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really needed her? She pinched the
bridge of her nose and closed her eyes, willing away a headache.
    “Lara, look at me.”
    She did, then wished she hadn’t. The look of sexual promise
in his eyes had her wet in exactly two seconds. “Okay, I’m looking at you.”
    He scooted over and took her hands in his. Her sweaty hands.
    “Look. This isn’t a proposal of marriage. I just thought you
might want to go out. I felt like we connected the other day, and thought you
might want to explore that a little. I know I do.”
    Connected? Explore? Was this some kind of joke? “We
connected.”
    “Yeah.”
    “You and me.”
    “Yeah.”
    “And so you want to take me out.”
    “Yes.”
    She stood and paced behind the sofa, wringing her hands
together. She could just say no and be done with it. Then again, when would she
have another chance to go out with a fun, gorgeous guy? She didn’t attract guys
like Mark Whitman. Not since…well, never. “Okay.”
    He stood and watched her, his lips curling into a smile.
God, she wanted to lick that grin off his face. Then bathe the rest of his body
with her tongue.
    Uh-oh. There went her nipples again. Both of them this time.
She crossed her arms over her breasts.
    “Great. I’ll pick you up at eight.”
    She followed him to the door. “Eight.”
    “Yeah, eight. Is that okay?”
    No. None of this was okay. “Sure. Eight. Fine. See you
then.”
    He walked out, then turned partway and said, “Oh, and wear
something sexy. We’re going dancing.”
    * * * * *
    Three hours later she was sitting in Lamour, the town’s best
salon, with Nancy jabbering in her ear.
    “Take a bunch of length off. And do something with her
toenails, ugh. And those fingernails. Geez, Lara, when are you going to stop
biting your nails?”
    When I’m dead . Which she wished she was right now.
She should have known better than to tell Nancy about Mark’s return. Her friend
had nearly burst her eardrum squealing over the phone, then raced over and
dragged her out of the house, claiming she needed a total makeover.
    She wondered if Marco, the stylist currently tsk-tsking over
her hair, could do a complete personality makeover while he was at it.
    Maybe make her vivacious, alluring, a witty
conversationalist and an overall fun date.
    She wouldn’t know a fun date if she tripped over it.
    “Dahling,” Marco said, “What do you wash your hair with?
This stuff is like straw. It has to go.”
    Nancy had assured her Marco was the best stylist in town.
Right now he looked more like Dr. Frankenstein.
    And Lara was the monster—his latest science project.
    In less than two hours she’d lost a good ten inches of her
hair and had her eyebrows waxed. Bronze Babe nail polish sparkled on her
fingernails and toenails, and they’d taken so long to apply makeup that she
probably looked like a hooker.
    But when Marco turned her around to face the mirror, she
smothered a gasp.
    Who was that woman?
    She looked over at Nancy’s smirking face, Marco’s
self-satisfied one, then back to the stranger in the mirror.
    Her. The one with short, wavy red hair that curled lightly
against her chin, and green eyes that sparkled, showing off her heart-shaped
face. Full lips were painted the lightest bronze color and shined with sparkles.
    “Wow,” she managed.
    Nancy squeezed her shoulders. “ Wow is right. Honey,
we should have done this years ago. I’ve been telling you that you’re a
knockout.”
    Somehow she knew that at midnight she’d lose her glass
slipper and turn back into the scullery maid she really was.
    “Now, we shop for clothes.”
    She paid homage and a hundred dollars to Marco, thanking him
for the miraculous transformation. He was no Dr. Frankenstein, the man was a
freakin’ genius!
    Then, despite her protests, Nancy dragged her out of the
salon and into the trendiest clothing store in the village. Every sexy outfit
she said no to, Nancy said yes. They argued until Lara was simply too tired to
fight any