Pierre slipped under the covers and then arranged them carefully back over her sprawled body and stiffened when she tossed beside him. She had obviously started off at the very edge of the bed, probably with her body half spilling over the mattress, he suspected, but in the course of her sleep had worked her way to somewhere near the middle, and he wasn’t about to shift her back into her original position of self-defence.
There was no reason why their bodies couldn’t come into contact without them exploding with a sudden onslaught of lust.
Indeed, the thought was almost laughable!
Pierre was no ingénue when it came to the opposite sex. Boarding school might have been dreary but it had given him a great deal of polish from an early age, and the addition of girls in the sixth form had honed his ability to charm to a fine degree. The self-confidence of maturity and his astounding good looks had meant that women had always flocked towards him. He had never had to work at getting a woman into bed. He had certainly never joined a woman in bed to find her sound asleep!
But this, he told himself, was no woman, at least not in the sense in which it was meant.
He propped himself on one elbow and looked down at her. His eyes were now quite accustomed to the lack of light and he could make out her delicate features, her mouth slightly parted, her slim arm carelessly resting on the duvet, her hand balled into a light fist.
His eyes strayed down and he lay back flat, staring upwards at the ceiling.
He hadn’t asked for this but things had certainly changed since undertaking the pretence. His mother had never been so open with him before. Holidays spent as a youngster had been largely lonely affairs until he was old enough to start inviting friends to stay and he wondered whether he had gradually built up a wall of resentment when in fact it hadn’t been a question of love, simply a question of his parents working all hours on the farm. Had they tried to include him? He couldn’t remember. He could only remember growing up with a strong sense of disapproval of the fruitless road along which they had chosen to travel.
He wasn’t much given to introspection, but it occurred to him that many a worthwhile relationship floundered through lack of communication and, really, by the time he could effectively communicate with his parents on an adult level, they had probably only seen a man with little to say that was encouraging or optimistic.
He could distinctly remember lecturing to them about the futility of sinking money into a niche farming market that would end up draining them of funds and advising them to go into property instead, which had naturally led to the tired old argument about capitalism. He had given up and thenceforth had learnt to skim the surface when it came to conversation, always slightly relieved when he returned to the gruelling demands of his life in the City.
And so the pattern had continued down the years. Until now.
He turned away from Georgie. Sleep came easily. He was tired. A long day driving, then an hour and a half spent on the computer before heading up to the bedroom. He would still be up at the crack of dawn because that just seemed to be how his body clock worked, but that was several hours away.
He woke when it was still dark to the very slightest of noises. More a sensation of movement than a noise, in actual fact, and was instantly awake.
Silhouetted in the doorway, and just a dark, slight figure, Georgie was creeping towards the bed, groping to feel the edge of the landmarks in the room that would stop her from tripping.
‘You can turn the lights on if you want,’ Pierre said dryly and Georgie let out a little squeak of shock.
‘What are you doing awake?’
Pierre switched on the lamp on his bedside table and followed her progress as she scuttled back under the duvet, all pink-faced, rumpled femininity.
‘You can turn the light off now. I just had to use the bathroom. I’m going back to sleep.’ Georgie turned pointedly onto her side and yanked the duvet as high up as it could go without her toes protruding at the bottom.
‘I’m a very light sleeper,’ Pierre answered her question even though it was clear that she wanted to feign sleep. He, on the other hand, felt fully awake and he knew why. It was nearly six, close to his natural waking-up time. ‘I think it’s because every holiday I would return from boarding school to the farm and could never quite manage to adjust to the sound of the animals. When you’re not used to sheep and owls it’s surprising how noisy they can seem.’ He noticed, with amusement, that she was still lying with her back to him and her body was rigid.
He had not been looking forward to this long weekend. It was time he couldn’t spare from the demands of work and for a reason that was not of his doing. When he visited his mother, his trips were planned long in advance, giving him the appropriate time to rearrange his schedule.
However, he reluctantly had to admit that it was not the ordeal he had anticipated.
He certainly hadn’t anticipated ending the evening in bed with Georgie and, furthermore, if he was to be honest with himself, vaguely intrigued by her.
He had a sudden, sharp urge to surprise her out of her pointed silence, some mischievous desire that wasn’t at all like him.
‘I decided to break up with Jennifer…’ He dangled this personal snippet of information in front of her eyes and waited for her to respond. Which she did. She also rolled over so that she was now facing him and, even though he was staring upwards, his head resting on his linked hands, he was very much aware of her eyes on him.
‘I’m sorry about that.’
‘Why? I told you it was nothing serious. No…I just thought that it would have been a little unfair to keep her dangling on a string while I passed the time with another woman.’
‘Hardly passing the time with another woman…’
‘No?’ He turned his head so that he was looking at her. It was still very dark in the room, no sign yet of a rising sun, but he was aware that she was very close to him. In fact, he could almost smell her and she smelt sweet, innocently sweet of fruity soap and recently washed hair. Not a hint of perfume, which he rather liked. ‘We’re sharing a bed, aren’t we? What would you call that?’
‘I would call it your mother combined with an unexpected snowstorm!’
