2000 Kisses Read Online Free PDF Page B

of boots, then tilted her head, staring down her nose in a perfect rendition of Grace Kelly dismissing Gary Grant. “Don't you have anything of higher quality?” Her voice was arctic.
    “We have some custom boots behind the counter.” The woman's green eyes flickered, reassessing Tess. “But you will find that they are considerably more costly.”
    Tess gave a negligent wave of the hand. “I'd like to see the red ones.” She gave a slow grin. “And the blue ones and the gray ones and the brown ones.”
    Ten minutes passed in an orgy of perfect hedonism. Tess tried on boots, belts, jackets, and sweaters, instantly transported by the drape of the butter-soft leathers and cashmeres. She turned one of the price tags, gave it a casual glance, and shrugged.
    Madame X suddenly grew more responsive. “Something to go with the jacket, perhaps? We have a lovely silk jersey shirt with matching skirt. And of course, our cashmeres are exceptional.”
    Tess tried on everything in every color available, then turned to scrutinize the exquisite display of lace lingerie. Unable to resist, she slid on an old-fashioned pleated tulle camisole with matching silk crepe tap pants. The lavender silk fabric kissed her skin and left her feeling elegantly sensual.
    “I'll take it,” Tess said calmly even though her heart was pounding. “And the charmeuse nightgown and the suede jacket.”
    Madame X's lacquered smile nearly cracked as she calculated her commission. “And the boots?”
    “Absolutely. The red ones with the silver studs.” Tess ran a finger along a corselet of Alenson lace and threw caution to the winds. “This one too, I think.”
    As the saleswoman nearly sprinted from the room to begin ringing up the purchases, Tess called her back. “Oh, yes, I'll take that cashmere sweater set in the window, too.” She did a quick mental calculation and smiled. “Actually, I'll take one in every color.”
    “Yes, madam. Of course.
Immediately.
And would you care for a cup of cappuccino while you're waiting?”
    Tess nodded. She would indeed.
    Two hours after she'd entered the boutique, Tess floated out into the street, foil bags draped over both arms. So far, so good. She wasn't prostrate from guilt yet.
    She passed a travel agency and hovered over a rack of bright brochures, Anally scooping up all of them. A specialty cooking store was next, netting her a gleaming silver cappuccino machine, an indulgence she had always craved.
    Wind whipped at her cheeks as she swayed out into the street. She was clutching her packages, calculating how she would possibly get everything home, and then she spotted two huge sale signs emblazoned across the street, where cars glittered beneath a light dusting of snow.
    Blue cars, red cars, silver cars.
    Tess had always planned to get a car, but had never made the commitment. Now that she had some vacation time coming, maybe a grand road trip was the answer. She could go somewhere hot and colorful with lots of history. She thought about Damien Passard's cryptic comments and smiled.
    She started toward the filled lot. Not that she actually meant to
buy
one of those sleek, gorgeous convertibles. Even though she'd always wanted one. No, she would simply window shop and ask lots of questions. Thenshe'd head for someplace that sold nice, sensible cars with good gas mileage.
    Two hours later, Tess sat behind the leather console of a gleaming Mercedes CLK320 in metallic baby blue with oyster-leather interior. Normally, there was a two-year wait on this particular model, but the buyer had had to leave the country on short notice (translation: the IRS was hot on his heels) and his dream car was up for bid.
    Tess stared at the blinking instrument panel, then at her bags and boxes stowed on the leather seat. Maybe she was getting a little
too
good at this shopping stuff. Not that she couldn't afford the car. It had been priced low as a 1999 model already custom designed for someone else. But Tess could live with a