Bedded at the Billionaire's Convenience Read online

  ‘Nothing interesting. Honestly, Pierre, you’d find it very dull.’

  ‘Oh, yes, forgot, I’m a high powered city guy who’s kidding himself that he can ever enjoy the rural life…

  ‘I’m seriously tempted,’ he murmured, folding his hands behind his head and staring at her through half-closed eyes, ‘to issue you with a little bet.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘It’s easy to sit there and talk about people not being able to adapt to different surroundings, yet I know you don’t speak from experience…’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Georgie asked faintly, not liking the sound of where this was going.

  ‘You don’t know about whether I could grow to enjoy the simple life any more than you know whether you could enjoy the city life. In actual fact, I’m more qualified than you are on the subject because I’ve experienced both…you, on the other hand, have not…’

  ‘That’s a silly bet.’ Georgie looked to Didi for support, but was alarmed to see the older woman nodding thoughtfully and tugging on her earring.

  ‘Pierre’s got a point,’ Didi said slowly. ‘You’ve never really experienced much of a city life, have you, Georgie? I mean, you grew up around here and, yes, there was your university stint, but still a university in the country…hmm…’

  ‘I’ve always enjoyed living in the country,’ Georgie said in a measured voice, eyes averted from Pierre. ‘Some people do.’

  ‘But it might be rather nice for you to experience life in the fast lane,’ Didi commented. ‘The shops, the restaurants, the theatres…all the excitement…’

  Georgie looked at Pierre accusingly. Now even Didi was on his side. She wanted to stamp her feet and throw a tantrum. ‘Maybe you’re right,’ she said demurely. ‘But while we’re on the subject of alternative experiences, I have one that’s a little closer to home for you, Pierre.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yup.’ She flashed him a look that he, personally, considered pretty seductive. Or was his mind playing tricks on him? He frowned sternly back at her.

  ‘It’s Santa,’ she said airily.

  ‘Santa. No idea what you’re on about, but, then again, it won’t be the first time I’ve found myself in that particular boat with you.’

  ‘Remember I was saying what a hectic day it’d been at school today? Well, part of the headache has been that Mr Blackman, who usually does his Santa routine for the kids, is in hospital. Slipped on a patch of icy road and sprained his ankle rather badly.’

  ‘Oh, no!’ Pierre was beginning to get the picture. ‘No way.’

  ‘What about all this stuff about challenges?’ Georgie smiled smugly. ‘I’m just challenging you to do something very small, Pierre. Honestly. A couple of hours out of your day. Surely you can spare that?’

  ‘I can’t imagine you in a Santa outfit,’ Didi remarked, looking very much as if she would love to see it. ‘Your dad used to dress up as Santa every year until you were about seven. Then you stopped believing in Santa, but, oh, how you loved it!’

  ‘I don’t remember that,’ Pierre said, momentarily distracted. At the back of his mind, a memory tugged. ‘Anyway—’ back to the present ‘—it’s out of the question.’

  ‘Why? It would be such a help, Pierre.’

  ‘What about one of the fathers? Surely there must be a dad or two from the school who wouldn’t mind stepping in to fill the gap? Someone who would be a hell of a lot more credible than I ever could be.’

  ‘Nope. Can’t think of one.’ Could think of dozens.

  ‘I’m not the right shape and there’s not enough time to fatten me up.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about that! You’d be amazed what a bit of padding can do! A cushion here…a cushion there…’

  ‘I’ll leave you two to fight it out, shall I?’ Didi yawned. ‘I’m going to head upstairs. Watch a little telly, I think. There’s that excellent drama on in half an hour. But, Pierre—’ she looked at him firmly ‘—I think you should take up Georgie’s challenge. Just think of all those little smiling faces.’

  As soon as she had vanished from the kitchen Pierre looked at Georgie with a scowl. ‘You have my mother to thank for this.’

  ‘So you agree?’

  ‘Reluctantly.’

  ‘It’s just a little singsong, a few Christmas Carols at the school and then you can give out the presents.’

