Waiting for Mr. Wonderful!

by Stephanie Howard

  That took the wind out of her sails a bit, but she hadn’t finished with him yet.

  ‘You’re absolutely right—you can’t apologise enough! Do you think I have nothing better to do than sit around for hours waiting for you?’

  ‘No, I don’t think that.’ He frowned into her angry eyes. ‘Look, I suggest we go up to my room and talk. Come.’ As he spoke, he took her lightly by the arm.

  Georgia snatched her arm away as though he’d bitten her, partly out of anger—how dared he lay a hand on her?—and partly from shock at the jolt that went through her. The sheer erotic power of it almost took her breath away.

  Almost. She managed to snap, ‘I don’t need your help! I’m perfectly capable of walking on my own!’ Then she swung away furiously and marched ahead of him to the lifts.

  They made their way up to the top floor in total silence. And not once did Georgia glance at him. She kept her eyes fixed straight ahead. She’d never been so furious with anyone in her life.

  It wasn’t just that he’d kept her waiting, though that was bad enough. What had really triggered her explosion of fury was the way he’d been sitting there calmly reading his newspaper, just like that first time when she’d found him in her garden. So perfectly in control. So utterly uncaring. He seemed to think he had the right to behave as he pleased with her, that she was somehow at his beck and call.

  Well, she was going to have to put him right about that!

  At last, the lift doors opened and Lasalle took his key from his pocket, then stepped aside to let her pass ahead of him. He did the same when they reached his door. What perfect, impeccable manners! Too bad she wasn’t even the least bit impressed! She swept past him, then swung round to face him as he closed the door.

  ‘As I was saying down in the lobby just a moment ago...do you really think I have nothing better to do than sit around for hours waiting for you?’

  ‘No, I don’t, as I already said. It’s just been one of those days. Every single thing that could possibly go wrong did go wrong.’

  Did he expect her to feel sorry for him? Georgia scowled into his face. ‘Well, thanks to you, it’s turned into one of those days for me too!’

  ‘I think we both need a drink.’ Abruptly, he turned away, heading for the fridge bar in the far corner. ‘Why don’t you take a seat while I fix us a couple of whiskies?’

  ‘I don’t drink whisky.’

  Georgia glared at his back. And I don’t feel like taking a seat, she nearly added. But that was just her anger talking. She actually did feel like sitting down. All that churning emotion had made her quite dizzy.

  From the small group of chairs round the coffee table beside the window, she chose one with its back to him and also with its back to the bed. It might be a little unsettling to have to sit and look at that!

  She heard the clink of glasses, the sound of a bottle top being unwound, the clatter of ice cubes, the splash of liquid against them. Then his footsteps were coming back towards her across the carpet. Georgia scowled straight ahead of her and refused to turn round.

  ‘You’ll drink this whisky,’ he was saying. ‘It’s a special twelve-year-old single malt. I have a friend in Scotland who sends me regular supplies.’ As he came to the end of the sentence, suddenly he was standing right in front of her, holding a glass out towards her.

  Startled, Georgia jumped and looked up into his face and was instantly thrown into a state of confusion.

  She’d forgotten just how powerfully he was capable of affecting her and, taken by surprise, she was suddenly helpless before him. All at once, she could feel her heart clattering against her ribs and a squeeze of shameless pleasure at the sheer physical beauty of him. There was another sensation, too. A shaft of piercing longing that twisted oh, so sweetly inside her.

  She held her breath. Heaven help me if he ever tries to seduce me, she thought. Where would I find the power to resist?

  Numbly, she took the glass, carefully avoiding his fingers. She wouldn’t touch it, of course, for she never drank whisky, but if she took the glass without a fuss he might just move away. And, in fact, that was what he did. Taking a mouthful from his own glass, Lasalle turned to seat himself across the coffee table from her.

  He leaned back and suddenly smiled. ‘You didn’t give me a chance to tell you, but you’re looking even more stunning than ever today.’

