Bedded at the Billionaire's Convenience Page 14

  ‘No chance,’ Pierre muttered savagely under his breath. ‘You’re going to bed right now for both our sakes.’

  It didn’t help him that he was very much aware of her breasts squashing against his shoulder blades.

  Her room was in complete darkness. Didn’t the woman leave any lights on when she left the house at night? Or did she think it was fun to fumble blindly for switches?

  While he fumbled, she continued to complain but she fell silent as he laid her on her bed and stood back to look at her cautiously.

  ‘I’ll bring you up some water.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Good. Okay.’ He hovered, frowning. ‘Stay right there,’ he added pointlessly and she nodded.

  Literally he ran and then returned to the bedroom, taking the stairs two at a time. She was already beginning to drift off. He left the glass by the bedside table and then went across to the window and drew the curtains.

  And that was how Georgie awoke, disoriented, wrenched out of sleep by the weirdest of dreams and now up, incredibly thirsty.

  As her eyes adjusted she blinked, trying to get her bearings, and gave a little startled yelp at the shadowy bulk in the chair by the window.

  Without thinking, she switched on the bedside light, and at the same time Pierre stirred and in the thick silence their eyes tangled. Belatedly, Georgie realised that she was undressed. No top, no skirt, no tights. The memory of the night before came in a rush, the wine, her impromptu striptease on the sofa, being carried upstairs, caveman-style. The only gap in her memory was how she ended up completely undressed and she assumed he had done that, eased her skirt off along with her tights. And instead of going, he had stayed, was here now.

  She wrapped her arms over her exposed breasts.

  ‘I’ll go.’ Pierre stood up. ‘How do you feel?’

  ‘I feel…’ she frowned and looked up at him, towering in darkness at the side of her bed ‘…very sober now. A little thirsty, but that’s all.’ She took the water from the side table and drank a long mouthful. ‘And I feel that I still don’t want you to go, Pierre.’

  ‘What’s changed?’ he heard himself asking. Having wilfully created a window of opportunity, he now, perversely, felt uncomfortable with the outcome, even though it was in his favour. He couldn’t work it out. Was it because she was just so much more vulnerable than the women he had dated in the past? ‘The last time we spoke you told me in no uncertain terms that sex was all about the fairy-tale ending.’

  ‘Dreams of fairy-tale endings don’t make good bed companions…’ And she loved him. Loved him and wanted him and needed him and would take whatever he offered because it would always be better than nothing.

  ‘No,’ Pierre agreed, ‘they don’t.’ He began taking off his shirt and Georgie felt her heartbeat quicken.

  ‘Why did you stay?’ she asked, embarrassed at the way in which she was shamelessly devouring him with her eyes.

  ‘I wanted to make sure you were going to be okay,’ Pierre said truthfully.

  ‘I’m useless with alcohol.’ She lay back against the pillows and let her arms fall to her sides, at once shy of her body and yet turned on by her own daring.

  ‘Nice.’ He paused in his tracks and feasted on the sight of her. His shirt was off. Now he pulled the belt from his trousers in one easy movement and unzipped them. He had the perfect, well-honed body of a man who worked out. Well, he did, didn’t he? And probably pushed himself as ferociously in the gym as he did in every other aspect of his life. His shoulders were broad and she could see the definition of his stomach muscles. The man wasn’t just good-looking. How could she ever have thought that? The man took sexiness to new extremes. She felt like a maiden in a Victorian melodrama on the verge of swooning.

  ‘Do you like what you see?’ Pierre asked, amused by her blatant absorption with his body. He walked closer to the bed. Only the sheer strength of his will-power prevented him from rushing, from taking her quickly so that his body could be satisfied. ‘Pull down those covers. I want to see all of you. Nothing on.’

  She obeyed so that she was lying in full view and, instead of reacting with feminist outrage that she was being looked at solely as a sexual object, she felt herself melting, wanting this man to just do what he wanted to do.

