For there was definitely something deeply sexy about driving along in such a deliciously laid-back fashion with such a man in such a car. All that power in reserve, just waiting to be unleashed. A little shocked at herself, she’d found herself responding, her heart galloping, her mouth dry, her stomach twisting in hungry knots. When they’d finally come to a stop outside the restaurant, Georgia had been feeling distinctly giddy.
She still did a bit, though she was fighting it. Giddy was a dangerous way to be feeling. A girl would definitely be wise to keep her wits about her when she was in the company of a man like Lasalle!
As the waiter went off with their orders, he sat back and looked at her across the table. ‘So, tell me more about yourself. You were telling me about your childhood in Bidcombe. Do you still go back? Do your parents still live there?’
‘I go back most weekends. After all, it’s only ten miles away. Usually, I go and visit them for Sunday lunch.’
Georgia met the blue eyes with a sceptical inner smile. He was not, of course, even remotely interested in her life story. On the drive here, he’d started asking her where she’d been born and had grown up, but these personal little queries were just a part of his act. A ploy to relax her and lull her into dropping her defences.
Well, that was OK. She’d go along with him for a bit—though she’d be keeping her defences firmly in place!—then she’d simply turn the tables and put a few questions to him! She knew virtually nothing about him, apart from his name, and it was high time she started putting that right.
‘So, you’re close to your parents?’
‘Very close indeed. Though they’re not really my parents. I was brought up by my aunt and uncle. My parents were killed in an accident when I was a baby.’
‘How tragic. I’m sorry.’ A look of sympathy crossed his eyes. ‘How sad that you don’t even have the memory of them to keep.’
‘Yes, that’s the saddest thing of all.’ Georgia dropped her gaze away. How strange that he’d homed in on what had always grieved her most—the fact that she’d been denied the chance to know her parents, just as they’d been denied the chance to know her. Fate and a speeding lorry had cheated all three of them.
She pushed these thoughts away and glanced up at him again. ‘But I was lucky,’ she smiled. ‘Aunt Beatrice and Uncle David took me in, even though they were both in their forties at the time and had already brought up a family of their own. And they’ve been wonderful parents. The best in the world.’
‘You clearly love them very much.’
Did it show so plainly in her face? ‘Yes, I do. I adore them. And I owe them so much.’
She felt a swoop of sudden tension deep down inside her. One reason she wanted so badly for her shop to succeed was so that she could repay them for all the sacrifices they’d made. In order to look after her sister’s orphaned baby, Aunt Beatrice had given up her newly resumed career as a secretary and it had been a struggle for them to get by on Uncle David’s salary from the post office.
These days, they were both retired and living on a small pension and, more than anything, Georgia wanted to be able to help them. When the shop had started to take off, it had looked as though she’d be able to. But now...who knew how things might turn out?
Feeling Lasalle’s eyes on her, she looked up to meet them. ‘Now it’s your turn,’ she told him. ‘I want to hear about you.’ Suddenly, that seemed even more important than ever. The fate of the two people she loved most in the world, as well as her own fate, could depend on this man.
He smiled at her. ‘So, you feel like hearing the horror story? Do you really think that’s wise on an empty stomach?’
Georgia frowned for a moment and then remembered the comment she’d made earlier when she’d facetiously suggested they swap life stories to pass the time. She smiled. ‘You don’t have to regale me with all the gory details. Just tell me what you do for a living, for example.’
That could reveal a lot. The connection with Duval, for a start. And it was bound to provide some useful insights about him.
He sat back in his seat and didn’t answer at once. Then he said, ‘I suppose you could say I’m in business.’
‘What kind of business?’ She wanted a more specific answer than that.
‘All sorts of different things. I have interests both here and in France. I’m mainly based in Paris, but I travel around quite a lot.’
‘Is that why your English is so good?’ He spoke English like an Englishman, apart from that tell-tale hint of an accent. ‘I rather pride myself on my French, but it’s not a patch on your English.’
Lasalle smiled. ‘I learned my English during holidays in England as a child. My family have friends who live just outside Canterbury. We used to visit them all the time.’
‘Ah, that explains it.’ She’d learned her French at evening classes! When she’d started importing a lot of her clothes from France, a working knowledge of the language had become rather essential.
Georgia was on the point of telling him this, but suddenly realised that would be straying from the point. She was supposed to be finding out about him, not talking about herself!
She looked at him, suspecting it would be rather fascinating to digress. To ask him about his childhood and his Canterbury holidays. But that was not really the sort of information she was after. She took a deep breath and demanded, ‘How do you come to know Duval?’
‘We’ve crossed swords a couple of times.’
‘How? Professionally? Are you in the retail business like him?’
‘No, I’m not.’ He shook his head. ‘But, to my very great regret, he and I, in the past, did have professional dealings...in the course of which he did me a very great disservice. I have absolutely nothing to do with him any more, but I plan to make him pay for what he did to me.’
As he’d spoken, a harsh look had darkened his eyes and his tone had been as rough as freshly raked cinders. Up until that moment, Georgia had been less than totally certain, but without a shadow of a doubt she was totally certain now. Lasalle hated Duval, possibly even more than she did. Whatever else he was, he was not Duval’s man.
