Kitabı oku: «Hot Christmas Nights», sayfa 5
‘Giancarlo,’ she gasped, closing her eyes as she felt it about to happen.
‘No, watch,’ he urged. ‘Watch yourself in the mirror, mia bella. Watch how beautiful you look when you experience pleasure.’
Obediently, Cassie’s lids fluttered open to see that her eyes were dark with desire. Glancing upwards, she met his mocking reflection in the mirror—felt control slipping away as his fingers continued their insistent dance. And then desire dissolved within her—leaving her helpless to do anything but watch herself orgasm. She saw the involuntary jerk of her body and the way that the high colour in her cheeks seemed to spread all over her breasts—as if someone had washed them in rose-pink paint.
Weakly, she clutched onto his arm until the spasms had died away—feeling as if she might float away if she let go of him—but now Giancarlo had moved forward and he lifted her up into his arms. And she thought how decadent it seemed that he was still in his work suit while she was completely naked.
‘Wasn’t that the most erotic thing imaginable?’ he murmured, pressing his lips over hers and feeling her warm sensuality rising up to meet him.
Still dazed, Cassie nodded—because she couldn’t deny his words. It was. But as he took her through into the bedroom she thought that it had been…been…
What?
A demonstration of his superior sexuality. A pleasure-fest, yes—but without any of the attendant romance of deep kisses and tender caresses that her foolish heart had craved. Did he sense her misgivings? Was that why he sat her down on the edge of the bed and crouched in front of her?
‘Are you going to undo my tie?’ he murmured.
With trembling fingers, she complied—realising that he meant her to carry on, so she unbuttoned the silk shirt, too. He helped her with the belt and the trousers, swiftly divesting himself of the rest of his clothes until he was as naked as she, his body all satin-sheened skin and powerful limbs.
‘Oh, Giancarlo,’ she whispered as she felt the hard length of his arousal pressing insistently against her.
‘What?’
‘I didn’t realise—’
‘That it could be so good?’ His lips curved into a smile before drifting to her neck. ‘And I didn’t realise that you would be so beautifully responsive. So quick to orgasm and so eager to learn.’
He pushed her back onto the bed and moved over her, his fingers entwining in the spill of her hair and his lips whispering over hers in tantalising little kisses. And Cassie revelled in the growing familiarity of his body. Already, she was eager to reacquaint herself with the feel of tensile muscle beneath the silken skin and the honed perfection of his torso. This time she knew exactly when he wanted her to part her legs—and although she knew now what to expect, the glorious intimacy of his first thrust still took her breath away.
Glancing up, she could see that the ebony eyes were slitted and opaque as he entered her, could see the play of muscles in his powerful shoulders as he moved inside her. His lips dipped to tease hers—brushing and biting and grazing—until she greedily raised her hands to pull his head down, hearing his soft laugh as he deepened the kiss. She revelled in the changing rhythm—the way his hands clamped around her waist so that he could draw her even closer—until she felt so full of him that there was only one way to release herself from this exquisite tension and that was to let go.
She cried out—a strange, broken little sound she scarcely recognised as her own voice—and almost immediately she heard his own ragged groan. Afterwards, she lay there for a warm age, wrapped in his arms—her head on his chest as she listened to the thundering of his heart as it grew steady and his hand stroked absently at her hair.
But Cassie felt shaken as she lay in the curve of his arms. She hadn’t realised that sex could make you feel so utterly vulnerable—even more vulnerable than she’d felt in that room with the security officers at Hudson’s. Or that it could bind you to a man—make you want to cling to him and never let him go.
He must have gone to sleep, for his hand stilled to lie on top of her head, and she risked turning slightly, her eyes drinking in the details of his face as if she was committing them to memory.
In sleep the rugged features were relaxed—his expression less stern. She studied the dark sweep of his lashes and the way his hard mouth had softened into a sensual pout. It suddenly occurred to her that the man he really was lay concealed behind the rather formidable mask he always wore. Would he ever let her see what lay beneath?
She was unprepared for his sudden awakening—the way those lashes parted to reveal the ebony gleam beneath.
Giancarlo stretched and gave a lazy yawn. ‘Eri persa nei tuoi pensieri,’ he murmured.
She pleated her brows in response. ‘What does that mean?’
‘That your thoughts were elsewhere.’