  When, naked, he did finally join her in bed, it was as if she were coming home, returning to a place she knew and from which she should never be made to leave.

  Fierce thrills washed over her as he supported himself over her, bending so that he could ravage her mouth with his, his tongue probing relentlessly, and she revelled in the feel of him as she scraped her fingers along his back and parted her legs so that she could feel the steady rub of him against her.

  ‘Glad I stayed?’ he growled, wanting to hear her say it and she did, eyes closed, her body panting to his rhythm.

  Satisfied, he began exploring her body, inch by responsive inch, starting with her breasts, licking and nipping them with such lazy expertise that she arched up and cried out, soft moans that were wrenched out of her, sending his already hungry body into yet more agonising overdrive.

  While he sucked her breasts, his fingers sought out her wet, swollen bud sheathed in damp, fair curls and he began teasing it.

  ‘When was the last time you made love?’ he asked.

  ‘Can’t remember. Ages ago.’

  ‘Maybe you were subconsciously waiting for me. Am I worth the wait?’

  ‘Every minute…’

  Those were the two most erotic words he had ever heard and he groaned thickly, reaching for her hand so that he could show her how he liked to be touched.

  His lack of inhibitions in bed were a revelation to her. He knew what she wanted and how she wanted it and he was overcome with an urge to make sure his every touch was exquisite, memorable. He trailed hot kisses along her quivering stomach, nuzzled the soft flesh of her breasts, then clasped his hands under her bottom so that he could bring her to his mouth.

  This was beyond anything Georgie could ever have imagined, having this glorious, powerful man shudder as he tasted her and explored her with his darting tongue, knowing that just the feel and the touch of her could ignite such fierce abandon.

  When they reversed positions so that they could mutually taste each other, she could feel the same desperate passion contained in his body as was in hers and it gave her a confidence she had never thought possible. How could she doubt her own attractiveness to him when it was tangible?

  And thinking for her, he was aware enough to enquire about protection.

  ‘I’ll be fine.’ She didn’t want him to stop and she wanted more than just oral stimulation. She wanted so much to feel him inside her, filling her up.

  Pierre heaved himself up alongside her and cupped her breast in his hand, bringing her down from the heights to which he had taken her. ‘You’ll be fine? What does that mean, my darling?’

  Georgie wondered whether she had heard correctly. Had he just called her my darling? It was a meaningless term of endearment, of course, but still…

  ‘Please don’t stop,’ she begged.

  Pierre lowered his head and gently suckled on her nipple. This was dangerous territory. No contraception and, worse, he was tempted to trust in fate. It wasn’t going to do. Fate had a nasty habit of backfiring and what would he do if a moment’s passion resulted in a pregnancy?

  He had a fleeting vision of a tiny blonde-haired green-eyed toddler and swept the thought aside as quickly as it had arrived.

  Sex was one thing. Reality was something entirely different.

  ‘There are other ways of being satisfied,’ he murmured, ‘and it will make the next time all the better for having waited.’

  His hand strayed down and he touched her again, proving his point.

  Their love-making was slow and languorous and took them into the early hours of the morning. Somewhere along the line, lying in the dark, they talked about Didi and, in between, about their own childhood experiences.

&n
bsp; Okay. He admitted that it wasn’t the kind of conversation he usually had in bed with a woman, but he had virtually grown up with this one, in a manner of speaking. Anyway, they were bound to discuss Didi at some point considering she was virtually the reason they had ended up in bed together, and the progression from Didi to other related family matters was hardly surprising, especially when they were in bed, her head resting in the crook of his arm and his hand lightly playing with her soft nipple.

  Of the future nothing was said. The sexual relationship that she had adamantly refused to have was now a given. When, sleepily, she asked him what Didi would think if she woke up to find him absent, he simply shrugged and rolled on his side to face her.

  ‘She’s probably been surprised that I haven’t stayed the night here before,’ he told her dryly. ‘She’ll be thrilled.’

