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Wedding-Night Baby
KIM LAWRENCE
She'd hired him as an escort…The wedding was to be a major social event - Georgina just couldn't face it on her own. How could she sit there and watch her ex-fiance marry her beautiful, shallow cousin? A desperate solution was needed: a male escort! But he'd become the father of her child! Callum Stewart was perfect.Gorgeous, dynamic - he certainly made heads turn at the wedding! And he made Georgina's heart turn over on the wedding night. But it was supposed to be a temporary arrangement. How could she tell Callum that their wedding-night affair had resulted in a baby?


“Did you ever intend telling me?” (#uc0ab25ef-d9a2-53cb-81be-35b24c734d4c)About the Author (#u6e3c37fb-0ead-5290-bb26-19dcf81a0eda)Title Page (#u79484a23-c450-5bea-885d-72ff5ac6585d)CHAPTER ONE (#u3d8c071a-8754-57a1-a437-80cdd7133152)CHAPTER TWO (#u775d8764-ecd9-5197-a679-c8ed0c8fbadb)CHAPTER THREE (#u1e54f841-fe94-5daf-ba33-f96112cc2a11)CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“Did you ever intend telling me?”
“It’s none of your business,” Georgina said stubbornly.
“My child is none of my business?” His blue eyes glittered ferociously.
“Biologically you’re the father,” she admitted hoarsely. “But your part was over a long time ago. What we had was casual; a brief moment of madness.”
Callum’s head jerked as though she’d struck him. “You can’t really think I’m willing to let you deny me contact with my child?”
“I want this child and you’re not going to take him from me!”
KIM LAWRENCE lives on a farm in rural Anglesey, Wales. She runs two miles daily and finds this an excellent opportunity to unwind and seek inspiration for her writing. It also helps her keep up with her husband, two active sons and the various stray animals that have adopted them. Always a fanatical consumer of fiction, she is now equally enthusiastic about writing. She loves a happy ending!
Kim Lawrence is a bright new talent in Harlequin Presents
. She loves creating strong, sexy heroes and spirited, lively heroines to tame them!
Look out for future books by Kim in Presents
.
Wedding-Night Baby
Kim Lawrence


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CHAPTER ONE
GEORGINA TRIED the deep-crowned straw hat once more before discarding it in favour of the cream silk creation which looked for all the world like an oversized mushroom. It did amazingly kind things to her heart-shaped face. She was experimenting with tucking her long chestnut hair into the crown when the doorbell rang. Apprehension shadowed the clear depths of her thickly fringed hazel eyes.
This would be him! With a deep breath that was meant to go some way towards making her appear calm and collected, she went to answer the door of her flat. She opened the door with a flourish, but as her eyes travelled upwards to the face of the man on her threshold her studied smile faltered and died, to be replaced by a frown that drew her dark, well-defined brows into a straight line.
There had to be some mistake! Her heart sank as she took in the teak-skinned, hawkish face; this wasn’t what she had been expecting at all! How would this creature conduct himself at a social function? He hardly looked house-trained! And besides, he wasn’t even wearing morning dress, after she had specifically stated... She’d never believe any recommendation of Bea’s again!
Indignation made her draw herself up to her full, but unimpressive, height. Just for a split second she had had the strangest notion she had seen him before, which was absurd, of course—this wasn’t the sort of man a person forgot! Not the sort of man she needed at all. But the odd electrical spasm of recognition that had prickled along her nerve fibres was too definite to ignore totally. Rather than analyse the disconcerting sensation, she found it easier to concentrate on the aggravation his physical appearance might well cause her.
‘Miss Campion...?’ She noted with some indignation that the tall stranger looked almost as taken aback as she felt. His blue eyes were running over her pink suit with a bemused expression. The narrowing of those eyes was a frown without any other movement of his rock-hard features; this was probably as near to disconcerted as his features went.
Suddenly she wished she’d opted for a longer skirt-length, and whilst she had thought at the time that combining pink with her hair was a statement meant to break down stereotypical colour co-ordination it now seemed a major error. This was foolish, because aside from the fact that all her hair was concealed a man in his line of work who didn’t even possess morning dress was no great arbiter of good taste.