Cassie pushed the hair back off her face. ‘They were.’
‘Usually a danger sign where a woman is concerned,’ he observed drily.
‘I was thinking…’ She hesitated, because despite the intimacies they’d just shared there was something still a little intimidating about him. ‘That I don’t really know anything about you,’ she finished softly.
His index finger stroked from neck to nipple, his mouth curving as he registered her answering shiver. ‘Yes, you do,’ he contradicted silkily. ‘You know how to turn me on with your big violet eyes and your petal lips and your soft, firm curves. You’re learning a little more every time we make love. By the time you go home to Cornwall, you will have become a sleek and seasoned lover who will be able to captivate any man you choose.’
Cassie supposed that was a kind of compliment—the kind of thing a man would say to his temporary mistress—but it made her feel like nothing more than a body. Somebody without a mind of her own. ‘But I don’t know anything about your life, Giancarlo.’
Giancarlo let his hand drift down to her breast. Why did women always want to interrogate you—and at the most inappropriate times? Hadn’t he hoped that his little shop-girl would be docile when he wanted her to be? He sighed. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘Tell me how you ended up living in London.’
‘It’s a long story.’
‘Those are the best ones.’
In spite of himself, he smiled—his finger stilling on the puckering rosy flesh of her nipple. ‘You are very persistent, aren’t you?’
She bit her lip as she felt pleasure rippling from where he was touching her. Was he trying to distract her? ‘J-just interested.’
He looked into her flushed face. ‘I told you that I was Tuscan by birth?’
‘Mmm.’ Cassie nodded, snuggling a little closer to him. ‘What’s it like in Tuscany?’
The clean, fresh smell of her struck some long-hidden chord within him so that for once he allowed himself to think of the green hills and sun-washed landscape of home—even though he had ring-fenced his memories and put them out of bounds. Exiled himself from it in all the ways that he could—so that even on his rare, duty visits home he didn’t allow nostalgia or sentiment to lure him.
‘What’s it like? Well, it is very beautiful. In fact, some people say it’s the most beautiful place on earth.’
‘So why…why live here, and not there?’
‘It’s complicated.’ He wound a strand of blonde hair around his finger. ‘My brother lives there—and it’s a little too small for both of us.’
He had a brother. She felt as if she had just discovered a missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle. ‘What’s he like?’
‘We’re twins.’
‘Twins!’ She turned onto her tummy and looked at him. ‘Identical twins?’
‘Not really. Well, we…look the same,’ he said, and then gave a short laugh. ‘But no two men are identical, Cassandra—if you were a little more experienced, you’d know that.’
Cassie registered the darkness which underpinned his voice. ‘You had some sort of fall-out?’ she guessed softly.
Giancarlo looked into her eyes and suddenly had the strangest desire to tell her. Was it because pillow talk and secrets were the currency traditionally shared with a mistress—or because her place in his life was so temporary that telling her would have no impact on it? She didn’t mix in his circles and she never would. And hadn’t he buried the memory so deep that he was curious now to see what it would look like if he dragged it out into the cold and dispassionate light of day?
‘A fall-out? Yes, I guess you could say that.’
‘What happened?’
Giancarlo swallowed because the acid taste of betrayal could still catch him unawares. Even now. He stared at the ceiling. ‘It all started soon after the death of our parents. My mother died when I was twelve—my father five years earlier.’
‘That must have been very hard,’ said Cassie softly.
She had the kind of voice which soothed—which felt like balm on his troubled recall. ‘Yes. It was a lonely kind of childhood. Plenty of money but not much else.’
‘And who looked after you?’
‘Oh, we had a series of guardians—aristocratic and intellectual men appointed by the estate who were supposed to educate us, and who we used to take pleasure in outwitting.’ He shrugged his broad, naked shoulders. ‘We were pretty much a law unto ourselves. And of course—we were fiercely competitive. Life was a constant battle to each prove ourselves—maybe to compensate for the lack of parental guidance.’
His mouth hardened. And the lack of warmth, or softness, of course—for there had been no compensatory woman’s touch. No comfort or reassurance from the gentler sex given to two little rich boys who ran wild as gypsies.
Giancarlo felt something like pain as memories came flooding back—more vivid than he had expected them to be. ‘Both Raul and I went to university in Rome. I read law and he read business. We were due to inherit the family estate when we turned twenty-one and we were going to work it between us.’