  ‘Not too thrilled, I hope,’ Georgie said, tentatively treading on thin ice. ‘We wouldn’t want her believing that wedding bells are just around the corner, would we?’

  ‘Lord, no.’ Pierre could feel, again, the uneasy step of fate waiting round the corner with a bagful of nasty surprises. Not worth thinking about. ‘But, sweetheart…’ he pushed his thigh between hers and began moving it slowly until she was squirming against him and giving soft little grunts of pleasure ‘…this is for real. No more pretending to convince my mother that we’re an item. When I touch you in front of her…’ he paused and Georgie wriggled on his thigh, loving the friction of his muscle against her wet, aroused femininity ‘…it will be for real. Everything will be so much easier.’

  Georgie heard the rider in the statement and closed her eyes on a sigh.

  So much easier not to pretend, so much easier to tell the truth when the break-up happens. All round the perfect solution and incredible sex in the bargain.

  She couldn’t think of any of that, not just now when she could feel her body building up to the steady rhythm, like a wave rising to its peak.

  Besides, she was an optimist and who knew what tomorrow would bring?

  CHAPTER NINE

  IT BROUGHT more than Georgie had ever expected. Instead of the run-up to Christmas being the usual routine of shopping for presents for close friends, putting up her Christmas tree on her own with her Christmas carol CD blaring in the background and after-work parties where wine played a very big part, this time Pierre was around.

  Georgie didn’t like to ask him about work, just in case he remembered where he had mislaid it. The fact was she could never have imagined that he was capable of being as relaxed as he was. If he was, indeed, beavering away behind the scenes on his computer, then he was being extremely efficient at hiding the fact because they were together most days and only twice had she seen him take calls on his mobile. Unavoidable, he had apologised.

  This, Georgie assumed, was the carefree period Pierre had mentioned, the one during which they could enjoy each other before, for him at least, those twin curses of familiarity and contempt set in and he became restless, eager to move on to other pastures.

  Although the weather was not conducive to seeing the countryside at its best, they still did a lot of touristy stuff. Georgie was appalled at how unfamiliar he was with the surroundings in which he had spent his childhood, until he reminded her that the better part of his childhood was spent in the confines of a boarding school.

  ‘Which suited me perfectly,’ he was at pains to assure her. ‘An only child is a lonely child. I was surrounded by kids my own age. It couldn’t have been better, especially considering Charlie and Didi spent most of their waking hours trying to make a go of the farm.’

  ‘Did you resent them for that?’ Georgie asked, but he gave her one of his eloquent shrugs, a signal for her to steer clear of quizzing him. Those shrugs had become fewer and farther between. She didn’t know whether he had noticed that but she had. She was making inroads into his private thoughts and she delighted in that. He was a revelation to her and there was nothing about him that she didn’t want to explore.

  Of course, when Christmas was done and dusted, reality would set in. He would return to London and once he was back in the swing of life there, with its high-voltage, frenetic pace, he would soon forget his lazy times in Devon, but until then Georgie was happy to bask in the pleasure of doing things with him. His knowledge of even minor things was vast and, like a squirrel, she stored away the memory of evenings spent at Didi’s cottage, in front of the open fire in the sitting room, listening to him tell them about his travels and teasing him that he couldn’t really call them travels when they involved him being inside an office working, even if the office was on the other side of the world.

  And of course she bought him a present. It had taken ages to choose because she had to toe the fine line between personal and impersonal.

  Pierre might enjoy being with her but theirs was a tacit understanding that nothing was for ever, least of all their relationship. He didn’t do clingy. The merest hint that she was taking what they had more seriously than he was would guarantee his immediate flight. She had come to the conclusion that he was a man who kept a supply of running shoes very close to hand should he need them to escape a woman who might be getting too close for comfort.

