Waiting For Mr. Wonderful!

‘You happily married people are all the same,’ Georgia would counter, for Kay had been blissfully married to Eddie for seven and a half years. ‘But I’m not looking for a man. Right now, work suits me fine.’

In a way, it was true. For the past three and a half years, since throwing open the bright blue doors of Georgia D—with only a scarily hefty bank loan and a bucketful of ambition to prop her up—the huge amount of work involved in making the business a success had absorbed a vast chunk of both her time and her emotions. Of course, there’d been men on the scene. But never anyone serious. None of them had ever amounted to more than the occasional pleasant dinner date.

Sometimes, she felt the lack, as she occasionally confessed to Kay, but the plain truth was she simply hadn’t met a man who’d even half tempted her to start getting serious.

‘Your problem is,’ Kay had once observed wisely, ‘that you’re not looking for Mr Right, you’re looking for Mr Wonderful.’ And maybe, Georgia had to confess, she was right.

A man who’ll sweep me off my feet and turn my whole head inside out and fill my life with love and magic and excitement. Passion. Fire. Enchantment. Wonder. I’m crazy, she often told herself, but that really is what I dream of.

And Jean-Claude Lasalle? Well, he would know all about passion. And there was a fire in him, even a little magic, and he was undeniably exciting. But, in spite of all that, he was no Mr Wonderful. Mr Wonderful, above all, would be a one-woman man, and it was as plain as the exceedingly handsome nose on his face that Jean-Claude Lasalle was definitely not that!

So she ignored Kay’s wink as she set off from the shop at four forty-five to keep her appointment. All she wanted from Lasalle was to find out what he knew about Duval and—if she decided he really was genuine—how he proposed to help her fight him.

Less than fifteen minutes later, she was walking up to the hotel reception desk to find herself looking into the beady-eyed face of the same woman who’d been on duty last night. Having witnessed Georgia’s departure from the hotel just after midnight, she must really be wondering what the devil was going on!

So, let her wonder!

‘Georgia Dee for Mr Lasalle,’ Georgia told her, adding with a confident smile, ‘He’s expecting me.’

But her smile instantly died. The woman shook her head. ‘I’m afraid Mr Lasalle isn’t here. He’s gone to London.’

‘London?’ Georgia was aware of her mouth dropping open. ‘London?’ she said again. ‘But we have an appointment!’

‘There’s a message for you, however.’ The woman was turning away to extract a slip of paper from Lasalle’s cubby-hole. ‘He phoned a little while ago to say he’d been held up, but that he’d be here to keep your appointment just as soon as he could.’

‘And how soon will that be? Has he left London? Did he say?’ It was about a three hour drive from London to Bath, though possibly a little less in a Porsche! Just how long was she expected to hang about?

But the receptionist couldn’t help her. ‘He didn’t say how long he’d be.’ She shrugged sympathetically. ‘Men!’ she observed.

Georgia smiled back at that. Maybe she’d misjudged her, after all. ‘It looks like I have no choice but to wait.’

But as she turned away and went to seat herself on one of the chairs Georgia was biting back her anger. Hanging around waiting for Jean-Claude Lasalle was getting to be a habit she could well do without!

An hour passed.

The receptionist glanced across at her and said, ‘Why don’t you go out and stretch your legs for a bit? If he arrives while you’re gone, I’ll tell him you’re here.’

That sounded like a good idea. Georgia thanked her and went for a walk. Twenty minutes later, full of hope, she returned. But the best news the receptionist could give her was that he’d just phoned again.

‘He was calling from his car phone and I could hardly make out a thing. But he seemed to be saying that he wouldn’t be long.’

Wouldn’t be long. What was that supposed to mean? ‘I’m going out for another walk,’ Georgia informed the woman between clenched teeth. If she was forced to sit about here for another single moment she’d end up eating the carpet in frustration!

With difficulty, she wasted another twenty minutes, but this time as she approached the hotel she knew he’d arrived. A familiar sleek black Porsche was parked arrogantly outside.

Seething, she hurried up the steps to the main door. Then she was sweeping into the lobby, where she spotted him instantly, sitting in an armchair reading a newspaper. As he rose to his feet, tossing the newspaper aside, she advanced on him furiously, anger smouldering from every pore, her glossy dark hair bouncing against her shoulders.

‘So, you’ve finally arrived!’ Her hazel eyes blazed at him. ‘Are you aware that you’re two hours late for our meeting? You asked me to meet you here at five. It’s now nearly seven o’clock!’

If he dared to make a joke of it and say she ought to be used to waiting, she would throttle him right there on the spot with her bare hands!

Perhaps he read that in her face, for he answered in a sober tone, almost managing to sound genuinely apologetic, ‘I’m sorry. I got held up. It really couldn’t be helped. I got here as soon as I could. I can’t apologise enough.’

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 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.’ 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?

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