She finished off her champagne in several large gulps. The alcohol would have no effect on her, but it helped physiologically. The mind makes it real.
She twirled around on the stool and used the opportunity to get a better look. Had this been three centuries ago, she might have gasped. The supposed Georgian was a nearly flawless Scottish lass.
Her hair was as red as fire while her bare skin was milky white. Everything was in the right place and beautifully shaped as though engineered. Plentiful bosun’s, large hips, and an exaggerated hourglass shape.
Disclaimer: This novel is an work in progress and readers may encounter grammatical errors and inconsistencies. Please view this a draft and not a published work.
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