He remembered Gabriella, too. Tiny and beautiful—with thick hair even blacker than his own and eyes like polished jet. Gabriella, the darling and beauty of the campus. The woman every man had wanted and she had wanted Giancarlo. Oh, yes. His competitive nature had been at first flattered and then seduced by her attention towards him. How he had basked in her adoration and the envy of his peers and how he had revelled in that hot, heady explosion of first love. For a while they became the golden couple—making plans for the future and the family they would make together. And then…
‘So what happened?’
Cassie’s question broke into his thoughts. ‘We both qualified.’
‘Similar degrees?’
‘Mine was better.’ He shrugged. ‘And that is not a boast, but a fact. And that rankled with my brother. On our twenty-first birthday we were summoned into our lawyer’s office and told that Raul would inherit everything. The farms. The vineyards. The olive groves and the properties in Rome and Siena. The vast estates with which the Vellutini name was synonymous would all pass to him.’ He paused. ‘While I would receive precisely nothing.’
Cassie stiffened as she heard the cold note which had entered his voice. ‘Nothing?’ she echoed, bewildered.
‘Niente,’ he confirmed and then emphasised the word again in English. ‘Nothing.’
‘But that’s terrible! Why?’
Giancarlo knew then why he had buried the story. The words were still like bitter poison to say and the betrayal they evoked more bitter still. ‘Because we had been born by Caesarean section and Raul was plucked from our mother’s womb exactly two minutes before me.’ His voice roughened. ‘Making him the true heir to the Vellutini fortune.’
‘I can’t believe it,’ Cassie breathed as she stared into the black brilliance of his eyes. ‘That’s…unbelievable!’
‘Have you never heard about primogeniture?’ he questioned softly. ‘The first-born’s right of inheritance. It’s pretty feudal—some might say primitive—but legally binding, all the same.’
She let the words sink in, trying to imagine what she might have done if she’d been in his brother’s position. ‘But didn’t…Raul—feel morally obliged to share some of his good fortune with you?’
Giancarlo’s lips curved into an acid smile as he remembered the look of unmistakable delight on his brother’s face—and the subsequent and insulting offer of a small, barren piece of land in Puglia, which he had rejected. ‘Not in any real sense, no. Sharing wasn’t really Raul’s thing. In fact, in the true spirit of sibling rivalry—and maybe to make up for all the times I’d beaten him—he decided that he still hadn’t got quite enough. So for good measure he also took Gabriella, the woman I was going to marry—although, to be fair, he didn’t have to try very hard. She liked the finer things in life and Raul was able to provide them for her. Why hang around with the twin who was going to have to work for his living when you could lead a life of luxury as a rich man’s wife?’
Cassie bit back a gasp as she thought about the impact that must have had on him. Why, it must have been like a kick in the teeth—no money and, then, no girlfriend. His imagined future completely distorted. His pride trampled underfoot. And that might hit him harder than anything else, she realised—with a sudden flash of insight. ‘So what happened?’
‘I came to England and worked for a law firm which specialised in Italian property deals. There weren’t many people in that field at the time and so I was in a strong position. At first I lived frugally, and worked hard—a habit which I’ve never quite lost. With the money I saved and the insider knowledge I gained I was eventually able to start buying property myself. And I was rather good at it—or, rather, I had a talent for spotting places ahead of the market. I bought in down-town New York before it became the fashionable thing to do. I speculated in areas of London which popular thinking said would never take off—but which soared. Buy low and sell high—it’s not an original concept, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t work. It’s how I built up my business into what it is today.’
Cassie thought how animated his face had become as he’d talked about his business—it had been the most alive she’d seen it apart from when he was making love to her. She could see that it must have mended his wounded pride and brought him immense satisfaction to make money for himself, rather than having it easy by inheriting it. But Cassie’s question hadn’t really been about the money. She had been far more interested in the other part of the betrayal.
‘And what about your ex-girlfriend?’ she questioned carefully. ‘What happened to her?’
‘Gabriella? Oh, she married my brother and they’re still together. In fact, they have a daughter and are living on the family estate.’
Cassie stared into his face, searching for clues about how he felt but there was nothing other than the little flicker of a pulse at his temple and his voice sounded completely casual. Almost too casual. Did he still hanker after the woman who had betrayed him? she wondered. And was that betrayal the reason why he had never married—why a man as gorgeous as he was should live a life which seemed essentially lonely at its heart?
