Double Standards Read Online Free PDF Page A

at her nape; wisps of hair were sticking out like scraggly spikes all over her head; and her suit jacket was hanging drunkenly off her left shoulder.
    She looked, she thought with a hysterical giggle, exactly like a caricature of herself—like a funny, hopelessly dirty urchin in disheveled clothing.
    And for some reason, it suddenly became imperative that she look vastly different when she walked out of this bathroom. Hastily she began stripping off her soiled navy jacket, gleefully anticipating the shock that was in store for Nick when she was cleaned up and presentable.
    If her pulse quickened with excitement while she scrubbed her face and hands, she told herself it was only because she was looking forward to having the last laugh on him, and
not
because she longed for him to think she was attractive. But she had to hurry; if she spent too much time in here her transformation wouldn't be nearly so effective.
    She pulled off her sheer tights, grimacing at the sight of the gaping holes in her knees, and lathered more soap onto the washcloth provided. Once she was reasonably clean, she dumped the contents of her shoulder bag onto the vanity and opened the package of spare tights she happened to be carrying with her. After smoothing them on, she pulled the pins out of her dark honey blond hair and began vigorously brushing it, tugging the brush through the tangled strands with ruthless haste. When she was finished, it fell in a soft, shining mass that curled artlessly at her shoulders and back. Swiftly she applied peach lipstick, a touch of blusher, then stuffed everything into her purse and stepped from the mirror to survey her appearance. Her color was high and her eyes were sparkling with lively anticipation. Her ascot-style white blouse was a little prim, but it flattered the graceful line of her throat and emphasized the curves of her breasts. Satisfied, she turned away from the mirror, picked up her jacket and purse and stepped out of the bathroom, closing the rosewood panel with a soft click.
    Nick was standing at the mirrored bar, his back to her. Without turning he said, "I had to make a phone call, but I'll have these drinks ready in a moment. Did you find everything you needed in there?"
    "Yes, I did, t hank you," Lauren said, putting down her purse and jacket. Quietly she stood beside the long sofa, watching his swift, economical movements as he took two crystal glasses down from the shelf and pulled a tray of ice cubes from the compact refrigerator-freezer recessed into the bar. He had removed his denim jacket and tossed it over one of the chairs. With each movement of his arms, the thin fabric of his blue knit shirt tautened, emphasizing his broad, muscular shoulders and tapered back. Lauren let her gaze drift down the clean line of his narrow hips and long legs, outlined by the comfortably snug jeans he wore. When he spoke, Lauren started guiltily, her gaze flying to the back of his dark head.
    "I'm afraid this bar isn't stocked with soft drinks or lemonade, Lauren, so I've fixed you a glass of tonic with ice."
    Lauren suppressed a chuckle at the mention of lemonade and demurely clasped her hands behind her back. Suspense and anticipation built inside her as he replaced the stopper in a crystal whiskey decanter, picked up a glass in each hand and turned.
    He took two steps toward her and stopped cold.
    His brows drew together as his narrowed gray eyes slid over the luxurious tumble of burnished honey gold hair that framed her face and fell in glorious abandon over her shoulders and back. His stunned gaze shifted to her face, noting her vivid turquoise eyes sparkling with humor beneath thick, curly lashes, her pert nose, finely sculpted cheeks and soft lips. Then it drifted downward over her full breasts, trim waist and long shapely legs.
    Lauren had hoped to make him notice her as a woman, and he was certainly noticing her. Now she rather hoped he would say something nice. But he didn't.
    Without a word he