‘Do you know that you’re the first woman I’ve ever slept with?’ Pierre hadn’t meant to confess to that. He surprised himself.
‘Oh, please. You must think I was born yesterday if you imagine that I could actually believe that—’
‘What’s so unbelievable about it?’
‘Pierre Christophe Newman has never slept with a woman…? Ha, ha. That’s like saying that Casanova actually did embroidery in his spare time!’
‘Is that what you think I am? A Casanova?’
Georgie’s breath caught in her throat. Even in the darkness of the bedroom, there was no mistaking his sheer beauty, that animal magnetism that he unconsciously radiated in waves. There was also no mistaking the fact that her nerves were everywhere as the intimacy of their situation impacted. She could feel her body tingling all over, from her face to her breasts to the very essence of her.
‘I think it’s time we tried to grab a bit more sleep or…or maybe I could see what the snow’s doing…drive back home…it’s probably cleared by now…’
‘Don’t be farcical,’ Pierre said with squashing practicality. ‘What’s Didi going to think when she emerges from bed to find that you’ve disappeared into the snow at the crack of dawn? Besides, we’re supposed to be a hot item—the least we could do is make conversation.’
‘In bed?’
‘I happen to find bed a very relaxing place and, to clarify what I meant about having never slept with a woman, I meant spent the night in the same bed.’
‘You’ve never spent the night with a woman?’ Georgie asked incredulously. Okay, she knew that curiosity killed the cat but she just couldn’t help herself.
The ploy successfully distracted her and he could sense her relax as she stopped thinking about the intimacy of their situation, w
hich she minded but he rather thought he didn’t. ‘No need to sound so stupefied,’ Pierre told her but, seeing it from her point of view, it was a little mysterious.
‘How come?’
‘Have you ever spent the night with a man?’
‘We’re not talking about me and I’m not a…a…’
‘Casanova?’ He felt her discomfort. This was invigorating. ‘I don’t like waking up next to a woman.’
‘You mean just in case it gives them crazy ideas of permanence?’ Georgie asked shrewdly.
Pierre stiffened. ‘Do I hear a lecture on its way?’
‘It’s too early for lectures but, yes, if it had been a little later, there would have been a lecture.’
Pierre wondered what book she had studied on the Art of Seducing Men, where surely rule one would have been Think before you speak, but then she wasn’t in the business of seducing him, was she? In fact, she was in the business of avoiding him as much as was humanly possible given the circumstances. ‘I keep irregular hours when it comes to my work,’ he perversely felt the need to elaborate. ‘Makes sense not to have someone else to think about when I’m climbing out of bed at three in the morning to make a long-distance conference call to the other side of the world.’ No response. ‘Women tend to dislike awakening to the peal of the telephone and the lights being switched on at ridiculous hours in the morning.’ Still no response and her silence had a judgemental tone that was really beginning to get on his nerves. ‘And maybe you’re right,’ he ground out bad-temperedly. ‘Maybe I don’t want some woman thinking that a night in my bed is the start of something long-term.’
Georgie grunted with what he considered a lot of smug satisfaction.
‘Anyway, now that we’re on the road of discovery, have you ever spent the night with a man?’
‘Of course I have.’
Pierre was unnaturally shocked by that admission. She was the tomboy who had grown up into a ditzy woman who taught young kids and kept chickens! Where did sleeping around figure in this scenario? Furthermore, night life was sorely lacking in this particular part of the world. Where on earth would she have rummaged up an eligible male?
Not that she wasn’t pretty in her own way, he considered. Some men might even find that blonde, fly-away hair and those huge green eyes quite attractive. Less so her habit of acting first and thinking later, but, then again, who knew? Impulsive might appeal to some kind of men. The backpacking, camping-site sort probably. The ones who woke up on a sunny Friday, decided that the skies were blue and thought nothing of calling in sick so that they could head out for a bracing walk on some remote Devon path somewhere.
‘Surprised?’ Georgie asked.
‘Of course not!’ Pierre lied smoothly. ‘Why should I be? Most women of your age have probably had more than one man spend the night in their bed. Who was he? Anyone I know?’ His voice was light, mildly interested but no more than mildly. He would never have admitted that his curiosity had been piqued.
‘I didn’t think you kept in touch with anyone from this part of the world, Pierre. I thought you had jettisoned the lot the minute you left for the bright city lights.’
‘Why do you always imply that ambition is somehow a bad thing?’ He lay flat, head resting on his folded arms, and stared up at the ceiling while Georgie propped herself on one elbow and stared at him. On a subconscious level there was something dangerous and exhilarating about this whispered conversation, but she refused to be alarmed because really that was all it was. A conversation. Useful conversation, in fact, considering the game they were playing.
‘Is that what I do?’
‘You know it is, Georgie. And I wonder why that would be. Is it because you’ve always been so scared of leaving this place that your only defence is to criticise the people who do? I mean, your parents died when you were too young to really be able to look after yourself and mine have always been the substitute. Is that why you’ve always felt the need to stay here? Because this is the place where all your security is wrapped up?’