  ‘And what do you do for me in return?’

  Georgie felt her heart skip a beat, but the gaze she gave him was uncomprehending.

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Try some city life. Even Didi agrees with me. I’m not talking about London. That might be a little daunting for the uninitiated.’

  ‘Teaching jobs aren’t that easy to find! And for your information, I could easily do London!’

  ‘Oh, really.’

  ‘I’ve got to head back, Pierre.’ She stood up and he followed her out into the hall, watching as she slung on her colourful layers, ending with the ever-hardy poncho. He had never liked her style of dressing. For him, it had always epitomised the country bumpkin, stubbornly refusing to give in to fashion, as if there were something irresponsible about looking glamorous. He didn’t seem to mind it now. It was unique and quirky and weirdly feminine. Ultra feminine.

  ‘I’ll drive you,’ he said brusquely, looking away, and, as expected, she launched into an immediate protest. She could drive back herself, thank you very much…she had after all, been driving quite merrily in the depths of winter before he came along…she had her mobile and obviously if her car decided to bite the dust mid route then she would give him a call and he could rescue her…

  Pierre shrugged. ‘Suit yourself. I’m going to London for the day tomorrow but I’ll be back mid-morning on Wednesday. What time do you want me to show up?’

  ‘Two would be great. I…I’ll bring the costume into school tomorrow…that’s usually the routine. The sack of presents is already locked away in the staff room and you can change there. Is that okay?’ She turned away, heading for the door. Now that Didi was no longer on the scene, all semblance of politeness had been dropped and his indifference got to her. With one hand on the doorknob, she turned to him and said, jerkily, ‘What Didi said about…your charity work…I had no idea and I want you to know that I think it’s brilliant. Marvellous.’ She met his eyes squarely and Pierre fought down an irrational urge to mentally preen and pat himself on the back.

  ‘Never judge a book by its cover. I’ll see you day after tomorrow.’ He reached and pulled open the door. The blast of cold air reminded her that he wanted her gone. No need for pretence and certainly no need to try and sweeten her up with lots of empty, pretty words, not now that she had informed him where she stood when it came to any sexual involvement between them.

  Georgie, even though she had come to recognise his dependability, still wasn’t completely sure that he would return to Devon from London. He would for Didi, but then he might very well try and persuade her to join him in London for a couple of days. He had been staging a low level attack over the past few days, using all the charm at his disposal, not to mention their rapprochement, to convince her that London was not all about concrete buildings, crowds and high levels of pollution. Like Georgie, she was immune to the carrot of great shopping and Pierre had wisely jettisoned that line of argument before it had had a chance to backfire.

  Maybe Didi would be heading up to London and she, Georgie, would be safely ensconced down here, away from him, busy with her job and her silly Santa Claus traumas.

  But no. A telephone call to Didi soon set her straight on that. Pierre was definitely coming back down and she was to pull out her finest clothes because he would be taking her out in the evening.

  ‘And never fear, darling, I won’t be playing gooseberry this time!’

  When Georgie, thinking he might launch her own attack to getting Didi to join them for dinner, suggested dropping in with some quiche for lunch, she found her plans scuppered by a sprightly Didi who inform
ed her that she was spending the day with some of her friends who had dropped off the radar during her slide into depression. Bridge and then tea in the village. She was just to enjoy herself with Pierre; they deserved it.

  Georgie brooded that what they deserved, given the circumstances, certainly wasn’t the unbridled innocent enjoyment Didi had in mind.

  By the time mid-afternoon arrived, her nerves were at breaking-point, not helped by the kids who had worked themselves up into a frenzy of excitement. The Christmas singsong was for the benefit of the parents. From behind the curtains on the stage, Georgie could hear them gathering in the small assembly hall, then the scraping of chairs as they took their seats. They would be uncomfortable but the performance was a scant half an hour, after which they would leave and Santa, wherever he was because he certainly hadn’t arrived as yet, would do the honours.

