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wouldn’t make a great Mrs. Ballard just the way she was.
    But he felt he saw a truth about her that she might have been missing herself: that what she was wearing now was a disguise of sorts intended to hide who she really was.
    “Look,” he said, hastily, “you look fine the way you are. But if I don’t end up buying your building, you’ve given me your time for nothing. Let me do something for you. Consider it a thank-you in advance.”
    Pride played across her face, but he saw thefaintest wistfulness in the quick glance she cast at the door. He knew it! She had every woman’s delight in shopping!
    Still, when he held open the door of the store for her and she marched by him, she was scowling.
    He touched the place where her brow was knit. “Have fun!” he instructed her.
    She looked at him, glanced around the store. He could clearly see she was struggling with a decision, and he was relieved when something in her relaxed.
    “Okay,” she said, and gave him a small, careful smile. It occurred to him that that smile changed everything, changed far more than a dress ever could. He saw the radiance in her, and realized the sighting was precious, the part of herself, along with her femininity, that she kept hidden.
    It was a treasure he felt drawn to find.
    Still, her idea of fun turned out to be a menace, because she gave him the trashy version of Mrs. Ballard. She flounced out of the dressing room in a too short white leather skirt and a hot-pink halter top, flipped a dark wave of luscious hair over her naked shoulder and watched his reaction solemnly.
    The truth was he was flummoxed. She looked awful. And yet his mouth went absolutely dry at the slender temptation of her perfect curves, her toned and tanned legs, the glimpse of her belly button where the top didn’t quite meet the skirt.
    When he struggled for words, and all that cameout was an uncertain Ah , the solemn look faded from her face and she laughed. She was kidding him, paying him back.
    But when she laughed her whole face lit up and her eyes danced with mischief, and he knew he’d glimpsed the treasure he’d been looking for. The real Samantha Hall, despite the costume she had put on.
    A half hour later and a half dozen more sedate outfits later, she emerged from the dressing room and twirled in front of him. The defensiveness had left her, and he was delighted at how thoroughly she was enjoying herself. From the sassiness of her pose, she knew it was the perfect outfit, and so did he.
    She wore a summer skirt, of light silk, an amazing blend of seaside colors, the turquoise of the sea and the pale blue of the sky. She had paired it with casual sandals that showed the delicate lines of her feet, and he remembered the white-hot feeling of holding that tiny foot in the palm of his hand last night.
    When she twirled, her loose, glossy hair fanned out and the skirt flew around her, revealing, again, those amazing legs, and hinting at her gypsy spirit. She had on a cream linen jacket, that she hadn’t done up, and under it was a camisole so simple there should be no reason that it made his mouth go as dry as the more flamboyant pink halter top she had tried on first.
    “What do you think?” she asked.
    He thought she was the perfect Mrs. Ballard. Hethought he had dragged her in here to show her something of herself, and had seen something of himself instead. That he was vulnerable to her.
    “You look perfect,” he said gruffly, and then tried to short-circuit his own vulnerability, to make her stop looking at him like that , in a way that made his heart feel like it would swoop out of his chest and land in the palms of her hands. “Let’s go dupe the Finkles.”
    The happy look faded from her face, and he was sorry even though he knew it was better for both of them if they didn’t forget what this was all about.
    “This is the one,” she said, suddenly cool. “Let’s go.”
    He mourned the loss of the magic of the moments they had just