  His gaze swept over her, perfectly openly, just like that first time in the garden, seeming to take in every tiny detail of the pale blue Chanel-style suit she was wearing. He gave a small, impudent click of appreciation. ‘Very chic. Very classy. It very much suits you.’

  Georgia fixed him with a spiky look. ‘So glad you approve.’

  Normally, she had no problem accepting compliments from men, but right now anything he said would have irked her. Besides, the compliment had struck her as just a little too smooth, as though it had been plucked from a familiar, well-thumbed repertoire. He no doubt handed out compliments like that all the time.

  Feeling an acute sense of relief, she revised her earlier judgement. If he ever tried to seduce her, she’d resist him with ease. It was true that at times he had a powerful effect on her, but that was only because of a superficial weakness on her part. Deep down, she wasn’t attracted in the slightest to men who collected women the way some small boys collected postage stamps. Which was precisely the type of man that Jean-Claude Lasalle was.

  Taking charge of herself again, she looked him in the eye and very pointedly set down her untouched glass on the coffee table. ‘Right,’ she said, ‘I don’t know about you, but now that we’ve finally managed to keep our appointment I’d rather like to get down to business. You said you had something important to tell me.’ She sat back in her seat and regarded him expectantly. ‘Feel free to go ahead. I’m listening.’

  In response, Lasalle took another mouthful of his whisky. He looked back at her with interest. ‘Don’t you ever relax?’

  ‘I didn’t come here to relax. I came to hear what you have to tell me. I was under the impression that was supposed to be the point of this somewhat belated meeting?’

  ‘Don’t worry. I plan to tell you. But can’t I just drink my whisky first? I’ve had a hell of a day and I’ve just driven all the way from London.’

  ‘So you said. My heart weeps.’ Georgia flicked him a callous look. It cheered her up no end to know he’d had a hellish day. She shifted in her seat. ‘So, how do you suggest we pass the time? Are we going to sit here in silence while you drink your whisky or are we going to indulge in polite conversation?’

  ‘I vote for polite conversation.’

  ‘OK. You choose a subject. Restaurants? Films? Where we go for our holidays? Or maybe, to make it really entertaining, we could swap life stories? Let’s start with yours. I enjoy a good horror story.’

  Lasalle was smiling. ‘Do I detect a touch of English irony?’ He took another mouthful of whisky, watching her over the glass. ‘That’s one of the things I like about you English. You never entirely lose your sense of humour.’

  ‘Is that so? Personally, I used to have rather a soft spot for the French, but I’m afraid that’s suddenly gone out the window. Though I suppose it’s really rather unfair to judge a whole nation by someone like you. You, after all, are hardly typical.’

  ‘You’re wrong. I would say I’m typically French. Charming. Urbane. All the usual Gallic qualities.’ As he said it, his gaze held hers and he smiled.

  Georgia very nearly smiled back. Even through her irritation, there was something about that smile of his that she found deeply appealing. But she was damned if she would succumb. She fixed him with a cool look. ‘I see I’m not the only one with a sense of humour.’

  ‘So, we have something in common. That’s good.’ He was still smiling. ‘Two people who’re planning to team up together should definitely have a few things in common.’

  ‘Planning to team up together? Excuse me? What did you say?’

  He was setting down h
is whisky glass on the table between them. ‘You wanted to get down to business, so that’s what I’m doing...’

  As she frowned, he leaned forward and looked deep into her eyes, so that Georgia had to fight very hard to stop from blinking. And she was suddenly very conscious that she was sitting in his bedroom with a huge king-sized bed just a couple of whiskies away over her shoulder.

  She held her breath, eyes unblinking, as he leaned even closer and elaborated, ‘That’s what I want to propose. That you and I get together. I think we’d make a beautiful team.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  ‘OH, REALLY?’

  What was going on here? Georgia peered into Lasalle’s face. If this was some kind of chat-up line, it was doomed to fail.

  She fixed him with a cool look. ‘You’re going to have to explain that, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Gladly.’ He sat back a little in his seat, his expression sobering as he began to speak again. ‘You want to save your shop, and in order to do that you’re going to have to beat off Duval. I’m out for Duval, too, so we share the same goal. And we’ll each achieve what we’re after more easily and more quickly if we agree to cooperate with one another.’

