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‘I’ll unpack.’ A prosaic task that would take only minutes.
She was all too aware of Sloane’s matching actions as she hung a few changes of clothes on hangers in the wardrobe, lay underclothes into a drawer, and set out toiletries and make-up on one half of the vanity unit.
‘Anything for valet pressing?’
‘No.’ She watched as he extracted the appropriate bag, added two shirts, then filled in the slip and slung it down onto the bed.
‘When you’re ready, we’ll go join Georgia and Trenton in the dining room.’
She needed to run a quick brush through her hair and retouch her lipstick. ‘Give me a few minutes.’
In the en suite she regarded her mirror image with critical appraisal. Her eyes were too darkly pensive, her features too pale.
A few swift strokes of eyeshadow, blusher and lipstick added essential colour, and she made a split-second decision to twist the length of her hair into a careless knot atop her head.
Her hand automatically reached for the light parfum spray Sloane had gifted her. Her fingers hesitated, then retreated.
Oh, to hell with it. She wore perfume because she liked the fragrance, not because of any attempt to tantalise a man. If Sloane chose to think the fresh application was attributed to him, he was mistaken.
A quick spray to the delicate veins crossing each wrist, the valley between each breast. Better, much better, she determined as she emerged into the bedroom.
Sloane regarded her with one swift encompassing glance, then caught up his sunglasses and held out her own before standing to one side to allow her to precede him down onto the lower level.
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