  She listened to the concert from the wings, ever watchful for any child suddenly in desperate need of the toilet or casually deciding to have a walkabout, perhaps in the direction of camcorder wielding parents. Her anxiety at spending the evening alone with Pierre had lessened considerably in comparison to her anxiety at discovering that he hadn’t shown up for his impromptu performance.

  She need not have worried. The children were shepherded backstage, the parents were ushered out, and as she was rearranging the hall with the help of two of the teachers she looked up to see him in the doorway and for a few seconds she stilled, one hand on the back of the chair. Then she gathered herself and went across to him. Naturally the room had stilled. All eyes were on him, because as Santa Clauses went, Pierre cut an unreasonably dashing one.

  ‘Surprised to see me here?’ he asked coolly, reading her expression. His remote, vaguely hostile tone of voice was offset by the red and white costume, however, and the silvery white beard that he was holding in one hand. It was an effort not to grin so she looked down briefly and then called over to her colleagues so that she could introduce him.

  ‘You don’t look very plausible,’ she said, leading him in the direction of the staff room. ‘When did you arrive?’

  ‘Just in time to hear the final few bars of “Silent Night”.’

  ‘Beautiful, wasn’t it?’ Georgie couldn’t quite bring herself to look at him. Yes, he was in a foul mood and probably cursing her under his breath, but to see the man who ruled the waves in a red outfit that was several sizes too big, clutching a white beard and wearing a pair of black boots in which he was in obvious discomfort as they were probably a couple of sizes too small, risked engendering an attack of nervous hysterics.

  ‘This is ridiculous.’

  ‘I know, but I really do appreciate the favour, Pierre. Look, I’ve got a couple of cushions in the store cupboard.’ She produced two disreputable flowered cushions, which he gazed at in perfect, blank-faced bewilderment.

  ‘What the hell am I supposed to do with these?’

  ‘Haven’t you ever been in fancy dress before?’ Georgie asked innocently.

  ‘Give them here.’ He unbuttoned the shirt, scowling as he tried to stuff them in until finally she took the cushion and expertly slotted it inside the gaping top, then she patted the round, soft stomach and stood back to have a critical inspection.

  ‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?’

  ‘Everyone should do something ridiculous at least once in their life. Have you ever done something ridiculous, Pierre?’

  ‘I can think of at least one thing.’ And ridiculous didn’t come close to describing it, he thought, not least because the woman had been on his mind every second of his day in London. If that wasn’t the definition of a ridiculous situation, then what was?

  ‘You’ll need to stick the beard on as well,’ Georgie said abruptly. She turned away and walked out of the room.

  The younger classes were all assembled back in the hall and in their school uniforms and, from the hassled expressions on the teachers’ faces, had not been little angels. Georgie clapped her hands and without looking around, announced, with suitable levels of excitement, that Father Christmas was now going to be entering the hall so they needed to now shh. Magically, they did, and from behind her came the sound of Pierre entering the room, his voice booming out as he played his part. He might have been a reluctant volunteer but Georgie had to take her hat off to him. He made an excellent Santa. Where old Mr Blackman had followed the traditional routine of calling the children up one by one to have a little chat before he handed over the present, Pierre shouted for them all to sit around him. Instant mayhem, but with that intangible cloak of authority that seemed to make people want to obey him, he held the thirty-odd children mesmerised. He was funny and chatty and gave a touching little speech about remembering the meaning of Christmas, for which he earned a hearty round of applause.

  Afterwards, pupils safely out of the building, he was surrounded by the teachers. The female ones, Georgie was disgusted to note, had begun to titter as he pulled off the beard and stepped out of the outfit, under which he was wearing a pair of faded denim jeans and a short-sleeved white tee shirt that made him look even more dangerously sexy.

  She hovered on the sidelines, observing the effect he had on the women. Oh, good grief! Was she like that? They were positively drooling! Even Mrs Evans, who was at least sixty and a grandmother!