  So her present was a book. He had mentioned, in one of those moments of unconscious intimacy, that his favourite book when he had first gone to boarding school and was still settling in was The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. She had had an image of lonely little boy hunkered down under the covers with a torch, reading about someone else’s adventures to take his mind off the isolation of being somewhere strange for the first time. Naturally she had avoided sharing that insight with him. It would definitely have warranted one of those shrugs. But she had managed to find an early copy of the book on eBay, complete with hand painted illustrations. Surely that couldn’t be mistaken for being too personal?

  On Christmas Eve, after a week and a glorious half of suspended reality, the three of them went to early service at the church and then back to Didi’s for supper. It had taken very little to persuade Georgie to stay the night so that they could all wake up bright and early on Christmas morning for present unwrapping, and she had duly been transported by Pierre with clothes, gifts and various bits and pieces of food.

  ‘I feel as though I’m moving house,’ she joked, stepping out of the Bentley and looking at him with laughter in her eyes.

  ‘Oh, I can’t see you leaving your chickens that readily,’ Pierre answered, and she felt a shadow flicker across the brightness of her mood but she banished it with another laugh.

  ‘Don’t you think they would be able to fend for themselves?’

  ‘Not the way you’ve mollycoddled them. What on earth have you packed in this case, Georgie? It weighs a ton.’

  A note of defensiveness crept into her voice. ‘I’ve brought my presents. Stuffed them in alongside some clothes.’

  ‘I suppose it’s a woman’s right to travel heavy,’ Pierre said, unlocking the front door and pushing it open with his foot so that he could heave her case into the hall. Didi was asleep. Having wanted to stay up so that the three of them could enjoy a glass of port around the tree before turning in, she had found the day too long for her in the end and they had settled her up to bed before heading off to Georgie’s house to collect her things. ‘But you’re only staying over for one night! How many change of outfits can one person need for one night and a day?’

  ‘I brought a bit extra just in case I ended up staying longer than planned,’ Georgie confessed. ‘I’ve been caught out twice now having to spend the night somewhere without a change of clothes. I decided to take a few precautions this time.’ This was one of those moments when she was reminded of the impermanence of their situation and she wasn’t about to face it head-on. Not on Christmas Eve.

  She skipped towards the staircase and looked back at him over her shoulder with a pretence of sultriness, eyelashes fluttering, smile coy. She had teased him some time ago that since he was probably a dab hand at de
aling with women who did things like flutter their lashes, and since she had never done that before, then she would practise on him, but then she had taken it back, saying that she had forgotten that his women were too busy thinking about the World Economy to have time for lash-fluttering. He had laughed but hadn’t denied it and now, ever so often, she would play the sex siren just for the heck of it.

  She preceded him into his bedroom while he lugged her suitcase in and complained of sudden backache.

  ‘Shall I massage it for you?’ Georgie asked innocently.

  Pierre straightened and grinned at her. ‘I am constantly amazed,’ he murmured softly, ‘at what a wanton little thing you have turned out to be.’ He stripped off the worn rugby jumper he had stuck on earlier and began undoing the buttons of his shirt. ‘You’ve even put away the hippy clothes…’

  ‘Only because I’m not going to school at the moment,’ Georgie said loftily, just in case he got it into his head that he had managed to alter her dress sense along with everything else. ‘There’s no need to dress quite so sensibly. Anyway, we’ve been to a Church service! Of course I’m going to look smart!’

  Pierre held up his hands in mock surrender but his eyes were laughing. ‘Okay, okay!’ He stripped off the shirt and then proceeded to divest himself of the remainder of his clothes.

  She still hadn’t quite become accustomed to the grace and beauty of his body. Every time he stood in front of her, naked and at no pains to conceal his erection, she was reduced to blushing self-consciousness.

  ‘I’m ready for my massage.’ He stepped towards her and began describing in graphic detail what he wanted her to do to him, then he lay down on the bed, his hand resting lightly on his proud member, and commanded her to undress. Very slowly. And as she undressed he told her what she should do, which part of her body she should touch.