‘I asked for tails,’ she informed him sternly. The blue eyes blinked, but he didn’t exactly look stricken by this information. ‘Still, it is optional and that suit isn’t too bad,’ she admitted grudgingly; the fabric and cut made it almost appear a designer creation, though his long-limbed body would probably make most things look better than average. Her eyes travelled the length of his body and she swallowed—a lot better, she conceded grudgingly. Common sense told her that a man who made his living this way couldn’t run to designer labels. ‘You’d better come in.’
‘You are Miss Georgina Campion?’ He was very tall, she realised as he ducked to avoid a low light-fitting in her tiny hallway. His voice was gravelly, deep and held a vague twang which she couldn’t immediately identify; it was slight and she couldn’t place it.
She felt flustered and ill at ease as she confirmed her identity. His composure was a stark contrast as he looked around curiously—but then, she reminded herself, for him this was a commonplace situation. No wonder he seemed remarkably at ease. Still, all the better if he was professional, she told herself soothingly.
‘Have we met before?’ The frown returned to his penetrating eyes and the query had a vaguely accusing note to it.
‘I have the sort of face that reminds people of their distant cousins,’ she said, realising with a start that her instantaneous reaction had not been unilateral. Unless, of course, this was the man’s clumsy attempt at being agreeable. It didn’t seem likely; nothing else about him suggested that he was going out of his way to be more than basically polite. ‘Under the circumstances you’d better make it Georgina. My family call me Georgie, but I hate it,’ she warned him sharply.
‘Anyone would,’ he observed in a soothing manner. A slight spasm around his mouth seemed to indicate that he found this admission amusing. ‘Georgina is a charming name.’
She viewed the gravity in his face with suspicion but only gave a small grunt in reply. ‘Come in. I’ve left your buttonhole in the fridge. If we don’t get a move on we’ll be late.’
She fetched the white carnation from its resting place and returned to her sitting room to find her escort casually flicking through her books. He glanced up as she entered. With him beside her she was certainly going to be conspicuous, she decided, not sure whether this was desirable or not.
‘I suppose, under the circumstances, I’d better know your name,’ she said, handing him the flower and pinning on her own corsage of delicate Singapore orchids.
‘It’s Callum.’ Struggling with her corsage, she didn’t see the sudden decisive narrowing of his alert eyes. ‘Callum... Smith,’ he finished smoothly, moving forward as she pricked her finger with the pin. The minor manipulation of the truth didn’t cause him any qualms.
Despite the jet lag and the will-reading he’d had to attend Callum suddenly felt less tired. He had already decided that Miss Georgina Campion must be an unusually astute young woman. The size of the personal bequest which his uncle had left instructions for him to deliver personally made that much obvious, but she wasn’t what he’d expected at all.
It might be worth his while finding out what it was about her that the old fox, Oliver, had found so appealing—beyond the obvious, he thought with a cynical twist to his lips. He didn’t actually begrudge her the money, just the way she’d got it.
So far the trip hadn’t gone as smoothly as he’d anticipated. He had hoped to find an heir apparent already installed on his uncle’s throne. It had become immediately obvious to him that this wasn’t so. He was irritated that he would have to spend more time in London than he had originally intended. He wasn’t anxious to become embroiled in business which didn’t interest him.
Since he’d got here he’d found the same name cropping up, first of all at the solicitor’s and then once again when he’d reached Mallory’s. It was highly suspect that she seemed to be the only person privy to essential information. Coming face to face with his uncle’s lady-friend had been something of a shock, but he wasn’t about to be misled by a pair of wide eyes and an air of innocence.
‘Let me,’ he offered smoothly, taking the flowers from her fingers. Her youth and innocent appearance must have appealed to an elderly though still robust man. No doubt she knew exactly how to manipulate all her advantages, he thought, distaste filling him as he smiled brilliantly. His interest was piqued—more than piqued, if he was honest.
How his family and friends would stare if they knew he was ready to act on impulse and embark on this bizarre blind date—Callum Stewart, whose behaviour was always governed by cool, clear logic. He justified his actions by telling himself he’d find out more about her if she didn’t view him as a danger.
Georgina stuck her bleeding thumb in her mouth and remained stationary whilst he fixed her corsage against the bodice of her jacket. It was the sort of top that was meant to be worn with nothing underneath, and whilst the neckline was respectable the deep V did hint at the cleavage it only just concealed. Georgina wished she knew just what those blue eyes could see with the advantage of height.
