The Fiancée Fiasco by Alyssa Kress Page A

one finger from a point below the curve of her breast down over her hip. "That's perfect on you."
    Roseanne clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering. She could have sworn she felt that hand right on her own body. "Did you notice how much it costs?" She hoped the blunt question would bring the atmosphere back to normal.
    "Who the hell cares?" Winthrop turned around with a wide grin.
    The grin relaxed her. Any possible sexual element was gone. But when Roseanne looked past him, she had to make a face at herself in the glass. "I don't know, Win. This dress— It's not quite me."
    "It's precisely you."
    There was no way to explain. Roseanne liked to look strong in her clothes. This dress didn't look strong. Correction. It looked strong, but in the wrong direction. Instead of warding men off and setting them in their place, this dress worked to lure them in, and set them very close.
    "For one night," Winthrop suggested, as though reading her mind, "look like this."
    Roseanne shrugged. The gesture was far too provocative with her shoulders bare and she reminded herself not to do so again. "Oh, right. I suppose you don't want your fiancée to disappoint the public."
    "They won't be disappointed." Win made the promise as his eyes lowered in a suspicious manner from her face. He cleared his throat. "I'll go pay for this while you get dressed."
    "Not so fast, darling." Roseanne smiled at the innocence in the look he turned to give her. "I'm going to need some accoutrements to go with this little number."
    "Oh, fine. Like what?"
    "Like shoes, the right color pantyhose, and a strapless bra."
    Once again Winthrop's eyes fell to dangerous levels. "You aren't wearing one right now. It looks fine."
    To her dismay, Roseanne felt her face coloring. The size of her breasts, or lack thereof, was a fact she did not care to dwell on under even ordinary circumstances. She particularly did not wish to discuss the matter with Winthrop Carruthers. "It may look fine," she said, grasping to sound logical. "But it feels funny. Trust me on this one."
    Winthrop shrugged. "All right, little filly. I'm handing my gold card to the salesgirl outside. You buy whatever else you need and meet me by the jewelry counter."
    Little filly ? —And the jewelry counter ? But before Roseanne could offer any objections to this appellation or locale, he was gone. Her fingers shook as she stripped the gown from her body. Shopping with Winthrop Carruthers was not turning out as she'd expected.
    He was not suffering, as she'd planned. Instead, and to her considerable chagrin, he'd actually helped her make a purchase.
    As she hung the pale lavender number back on its hanger, Roseanne admitted herself a little unnerved. Win had seen and understood her body better than she did. Somehow, he'd managed this feat—and the goal of paying for the dress—without coming off heavy-handed or obviously macho.
    Roseanne smoothed her hand over the rough silk of the dress. Between herself and Win, she was by far the stronger and more ruthless. So how had the situation started slipping out of her control?
    Time to fight back. Definitely. A good argument would set everything back in its proper place.
    Roseanne gathered the gown, ready for action.
     

CHAPTER SIX

     
    First off, Roseanne was going to nip right in the bud whatever Win planned on doing at the jewelry counter. A dress was one thing, precious gems and metals were another.
    But when she found Winthrop lounging against the spotlit jewelry counter, he did not appear to be buying anything.
    The top layer of her fizzy antagonism vanished.
    He smiled as she met him. Heck. There was not a thing to complain about in his smile, either. No smug triumph or arch satisfaction. Not even a hint of teasing. Just sheer, simple amiability.
    Trying to start an argument with that would be like trying to play handball without walls.
    Grumbling, she handed him his credit card. "Here you go." Damned if she was going to thank him for its