  He paused and looked into her eyes, suddenly smiling as he added, ‘I promise that’s the only kind of beautiful partnership I had in mind.’

  Sure it was. She’d have to be seriously stupid to believe that, though she could tell he didn’t actually expect her to, anyway. That look in his eyes was pure sexual challenge and, to her dismay, it had provoked a warm flare inside her.

  It was hopeless. He just had to look at her and it was like flicking on a switch.

  All the more reason to keep her expression carefully blank. The only way to deal with a man like Jean-Claude Lasalle was to convince him you were totally immune to his charms.

  ‘I’m not sure I’m interested in any kind of partnership,’ she told him. ‘But at least I begin to get the picture. You told me you wanted to help me, but the person you really want to help is yourself. You think you can get to Duval through me.’

  ‘Sure.’ He looked amused. ‘You wouldn’t expect me to help you for nothing? What is it you English say? There’s no such thing as a free lunch?’

  Quite. But this admission actually made his position more credible. There now appeared to be a legitimate motive behind his offer to help her.

  She relaxed just a little. ‘OK. I accept that. You somehow gain by my cooperation. But what about me? Do I gain as well? You’ve said you plan to help me, but why should I believe you? I don’t even know if I actually need your help.’

  ‘You think you can fight Duval alone?’

  ‘I’ve managed to up till now.’ As he was about to butt in, she hurried on and pointed out, ‘And I’ve only got your word for it that he’s about to come after me again. Maybe you’re just saying that to scare me into going along with you. According to my solicitor, Duval’s probably backed off.’

  ‘Then your solicitor’s a fool.’ Lasalle’s tone was dismissive. ‘It simply isn’t in Duval’s nature to back off.’

  That had occurred to Georgia too, though she’d refused point-blank to dwell on it. She’d told herself it was just her paranoia talking.

  And maybe it was. ‘How can you be so sure? There’s been no sign of him for a couple of weeks now. You’re only guessing he hasn’t backed off—unless you know something you’re not telling?’

  ‘I’m telling you what I know. I know Duval.’ His eyes were narrowed to dark blue pinpoints as he looked at her. ‘And after the lease business and the rent rise and the mysterious fire in your storeroom you must have a pretty shrewd idea of the nature of the man yourself.’

  Hearing him recite that list of horrors, Georgia felt her stomach twist. She looked at him, fear growing inside her. ‘How do you know so much about my business?’ Maybe he was one of Duval’s henchmen, after all?

  Lasalle sighed impatiently. ‘I have an interest in Duval. I make it my business to know what he’s up to.’ He paused, his expression grim. ‘And he’s not finished with you yet. Maybe there hasn’t been any sign of him for a couple of weeks but, take my word for it, that’s not because he’s backed off. He’s just lying low, plotting his next move.’

  ‘And what’s his next move going to be, since you seem to know so much?’

  ‘I don’t know what it’s going to be. I just know there will be a next move. And I’d advise you to prepare yourself for something seriously nasty. As I already told you, he’s starting to get impatient.’

  Georgia was suddenly aware that she was nervously chewing her lower lip. Something seriously nasty? Surely not another fire? She’d had nightmares about that. Another fire could ruin her. Last time had been bad enough, but it would be far more serious now, with her precious consignment of new summer clothes about to arrive any day from France. If that went up in flames, how on earth would she survive?

  Her brain was racing. Maybe she had no choice but to trust him. That was the way it was beginning to look. But would this partnership he was proposing actually do her any good?

  ‘If you don’t even know what his next move’s going to be, how can you help me?’ she wanted to know.

  ‘I can’t tell you that exactly. We’ll have to play it by ear. My guess is that he’ll contact you before he makes his move to give you the chance to accept his offer, after all. Naturally, you’ll turn him down...and, as soon as you’ve done so, you must get in touch with me and let me know what’s going on. Then I can go into action and do whatever I can.

