Picture me Sexy. Rhonda Nelson

bit her bottom lip. “Definitely a Big Block.”

      Uh-oh, Delaney thought. That didn’t bode well for her peace of mind or her hips. Thank God for anti-depressants and Lycra, she thought with a droll smile.

      With a silent sigh, Delaney tossed her pencil aside and donned a friendly expression despite the familiar sensation of dread swelling in her belly. She’d detected a flash of pity in Beth’s tense gaze and instinctively knew that this particular morsel of bad news wasn’t business related—it was personal.

      The worst kind.

      Nevertheless, Roger had already called off their engagement. Whatever Beth had to tell her couldn’t possibly be any more humiliating than that.

      Delaney pulled in a bolstering breath, plucked a block of chocolate from her drawer and sat it on her desk. Still, it couldn’t hurt to be prepared. “Well?”

      “You know that trip to the Greek Isles you wanted me to cancel?”

      Delaney snorted and rolled her eyes at her assistant’s attempt at tact. “You mean my honeymoon?”

      “Er…that would be the one, yes.”

      The one that she’d spent months planning, that she’d insisted on paying for herself because her dream honeymoon had been so exorbitantly expensive she’d felt guilty asking Roger’s proud but poor parents to foot the bill. Roger, the tightfisted bastard, had never offered to share the cost with her. Thrifty, she’d rationalized. A good money manager. He’d routinely stuck her with bills that he should have paid all under the guise of not “infringing upon her independent nature.” What a jerk. Delaney mentally tsked and shook her head. How plainly she could see that now.

      “What about it?” Delaney finally asked.

      Beth shifted miserably. “I, uh, can’t cancel it.”

      Delaney blinked, taken aback. “What? Why? I know that it’s last minute, but I still should be able to get a partial refund.” Roger’s cousin owned a local travel agency and had pulled the honeymoon together for them. Considering she’d been the injured party in the breakup, she never expected any problem in canceling the trip and recouping part of her funds. In order to avoid further humiliation, she’d given Beth the job of calling. She should have known she wouldn’t be so lucky. “Get them on the phone,” she sighed. “I’ll take care of it.”

      “Believe me,” Beth sighed wearily. “If it was that simple I wouldn’t be in here.”

      “But it is simple,” Delaney insisted as an insistent quiver of annoying alarm vibrated in her belly. “I’ve paid for a honeymoon package that I no longer need—being as I’m no longer going on a honeymoon,” she added pointedly.

      Beth chewed her bottom lip. “You might not be going on a honeymoon…but Roger is.”

      The room dimmed and brightened all in the same instant. The bravado inspired by her new I-hate-men-because-they’re-faithless-disloyal-oversexed-unprincipled-bastards attitude momentarily wavered. “I’m sorry?”

      With a sympathetic sigh of regret, Beth made her way across the plush rose carpet and lowered herself into one of the red satin wingback chairs that fronted Delaney’s huge antique desk. She swallowed nervously. “Roger and his, uh, new bride are presently on their way to Greece.”

      So she’d been wrong, Delaney thought numbly. Being dumped for the second time just short of the altar wasn’t the most humiliating thing that could happen to her—being dumped, summarily replaced, and having your dream honeymoon stolen from you was much worse.

      Curiously, the idea of Roger having married another woman didn’t bother her nearly as much as the stolen honeymoon. A significant revelation lurked in that thought, but Delaney was too upset at present to ponder it. Honestly, would this nightmare ever end? The papers would undoubtedly have a field day with this latest twist in the Delaney Walker saga. Being a local celebrity of sorts was great for sales, but hell on her personal life.

      “Well.” Delaney forced a bright smile and envisioned herself serenely denuding Roger’s prized antique roses. Revenge therapy played a significant role in her new attitude. “Just exactly when did the happy couple depart?”

      “This morning,” Beth said gravely. “Roger called and asked the travel agent to bump everything up and issue new tickets for his new…for Wendy. Sorry. Yours were nonrefundable.”

      Wendy the accounting wonder, Delaney realized with a spurt of undue surprise. Obviously during all of those late-night meetings, Roger had been checking out more than the bottom line of his personal finances—he’d been checking out Wendy’s as well. Delaney ignored the prick of mortification this newest disgrace brought and blew out a disgusted breath. Well, wasn’t that just par for the course? Clearly the temptation of a cost-effective honeymoon—after all, it was hard to beat free, Delaney thought darkly—was too much for them to pass up.

      The familiar burn of anger and humiliation roiled through her stomach, flashed up her neck and scalded her cheeks. She instinctively tore into the Big Block, broke off a piece of chocolate and popped it into her mouth. Good grief, she’d thought she’d worked past this. After this last fiasco, she’d taken a good hard look at herself and had decided an attitude adjustment was in order.

      With the previous jilting, Delaney had taken the brokenhearted, but proud and dignified approach. She’d laughed when she wanted to cry, she’d been calm when she wanted to scream and she’d never—never—acted anything less than respectable. She’d always tried to be the bigger person, and what had it gotten her?

      Dumped again.

      She’d been left with another mess to clean up. Had Roger considered canceling the caterers? No. Helped with returning gifts? Uh-uh. Delaney once again mourned the loss of her china, the beautiful Wedgwood Floral Tapestry she’d planned to display in the gorgeous antique china cabinet her grandmother had left her. No, Delaney thought as irritation knotted her insides, Roger hadn’t planned to see to anything. And really, in all fairness, why would he? She’d always been the perfect little fiancée. Too well-mannered and polite to do otherwise. He’d fully expected her to do it.

      Because she’d always been a sweet Memphis belle, Delaney thought with no small amount of self-disgust.

      Because she was a respected businesswoman with ties to the community.

      Because, while she might design some of the most sensual, most erotic lingerie in the business, he’d known that she’d never had the gumption to wear it, much less do any of the wicked, depraved things in the bedroom her creations implied or inspired. Roger, the two-timing, self-serving spineless weasel had known her secret, had known that she was so miserably modest that she’d only do it at night, in the dark, and under the sheets.

      Her phobic modesty had been a bone of contention between her and Roger, particularly in the bedroom. But Delaney simply couldn’t help the way she felt. No matter how much weight she lost, no matter what size she finally shrunk herself into, when she looked in the mirror, she still saw the fat, ridiculed child she’d been. No matter how unreasonable it seemed, how bizarre, she couldn’t seem to work past it.

      Still, as a way of proving that she could learn to be adventurous, could learn to be the sexy siren he so desperately wanted, Delaney had decided to give Roger boudoir photos as a wedding gift. The shoot was scheduled for this afternoon. At first, she’d planned to cancel it, but upon further consideration, had decided that the first step in becoming a new woman meant getting past old issues. What better place to start than with her modesty?

      While she could have had any one of her photographers here at Laney’s Chifferobe—her catalogue lingerie business—do the spread, Delaney had booked an outside business to handle her photos. There were some things that were simply too personal to share with people she saw on a day-to-day basis and required anonymity. Despite present circumstances, her lips curled into a droll grin.

      Boudoir photos of the boss certainly qualified.

      The