  ‘I’m going to head off now,’ she said awkwardly. ‘Janice, will you make sure to lock up?’ Had anyone even heard her? A lone voice emerged, telling her that that was fine and see her in the morning. She swore she also heard someone giggle something about hunk. Huh!

  And she had to face an uncomfortable dinner with the man who now had zero to say to her and would probably yawn his way through the meal until he could decently leave.

  He would be passing by for her at seven. Georgie knew this because she had phoned Didi only to discover that Pierre had not yet returned. Nearly six in the evening and where was he? She felt a rush of jealousy tear through her and she had to grit her teeth through Didi’s perfectly jolly conversation, which concluded with telling her that her date would be swinging by at seven and, not meaning to spoil the surprise, but they would be going to that smart new fish restaurant that had opened up in the city.

  ‘Does that mean my wardrobe won’t make the grade?’ Georgie joked.

  ‘Don’t be silly!’ Didi was horrified. ‘Darling girl, you look beautiful in whatever you wear!’

  ‘I know what you’re saying, Didi. No need to stress. Um…are you sure Pierre will be coming at seven…um…it’s just that it’s six now and if he’s not back yet…from wherever…’

  ‘Oh, course he’ll be back in time! I think he may just have popped down to the local for a beer. You know what men are like! Doesn’t matter how devoted they are, they still need a bit of down time now and again! Charlie, as you well know, was fond of telling me that his Fridays were sacrosanct. Said he needed his weekly injection of male sanity.’

  Georgie had other ideas about the nature of the sanity Pierre might have needed. The faces of several of the pretty young teachers sprang to mind.

  And of course he was free, single and unencumbered! He could do as he wanted. She sourly gave voice to her jealousy. She called it disappointment.

  She raided her limited wardrobe and decided that she was now free from the constraints of having to dress for him, either because she needed to be seen to make an effort by Didi, or because she just wanted to prove to him that she didn’t care what he thought of her. She would dress for herself…and for the clientele of smart diners who would be at the restaurant.

  It was cold but she didn’t intend to let the weather dictate her outfit.

  A black and white woollen miniskirt, legacy of a long-forgotten university era, a tight black jumper with a flattering cowl neck, which was the last word in impracticality considering her neck would freeze, and some high black boots even though she was sorely tempted to dress down by wearing her usual flats.

  And her hair. Out came the straighteners and, at the e
nd of half an hour, the curly fly-away hair and bane of her life had been tamed into submission and lay in a flat, shiny sheet down her back. Not bad. In fact, rather startling, Georgie thought, doing a little twirl. It wasn’t very often that all three aspects of her appearance came together. Normally the outfit would be let down by the shoes, or the shoes by the hair…the list was endless, but tonight…

  She carried on marvelling at her reflection when the doorbell went at seven and then she took her time teetering on her high heels to answer the door.

  ‘Oh, hullo,’ she said frostily. He was wearing a bow-tie but it was undone and his black coat was slung carelessly over him. He looked as if he had exited the house in a hurry and probably had, she thought sourly. Drinks down at the local would put a person behind schedule. ‘I’ll just fetch my coat.’

  Pierre leaned against the door and watched her. He should have left the school and headed straight back, but no. Instead he had veered off in the opposite direction and, like a loser, had sat on his own in the pub nursing a pint, which had done nothing for his frame of mind. He felt irritable and trapped by a peculiar sense of indecision. He was almost surprised when she returned, shrugging on her coat and then glancing around her the way people did when checking their house one last time before leaving it. For a few seconds he had been miles away. And not thinking about work. Thinking about…he rubbed his eyes and stepped outside. He wasn’t quite sure what he had been thinking about. He only knew that he would have to get his life back in order and soon.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘THANK you for what you did this afternoon.’ This to break the silence stretching between them. All semblance of pleasantries, Georgie noticed, seemed to have bitten the dust. Not one comment on her appearance, never mind that Pierre had always felt free to be derogatory about it in the past. Even that would have been preferable to his stony silence, which she could only put down to his disappointment at having to drag himself away from the charms of her fellow colleagues and wherever they had gone after she had left.