Bedded at the Billionaire's Convenience Page 15

  ‘Lessons from a master,’ she murmured, smiling and slinking her way towards him on the bed.

  ‘And you’ll thank me for that one fine day.’ Pierre had a strong urge to remind her of that. This break from routine was extraordinarily refreshing, as was her hot little body in bed with his every night and during the day as well, in some very imaginative places. But it would come to an end. He knew that because he knew that his real life was waiting for him in a week’s time. The new year would see him returned to the heady business of running his empire.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Georgie asked, drawing in her breath ever so slightly so that she could feel her chest beginning to ache.

  She couldn’t meet his eyes and thankfully he turned over onto his stomach, flexing the muscles in his broad back.

  ‘I mean think of the ways you would have learnt in bed to impress your man.’ He had been far more impressed teaching her than he could ever have been by any woman being skilled and acrobatic between the sheets, but somehow it felt dangerous to allow that thought to sneak in, let alone voice it.

  Georgie forced herself to smile as she began working her magic on his back, enjoying the feel of his firm flesh under her fingers.

  ‘How right you are,’ she said lightly.

  Immediately Pierre wondered whether she had someone in mind. As far as he knew there were no men on the scene and hadn’t been for a while, but was there someone lurking in the periphery of her vision? Another up-and-coming journalist, perhaps, waiting to bowl her over with a bit of surface banter and intellectual intensity that she was probably impressed by?

  Never one to harbour any self-doubt, Pierre had a sudden and uncomfortable suspicion that he was just a blip on her horizon. Which, he told himself, was just as well, considering she was just that on his, but still…

  He rolled over onto his back and, where she would have lain next to him, he manoeuvred her onto his stomach so that she was straddling him, every bit of her exposed for him. He liked that. He idly played with his hand between her thighs enjoying how he made her feel. Wet and aroused and breathless.

  But he wanted to talk to her, not have her move against his hand, with her head thrown back and her eyes closed. Her small breasts bounced as she moved heatedly and he raised his free hand to toy with her nipple, watching as she shuddered in immediate response.

  Unable to help himself, he edged her up to him so that he could smell the sweet fragrance of her, so that his tongue was within flicking distance of that sensitised bud that, even lightly touched, could have her groaning and begging for more.

  Talk would come in a minute. For now, he couldn’t resist the inviting essence of her and he brought her to his mouth, clasping his hands behind her buttocks so that he could knead them as he tasted every drop of the sweet juice between her legs.

  When she would have eased down to further their love-making, however, he gently rolled her to her side so that she was facing him and looked at her seriously,

  ‘What is it?’ Georgie eyed him anxiously. ‘You look as though you’re about to say There’s something I need to tell you…’ She laughed a little nervously because sentences that started in that way didn’t usually herald good tidings. What would she do if he decided that it was all over between them? A sudden void opened up in front of her, a yawning chasm that was terrifying in its emptiness.

  ‘We need to talk,’ he said, as kindly as he could although he was already seething inside at imaginary scenarios in which she brought her specials talents in bed to someone else to sample, some long-haired, bearded vegetarian who would probably charm his way into her life by feigning interest in her chickens. And she, newly released from a life of sexual inactivity, would of course be as horny as hell and rearing to go.

  ‘What about?’

  ‘About you, actually.’ Pierre thought about how to phrase his next statement without sounding patronising and then decided that he didn’t care how he sounded. ‘I don’t know how to say this, Georgie…’

  ‘You don’t know how to say something, Pierre?’ Georgie laughed, but her heart was beating furiously with a mixture of dread and panic. ‘That’s a first. I must remember to write it in my diary tomorrow!’

  ‘You’re not experienced in…men—’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘Let me finish. Being inexperienced makes you vulnerable and you’re even more vulnerable than the average inexperienced woman because you’re impulsive, you do things without thinking them through first.’

  ‘I don’t know where you’re going with this,’ she said, stung, but Pierre, having gathered the necessary momentum, ignored her protest.

