The Man Who Saw Her Beauty. Michelle Douglas
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Praise for Michelle Douglas
“Packed with a smouldering tension and underlying passion, The Loner’s Guarded Heart by Michelle Douglas will leave readers wanting more… [It] is a keeper that I will treasure. If you are a reader who loves tender, heartfelt stories then this book is a must-buy, because it has all those elements and so much more.” —www.cataromance.com
“Michelle Douglas makes an outstanding debut with His Christmas Angel, a complex, richly emotional story. The characters are handled especially well, as are the many conflicts and relationships. This one’s a keeper.” —RT Book Reviews
She pulled the wig on over her scalp, tugged it into place, and then turned back to the mirror to make whatever adjustments were necessary.
Adjustments that would help her look normal. Adjustments that would help her look whole and healthy. Adjustments that would hopefully ensure people started treating her like a fully functioning adult again.
Finally she stepped back and viewed her face in its entirety. She reached for her pot of blusher. More colour in her cheeks wouldn’t go astray. She applied another coat of tawny pink lipstick, with its advertised stay-put power, and not for the first time gave thanks for the skills she’d learned as a model.
She stepped back again, viewed her face—first from the left side and then the right—and then nodded at her reflection. Her heartbeat slowed. Finally she could recognise herself. When she ventured outside today no one would be able to tell.
And no one was here now to see the way her hand shook as she capped her lipstick, or the trouble she had screwing the lid back onto the pot of blusher.
You have a lot to give thanks for. Chin up!
About the Author
At the age of eight MICHELLE DOUGLAS was asked what she wanted to be when she grew up. She answered, “A writer.” Years later she read an article about romance writing and thought, Ooh, that’ll be fun. She was right. When she’s not writing she can usually be found with her nose buried in a book. She is currently enrolled in an English Masters programme for the sole purpose of indulging her reading and writing habits further. She lives in a leafy suburb of Newcastle, on Australia’s east coast, with her own romantic hero—husband Greg, who is the inspiration behind all her happy endings. Michelle would love you to visit her at her website: www.michelle-douglas.com
The Man Who
Saw Her Beauty
Michelle Douglas
MILLS & BOON
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For Pa, with love.
CHAPTER ONE
BLAIR peered into the mirror with the kind of fierce concentration she normally reserved for casting judgement on her Blair Mac designs for Spring Fashion Week. She didn’t take in her entire face. She fixed only on her left eye.
She held it wide and very carefully attached the false eyelashes. She blinked. She repeated the procedure for her right eye. As a model, she’d learned how to do this twenty years ago. She hadn’t expected to need it now she was no longer in front of a camera or parading down a catwalk, though.
It just goes to show.
Next she attached the false eyebrows. That was a newly acquired skill. Unlike the lashes, they wouldn’t need to be removed every day. If she took care they should remain in place for several weeks.
Her eyebrows had always been fair, but full. She’d used to get them tinted.
Once upon a time.
She pushed the thought away. No point mooning about the past.
She reached for the wig, removed it carefully from its stand and ran a hand down the long length of blonde synthetic hair. Even a trained eye would find it hard to tell the difference between this wig and her old hair. Her friend Dana, hairdresser extraordinaire, had warned her that the wig was too long, but Blair had chosen it anyway. She’d found comfort in the fact that it looked so much like her old hair.
She pulled the wig on over her scalp, tugged it into place, and then turned back to the mirror to make whatever adjustments were necessary. Adjustments that would help her look normal. Adjustments that would help her look whole and healthy. Adjustments that would hopefully ensure people started treating her like a fully functioning adult again.
Finally she stepped back and viewed her face in its entirety. She reached for her pot of blusher. More colour on her cheeks wouldn’t go amiss. She applied another coat of tawny-pink lipstick with its advertised stay-put power, and once again gave thanks for the skills she’d learned as a model.
She stepped back again, viewed her face—first from the left side and then the right—and then nodded at her reflection. Her heartbeat slowed. Finally she could recognise herself. When she ventured outside today no one would be able to tell.
And no one was here now to see the way her hand shook as she capped her lipstick, or the trouble she had screwing the lid back on to the pot of blusher.
You have a lot to give thanks for. Chin up!
She averted her gaze from the mirror as she undid her wrap. She snapped her bra and prosthesis into place and pulled a T-shirt on over her head as quickly as she could.
Problem was, she reflected as she tugged on her jeans, it wasn’t gratitude that was in her heart. It was fear. Fear that life would never feel normal again. Fear that Glory would never stop fussing, would never stop being afraid for her. Fear that her beloved aunt would worry herself into an early grave.
Glory was talking about selling up and moving to Sydney to be closer to her! Blair dropped to the bed and pulled on her boots. Glory had lived here in Dungog her entire life. She’d hate the city.
Blair glanced at the mirror again. She put a hand under her chin to physically lift it higher. She owed Glory everything. She had to put her aunt’s mind at rest. She had to. That was why she’d come home. Blair was out of danger. She was healthy again. Once Glory realised that …
She leapt up to toss her cosmetics into her make-up bag. The make-up bag she took everywhere. Just in case. For touch ups. Emergencies. Once she’d succeeded in convincing Glory she was better… Well, then they could all get back to normality.
And that was what she really wanted—normality. Her motives weren’t purely altruistic.
She paused to grip her hands in front of her. Bluff. That was the answer. If she could bluff her way into winning the Miss Showgirl quest twenty years ago, bluff her way into a modelling career and then bluff her way into fashion college, surely she could bluff everyone into thinking she was healthy again?
She