Stephanie Howard - Waiting For Mr. Wonderful!

‘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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