  ‘I’m not promising any miracles.’ His tone was suddenly sombre. ‘But with me on your side you’ve got a far better chance of getting through this thing in one piece. On your own, quite frankly, I rate your chances as nil.’

  As he paused, his dark words seemed to echo like a roll of drums at the moment before an execution. Then, suddenly, he smiled and leaned across the coffee table towards her.

  ‘And I’m a match for our friend Duval. You can take my word for that. Unlike your nice Bath solicitor, I know how to play dirty too.’

  Less than ten minutes ago, Georgia would have responded with disapproval, but now, as she sat there suddenly stiff and cold with fear, she found this dubious claim of his, quite simply, reassuring. He’d make an uncomfortable enemy, there was no doubt about that, but by the very same token he’d make an invaluable ally. As she looked back at him, she suddenly realised that her mind was made up.

  ‘OK. You have my permission to help me.’

  ‘So we’re partners? Good.’ Lasalle smiled at her across the table. ‘I’d say you’ve just made a very wise decision. Let’s drink to our new partnership.’ He raised his whisky glass in a toast.

  Georgia reached for her own glass, then suddenly she paused. Before she joined in any toasts, she wanted to get something quite clear.

  She fixed him with a narrow look. ‘Explain one thing to me first. The deal is that you’ll help me fight off Duval...but, in return, what exactly am I supposed to do for you?’

  ‘Nothing. All you have to do is keep me informed about what’s happening. Information about Duval is the only thing I require from you.’

  Fair enough. Georgia nodded. That was acceptable. As long as Lasalle was prepared to confirm that this so-called partnership was strictly business, she was prepared, at least for the moment, to go along with it. More than likely, of course, he also had a more personal secret agenda, but he was destined, alas, to get nowhere with that. Anything more personal was out of the question.

  ‘Though there is something else...’ As their glasses touched across the table, he held her eyes for a moment and added, ‘I’d very much like you to have dinner with me this evening.’

  ‘Dinner?’ Georgia hesitated as she took a tentative mouthful of her whisky. Of course, she must say no. Dinner was definitely a bit personal and she really was determined to keep him at arm’s length. Before she could force the word out, however, he elaborated with a smile, ‘Just to make up for having k
ept you waiting this afternoon.’

  It was the smile that did it. Recklessly, she swallowed back her whisky, feeling a pleasurable burst of warmth as the fiery liquid hit her stomach.

  ‘OK,’ she nodded.

  What harm could there be in dinner?

  Walking into a packed Rafferty’s with Lasalle at her side was a bit like how it must feel to be a national lottery winner. Conversations momentarily stopped as eyes swivelled round to look at them. Women diners held their breath and froze in mid-bite. Envy and sexual awareness flowed across the restaurant in great waves.

  Georgia was enjoying it all immensely. Wait till I tell Kay tomorrow morning about how I virtually brought the smartest restaurant in Bath to a halt, with just a little help from the gorgeous Jean-Claude Lasalle! she thought.

  Another thing she planned to tell Kay about was their car ride across the city.

  Before tonight, Georgia had never actually ridden in a Porsche. But as she’d lowered herself into the body-hugging passenger seat and Lasalle had slid into the driver’s seat beside her, snapping the door shut, clicking his seatbelt into place then, with a flick of the ignition, making the engine growl into life, she’d known instantly she was going to enjoy every second of this new experience.

  She’d also understood why it was that he drove a Porsche. No other car in the world would have suited him half so well.

  For a start, it was totally masculine. It was meanlooking and it was beautiful. And, just like its owner, it throbbed with raw animal power. The two of them, man and machine, could have been made for one another.

  As they set off across the city, however, she was in for a surprise. Georgia had half expected to be clutching the edge of her leather seat as they burned along the tarmac like a pair of bats out of hell, but instead their journey was relaxed and unhurried. She’d never felt so safe with any driver in her life.

  Still, perhaps she shouldn’t have been so surprised. Jean-Claude Lasalle was far too sure of himself to feel the need to put on a show. And besides, very likely, he was aware of something else...