What the Paparazzi Didn't See. Nicola MarshЧитать онлайн книгу.
the height of sophistication and glam wow, the perfect pout is where it’s at.
Having a palette of colours for various looks is essential.
Co-ordinate colour with outfits.
Go bold with fire engine red for an awards ceremony or pastel pink for the season opener.
Keep lips soft; that means no lip liner!
For a fabulous femme fatale pout, preparation is key.
1 Gently exfoliate lips with a soft-bristled toothbrush.
2 Moisturize with a specialized lip balm.
3 Use a lip-fix cream which prevents colour bleeding.
4 Apply lipstick once. Blot with tissue. Re-apply.
For a subtle look, pat lipstick on with a fingertip.
For bold lips, apply with a lip brush.
Blot.
Reapply.
If you want a plump pout without the injections, try lipsticks with inbuilt ‘plumpers’. These innovative ingredients are proven to increase lip volume by forty percent. Amazing! They also hydrate and restore collagen over time.
A dab of gloss in the middle of the lower lip is a subtle touch that adds real wow!
Liza couldn’t remember the last time she’d been out on a date.
One that hadn’t been orchestrated as some huge PR stunt, that was. She’d attended the Logies, Arias and Brownlow Medal galas on the arms of a TV personality, a rock star and an up-and-coming footballer respectively. And on each occasion had been bored witless within the first ten minutes.
So what was it about this guy that had her laughing and fluffing her words and interested in spending some one-on-one time with him?
She’d made her required appearance at the book launch; she should head home, get out of this designer dress she’d been begged to wear and curl up with her e-reader and the latest juicy romance.
Instead, she watched him place their martini orders, shocked she didn’t know his name, thrilled she didn’t particularly care.
She never had fun or did anything on a whim. Ever.
Her life for the last ten years since her mum had absconded when she was eighteen and left Cindy in her care had been about weighing decisions carefully to see how they would affect her younger sister.
Everything revolved around Cindy and while Liza never begrudged her sis anything, knowing tonight would be the last time she’d have to put on her fake face had lifted a weight from her shoulders.
She could be herself from now on and Mr Martini had been in the right place at the right time. More than that, he’d intrigued her, and she couldn’t say that about many men.
She’d watched him morph from uptight and judgemental to cool and a little goofy, with a hint of underlying sexiness that made her long-neglected hormones sit up and howl.
When was the last time she’d had sex? Probably not since she was with Jimmy, because while Henri had paid for her arm-candy status for a year, she wouldn’t go that far as part of their deal.
And if she couldn’t remember exactly, it meant it had probably been during the good period with Jimmy, which hadn’t been the last year of their relationship. The year he’d progressively withdrawn, establishing emotional distance before the final break.
Her mum had done the same over the years. In both cases, their abandonment hadn’t come as any great surprise but had hurt all the same. Hurt deeply.
But tonight wasn’t the time to dwell on her issues. Tonight was perfect for something else entirely.
She did a quick mental calculation.... Could it really have been four years since she’d been with a guy?
Maybe that explained her irrational urge to push the limits with Mr Martini. He’d be ideal for a celebratory fling, a little fun on a night where she felt like dancing down Swanston Street with her arms in the air.
Not that she’d had a one-night stand before but the way she was feeling right now? Edgy. Dangerous. A little outrageous. It could very well be a first tonight.
He stalked towards her, his ebony suit highlighting lean legs, broad shoulders, impressive chest, and she squirmed a little.
What would it be like to explore beneath that suit? To feel the warmth of a man’s skin next to hers? The heat of passion? The yearning to lose herself in pleasure?
Cindy was her world and Liza never regretted assuming responsibility for full-time care, but it was at times like this she wished deep down for something she’d never have: a guy to come home to, a guy to warm her bed, a guy who wouldn’t abandon her when the going got tough.
‘You must really have a hankering for a martini,’ he said, taking a seat next to her, far too close as a few synapses zinged with the need to touch him.
‘Why?’
‘Because you have an odd look on your face, like you want it real bad.’
Uh-oh. He could see her desperation? Not good.
‘I’m thirsty,’ she blurted, wishing the waitress would hurry up and deliver their damn drinks so she wouldn’t have to stare into his knowing dark eyes.
‘And I’m curious.’
That made two of them. She was curious as to why she’d agreed to this and why the hell she wanted him to be part of her freedom celebration tonight.
‘How could two intelligent people like us, about to having a scintillating conversation, still be strangers?’
‘Not anymore.’ She stuck out her hand. ‘Liza Lithgow.’
‘Wade Urquart. Pleased to meet you.’
As his palm touched hers and his fingers curled around her hand, Liza could’ve sworn every sane reason why she shouldn’t indulge in a night of incredible sex with this guy melted clean away.
‘Your name sounds familiar.’ He frowned, releasing her hand after lingering too long. She wasn’t complaining.
‘I’m hoping the next words out of your mouth aren’t, “Haven’t we met some place before?”’
He laughed. ‘No need for glib lines. You’re here, aren’t you?’
‘True.’
And with the dim lighting, the smooth jazz spilling softly from discreet speakers behind them and a gorgeous guy eyeing her speculatively, she was right where she wanted to be.
For tonight. Tonight, she was in the mood for celebrating. Shedding her old life felt amazing.
‘Why did you agree to have a drink with me?’ The waitress deposited their drinks and he raised a martini glass in her direction. ‘You seemed to be in your element at that party.’
‘Haven’t you ever faked it?’ She clinked her glass to his. ‘What you see isn’t always what you get.’
He stared at her over the rim of his glass, a slight groove between his brows. ‘Have to say, you’re an intriguing woman, and I can’t figure you out.’
She shrugged. ‘What’s to figure out? We’re two people who wanted to escape that party; we’re having a drink, end of story.’
‘Is it?’
His gaze locked on hers, potent and smouldering, and her breath hitched.
She took a sip of her martini, needing the alcohol to loosen her tightened vocal cords. ‘You’re expecting an epilogue?’
‘A guy can always live in hope,’ he said, downing his martini and placing the glass on the table in front of them. ‘Honestly? I’ve had a