  ‘You’ll walk into the arms of another man because you’ll feel confident of your sexual abilities and you won’t take time out to really check where you’re going, work out who you’re going to hand over your body and heart to…’ He could hear himself losing the kindly tone of voice and took a deep, steadying breath. ‘All I’m saying is that you have to be careful. There are a lot of sharks out there.’

  Georgie, having expected a ‘Dear John’ speech, wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved that she wasn’t being ditched or irritated because he thought she was an idiot.

  ‘I can take care of myself, Pierre.’ She lay flat on her back, staring up at the ceiling.

  ‘Can you? Can you?’ He pulled her back to face him and, as expected, she was wearing a mutinous expression that made him all the more determined to make her see his point of view. ‘You’re a sexy, hot-blooded woman, Georgie, and I should know. You could have any man you wanted but are you going to make the right choices?’

  ‘Probably not,’ she admitted, thinking of the number-one wrong choice she had already made, which was to fall for him, the one man guaranteed to bring her heartbreak and misery.

  ‘And that’s supposed to reassure me?’ he demanded roughly.

  ‘What can I say? Life’s full of chances. How do you know if you’re going to end up involved with the wrong man?’

  These weren’t the answers Pierre wanted to hear, although he didn’t really know what he wanted to hear. Perhaps that she would return to her state of cheerful singledom, but fat chance of that now that the joy of sex had reared its ugly head.

  He resolved that in future he would make sure to avoid having other people’s welfare at heart. Here he was, trying to give her some helpful advice, and in return she was pretty much confirming that she would launch forth into the heady world of men mentally programmed to make mistakes.

  ‘Anyway…thanks very much for the advice, but don’t we have better things to do in bed than talk about what might or might not happen at some point in the future?’ The last thing she wanted was to think about that particular place. If she could hold back the hands of time then she would. ‘I might, just might…’ She conjured up in her head the ideal scenario: no more games; Pierre madly in love with her; in due course a white wedding, or at least a cream one, and thereafter the pitter patter of tiny feet ‘…find my ideal soul mate, the man I’ve been searching for all my life. These things have been known to happen, you know. It’s not a given that I’ll be unlucky enough to run slap bang into a man who’s going to use me and then toss me aside.’

  ‘And who would this ideal man be?’ Pierre demanded.

  You. But of course it would never do to say that, not if she wanted any kind of time with him. ‘Oh, just someone kind and thoughtful and considerate with a good sense of humour.’

  ‘A real high-flyer, in other words,’ Pierre said tersely.

  ‘You know I’m not very materialistic. Sometimes the happiest people are the ones who don’t have much.’

  ‘So you’re in search of a down-and-out who can laugh at his situation while asking if he can borrow some money to buy you flowers and take you out for a romantic meal.’

  ‘This is a silly conversation.’ And the first argument they had had in a while and Georgie didn’t like it. She stroked his stomach, feeling his tension in the tautness of his muscles. F
rankly, she had no idea why he was in a mood. Did he expect her to fall at his feet in gratitude because he had seen fit to try and tell her how to lead her life? Didn’t he know how hurtful it was to realise that behind his words was the reality that their break-up was a given? When she found someone else. How much more direct could he get? All he hadn’t done was to put a time limit on his eventual departure.

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ she reassured him, just in case he had thought her response too flippant. She slid her hand along his thigh and he caught it in his, his dark expression indicating that he had more to say, but actually he just sighed and released her hand.

  ‘You were saying something about better things to do in bed…’ he queried roughly. ‘Maybe you’d like to show me what exactly you had in mind.’

  They woke to find an idyllic scene outside. The weathermen had forecasted snow and the heavens had obliged, opening up at some point during the early hours of the morning to deposit a blanket of white everywhere, and it was still snowing.

  Pierre opened his eyes to see Georgie gazing in wonder out of the bedroom window and he slung his legs over the side and walked up behind her, wrapping his arms around her.

