The only word to describe her appearance was frumpy. If he hadn’t known her age, he would have guessed her to be closer to forty than not yet thirty. Why on earth would a woman deliberately age herself so drastically? The shapeless skirt and baggy suit jacket would have been more attractive on a rubbish heap. “Mr. Michelopoulos.” That quickly, she rocked him back on his heels. A woman in an ugly brown suit and a tight bun should have a prim little voice, not this husky vibrato more appropriate for whispered innuendoes and sweaty sheets. Eyes narrowed, he ran his gaze over her again quickly, looking for something he’d missed. The old fashioned A-line skirt might hide shapely full hips. Perhaps the jacket was baggy on purpose, to disguise her lush breasts. And while that tidy bun did make her look like a schoolmarm, he had to admit the toffee color of her hair was quite pretty. Pulled back from her face, her hair couldn’t detract from the sculpted bones of her cheeks and her full mouth.
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