‘So you have brothers and sisters?’
‘Two brothers, one sister.’
‘Older or younger?’
‘All older than me.’
So, he was the baby of the family. That was rather a strange thought. She’d imagined him always being the one in command. Though perhaps this helped explain that undeniably arrogant streak. With all those older siblings, he’d probably been spoiled rotten when he was small!
‘And what do your brothers and sister do? Are they all in business too?’
He shook his head. ‘My eldest brother’s an engineer like our father. The other one’s an architect and my sister’s a paediatrician.’
A talented family. Suddenly Georgia had a vision of all those bright, talented people gathered round a dinner table together, laughing and chatting away in French. It was a vision she found immensely appealing.
‘Do they all still live in Paris? Are they married? Do they have families?’
‘They’re all married and they all have children. I’m an uncle seven times over.’ He was smiling at her as they continued to move around the dance floor and Georgia sensed he was quite enjoying sharing these personal little details. ‘And, yes, they all live somewhere in or around the city. My sister has a place not far from me in Gif sur Yvette.’
‘You have a place in Gif sur Yvette?’ It was a wealthy suburb of Paris and Georgia had heard of it because one of her regular suppliers lived there. She blinked in surprise. ‘I was under the impression that the Champs Elysées apartment was your only home.’
He shook his head. ‘I really only use it during the week when I’m here. It’s more convenient than the other place. Less travelling to do.’ His arms tightened around her as he brushed her cheek with a kiss. ‘But that’s enough about me. What’s on my mind right now is us. What do you say we start thinking about heading home?’
Georgia didn’t answer at once. Had that change of subject been deliberate? Just for a moment, before he’d kissed her, she’d sensed a slight withdrawal. Did he regret, for some reason, having let slip about his other home?
But perhaps it had just been her imagination, for there was definitely nothing the least bit distant about him now. He was devouring her with his eyes, sending tingles down her spine as he kissed her again and demanded, ‘What do you say?’
Georgia felt a thrust of anticipation, a sweet, hot melting deep inside her. Once they got home, they both knew what was going to happen and just for a moment she hardly dared look at him.
Then she caught her breath and nodded. ‘OK. Let’s go.’
He drove back to the apartment even more slowly than usual and Georgia knew exactly what he was doing. He was deliberately spinning out these final moments of waiting, causing the tension between them to tighten almost unbearably. When they finally came together, the pent-up passion within them would create an explosion that would send the universe spinning.
At last, they were drawing up outside his apartment.
‘Georgia, ma douce.’
As he leaned across and kissed her, a rush of heat went pouring through her, a solid wave of excitement. Georgia looked back at him. ‘Jean-Claude.’ And the name felt so right now. He was a stranger no longer. She felt she’d known him all her life.
For a long moment, they just sat and looked at one another, Georgia drinking him in, knowing with total certainty that her desire was written plainly on her face. But what reason had she to hide it? It was nothing to be ashamed of. And the same naked desire was written plainly on his.
‘Come,’ he told her. ‘Viens. Let’s go.’
They were on their way up in the lift, arms wrapped round each other’s waist, when Georgia suddenly realised she’d left her bag in the car. She told Jean-Claude what she’d done. ‘What an absolute fool!’ she groaned. Where was her head?
‘Don’t worry.’ Jean-Claude kissed her. ‘I’ll go back down and get it.’ He reached inside his pocket and handed her the door key. ‘In the meantime, let yourself in and get some champagne from the fridge.’ Then, as they reached the top floor and she was about to step from the lift, he caught hold of her lightly and kissed her softly on the lips.
‘Don’t disappear,’ he warned her with a look of mock severity. Then he kissed her again. ‘I’ll only be a couple of minutes.’
Georgia stepped from the lift in a sweet, dreamy haze as at last he released her hand and pressed the button to go back down again. Then she was heading for the front door and slipping the key in the lock, smiling to herself blissfully, tingling with anticipation.