A warm, comforting blanket of relief seemed to unfold inside her and wrap itself around her fearful, anxious heart.
‘So, what else do you want to know?’ His expression had relaxed again. He sat back in his seat. ‘What other bits of the horror story?’
Georgia hesitated. ‘I don’t know.’ He hadn’t exactly been forthcoming about his job. She still had no idea what kind of business he was in. But that no longer seemed to matter. She was quite convinced he was on her side. He’d told her the truth about that, after all.
It was at that moment that a pair of waiters arrived with their wine and starters and, as Georgia turned to glance at them, she accidentally caught the eye of the woman at the next table who’d been staring at Lasalle.
As the woman blushed and looked away, Georgia turned back to Lasalle, expecting to see him smile at the incident. But he hadn’t even noticed. His attention was fixed on the wine waiter as he uncorked their bottle of burgundy and began to pour it. And that was when something suddenly struck her.
He appeared to be totally oblivious to the hungry female eyes that had been busily devouring him since he’d walked into the restaurant, and she found herself surprised and rather impressed by that. Some men she knew would have been basking like beached whales in just a fraction of that kind of attention. Something flickered inside her. She felt a sudden warmth towards him. Maybe he wasn’t as bad as she’d thought.
The waiters were departing. Lasalle smiled and glanced across at her. ‘So? Have you thought of any more questions?’
Funnily enough, a question had just popped into her head. Without thinking, she asked it.
‘Are you married?’
He seemed to pause for an instant, though he was probably just surprised. ‘No,’ he answered. ‘No wife, no children.’ And he looked into her eyes across the table and smiled.
>
Georgia quickly glanced away, feigning a sudden intense interest in the scallops in cream sauce which the waiter had just laid before her. What the devil had she been thinking of asking a question like that? What did she care if he was married? Did she want to give the man ideas?
‘Mmm. This looks delicious.’ She snatched up her fork. ‘Excuse me if I dig straight in, but I’m absolutely ravenous.’
Whatever he privately thought had prompted her question, Lasalle showed no inclination to pursue the subject and, for the rest of the meal, they stuck to less personal matters. Georgia was careful not to ask him any more leading questions and he, for his part, volunteered no more information.
That suited her just fine. She didn’t need to know any more, and, besides, it could be dangerous to start breaking down barriers. She was already far too susceptible to him as it was.
It was perfectly scandalous, but when he’d confirmed he wasn’t married the most ridiculous, excited flare had lit up her heart She must be totally mad, for she knew what kind of man he was. But he continued to affect her in a way she couldn’t control—and who knew what might happen if she allowed herself to get too close?
It was an entertaining evening, if full of strange tensions for Georgia. She kept catching herself laughing or listening attentively to some anecdote and would find herself reflecting, just a little wistfully, that she’d rarely, if ever, enjoyed a man’s company so much. Instantly, she’d feel alarmed or guilty or both and force herself to enjoy his company a little less. And it was a strain. She sighed with relief when, at last, the evening was over and Lasalle was signalling to the waiter for the bill.
A few minutes later they were climbing into the Porsche.
‘I’ll take you back to the hotel to pick up your car,’ Lasalle told her. And, with that, they set off across the almost deserted city.
It seemed like no time at all before they arrived outside the hotel. As he pulled on the handbrake, Lasalle reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a slip of paper and handed it to Georgia.
‘I’m going back to France early tomorrow morning,’ he told her, ‘but these are the phone numbers where you can normally get hold of me.’
He turned to face her. ‘If you hear even the tiniest peep out of Duval, be sure to get in touch with me immediately. Promise me that Don’t try to deal with him on your own.’
‘I won’t.’
She looked down at the folded slip of paper. So this was it. He was leaving tomorrow.
‘If by any chance I’m not available on any of these numbers, leave a message with my secretary and be sure to let her know it’s urgent.’
Georgia nodded. ‘I will.’ She took great care not to look at him and struggled to push away the crazy thoughts in her head.
For they were crazy. Shamelessly, dangerously crazy.
Her Polo was parked on the other side of the street ‘Come on,’ Lasalle told her. ‘I’ll see you to your car.’ Then, before she could protest that it really wasn’t necessary, he’d pushed his door open and was quickly climbing out.
As they crossed the road together, he took hold of her arm lightly, just as he’d done earlier that evening in the hotel when they’d been on their way across the lobby to the lift. Though it was hard to believe that had actually been this evening. It felt like light years ago. So much had altered in the meantime. For a start, she no longer had any desire to snatch her arm away.
At the car, he waited while she rummaged for her keys. She found them and smiled up at him. ‘Thanks for dinner,’ she told him. And now all that was left to do was to. bid him goodnight, climb into her car and drive off down the road. But for some foolish reason she just stood there and looked at him.
‘Don’t mention it. It was my pleasure.’
Surely he would say goodnight now and walk away? But he didn’t. He just stood there and looked right back at her.
A century passed. At least, that was how long it felt. Then, suddenly, very softly, he reached out and touched her cheek.
