She snorted. "I wouldn't be caught dead in that gown."

"What?" His eyebrows shot up. "There's nothing wrong with that design."

"Are you kidding?" She pulled away from his grasp. "What was Echarpe thinking? The neckline plunges past the navel. The skirt slits up to North Dakota. No woman in her right mind would wear that thing in public."

His jaw shifted as he ground his teeth. "The models are happy to wear it."

"My point, exactly. Those poor women are so malnourished, they can't think straight. Take my friend Sasha. Her idea of a three-course meal is a celery stick, a cherry tomato, and a laxative.

She's killing herself to fit into these clothes. Women like me can't dress like that."

His gaze drifted over her again. "I think you could. You would look…superbe."

"My breasts would fall out."

"Exactly." The corner of his mouth tilted up.

She huffed. "I'm not showing my breasts in public."

His eyes twinkled. "Would you do it in private?"

Damn him and his pretty blue eyes. She had to think a moment to remember the gist of the conversation. "Are you going to arrest me or drool on me?"

He smiled. "Can I do both?"

What a confusing man. "I haven't done anything wrong. I mean, other than the crab cake. But I wouldn't have taken it if I could actually afford anything in this place."

His smile faded. "You are in need of money? You plan to sell the designs you copied to another house?"

"No. I just wanted to make one for myself."

"You are lying. You said you would not be caught dead in one of these gowns."

Lying? This guy was full of rotten accusations. "Look, I would never wear one of these gowns the way Echarpe designed them. I tell you, the guy is completely detached from reality. Does he even know any real people?"

"Not like you," he muttered, then held out his hand. "Let me see your sketchings."