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and raked a hand through my hair. At least I could console myself that she’d always make her designs in a different size in the future to show them on someone else—her discomfort in modeling for me showed that.
    Annalise re-entered the living room in a pale pink top that exposed most of her stomach. I knew I should be looking at the design I was considering buying, but I couldn’t draw my eyes from the expanse of flesh. I could see almost up to… Was she wearing a bra or a bikini top? She turned, offering me a rear view, and I moved to sit on my hands, making sure I didn’t reach out to touch. Her skin was a creamy color. Most girls I dated were bronzed—would the texture feel different?
    She turned back. “This fabric is also wrinkle free, and the loose folds of the shorts allow for a range of movements.” She spoke in a formal, almost stilted manner. “So, they can be worn walking, playing beach volleyball, or other activities on the sand.”
    I finally looked at the matching pale pink shorts in a soft material that fell to folds around her thighs. Oh, no, I couldn’t go there. I was already considering picking up one of her cushions to cover my lap and hide her effect on me. “Yep, that’s nice, too. What else have you got?”
    As Annalise walked away to change, I frantically visualized myself in a cold shower. I just about had myself back under control when she reappeared, thankfully more covered this time. Even so, for the next seven changes of clothes, I used all my self-discipline to keep my mind on the business side of the viewing.
    When she came out in the dress she’d been wearing before the fashion show, I said a quick prayer of thanks that the torture was finally over and stood.
    She passed over the design sketches. “Here, you can have a look while I make lunch.”
    There was a slight tremble in her hand as I took them. Had she been that upset about modeling her clothes? Or perhaps she was still upset about her car? Or maybe I’d imagined it.
    “I’ve already decided,” I said and put the portfolio on her coffee table. “The first green dress and the pink outfit.”
    “I’m glad you liked them.” As she turned to head for the kitchen, I had a quick glimpse of her smile. For all she’d been trying to play it cool, she was thrilled, and it gave me a buzz to be the one to provide that for her.
    I followed her into her small kitchen. “I’ll need to introduce you to Tracey to talk about orders and color choices. You and I have a shopping date tomorrow, so how about the day after that?”
    “Works for me.” She put the sandwich ingredients she’d retrieved from the fridge on the counter, then turned to face me. “What would you like on your sandwich?”
    I moved in behind her and looked over the assortment she’d gathered, from sun-dried tomatoes to artichoke hearts and Camembert. “Do you think I could have plain cheese and normal tomato?”
    She frowned at me as if it were a bizarre request. “You really are a man of simple tastes.”
    “I’m just a surfer with a businessman sham going on.”
    “Is that how you see yourself?” Taking a block of cheddar from the fridge, she started slicing.
    A raspy rrrreht sound—apparently Rover’s version of a bark—came from the floor, and Annalise threw her a piece of cheese.
    It still surprised me that anyone could think anything different. All I was really good for was sitting out on my board, waiting for a wave. What would Annalise—who was so full of ambition about her career—think if I told her that?
    Maybe just stick to the facts.
    “I inherited some money from my father that had been held in trust until I turned twenty-one, and decided to use that, plus my profile in the surfing world, to start a company. I don’t have a degree in business; most of what I’ve done has been instinct.” I hoisted myself up on the kitchen counter across from where she was working.
    “Instinct?”
    “ Rrrreht .” She threw another piece of