  ‘Merry Christmas, my darling. Didn’t I tell you what a good idea it was to travel with lots of spare clothing?’ He kissed the nape of her neck and she smiled back at his reflection.

  ‘Isn’t it gorgeous?’

  ‘I don’t like it when you stick a nightie on. I prefer to have your hot body naked next to mine.’

  ‘Awkward when it comes to going to the bathroom in the middle of the night,’ Georgie pointed out. ‘This house gets cold in winter when the heater goes off.’

  ‘Mmm. But when you’re clothed it’s more difficult for me to do this…’ Their eyes met in the window and she watched his strong, elegant hands push up the oversized tee shirt that she used as nightwear so that they could cup her breasts and massage them, his thumbs rolling over her nipples until she was panting softly and leaning back against him, her eyelids fluttering.

  ‘Someone could see us,’ she whispered unsteadily and he grinned.

  ‘How many people are going to be strolling through open fields in the snow on Christmas morning? Oh, look! There’s a queue of them!’

  Georgie straightened automatically, but of course he was joking.

  He wasn’t, however, joking about what he wanted to do. He removed the tee shirt and, Georgie having left off her underwear, they were both now naked in front of the window, which offered them a tantalising reflection of themselves, with Pierre leaning over her, one hand moving over her breasts while the other drifted lower.

  ‘We have to go downstairs…’ Georgie gasped and laughed at the same time. ‘Didi’s probably already fussing in the kitchen waiting for us to appear! It’s gone eight!’

  ‘Which is why we’re not going to be very long,’ he murmured in response, ‘much as I would like to be…’ He spun her round and in one swift movement hoisted her up and onto him. She felt his hard shaft in her and her whole body juddered in response, then she began moving on him, deep and fast, secure in his embrace.

  They came with explosive intensity, Pierre’s big body jerking and stiffening, his head flung back, eyes closed.

  It was a moment Georgie wished she could cling to for ever, especially considering their last conversation, which she had uneasily pushed to one side but hadn’t quite managed to banish to complete oblivion.

  As they dressed to go downstairs she could feel the little bubble she had built around them begin to wobble and then, her optimism rising once again to the surface, she thought, Why be scared?

  She paused and looked at herself in the mirror. What she saw was a woman in love. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes were bright, every bit of her was alive. Wrong man, admittedly. At least as far as security went, but, heck, why should she roll over and play dead? Really why should she just assume the inevitable?

  Why, in other words, shouldn’t she fight for him? It would have to be an underhand fight because he still had no idea how she truly felt about him, but she could do it!

  He had already vanished downstairs. The bedroom door was open and she could hear the indistinct sounds of him talking to Didi. She knew one person who would heartily approve of her perseverance, should she have had an inkling of the true situation, and that was Didi. Didi, faced with a similar situation, would never have contemplated just hanging on and then giving up when the time came.

  The solution…Georgie dabbed a little blush on her cheeks…was simple…she added just a hint of lip gloss so that her mouth looked even plumper and more inviting…she would make herself indispensable. She had until the new year, but in that period she would do her damnedest to ingratiate herself and then when he returned to London…who knew? Hadn’t he already told her that he had missed her once before? He could miss her again and this time as his lover.

  All dark thoughts dealt with, Georgie went downstairs to find a pot of freshly brewed coffee and hot croissants waiting on the kitchen table.

  Didi was fussing around the turkey, which she had insisted was a traditional Christmas dish and on no accounts to be replaced by any upstart, such as fish, which had been Pierre and Georgie’s suggestion. That one turkey, however modestly sized, would be far too big for three people, had met with a tart, ‘I’m a dab hand at dealing with leftovers.’

  Pierre gave her one of those secret half-smiles that made her toes curl and when she sat down he dropped a kiss lightly on the top of her head.

  Then, as the day unfolded, there was precious little time to do anything but go with the flow. With the snow still pelting down, making it a magical Christmas Day, and the Christmas carol CD humming in the background, they cooked together and opened their presents. Pierre claimed that he loved the book and in return he gave her an antique clock, which she had seen on one of their trips together and had wistfully been tempted to buy but lacked the necessary funds.

