he gave her body a slow appraisal. “How about I buy you a drink and we’ll call it even?” There was a cheeky, charming glint in his eye. His behavior was so removed from her usual interactions with men that it took her a moment to understand he was flirting.

      “I can’t let you do that. It was my fault.”

      The smile in his eyes extended to his mouth. “It was an accident. No harm done.”