‘Oh, Giancarlo,’ she whispered. ‘I’m so sorry.’
At her unasked-for words of sympathy Giancarlo stilled, wondering why he had said so much—and why to her? Because she had that cute little way of asking—of widening her violet eyes—so that uncharacteristically he had found himself telling her? His mouth hardened. Well, she need not imagine that this was the first of many confidences he would share with her—or that she had found the key to ‘understanding’ him. He would tell her the truth and, although it might hurt her a little now, it would warn her off amassing much greater hurt in the future.
‘Please don’t waste your sorrow on me, Cassandra,’ he advised softly. ‘Don’t they say that it is hardship which hones the character? And can’t you see that it is immensely more satisfying to have made my own fortune than to have it bestowed on me by an accident of birth?’
‘I wasn’t thinking about…about the money,’ Cassie said hesitantly. ‘But more about your girlfriend.’
Did she really imagine that he was still carrying a torch for the woman who had been nothing but an out-and-out gold-digger—someone who could be bought by the highest bidder? ‘Again, your sentiments are misplaced, Cassandra,’ he said silkily, his eyes glittering out a distinct warning. ‘You see, in many ways she did me a big favour. It taught me early in life the valuable lesson of never trusting a woman.’
Chapter Six
‘WHAT is that monstrosity hanging on the front door?’
Cassie waited until Giancarlo had put his briefcase down in the hall before drawing a deep breath. ‘It’s a Christmas wreath.’
He turned to her, his eyes narrowed. ‘Forgive me, I phrased myself badly, bella. I know exactly what it is. I meant—what the hell is it doing there?’
‘I thought it looked…pretty.’
‘And I thought I told you that I don’t do Christmas.’
Cassie swallowed. ‘I know you did—I just don’t understand why.’
‘Because it’s nothing but misrepresentation. It allows sentiment to masquerade as emotion, depicts unrealisti-cally happy families and dresses up greed as some sort of seasonal need.’
‘Bah-humbug!’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Excuse me?’
‘It’s a joke. Something you say about people who don’t like Christmas. People like you.’
‘I think you’re missing the point, cara. When I say that I don’t like Christmas it means you should heed my words—not attempt to change my mind. Especially after a long day at work when I want to be greeted with nothing more controversial than a kiss.’
Cassie moved into his arms. ‘No, I suppose not.’
Giancarlo saw that her lips had softened just the way they always did when he was about to kiss her—but he heard the unmistakable trace of defiance in her soft voice. ‘And anyway, where did you get the money to buy such a magnificent monstrosity—when you have refused point-blank to accept any funds from me?’ Her stubborn refusal to do so had at first made him suspicious—for he couldn’t believe that there was a woman alive who wouldn’t itch to be given free use of his credit card during her tenure as his mistress.
He had tried insisting that she would need money—in order to go shopping. And that was when she had told him that she had no intention of doing anything as dull as shopping while she was installed in his London town house. That she could go shopping any time and she wasn’t particularly into consumerism. He remembered his surprise when he realised that she actually meant it. And that she intended spending her days enjoying the city for free—by visiting the many galleries and parks the capital had to offer.
But now it seemed that Cassandra—who would sigh wistfully whenever they passed a tacky Christmas window display—had finally succumbed and given into the temptation of a seasonal wreath.
‘I made it,’ she said suddenly as his lips brushed against hers.
‘Made what?’
‘The wreath.’
‘You can’t have made it. It looks far too professional.’
‘But I did, Giancarlo—we do sell crafts in our shop, you know, and we are supposed to know something about them. I found a sweet park-keeper in Kensington Gardens, who let me pick some holly and ivy—and I asked your driver if he had any wire I could use. And then I found the base in a cheap little—’
‘Enough!’ protested Giancarlo, but for a moment he was laughing as he bent his lips to her ear. ‘I had no idea that my mistress could be so damned stubborn.’
‘Didn’t you?’ she questioned, winding her arms around his neck. She was about to tease him back—to say something on the lines of, Well, maybe you have a lot to learn, Giancarlo. Except that wouldn’t be true. He didn’t want to learn anything about her, not really—and even if he did, there was no time left in which to do it.