  ‘I had been hoping for a ring of some sort,’ Didi said ruefully. ‘One of those with a diamond somewhere.’

  But then the moment was lost as the reality of turkey and mince pies and roast potatoes took over. By the time they sat to eat it was already after three, and as the snow stopped various of the neighbours dropped in for evening drinks.

  Pierre, who usually abhorred these sorts of things, found himself rather enjoying it all. The previous years, bar one when he had been abroad on business, he had taken his mother out for Christmas lunch and they had enjoyed civilised, polite conversation in a variety of expensive restaurants or hotels.

  But really, he now thought, this had been what she had truly wanted. Too much home-cooked food eaten with the pine smell of the Christmas tree mingling with the aroma of gravy and stuffing and far too many mince pies to be strictly healthy. She had wanted the neighbours over for drinks and village gossip and had probably warned them off in previous years suspecting that he would have hated it all.

  In the corner of the room, Georgie was chatting vivaciously with the local vicar who, oddly, was wearing a Panama hat and looked ever so slightly like a member of the Mafia. Pierre caught her eye and raised his quickly skywards, up to the bedroom that awaited them, which made her blush madly and lose her thread of conversation.

  He realised that he would return to his normal existence with a certain amount of regret. Understandable, he expected. Holidays for him were a rare occurrence and this one had certainly been out of the ordinary.

  He glanced across to Georgie and as she met his eyes through the ten or so people gathered in the room, all talking animatedly about everything and nothing, Pierre’s eyes narrowed and, like a man awakening from a dream, he saw what he should have seen some time ago.

  For him, Georgie had first been a nuisance and then a novelty and finally a challenge and, while he had enjoyed every minute of her, he was sharp enough to know that he wanted his life to remain exactly how it was, uncluttered by emotion. He had kidded himself into thinking that she felt exactly th
e same way, but no. That expression on her face, which he now recognized, was not simply the complicit smile of a woman who wanted a man purely because they were good together in bed. That was the smile of a woman who was beginning to invest feelings in a relationship.

  It wasn’t going to do. Beyond the fact that he wasn’t prepared for a committed relationship, he knew for certain that if he was, it wouldn’t be with Georgie. Lovely and sweet as she was, she was also a country lass who could never make the leap into his world.

  He felt a little shaken and quickly downed the remainder of his drink and then he disappeared into his mother’s study, which was crammed full of gardening books, recipe books and her favourite, crime thrillers. The desk was an old-fashioned one and naturally there was no computer, which was a modern gadget of which Didi heartily disapproved. ‘Life worked perfectly well before they came along,’ was her final word on the subject.

  But it was perfectly adequate for thinking and Pierre didn’t much care for the direction of his thoughts.

  After twenty minutes, as he heard some of the opening and closing of the front door as the neighbours drifted off in pairs, he returned to the sitting room to find Georgie and his mother clearing away the various nibbles that had been brought out as fodder for the hungry masses.

  ‘Bit of bad news, I’m afraid,’ he said, interrupting the amicable chatter about nothing and everything. ‘I’m going to have to leave first thing in the morning for Singapore.’ Attuned that he now was to the reality of the situation, he noticed Georgie’s expression, a mixture of disappointment and apprehension. Lord, but he would have to do something about that and sooner rather than later. ‘Can’t be helped,’ he interrupted their protests and walked across to his mother and placed a kiss lightly on her head. ‘I’ll try and make it down for the new year, Didi, but I can’t promise anything. Deals have no respect for holidays. I guess I should consider myself lucky that Singapore will only be for three days. Nothing worse than being on a plane on New Year’s Eve. Somehow,’ he tried to lighten the suddenly grey mood, ‘party poppers and funny hats don’t quite have the same fun quality.’ Normally, Georgie would have laughed at this and cracked a joke about whether he would even recognise a party hat if it dropped onto his head, but she was silent and watchful.