Tonight was going to be a night she would remember for ever. And—who knew?—it might even be the start of something special. For there was far more between them than just physical attraction. She’d sensed that strongly tonight. There’d been a special magic in the air.
But, as she pushed open the door and stepped into the hall, in an instant all her dreams were sent crashing down about her head. For stepping through the sitting-room doorway was a tall, fair-haired girl, about sixteen years old, dressed in a long, blue towelling dressing gown.
At the sight of Georgia, she stopped and looked her up and down.
‘Who are you?’ she said in French. ‘And where is Papa?’
CHAPTER SIX
‘I’M GEORGIA,’ she responded in French. ‘And your father will be here in a minute. He had to go back downstairs. I left my bag in the car.’
Georgia delivered this little speech in a tone as calm and composed, and every bit as false, as the smile that accompanied it. And it was a miracle that she managed it, for she was reeling inside, scarcely able to stand upright for the sense of betrayal that poured through her.
This evening, in a fit of unaccustomed frankness, Jean-Claude had actually deigned to tell her about his background and his family. About his mother and his father and his sister and his brothers. But—no doubt by sheer chance!—he’d forgotten to pass on the most crucial piece of information of all.
He was married and he had a family.
This also meant, of course, that he’d lied the other day. When she’d asked if he was married, he’d told her that he wasn’t. Naturally, she’d believed him and now she’d been on the point of sleeping with him. As she realised what she’d almost done, horror tore through her in great waves. How dared he mislead her? He was as low as they came. Through her sense of stunned shock, she was filled with seething rage.
Still, she was doing her best to keep her false smile in place, for the girl, who seemed rather likeable, was utterly blameless and it would be wrong to reveal her anger to her.
‘If you don’t mind, I’ll say goodnight and go to my room now.’ She really couldn’t keep up this façade a moment longer and, besides, she’d no wish still to be standing here when Jean-Claude finally showed his cheating face. She turned, her entire body feeling as stiff as a plank, and made her way across the hall and down the corridor to the spare room.
It was just a few minutes later that there was a tap on her door.
‘Georgia.’ It was Jean-Claude. ‘May I come in?’
‘No. You may not.’ Her tone was icy. ‘Just kindly go away and leave me alone.’
She was sitting, tense and trembling, on the edge of the bed, white-knuckled, breathing slowly, as she glared at the door. If he tried to force his way in, she’d set about him with her fists.
‘Georgia, we’ve got to talk. Please open up.’ He twisted the door handle and found that the door was locked. ‘Georgia,’ he said again, ‘please open up.’
Why? she thought. So you can come in here with your lies and excuses and try to charm me into forgiving you? Well, forget it. I’m finished with you. I don’t want to hear anything you have to say to me. And I don’t want to waste my breath arguing with you, either.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. ‘Please just go away.’
There was a pause and she could sense the irritation beyond the door. Once more, he tried the handle, then she heard an impatient sigh. ‘
OK. Have it your way. I’ll leave your bag outside the door.’ A moment later, she heard his footsteps walk away.
Georgia lost track of how long she remained sitting there on the bed, staring blindly into space, her brain seething in her head. She felt immobilised, her body heavy, as though it had turned to stone. Yet, at the same time, she felt detached. No longer quite of this world. Suspended, instead, in her own private hell.
Just be glad that this happened before you made the fatal error of falling into bed with him, she told herself. A vision crossed her mind of his poor, cheated wife, who was no doubt kept out of the way in his other house in Gif sur Yvette while he pursued his illicit affairs. Think how much worse it would have been if you’d found out the truth afterwards, she mused.
But as she undressed, washed quickly and climbed into bed, curling up into a ball beneath the sheets, however hard she tried, she simply could not feel glad. She felt rather as though a hand had reached down from the sky, torn out her heart and crushed it to dust.
‘So, where are you off to? Might I be told?’
‘I’m moving out. I’ll find a cheap pension or something. I think that would be the best arrangement in the circumstances.’
