Girl in a Vintage Dress. Nicola MarshЧитать онлайн книгу.

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      For my sister-in-law Deb,

       the queen of retro chic.

       Here’s to a future of fabulous frocks,

       snazzy shoes and catch-ups over coffee.

      CHAPTER ONE

      THE moment Chase Etheridge turned into Errol Street the fine hairs on the back of his neck snapped to attention.

      Bad enough driving through North Melbourne, the suburb he’d once called home, but this particular street held more than long suppressed memories.

      Errol Street encapsulated everything he’d run from, everything he’d rather forget.

      Yet here he was edging through traffic, searching for a parking spot, trying to concentrate on the road and obliterate the memories running through his mind like a rerun of a B grade movie.

      Riding his bike down to Arden Street to watch his beloved Kangaroos footy team train, walking to the local primary school, picking up Cari from a friend’s: not bad memories so much as snapshots of his past. A past where he’d raised Cari and taken on far too much responsibility from a young age. A past filled with making school lunches, correcting homework and cooking dinners. A past where he hadn’t had a chance to be a kid.

      Though some good had come out of it. Cari adored him and the feeling was mutual. He’d do anything for his sister, the sole reason he was here.

      Easing his Jag into a prime parking space, he ignored the uncharacteristic twist of nerves in his gut. Him, nervous? Laughable, as any of his employees at Dazzle would attest to.

      Make millions? Take the entertainment industry by storm? Be the best in the business? Could do it with his eyes closed. He didn’t have time to be nervous yet striding up a rejuvenated Errol Street, packed with trendy cafés and boutiques and far removed from the street he remembered, he couldn’t help but feel a touch anxious.

      If being back here wasn’t bad enough, strolling into some fancy schmancy vintage shop with the aim of organising his sister’s hen’s night was enough to send a shiver of dread through the hardest of men.

      His mobile beeped and he answered a text message from his PA, one eye on his smartphone, the other on the shopfronts until he spotted his destination.

      Go Retro.

      Written in candy cane pink in a curly font against a backdrop of shoes and hats and lipsticks, he’d rather be anywhere else but he had business to conduct and that was one thing he did well.

      Firing off another message to Jerrie, he nudged the door open with his butt and entered the shop, mentally calculating profit margins and new dates in response to his uber efficient PA’s next question.

      A tiny bell tinkled overhead but he didn’t look up, frowning as Jerrie emailed him the updated guest list for tonight’s modelling agency launch.

      ‘Excuse me.’

      He held up a finger, not ready to be interrupted while dealing with this latest problem.

      ‘We don’t allow mobile phones in here.’

      He should’ve known. A shop dealing in retro stuff would live in the Dark Ages.

      ‘Just give me a minute—’

      ‘Sorry, Retro rules.’

      Before he could argue the phone was plucked out of his hands and he finally glanced up, ready to blast the cheeky shop assistant.

      ‘How dare you…’

      The rest of his rebuttal died on his lips as his angry glare clashed with the biggest, softest brown eyes he’d ever seen, fringed in illegally long eyelashes that added to an air of fragility.

      Not many people stood up to him let alone a five foot six curvaceous blonde who looked as if she’d stepped out of the fifties with her hair pinned up in curls and held back by a headband the same polka dot material as her rock and roll dress.

      ‘I dare because I’m the owner, and rules are rules.’

      She pocketed his smartphone, hiding it in the side pocket of a voluminous skirt and having the audacity to smile.

      ‘You’ll get it back when you leave. Now, is there anything I can help you with?’

      Frowning,