Georgia seemed to have stopped breathing as she gazed up into his face. Her heart had broken into a gallop. Her feet were rooted to the spot. He’s going to kiss me and I’m not going to do a single thing to stop him, she thought wildly.
Lasalle had moved closer, one hand on her waist now, gently drawing her against him so that she could feel the brush of his thighs. Helpless longing pierced through her, making the breath catch in her throat. Oh, Lord. This is madness, but please don’t let it stop, she prayed silently.
The hand on her cheek had slipped round to the back of her head. His fingers were firm and cool against her scalp. Georgia shivered, feeling an electric current whip through her. The desire inside her was as tight as a drum.
‘Georgia, ma douce...’
He was drawing even closer, bending towards her, his lips hovering over hers.
‘Georgia...’ he said again.
And then, finally, he kissed her.
It was only a very brief kiss, a fleeting brush of his lips, but it was the most erotic, sensuous kiss that Georgia had ever known. As he held her and she clung to him, she was filled with only one thought—that more than anything she desired to be made love to by this man, for surely he would be the most wonderful lover in the world.
Then he released her.
‘Goodnight, ma chère.’
‘Goodnight,’ she answered huskily.
Then, in a kind of daze, she was climbing into the car, pulling the door shut and waving goodbye. And as she drove back to the quiet, leafy crescent where she lived she was convinced that she must have taken leave of her senses. For those same crazy thoughts she’d tried to push away earlier were suddenly taking over her brain.
She would only ever see him again if Duval made some new move—in other words, if something dreadful was about to happen—and she shouldn’t even want to see him again anyway.
But she did. With a fierce, sharp, desperate longing. Not to see him again was the very worst thing she could imagine.
After he’d waved Georgia off, Jean-Claude climbed back into the Porsche. He felt suddenly restless, hyped up, on edge. He knew he wouldn’t sleep if he went back to the hotel and he suspected that his usual winddown therapy of a couple of hours or so working on his laptop would fail to have the desired effect tonight. It would be useless. He would never be able to concentrate.
For about half an hour he drove round the city centre, along the elegant Royal Crescent, past the Guildhall and The Pump Room, then he parked for a while to gaze at the shop-lined Pulteney Bridge that had always been one of his favourite sights. But though, on one level, he was aware of the beauty of the city—this ancient Roman spa town, right in the western heart of England—what was really on his mind was something else entirely. Quite simply, he couldn’t stop thinking about Georgia.
This surprised him in a way, for beautiful women were far from being a novel element in his life. They were as much a part of his existence as croissants and strong black coffee. So why had this particular dark-haired beauty made such a formidable impression on him? As he sat staring at the bridge, not really seeing it at all, he found himself trying to figure out some kind of answer.
It was easy to list her qualities. She was stylish and spirited and she had a natural poise and grace which he found hugely attractive. Plus, there was a warmth to her and a wonderful lack of self-consciousness. She was one of those women—the type who always intrigued him most—who seemed totally unaware of how fiercely attractive they were.
But there was more to her than just this formidable list of attributes. In addition, she possessed some deeply unsettling quality. Mysterious and unexpected and impossible to define. Something that stirred him strangely and seemed to have got under his skin.
Well, that was one way of putting it! He gave himself a mental shake, for perhaps he was being just a little too profound. Surely he knew what lay at the root of this strange mood of his? His whole being ached with the need to make love to her.
/> To be frank, that had not been on his mind when he’d kissed her. That kiss had been as totally spontaneous as it had seemed. But kissing her had focused the need growing within him. As he’d embraced her and felt her soft warmth press against him, he’d known he wouldn’t rest till he’d held her naked in his arms.
With a shake of his head, he slipped the engine into gear and at last began to head back to his hotel. It was perfectly obvious what he had to do.
He smiled to himself. She’d take a bit of persuading, of course. Unlike some women he’d known, she wouldn’t just fall into his bed. When he’d found her in his room last night, he’d known perfectly well that to offer him her body was not the reason she was there. All those provocative things he’d said had only been to tease her. But knowing she would resist just made the game more appealing. And she would fall in the end. He had no doubt about that.
It was a little sad, though, he reflected as he drew up outside the hotel. Once he had made love to her, this craving for her would soon pass. That was the way it always happened. The passion burned itself out And, once the passion was gone, there was usually very little left.
He slid from the car and slammed the door shut, then headed up the steps that led to the main door. A porter appeared and Jean-Claude held out the Porsche’s keys to him, along with a discreetly folded five-pound note.
‘Put it in the garage for me, will you, please, George? My usual spot.’
Then he was striding across the lobby to pick up his room key, stepping into the lift and pressing the button for the top floor, all the while still thinking of Georgia. It was funny, but when she’d asked him about what he did and if he was married he’d found himself wishing he could be totally honest with her. Luckily, he’d managed to resist the temptation.
To have done otherwise would have been absolute madness. Telling her the truth about his job would simply have guaranteed the total withdrawal of her cooperation. And as for the rest...? Well, there was really no need for her to be shown into the private corners of his life. Any relationship he was destined to have with her would be transitory and brief, and the various other pieces that made up his daily existence were really none of her concern.
Waiting for Mr. Wonderful! Page 5