The T-shirt was V-necked and modest enough to cover her cleavage but fashionably off centre so that a matching azure bra strap was exposed over one shoulder as she moved. Her collarbone formed a crisp outline.
Amber had never been overweight, but it seemed that she was paying the price of working with fashion designers.
She was too skinny. Way too skinny.
She had tied her broken wrist into a long blue scarf with pink and gold threads which ran through it to form a kind of halter neck.
The shade of blue matched the colour of her violet eyes. Perfectly. And, without intending to, Sam’s gaze was locked onto those eyes as though he was seeing them for the first time.
Her hair was clipped back behind her head in a simple waterfall. She wasn’t wearing any make-up from what he could see and did not need any.
He wondered if she realised how rare that truly was. Yes, he had met stunning girls in Los Angeles—the city was full of them.
But Amber DuBois was the real deal.
No doubt about it.
The lanky, awkward girl who had never known what to do with her long legs and arms and oversized feet was gone.
For good.
Replaced by a woman who looked totally comfortable and confident in her own skin.
This was the Amber he had always known that she would become one day, and he was suddenly pleased that she had realised just how lovely she truly was. And always had been.
Now the world had the chance to see Amber the way he had once seen her. As a beautiful, confident woman with the power to take his breath away. Just by looking at her.
‘Hi, trouble,’ she replied casually with a bright smile as though she were greeting an old friend, which was about right. ‘You are right on time.’
He gave her a mock salute. ‘Reporting for duty as ordered.’
Her small laugh turned into a bit of a cough, then she turned back to Kate and Saskia and pressed her cheek lightly to each of them in turn. ‘Thanks, girls. I’ll see you the same time tomorrow. Oh—and don’t forget to check online about the shoes. Bye. Bye for now.’
Amber stepped past Sam and waved to Kate and Saskia as they carefully wove their precious cargo of bags and suit carriers down the hall towards the front door, laughing and chatting as they went, with only the occasional backwards scowl from Kate over one shoulder to indicate how pleased they were to see him again. Not.
Only then did Amber turn back to face Sam, her hand resting lightly on one hip.
‘I cannot believe that you actually came.’
‘So you weren’t serious about the audition? Great!’ Sam replied, pushing himself off the door post and dusting his hands off and patting his pocket. ‘Shall we get started now? I have my trusty tape recorder right here.’
Amber exhaled explosively and held up both hands. ‘Not so fast. I was perfectly serious—you have to audition for this gig.’
Sam lifted both hands as he grinned at her.
‘Well, here I am. This is me proving that you can trust me to keep my word and do whatever it is you need me to do. Your personal slave is ready for action. So let’s get started.’
‘Oh, now don’t tempt me,’ Amber murmured under her breath, then she lifted her chin and peered at him through creased eyebrows. ‘You had better come into my bedroom.’
Sam blinked several times. ‘I am liking the sound of this already.’
She closed her eyes and shook her head. ‘And I am regretting it already. Do not even try and flirt with me because it won’t work. Okay?’
‘Methinks the lady doth protest too much,’ Sam replied, then winced at the searing look she gave him. ‘Okay, I get the message. I am a snake who cannot be trusted. So. Let’s get this game of charades started. What is the first thing on that long list of yours?’
Amber pressed her forefinger to her full, soft pink lips and pretended to ponder.
‘You may have noticed that I am having a bit of a declutter at the moment.’
‘Declutter? Is that what you call it? I have to tell you that, despite reports to the contrary, my knowledge of female clothing is not as great as you might imagine. So if you are looking for fashion advice...’
Amber jabbed her finger towards the bedroom wall right in front of them, which was covered with a framed collection of artwork, portraits of Amber and old sheets of music manuscripts.
‘I need someone to take my pictures down so I can decorate. It is a bit tricky one-handed and some of them are quite valuable. I vaguely recall that you can handle a screwdriver. Think you can manage that?’
Sam stepped forward so that they were only inches apart.
‘Bambi, I can handle anything you throw at me.’
She took a step closer, startling him, but there was no way that he was going to let her know that.
‘Oh, this is only the start. I have a very, very long list.’
‘I expected nothing less.’
He turned to go back into the living room, and then looked back at Amber over one shoulder. ‘And don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone that you couldn’t wait to drag me into your bedroom the first chance you could get.’ He tapped one side of his nose with his forefinger. ‘It will be our little secret.’ And with that he strode away from Amber, leaving her wide-mouthed with annoyance, delighted that he had managed to squeeze in the last word.
Two hours later Sam had taken down the framed pictures from the walls of two bedrooms, a kitchen and a hallway, covered them in bubble wrap and packed them into plastic crates already stacked two high along the length of Amber’s hall, before starting on the living room.
The barrage of noise, telephone calls and visitors had slowly faded away as the morning went on so that by the time he had unscrewed the last of the huge oil paintings and modern art installations in the living room, he didn’t have to worry about stepping on Amber’s peep toe sandals as she worked around him, or accidentally brushing plaster dust onto some fabulous gown which had been casually thrown over a chair or garment rail.
It took superhuman effort but for most of that time he kept his eyes on the rawl plugs and loose plaster behind the pictures instead of the long, lean limbs of the lovely woman who brushed past him at regular intervals in the hallway, leaving a trail of scented air and a cunning giggle in her wake.
Decluttering? When he’d cleared out his furnished Los Angeles apartment, he had walked out with two suitcases and a laptop bag. The same way he had found it. All of his car magazines and photos were safely scanned and digitised. The rest had been recycled or passed on to his pals. He never had to go through this palaver.
Sam stood back and tilted his head to look at a pair of large oil paintings made up of small shapes inside larger shapes inside larger shapes which was starting to give him a headache.
And some of the picture frames had sticky notes on the front with the letter S written in purple marker pen. Purple, he snorted. What did that mean?
Right. Finish this little collection. Then it was time to go and find the lady and find out.
No need. Here she was, ambling towards him. Head down, a large garment bag over one shoulder and a cellphone pressed against her ear, oblivious to his presence.
From the corner of one