“We could call one of the Bergdorf ladies.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?”

She hit him with an impatient stare. “It’s not that I can’t put on a lot of makeup. It’s that I don’t put on a lot of makeup.”

“Oh.”

She chewed on her slice of pizza, and he followed suit. After a while, she slipped her bare feet off the stool’s crossbar and swung them in the air while they ate in companionable silence.

“What about clothes?” he asked.

“I’ll call Kristy and get some suggestions.”

He nodded his agreement. Having a sister in the fashion design business had to help. “Sounds like you’ve got everything handled,” he observed.

She shifted on the stool, flexing her neck back and forth, wincing. “It’s not going to be that big of a deal. I’m a pretty efficient project manager. The only difference is, this time the project is me.”

Hunter wasn’t convinced project management was the right approach. There was something in the art and spirit of beauty she seemed to be missing. But he was happy to have got her this far, and he wasn’t about to mess with his success.

She lifted her wineglass and the small motion caused her to flinch in obvious pain.

He motioned for her to turn around.

She glanced behind her. “What?”

“Go ahead. Turn.” He motioned again, and this time she complied.

“You painted too long,” he told her as he loosened her robe on her neck and pressed his thumbs into the stiff muscles on her shoulders.

“I wanted to finish.”

“You’re going to be sore in the morning.” He found a knot and began to work it.

“I’ll live. Mmmmm.”

“That’s the spot?”

“Oh, yeah.”

He’d promised himself he’d stick to business, and he would. But his body had reacted the instant he’d touched her. Her skin was warm from the bath, slick from the bath oil, and fragrant from the water and the candles. But he scooted his stool closer, persisting in the massage, determined to keep this all about her.