Waiting For Mr. Wonderful!. Stephanie Howard
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 his 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.’