Rather than taking offense, he tipped his head back on a laugh. "Not at all. I don't give a rap about men's attire. Now women, they are another matter entirely. I love dressing women."
And undressing them, she thought, fully aware of Adam's reputation when it came to the fairer sex. No doubt he knew his way around a woman's garments—and undergarments, come to think—with the skill of a master violinist playing a concerto.
Heat warmed her cheeks, and she found herself vaguely shocked by such musings. She swallowed, wondering if Adam had noticed. If he had, though, he gave no sign, his attention fixed on the pair of evening dresses Penny was holding up for his inspection.
Begrudgingly grateful for his interference, Mallory leaned back and let him choose.
Chapter 3
by Mgid
Is This Why Everyone Dreams About Asian Girlfriends?
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Sexy Asian Girls Want To Date You
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Asian Bombshells Are Looking For A Man Like You
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Better Than Steroids. And It's Legal
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Remove Eye Bags Instantly
A few minutes past six o'clock that evening, Adam stood bare-chested in front of the washstand mirror. With confident precision, he drew the sharp edge of a straight razor across his cheek, coming away with a coating of soap and black stubble. Rinsing the blade clean in a basin of warm water, he repeated the routine action. Generally, he ended up having to shave twice a day since his beard grew fast and heavy.
After years of living a hairbreadth away from penury, he'd grown used to performing his own ablutions without the aid of a valet. And although his recent increase in wealth had afforded him the luxury of hiring a man to care for his clothes and other personal belongings, he still preferred to bathe and dress himself without assistance. God knows he didn't need anyone to hold his shirt and trousers for him. He could put them on himself, thank you very much.
Scraping away a last strip of whiskers, he rinsed the razor, dumped the water and poured fresh. Using both hands, he splashed his cheeks clean, then reached for a nearby towel. With his face presentable enough now for company, he took up a pair of silver-backed brushes and ran them through his hair, smoothing the dark, wayward strands into place. As he did, his thoughts turned to Mallory, her beautiful countenance alive within his mind's eye.
I was hard on her, he realized. But had he been too hard? Had he been insensitive and unsympathetic to her needs and her grief?
His heart gave a painful beat to remember her tears, her distress having nearly proved his undoing. For the last thing in the world he would ever wish to do was hurt Mallory.
He remembered his first sight of her today and his shock at seeing her looking so thin and hollow-eyed. Her blue-green gaze had been as lonely as a distant sea, her cheekbones sharp beneath skin as pale as alabaster, her raven-dark tresses arranged into a severe chignon that exactly matched her doleful mood. The need to protect had risen inside him in an instant, making him long to snatch her up in his arms and hold her close.
Instead, he'd forced himself to sit and talk, determined to do what was best for her even if that best might not be what she wished at the moment. Because mourning or no, everyone could see she needed a push. She'd been walled up inside her grief for far too many months now, allowed to retreat so that she was a shadow of her former vibrant self.
Quite obviously, continuing to leave her to her own devises wasn't the answer. Nor was tiptoeing around and indulging her with kind words, attentive care and concern. What she needed was a bit of shaking up, a diversion that would draw her back into the life she used to lead. While it was true that nothing would ever be quite the same for her again, it didn't mean that her life was over.
