only be young and foolish once, she told herself soothingly, couldn’t always strive to be careful and sensible, particularly not when a man as extraordinary as Sev strolled centre stage into her life.
‘Friday will do fine,’ Sev assured her calmly, inwardly amused by her intensity, the open book of her little face that clearly proclaimed her attraction, her longing, her elation. He would make sure she had a good time, he assured himself smoothly, buy her something, spoil her. She would have no regrets when he walked away again. ‘I’ll pick you up at eight. We’ll do dinner and a club.’
Barely able to think straight as the door closed on his exit, Amy raced back upstairs to collect her coat, and it could not be said that her revision class that evening received quite the attention it was due because she was already frantically wondering what the heck she would wear on Friday. She didn’t own a socialising wardrobe, only casual stuff, couldn’t even recall when she had last put a dress on. But she certainly couldn’t afford to buy anything, unless it was out of a charity shop and even buying there was sometimes beyond her budget.
In the end it was her fellow waitress and closest friend, Gemma, who came to her rescue on the clothes front with several outfits that the older woman urged her to borrow. ‘I used to be out every weekend,’ she had said with regret. ‘But once you have a child, it changes things.’
Recalling that conversation, Amy sighed, for once grateful that she had had her mother’s caustic example to guide her through the challenging world of relationships. Although she had never learned the details, she had always assumed that her mother had fallen accidentally pregnant and had, at an early age, resolved never to put herself in a similar position with a man. For that reason, even though she was still a virgin, she had recently gone on the pill, reasoning that sooner or later there would surely be a significant someone in her life and that it was better to be safe than sorry.
The outfits Gemma loaned Amy were mostly too tight or too long because the two women were not similar in size, but Amy finally selected a stretchy black velour dress with a lower neckline than she would have preferred but which was cut short enough to suit her height. She pressed tissue into the toes of the black glittery stilettos she had borrowed and stuck her feet in them at the last minute, fussing with her freshly washed hair and tweaking her light make-up until she heard the doorbell. Her heart was banging at about fifty times a minute before she even answered the door.
It disconcerted her to find a strange man in a smart suit on the doorstep and her attention flew past him to the limo waiting at the kerb. ‘Mr Cantarelli is waiting in the car, Miss Taylor.’
Amy simply froze, staring beyond him in disbelief at the uniformed chauffeur holding open the passenger door of a very long glossy car and regarding her expectantly. She gulped and made her shivering way across the icy pavement into the warm, inviting depths of the very first limousine she had ever travelled in.
Sev dealt her a cool look of appraisal and a faint smile that failed to light up his eyes this time and she noticed the difference, immediately wondering if he was already regretting asking her out now that he had seen her dressed up to the very best of her ability.
‘The limo,’ she said jerkily. ‘You should’ve warned me. I didn’t realise it was you... Who was the man who came to the door?’
‘A member of my security team.’ Sev scanned her, taking in the sheer glory of the petite curvy figure beside him. A body to die for, he acknowledged hungrily, absorbing the pale smooth swell of her cleavage, the slender knees and ankles, her gorgeous face and even more appealing smile. Even though she looked on edge and nervous, she was impossibly cute. And he didn’t do cute, didn’t know where he had even found that word in his vocabulary, and it didn’t matter that she had the breasts of a goddess, he wouldn’t be going anywhere near them, he reminded himself impatiently.
‘What’s wrong?’ Amy asked worriedly, catching the frown that briefly pleated his black brows. ‘Is it the dress? Isn’t it smart enough? I borrowed it.’
Shut up, shut up, close your mouth and don’t