It was just after seven the following morning and Georgia was standing in the hall by the front door, pale-faced, dressed in her green wool suit and carrying her packed holdall in her hand. Over her shoulder was slung her black leather bag, which she’d finally retrieved from outside her door just a short while ago.
Silently, she was cursing. She’d hoped to leave without seeing him. She felt wrung out and exhausted, for she’d barely slept at all during the night, and the last thing she needed was this sort of confrontation.
Besides, just looking at him was doing terrible things to her. She knew she was mad, for he meant nothing at all to her and it didn’t matter a damn that it had all ended in such a mess, but suddenly her heart was all over the place, tears of hurt and misery pressing at her throat.
He was standing at the end of the corridor that led to the spare room, dressed in a short silk robe of blue and red stripes. He must have heard her leave her room and come to investigate.
‘So, you planned to leave without telling me?’ He fixed her with a dark look. ‘That’s nice. You were going to sneak off without a word?’
‘I left you a note. It’s there on the table.’ She nodded towards the marble-topped console table behind him. ‘I really didn’t see any need for personal farewells.’
Jean-Claude glanced at the note, but didn’t bother to pick it up. Then he turned back to look at her again, frowning a little. He said nothing for a moment, then, surprising her, he smiled.
‘You look awful,’ he told her. ‘Which is something I never thought I’d say to you. From the look of you, I’d guess you slept as badly as I did. What we both need is some breakfast before we do anything else.’
Well, this was a novel approach. She hadn’t expected this. Lies and excuses, yes. Insults and offers of breakfast, definitely not.
But it made no difference what tactics he chose to employ. She’d no intention of allowing herself to get caught in his net again.
Stony-faced, she looked back at him. ‘I don’t want breakfast, thank you very much. As I explained to you a moment ago, I’m just about to leave.’
‘OK. Leave if you want to. But we’ll have breakfast first. Then I can tell you what I would have told you last night if you’d only been prepared to listen for five minutes.’
The nerve of the man! Georgia almost felt like hitting him. Not only was there not even a shred of repentance in that remark, but he was actually having the gall to accuse her of being unreasonable!
‘I’m afraid I’m still not prepared to listen.’ Her eyes sparked at him defiantly. ‘I’m not the least bit interested in hearing your fairy stories!’
To prove she really meant it, she laid her hand on the door handle.
There was a fraction of a second’s pause, then Jean-Claude straightened slightly. ‘Nevertheless, whether you happen to be interested or not, I’m afraid I must insist that you listen.’ Suddenly, there was a note of menace in his voice.
‘Is that a threat?’
Georgia faced him, feeling her anger swirl inside her. If he as much as laid a hand on her, she’d scream the building down.
‘Not a threat. Just a simple declaration of intent.’ His dark expression lightened. Suddenly, he smiled again. ‘So, why not just come with me voluntarily and have some breakfast, like I said?’
‘Why don’t you just let me leave?’ She curled her fingers round the handle. How quickly, she was wondering, could she be out of the door? Could she make it before he reached her? ‘I don’t want to hear your excuses.’
‘That’s really too bad. I’m afraid you’re going to hear them anyway.’
An instant later, she had the answers to her questions. As she started to turn the handle, Jean-Claude moved like a streak of lightning and the next thing she knew his hand was wrapped around her wrist, snatching her fingers away from the door handle. As she gasped, about to protest, he plucked the holdall from her other hand and tossed it impatiently into a corner.
‘Now don’t start shouting, he warned her, ‘or you’ll wake up Nicole. She’s sleeping on the sofa in my study and I really think we ought to keep this thing private.’ And, with that, he proceeded to propel her towards the kitchen.
Georgia wasn’t quite sure what had happened to her voice. The instant he’d taken hold of her, it had seemed to dry up in her throat. And now the best she could manage was a spluttered, ‘H-how dare you?’ as she found herself being dragged like a piece of cargo along the corridor.