The hours had become days and the days had become weeks—and there were only a few days before their arrangement came to an end. Five days until Christmas Eve—when she would be dispatched back to Cornwall like a parcel which had just caught the last post.
And her time with Giancarlo would be over for ever.
She tried not to dwell on it—to think instead of the pleasure she had had with him. All the shows, the films and the dinners they had shared—and her glorious and continuing education in the joys of sex, taught by a true master of the art. It had been just the two of them—as if the rest of the world didn’t matter—isolated in their own erotic little bubble.
And all the while she had been trying not to focus on the time which was draining away and bringing the day of her departure closer and closer—but it wasn’t easy. Especially not when you had started to care for a man who had tacitly warned you that to care for him would be a complete waste of time. But the human heart was stubbornly impervious to reason, or warnings. Sometimes it made you long for the things you could never have…
She broke away from his kiss and looked up at him. ‘So can we keep the wreath?’
‘That depends.’
‘On what?’
His lips curved into a smile as his fingers squeezed at one pert globe of her delectable bottom. ‘On what you are prepared to do to make me agreeable.’
Glad that they had the house to themselves, Cassie slid her hand down over his belly and laid the palm of her hand over his groin. Through the immaculate suit trousers, she could feel his unmistakable arousal pressing against her. And as she stroked him with growing insistence through the fine material she lifted her lips to touch the faint rasp of his jaw.
‘Why don’t you come upstairs and find out?’
‘Or why don’t we find out right here?’ he growled.
She needed no second bidding, revelling in his powerless capitulation as she unzipped and then slithered down his trousers and slid to her knees in front of him. She took him in her lips—savouring the silken steel of his shaft, teasing it with the soft flick of her tongue and then sliding it deep inside her mouth so that he gasped. Holding onto his hips, she kept up the seductive rhythm while he feverishly tangled his fingers in her hair and then she felt the tension build—heard his helpless groan as he could contain himself no longer. And she felt an odd sense of triumph as he began to spill his seed inside her mouth.
Afterwards, there was silence foramoment—punctuated only by the sound of Giancarlo frantically drawing air back into his lungs. Then slowly, he brought her up to standing, his eyes almost opaque with lust as they scanned her face. Touching his finger to her lips, he bent his head to kiss her—tasting his own essential scent on her skin.
‘Let’s go to bed,’ he said softly.
‘Yes, please,’ she whispered.
In the bedroom, he removed her clothes so slowly and erotically that she writhed beneath his fingers, her blood on fire. His own clothes he took off much more efficiently, his eyes not leaving hers as his silk shirt fluttered to the floor like a flag of surrender. And at last the dark boxers were removed, to reveal his tumescent arousal in all its magnificent glory.
‘You look daunted, cara,’ he murmured.
She glanced at him from beneath her lashes. ‘Is it…is it normal for a man to be as aroused as often as you are, Giancarlo?’
He gave a low laugh tinged with satisfaction as he began to stroke her—and yet, in truth, her eagerness and her appreciation were a constant aphrodisiac which never failed to arouse him. ‘You will find few men to match me in terms of libido, bella.’
She supposed it was her own fault for asking, but his matter-of-fact reply sent a faint tremor through her body—making her feel as if she were nothing but another notch on his bedpost.
But she was just a notch, wasn’t she? Giancarlo had never promised her anything else—so if she found the thought of saying goodbye to him unpalatable, then she had only herself to blame.
Yet all her doubts and her anxieties were dissolved when his hands moved over her with practised ease. He stroked her quivering skin until she was a mass of sensitive nerve-endings and she moaned his name softly beneath her breath as he brought her slowly down onto his aching shaft.
‘Giancarlo,’ she breathed.
‘Look at me,’ he instructed silkily.
Their eyes locked as he guided her hips into a deep rhythm and his captured gaze when he was deep inside her seemed unbearably intimate. But as the erotic dance led her inexorably towards orgasm she shut her eyes tightly again—afraid that he would see the naked pain which sometimes intruded at the very moment of pleasure. Pain provoked by the thought of a life without him.
It was only later, when they were showered and dressed and eating a delicious dinner cooked by Gina—who had returned from her shopping trip—that Giancarlo raised his glass to her in silent toast.
‘Tell me, bella mia,’ he said softly. ‘Do you have a passport?’
