The bikini was a screaming electric blue, barely held over her bountiful breasts by flimsy orange spaghetti straps. Her waist still arched smoothly, and the bottom House so liked to remark upon was as full and pert as ever, but she was perhaps most proud of her skin. It was soft and supple and tinted with olive, unblemished but for the smooth round shadow of her belly button.
Lisa Cuddy had a slamming body.
She put one hand on her hip and one leg forward. Her back arched and her chest thrown forward, Cuddy's posture could be interpreted as either jaunty or defiant. Her full black curls cascaded unapologetically past her bare shoulders, a million-dollar smile lighting her face.
It faded after a moment. But what a nice long moment it had been.
"I'm sorry, but not today." Cuddy straightened her crisp navy suit and handed the outrageously flimsy pile of nylon back to the fitting room attendant. "I have to get back to work."