‘I thought you didn’t care for psychobabble, Pierre,’ she said coldly. She lay back, like him, and stared sightlessly at the ceiling. ‘I don’t criticise people who choose to leave here. I’m not a fool! I know people want to do the best for themselves and sometimes that means leaving for a city!’
‘But in my case…’
‘I want to go to sleep now.’
Pierre pictured her lying next to him and squeezing shut her eyes so that she could block out the conversation. ‘You won’t be able to.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean we’re both fully awake now.’
‘Which means that you should be thinking of doing a spot of work, doesn’t it?’
Normally, yes, Pierre thought, but for once he felt inclined to break with tradition. ‘Not sure I can brave the deep cold to get to my computer. There are only so many things I’m prepared to do in the name of work and frostbite isn’t one of them.’
Georgie felt a small, reluctant smile threaten her defences. Damn man!
And while she was battling with a desire to relent, he swept in. ‘So…? Was this man someone you were involved with for a long time? Was it a serious relationship?’
Georgie didn’t see any point in being coy or secretive. Didi would find it very odd if Pierre knew nothing of her past when they were so in love that presumably every nook and cranny of their pasts had been explored in loving depth. Hilarious when you considered that this man was a commitment-phobe who made sure he never shared his bed with any woman just in case she took it as a sign that their next trip out would include buying matching wedding rings!
‘Quite serious,’ she admitted awkwardly.
Pierre was intrigued. He turned to look at her profile. For someone who seemed as transparent as a glass of water, she was certainly turning out to be far more complex than he had ever imagined.
‘Really?’ he coaxed.
‘We even considered marriage at one point,’ Georgie confessed.
‘What happened?’
‘Life happened.’ She shrugged. It had taken time for the hurt to go away but eventually it had gone and she could look back now at Stan as something charming that had been just right at the time but would never have lasted in the long run. ‘We met at university and fell in love and had two great years, but it didn’t work out.’
‘And that’s all there is?’ Pierre prodded.
‘I don’t give you the third degree over your girlfriends,’ Georgie told him irritably. ‘Yes, that’s all there is to it!’
‘Where is he now?’
‘Married with a child and living on the other side of the world, I gather.’
‘Ah.’
Georgie waited for him to expand on that knowing exhalation but he didn’t.
‘What does that mean?’ she demanded finally. She turned on her side to find him right in front of her.
‘Means that you must have been emotionally devastated,’ he said, shamelessly prying for more details. ‘Young, vulnerable, trusting and in love and, not only does it all collapse, but the man of your dreams heads off to the distant blue yonder and finds himself another woman and, to cap it all, has a baby with her. Is that why you’re on your own? Too hurt to trust another man?’
‘I think it’s time we got up.’
‘Not even the birds are up yet.’ She looked incredibly young. How was it that he had never noticed that before? True she was younger than most of his ex girlfriends, but even so she looked light years less hard and experienced. Lawyers and barristers and investment bankers, he concluded, showed the stress of their jobs in their faces even when those faces appeared flawless. ‘Are you still hankering after him?’ If he took off without a backward glance, Pierre could just imagine the sort of man he had been. Irresponsible, one of those so-called free spirits who drifted where the wind happened to take them, probably had ambled off to find his spiritual nirvana somewhere in Tibet only to bump into a similarly woolly headed cre
ature along the way. The man had probably had a beard and wore sandals in winter. The image of Georgie with someone like that was suitably satisfying.
‘What did he do? What was his job? Did he have one?’
‘Of course he had a job, Pierre! He was in his final year at university and went on to become a journalist. In fact, he left to cover a piece on global warming and the effects in Australia and just…found someone else out there…We still keep in touch now and again by email…’
‘If you were that much in love with the man, why didn’t you go with him?’ Pierre, admittedly a little rattled by the fact that she had fallen for a guy with both feet planted firmly on the ground, was in like a shot.
‘Because…’ Because the thought had been too scary, because the relationship was already beginning to raise more questions than it answered, because her safety was in Devon and she had been loath to cut the apron strings, just as Pierre had said even if he had been taking pot-shots in the dark, trying to piece her together because there was nothing better to do just at this moment. ‘Because I still had my university career to get through,’ Georgie told him flatly. She could have added that she had taken away one very important lesson from the experience. People left and, when it came to men, she would make sure she fell in love with a man she could depend on, a man who didn’t leave. She made as if to get out of the bed but Pierre beat her to it, even though it was damned cold because the central heating hadn’t as yet been timed to kick in. His mother couldn’t possibly be counting pennies-he provided her with enough money to keep the heating on full whack every day of the year if the desire so took her—but she was economical from habit. He just hadn’t realised the effects until he pulled on his jumper, rubbing his hands together to keep warm.
‘No need to run away, Georgie,’ he drawled, slinging on his trousers, watching her watching him and sensing her embarrassment even though he had been wearing more than he would have worn on a beach.
‘I wasn’t about to run away,’ Georgie lied, riveted by the sight of him getting dressed.
‘I’ll switch the heating on. This place is like a freezer. What’s Didi playing at?’
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