The unexpected question made Cassie put down her wine glass as she looked at him—her heart thudding as she basked in the ebony stare he was slanting at her.
‘Yes. Yes—of course I have a passport.’
‘No “of course” about it,’ he pointed out, with a dry smile. ‘Since you told me you’d never been to Europe.’
‘Ah, but I went on a day trip to Calais when I was at school—does that count?’
Giancarlo bit back an indulgent smile as she pushed away her plate and looked at him with interest. As a mistress she had been perfect. Unwittingly amusing. Sexually curious—and with a native intelligence which sometimes surprised him. He had enjoyed introducing her to theatre and the opera—even if he hadn’t got round to introducing her to his friends. Why bother, when she would never encounter them again? No, early on he’d realised that time spent with Cassandra could be spent in a much more enjoyable way than sitting through interminable dinner parties and fielding off faintly embarrassing questions about how they’d met.
But while shaving that morning he had realised with something of a shock that there was hardly any time left and that Christmas was almost upon them. For once, he had not noticed the passing days nor been bored by the constant company of one woman. Barely a week to go until he travelled to New York to spend the holidays with friends—the way he always did. And when he returned to London it would be to a bed and a life bereft of his young, blonde lover.
Would he miss her?
He studied her as the tip of her little pink tongue snaked its way around her lips to make them gleam provocatively. And he remembered what that same talented little tongue had been doing just a little while ago. For a woman who had known nothing of a man’s body when he had first met her, she had proved to be a remarkably quick and talented learner.
Yes, he would miss her—but he would soon forget her. He always did.
‘Oh, I can think of more enjoyable ways of seeing the Continent than a school day trip,’ he murmured.
‘Really?’
‘How would you like to go to Paris?’ he asked suddenly.
‘Paris?’ she squeaked.
‘Capital of France,’ he said gravely. ‘Have you heard of it?’
Cassie looked into the gleam of his black eyes—at the rugged, proud features which made her heart flip every time he came into the room. ‘Oh, Giancarlo—do you really mean it?’
‘I really do.’
‘When?’
‘How would tomorrow morning suit you?’
‘That soon? Oh, my goodness! Yes, please. Oh—thank you! Thank you!’ She jumped up from her seat and slid her arms tightly around his neck just as Gina walked into the room to collect the plates. Quickly, Cassie let her arms fall—even if she hadn’t felt the sudden tensing of Giancarlo’s shoulders. Because he didn’t do demonstrative—not in the street, not in restaurants or in the theatre, and he certainly didn’t do demonstrative in front of his cool housekeeper.
Getting used to having live-in staff had proved more challenging than learning to share a bed. Gina hadn’t been unfriendly towards Cassie—she had just showed a polite indifference which could be terribly intimidating at times. And while Cassie could see that Giancarlo needed people to run his house for him, she wished that they could have all been dismissed during her brief stay there. She would have liked to have had the freedom to roam the house. To make love in every room. To cook for him herself instead of always having their meals served up to them—either at home or in some fancy restaurant. Because she wasn’t interested in all the trappings which came with Giancarlo’s great wealth—she was interested in him.
‘Cassandra and I are going to Paris for a few days,’ said Giancarlo as a pink-cheeked Cassie returned to her seat.
‘How delightful,’ said Gina, with a cool smile. ‘Paris is always lovely at this time of year.’
Cassie gave a watery kind of smile, thinking that the whole world was more well travelled than she was! But she blotted out her insecurity as she got ready for the trip. A few weeks ago, packing for such an event would have been beset with problems, but not any more—mainly because her wardrobe had expanded slightly to accommodate her role as a tycoon’s mistress. It had started when Giancarlo had returned from work late one night bearing two fancy carrier bags—both festooned with soft layers of tissue paper. Cassie recognised the brand names immediately and blinked as he handed them to her.
‘What are these?’
‘Why don’t you open them and find out?’
From the first bag she pulled out a black silk dress which slithered through her fingers like a snake. ‘Oh!’
‘Like it?’
‘How could I not like it? It’s…it’s…beautiful. But how did you know my size?’
There was a pause. A smile. A shrug. And Cassie’s cheeks grew hot with embarrassment as she correctly read the expression in his eyes. Of course. She wasn’t the first woman he had bought clothes for and she certainly wouldn’t be the last. He was an expert in guessing a woman’s size.
