Getting Lucky Read Free Page B

her, but they weren’t show-stopper huge, thank goodness. And they were still right up where they were supposed to be—there was something to be said for that.
    That was the plus side of the ledger; then things got a little dicey. She was short-waisted and her hips and bottom were the bane of her existence, both being several inches fuller than she cared to contemplate, never mind acknowledge. And being only five feet, three inches tall (well, darn near—five-two and three-quarters, anyhow) her legs obviously weren’t the kind that reached to heaven. Thank God for nicely squared shoulders or she’d look like one of those roly-poly punching-bag dolls that always popped right back up no matter how often one pushed the thing down.
    And God bless, too, the benefit of cosmetics and all the other accoutrements of being a woman. Heck , she thought, as she reached for one of her favorite lingerie sets, everyone looks better in clothing, anyway . She stepped into the tiny electric-blue panties and pulled them into place, then shimmied her breasts into the lace demi-cups of its matching bra. She adjusted the straps and swept up a pair of freshly ironed designer jeans. Donning them, she then stepped into a pair of strappy, red spiked heels that added three and a half inches to herstature, and pulled a color-coordinated sleeveless V-necked tunic on over her head. She added a narrow gold chain belt over the slinky jersey material, made a few adjustments until she was satisfied with its loose drape between hip and waist, then stood back and nodded. The glitter of gold was always a welcome addition to any outfit, and the belt helped hint at her contours while maintaining the always stylish, straighter silhouette.
    She sashayed into the bathroom and plugged in her hot rollers. While waiting for them to heat, she applied liquid foundation with a light hand, powdered her T zone, added a hint of blush to the apples of her cheeks, then carefully made up her eyes with neutral colors, all to achieve a luminous no-makeup look.
    The light that indicated the rollers were ready blinked off a few minutes later, just as she was tossing her eyelash curler and mascara back into the vanity drawer. She threw a few rollers into her hair, brushed her teeth, applied a nice cheery, rosy lipstick, and took the rollers out. After waiting a sec to let her hair cool, she pulled a brush through it, then tossed the brush in the drawer, bent from the waist, and mussed her hair vigorously with both hands. Straightening, she tweaked the ’do here and there, then walked back into the bedroom. She stopped in front of the mirror once again to give herself another appraisal.
    “Much better,” she murmured. “I swear, only the airbrushed look truly good stark naked.”
    Still, she mused as she made her way to the kitchen, it certainly wouldn’t hurt to get back on the diet wagon. Perhaps she’d cut up a little fruit and limit herself to that for breakfast.
    It was a worthy goal—and one that lasted until she opened the refrigerator a moment later and spied the full carton of eggs. She did get out an orange, but along with it retrieved two eggs, a large crimini mushroom, a green onion, and half a small tomato. She set them all on the counter next to the stove. Remembering there was a nice smoked Gouda in the dairy drawer, she grabbed that, too, and cut off a small hunk. She drizzled olive oil into a frying pan, set the pan on the burner, and turned the gas on beneath it. As blue flames licked the rim of the pan’s bottom, she broke the eggs into a bowl she’d grabbed out of the cupboard. Adding a splash of half-and-half and a dash of salt and pepper, she whipped them to a froth with a wire whisk, then set them aside to quickly chop the rest of the ingredients.
    She adored good food. She loved everything about it: its scents, its tastes, its textures. Reverence for the world of edibles and everything that could be done with them had sent her first to a culinary