Body Language Read Online Free PDF

dress and headed for the door.
    “Sandy.”
    She turned back to see his smile. “Don’t forget this.” He opened the lingerie bag and tossed something white and impossibly tiny at her.
    Sandy changed slowly in the little room she’d made into her home office. There was no mirror, so she couldn’t really see what she looked like. But she looked down at the taut white material covering her hips and stomach. The dress
felt
good. And, God! Somehow the design of the bra McCade had bought gave her cleavage. Actual, honest-to-God cleavage!
    There was a soft tap on the door. “It’s the leg police. You forgot your stockings and shoes.”
    She pulled the door open, and he stood there, shimmering hose hanging from one hand, a pair of white pumps with very high, lethal-looking spike heels hanging from the other. His eyes traveled slowly and appreciatively down and then back up her body. Sandy folded her arms protectively across her chest.
    “Wow. You look—”
    She took the stockings and the shoes and closed the door in his face.
    The stockings were the sheerest she’d ever encountered. She rolled them slowly up one leg and then the other. She slipped the shoes on her feet, refusing to think about Cinderella. But the white pumps fit perfectly, comfortably, even if they pushed her height over the six-foot mark.
    Sandy opened the door to find McCade still waiting for her. He grabbed her by the hand and pulled her down the hall to the kitchen.
    “McCade, wait,” she complained. “I haven’t even seen myself in the mirror yet and—”
    He pushed her into one of the kitchen chairs.
    “—I haven’t learned to walk in these shoes yet and—”
    He’d spread all the new makeup he’d bought out on the kitchen table. With a flourish, he drew one of her spare bedsheets around her, covering her completely from the neck down.
    “White dress,” he explained. “Don’t want to get any makeup on it.”
    “McCade—” Sandy stopped. She took a deep breath and started again, trying to sound rational and in control. “Clint, what are you doing?”
    He was looking at her critically in the bright overhead light. “I’m going to put some makeup on you,” he told her almost absently as he studied her face. He smiled then, meeting her eyes. “You don’t really need much, you look good without it. I’ll just enhance what you’ve already got.”
    “
You’re
going to—”
    “I’ve doubled as makeup assistant on quite a few low-budget projects. Off the record, of course, and only on nonunion jobs.” His smile became quite immodest. In fact it was downright smug. “Jim Fabrizio, who is
the
makeup man in Hollywood—”
    “I
know
who Fabrizio is,” Sandy said.
    “He said if I ever wanted to give up camera work, I could have a full-time job working with him.”
    “Well, you’re quite the little bundle of talent, aren’t you, McCade?”
    “Tip your head back and close your eyes,” he commanded. “
And
your mouth, smart aleck.”
    Sandy obeyed, and she felt him touch her face as he spread a light coat of base over her skin. For such a big man, his touch was remarkably light, incredibly gentle. She opened her eyes to see his face inches from hers, his eyes intense. He was standing almost on top of her, his long jean-clad legs straddling her own. He shifted his weight slightly and her crossed legs came into contact with the inside of his thigh. But he didn’t pull back, and there was nowhere
she
could go.
    So she closed her eyes again, trying to relax. His voice was soothing as he softly explained what he was doing, or asked her to move her head a certain way. His breath was hot and sweet against her face.
    “Okay,” he said finally as he pulled the sheet off of her. “Just one more thing, keep your head back—”
    But Sandy’s eyes flew open as she felt his hand dip down between her breasts. “
McCade!
”
    He was half kneeling, half squatting on the floor in front of her, most of his lower body pressed against her