The car let them out right in front of a massive, elegant building, the Bergdorf Goodman. She would recognize those double-crossed Os, looped like two Olympic rings, anywhere.

“Bergdorf Goodman?” she breathed, shocked. “Oh, wow. It’s huge.”

“I thought you might be interested. You mentioned department stores,” West said, offering her his arm. She took it, enjoying pressing close to him. Women passing on the street spared him glance after glance. “This is a premier department store. The best.”

“Look at the windows!” she gasped, eyeing the gamine mannequins behind the glass. They were all wearing designer gowns and runway shoes—nothing that would fit her, of course. “It’s all so gorgeous. So fashionable.”

“Indeed. Shall we?” He gestured to the oval-cut entrance with a leather-gloved hand. “It’s very nice inside, I promise.”

“Do you come here?” she asked, being led to the store’s doors. “I mean, is this where you buy things?”

He smiled indulgently. “Sometimes.”

It had been a very strange morning for Winnie. First, a maid had come to wake her up—a maid!—and second, breakfast had been served at the same pre-war mahogany table where they’d eaten last night, a round, glossy thing she could probably pawn for a Jaguar. She’d never had such a fine breakfast in her life. West had been there, hardly eating, hardly reading his finance papers, just watching her with his gold-ringed eyes. And then he’d told her to get dressed to go out. So now, they were here. At Bergdorf Goodman.

West was a mesmerizing, unusual man. She’d enjoyed their dinner last night, however brief, and she was excited about the day ahead, but she wasn’t quite sure what to think of him. He was cool, composed, intense. She’d never met a man so in-control.

Inside Bergdorf Goodman’s, the perfumed air of the cosmetics department surrounded them right off. Winnie tightened her hold on West’s arm, unconsciously, for reassurance. Names like Chanel and Dior were hanging all over the floor.

“Is this a dream?” she asked faintly. “A really pretty one? That smells like No. 5?”

“I don’t think so,” West said pleasantly. “Let’s go upstairs. I made an appointment for you.”

“An appointment? For me?” She stared at him, confused. “What? What kind of appointment?”

“You’ll see.”

He guided her toward a brassy elevator, and they pressed in with other shoppers as it ticked upward.

“West?” she asked suspiciously when they got off. An attractive forty-something woman with colored hair was coming toward them, dressed in crisp, expensive clothing. “What is this appointment for?”

“Winnie, let me ask you a question,” he said, the strange beauty of his eyes boring into her. “When a friend visits you, do you take them out for dinner?”

“Yes,” she answered tentatively.

“Do you consider paying for that dinner an inappropriate hardship?”

“What? No, of course not, but—”

“Hello, good morning,” the woman said in a pleasing, mellow voice. “Are you Miss Wednesday? My nine-thirty girl?”

“She is,” West said smoothly. “Winnie, this is Teodi. She’ll be your stylist today. Let her dress you. Teodi, we’ll take all the best pieces, of course.”

“West! What? No!” Winnie protested, her heart rate spiking. “I can’t! I could never accept this. The cost, it’s—”

He gripped her arm and leaned down to murmur hotly in her ear. “Consider it a ‘welcome to New York’ present. It’s like paying for a dinner. It won’t injure my savings. Trust me.” His breath was mild, with a faint, clear, pine-like smell. Delicious. “You’re my guest. I want to do this for you.”

“But . . .”

“Don’t deny me, Winnie.” He leaned close enough that his stubble stung her cheek deliciously, flipping her stomach. “Let me give you everything I want to.”

She flushed. What could she say to that? To protest too much would be rude, ungrateful. He was obviously set on making this gift to her. Besides, he was such a confident, self-assured man that she didn’t think any argument she made would have any effect. He was in control here.

“Shall we go into the dressing room?” Teodi asked, smiling. “I’ve pulled some things for you to try.”

“I’ll wait outside, on that couch,” West said, drawing back. “Step out and show me anything you want me to see. I’ll be ready to admire you.”

There was an erotic suggestion in his voice. The blood between her hips warmed and her face flushed. She thought of how the mere fantasy of him had made her come last night, honeying her panties.

“Come on,” Teodi said, taking Winnie’s jacketed arm and guiding her back into the dressing room. West watched her go.

It was a beautiful dressing room, it turned out, carpeted and lit with crystal lights. Teodi had indeed pulled an entire rack of garments for Win to try.

“How did you do this?” Winnie asked, amazed. “You don’t know my measurements . . . I mean, do you? You don’t, right?”

“Mr. Croft sent me your photo,” Teodi said. “That was enough. Shall we get started? Which piece would you like to begin with?”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to be trying on,” Winnie said, shrugging. “He made this appointment, not me. I’m not even from New York.”

“What a treat! Don’t worry, dear. You’re in good hands.” Teodi handed her a dress that was a froth of green and seafoam silk. “Let’s start with something a little bold.” She winked. “Have to make him fall in love.”

It was a gorgeous dress, Winnie had to admit. Once she got it on, she looked like a goddess of the sea. It was strapless, and all her curves were on full, luscious display in the waterfall of silk.

“How much is this?” she asked doubtfully. “It’s gorgeous, but—”

“Mr. Croft said not to answer any question like that,” Teodi answered cheerfully. “Don’t worry about the prices.”

No. No, I am going to worry about the prices, Winnie thought stubbornly. I don’t want him spending the budget of a small country on me, rich or not.

“Excuse me,” she said firmly, leaving the dressing room.

West looked up from the couch where he was waiting outside with, apparently, perfect patience. When he saw her, she could have sworn the gold rings of his eyes thickened.

“How much is this?” she asked, very aware of her naked shoulders and the plushness of her cleavage. “Do you know? She won’t tell me.”

“I have no idea what it costs,” he answered, smiling. It was a suggestive smile. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I want to know.”

He gazed at her, still smiling. “Tell Teodi not to keep the costs from you, then. She’ll know the price. The figures make no difference to me.” He straightened, looking amused. “But if I had to guess, it’s somewhere in the four-figure range.”

Winnie blanched. West chuckled.

“The price doesn’t matter,” he repeated. “You look astonishing. You need that piece—and you’ll have it.” His eyes moved over her abundant curves. “No arguments.”

By the time they left, Winnie had acquired almost an entire new wardrobe, and was wearing a pale pink bell coat—fresh off the season’s runways—out into the cold. West had her on his arm again. She was dazzled by the fact that he wanted her there.

A man like this. Pinch me.

“They’ll send the rest on to the apartment,” he explained. “It’ll be there when we get home tonight.”

“Thank you,” she said seriously . . . and for the 300th time.

“Put it out of your mind. Shall we have an early lunch, or shall we go right on to the museum?”

“Which museum?”

“I thought the Whitney would make a good visit for today.”

“An art museum,” she said, brightening even more. “So cultured. I’d like that. Modern art, isn’t it?”

“It is.” He tucked a stray curl of blonde hair behind her ear with a leather-gloved finger, and she shivered with pleasure. It didn’t feel forward at all. It felt natural. “There’s a Kooning there I love. Door to the River. I’d like to show you. You know Kooning?”

“No. But show me,” she breathed.

He helped her into a waiting car, then got in on his side, and they were off.