Taking a sip from her first glass of champagne, Anne knew that she could make the effort, transcend the touchy social barriers, and even have a good time. These were neighbors if not close friends, and moodiness really wasn’t her scene. It was just tonight… She sighed and continued to prowl restlessly through the Cords’ spacious house, which was a mansion even by Grosse Pointe standards.

She caught a glimpse of herself in a hallway mirror and frowned broodingly. Her ash-blond hair was waist length; tonight, as always, it was appropriately roped, tied and tamed with pins. Her back was covered only by a latticework of black raw silk that seemed more bare space than fabric, though in front the gown demurely stretched to a high-banded collar. Well, perhaps “demurely” was not precisely accurate. The bias cut in front very definitely emphasized her pert, rounded breasts, unremarkable in size but rather sassily uptilted. At the waist, the gown gave up teasing and simply fell to the floor. As she strolled the length of the hallway, a slit in the dress revealed a slim long calf and thigh.

Nature had endowed her with vulnerable, deep-set eyes of a soft green, heavily lashed and accented with slim, arched brows. Nature had also bestowed on her a cameo-fragile complexion, high, delicate cheekbones, a nose just a little too long, and distinctly shaped, petal-soft lips.

Anne had never been grateful for nature’s gifts, however. She had chased the vulnerable look from her eyes with subtle gray eye shadow; she had used foundation and blusher to make her skin seem less fragile; and she had expertly lined her delicate mouth with lip pencil and then gloss. She’d learned a long time ago to make a little makeup go a long way. Overall the image was flawless, aristocratic-an image Anne expected of herself. She had hidden all of her natural touch-me looks inside a not-to-be-touched perfection.