The Marriage Maker. Christie Ridgway

dress displayed a lot of bust and nothing, but nothing was hinted at. “Oh, boy,” she whispered.

      Could she do it? With fingers that trembled just a little, she pulled a couple of wavy tendrils free from the twist of her hair, letting them drift softly around her face. Could she walk out there and face Ethan in something so…well, sophisticated instead of sensible?

      Taking a deep breath—and then swearing to herself to not take another after what she noticed it did to her cleavage—Cleo gave herself one more objective, assessing look in the mirror.

      And liked what she saw.

      She strutted a couple of steps in her high heels, then made an about-face and walked past the mirror again. Yes, she thought. I’m going through with it.

      Because she’d be darned if she was going to send Ethan out of her life with him remembering a boringly sensible, practical, capable Cleo. And if this dress didn’t make him look at her just a teensy bit differently, then her name wasn’t Cleo Kincaid Monroe.

      By the time they’d left the B and B, settled into his Range Rover and driven to the White horn Country Club, Cleo was pretty sure that Ethan didn’t know what to think when he looked at her. While her mother had smiled and told Cleo how nice she looked, Ethan appeared to have swallowed his tongue. The miles to the country club had been covered in virtual silence and Cleo got the distinct feeling that Ethan was glad to have something to focus on besides her and the dress she was wearing.