MIRROR IMAGE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

She saw him in the mirror.

Seated at the small dressing table in her room at the clinic, Avery made eye contact with Tate as he came in. They held their stare as she gradually lowered the powder puff to the mirrored surface of the table, then swiveled on the stool and met him face-to-face.

He tossed his coat and several department store shopping bags onto the bed while his eyes remained on her. Tightly clasping her hands in her lap, Avery laughed nervously. "The suspense is killing me."

"You look beautiful."

She moistened her lips, which were already shiny with carefully applied gloss. "The resident cosmetologist came today and gave me a makeup lesson.  I've been using cosmetics for years, but I figured I needed a refresher course.  Besides, the consultation comes with the room." Again she gave him a nervous little smile.

Actually, she had wanted an excuse to improve Carole's mode of makeup, which, in Avery's opinion, had been applied with too heavy a hand. ''I tried a new technique. Do you think it looks all right?''

She offered her face up for his review. In spite of his reluctance to come any closer, he did. Placing his hands on his knees, he bent from the waist and gave her uplifted face a thorough inspection. "Can't even see the scars. Nothing. It's incredible."

"Thank you." She gave him a smile a woman gives her loving husband.

Except Tate wasn't her husband and he wasn't loving. He straightened up and turned his back on her. Avery closed her eyes momentarily, tamping down her discouragement. He didn't have a forgiving nature, she'd learned. Carole had shattered his trust in her. It was going to be difficult to win him back.

"Are you accustomed to my new look yet?"

"It's growing on me."

"There are differences," she remarked in an unsure voice.

"You look younger." He shot her a glance over his shoulder, then added beneath his breath, "Prettier."

Avery left the dressing table and moved toward him. She laid her hand on his arm and drew him around. "Really? Prettier?"

"Yeah."

 "Prettier how? In what way?"

Just as she had learned the extent of his inability to forgive, she had also learned the extent of his ability to control his temper. She was waving a red flag at it now. Lightning was flashing in his eyes, but she didn't back down. She felt compelled to know the discernible differences he saw between her and his wife.  Research, she assured herself.

He swore impatiently, raking a hand through his hair. "I don't know. You're just different. Maybe it's the makeup, the hair—I don't know. You look good, okay? Can we leave it at that? You look ..." His eyes lowered to take in more than her face. They swept down her body, moved up again, looked away. "You look good."

He dug into his shirt pocket and produced a handwritten list. "Mom and I got the things you asked for." Nodding toward the shopping bags, he read off the items. "Ysatis spray perfume. They were out of the bath stuff you wanted."

"I'll get it later."

"Panty hose. Is that the color you had in mind? You said light beige."

"It's fine." She rummaged in the bags, locating the items as he named them.  She withdrew the boxed  bottle of fragrance from the sack. Uncapping it, she misted her wrist with the atomizer. "Hmm. Smell."

She laid her wrist against his cheek, so that he had to turn his head toward it in order to sniff. When he did, his lips brushed her inner arm. Their eyes met instantly.