‘You pig!’ she managed with feeling as he steered her through the kitchen doorway, closed the door behind them and plonked her down on a chair. Then, at last fully regaining her temporarily departed powers of speech, she informed him, ‘You just have to be the most loathsome man I’ve ever met!’
This somewhat harsh judgement appeared to perturb him not at all. He stood back and surveyed her. ‘Bien,’ he consented. ‘I’m sure it’s done you a great deal of good to get all that anger and aggression off your chest. However, before I explain things and prove to you just how wrong you are, I suggest we have breakfast. I hate arguing on an empty stomach.’
‘I doubt that very much. But you’re wasting your time, anyway. You’re not going to convince me, whatever you say.’
‘Fair enough. But allow me to fail to convince you after we’ve had breakfast.’ To her intense fury, he smiled. ‘So, what would you like?’
‘I’d like to see you fry in hell. That’s what I’d like.’
‘Ah, well, you may be lucky. I suspect that’ll probably be my fate. But it’s not on the menu today, I’m afraid. While I’m making the coffee, try and think of something else.’
Georgia did not answer. She stared mutinously at his back as he turned towards the work counter where the coffee-maker stood, spooned in some coffee and switched the. machine on. What were her chances of escaping while his back was still turned? Probably nil, she decided glumly. She wouldn’t make it halfway to the door. And since she’d no desire to be subjected to another physical manhandling she’d be wise just to stay where she was. For the moment.
‘I’m afraid I can’t offer you an English breakfast. I’ve got plenty of eggs, but I’m completely out of bacon.’
Jean-Claude imparted this information as though she might actually be interested and continued, in spite of her hostile, stony silence, ‘However, there’s a bag of croissants in the freezer and there’s plenty of bread if you fancy some toast. I believe I can even offer you some marmalade to put on it.’ He turned round to look at her with a provocatively amused glance. ‘That’s another thing I like about the English. Their marmalade,’ he told her.
Georgia looked back at him, tight-lipped, and refrained from informing him that at that precise moment she liked nothing at all about him. Though that was not entirely true. There was somet
hing rather beguiling about the way he was standing there in his blue and red silk robe, with only a thin pair of blue pyjama bottoms on underneath.
Beguiling, and just a little unsettling, too. The proximity of that lightly clad, virile physique was starting to give her goosebumps inside.
You’re a disgrace, Georgia Dee! She pulled herself up instantly. This utterly shameless sexual attraction she felt for him was precisely what had got her into this mess she was in. If she hadn’t been on the brink of throwing herself into bed with him, the fact that he was married wouldn’t have mattered a damn.
She glared at his faithless back. ‘Won’t your daughter be joining us, then? Your daughter who doesn’t exist. Isn’t she having breakfast, too? Maybe your wife who doesn’t exist would like to join us as well?’
‘Nicole will be having breakfast about midday, I imagine—if she’s up to anything like her usual standard.’ Quite unfazed by her attack, totally ignoring her accusations, Jean-Claude turned with an equable smile to look at her. ‘And now, instead of sitting there doing nothing, why don’t you make yourself useful and look out some plates and things while I stick a couple of croissants in the microwave?’
By way of a response, Georgia fixed him with a dark scowl, which he didn’t even seem to notice as he headed for the freezer. She’d felt tempted to remind him she didn’t want any breakfast but, since he was pointedly ignoring everything she said, that would just be a total waste of breath and, anyway, the prospect of croissants and coffee was actually starting to rather appeal to her. So she slid reluctantly from her seat and did as he’d said.
Fifteen minutes later, they were sitting down at the table with a basket of steaming croissants and two cups of café au lait before them. As Jean-Claude helped himself to sugar, then pushed the bowl towards Georgia, he caught her gaze and held it, and his expression was stone cold sober.
‘Nicole is not my daughter,’ he said.
Waiting for Mr. Wonderful! Page 9