‘There, all done.’ He took a step back, not lingering over his task. The waft of his breath on her cheek was warm and fragrant and the tip of his forefinger as it grazed her neck felt slightly calloused, although his long, shapely fingers were neatly manicured. Georgina was annoyed to find she’d been holding her breath whilst the task was accomplished.
Hiring an escort for the day suddenly seemed a less sensible decision than it had before she’d actually met him. Callum Smith wasn’t the sort of man she had wanted at all. Beneath the well-cut suit was a body that looked lethally powerful. He looked quite out of place in the suburban setting—impressive, but not at all domesticated. The strong-boned face was in no way pretty but it was fiercely commanding, with all the confidence and hauteur of a hawk.
She gave herself a mental shake. Hawk indeed! She was being fanciful; the tan was probably nothing more than overexposure to a sunbed, and the impressive build the result of many narcissistic hours in a gym, pumping iron.
He was what she’d got, and he’d have to do for the day. All that stark, unrelenting masculinity was going to be tough to take for an entire day; she preferred a slightly more subdued appeal in her men.
Not that I actually have any, she reminded herself stoically, ignoring the emotional tightening in her throat as she acknowledged her solitary state.
‘I don’t suppose you have a car. We’ll use mine,’ she added as he didn’t contradict her. ‘We should start now; I have to nurse her on the motorway,’ she explained, gathering her handbag.
‘Where are we going?’
She shot him an exasperated look. ‘To my cousin’s wedding in Somerset. Doesn’t that agency tell you anything?’ she grumbled. She was being freshly assailed by doubts about this scheme. Bea had been so convincing and she had scoffed at Georgina’s rather prim enquiries as to how respectable these escorts were. Georgina had wanted to make it quite clear at the outset that all she wanted was a piece of window-dressing for one day.
‘Maybe you should go over the details just in case they’ve forgotten anything else,’ he suggested as he followed her down the steps she shared with the four other tenants of the old Edwardian semi.
‘I probably should,’ Georgina agreed. The battered Beetle was where she had left it in the shared parking space. About to duck in through the door, she thought better of the operation and took off her hat, laying it carefully on the rear seat. ‘It’s open,’ she told her companion, who was staring, quite rudely, at her hair. It was thick and glossy, a deep shade of russet, her best asset—her only asset, she sometimes thought. It fell, river-straight and glossy, to her waist.
With ill-concealed amusement she watched him attempt to fold his long, lean frame into the passenger seat.
‘Doesn’t this blasted thing adjust?’ he asked as he finally managed to squash himself in. ‘No wonder you leave it open; no one in their right mind would steal this death trap.’
‘It did adjust once, but it’s stuck. You’d better put your seat belt on; I wouldn’t want your neck on my conscience. If it’s any comfort I have a legitimate MOT.’ What was he used to—chauffeur-driven limousines?
‘You’ll have more than my neck on your conscience if I have to travel far in this thing. Couldn’t you get a cab?’
She laughed as she started the engine. ‘All the way to Somerset? I’m not made of money. Don’t worry,’ she added, in case he got the wrong idea. ‘I can pay your fee.’
‘I’m relieved,’ he observed drily. ‘I could drive,’ he added tensely as she negotiated a bend.
‘I wouldn’t have thought you could afford to be chauvinistic in your line of work,’ she shot back, ruffled at the implied criticism of her driving. Then, in case she’d wounded his feelings, she added, ‘Not that there’s anything wrong with your line of work.’
Work of any sort was hard enough to come by these days. Perhaps the man had family responsibilities, or he was out of work. Casting a sidelong glance at his profile, she had to admit he didn’t look like someone harassed by domestic detail. She was anxious in case she’d sounded prudish and judgemental.
‘Have you used the agency often?’ he enquired casually.
‘Never before, but my friend Bea has several times. Lots of women are too busy to have a relationship and certain social occasions can be uncomfortable without a male escort.’ She darted a glare at her companion, daring him to contradict her, uncomfortably aware that she was trying to convince herself as much as him.
The blue eyes were fixed on her profile and she swiftly averted her gaze to the road, finding the intensity of the startling blue glare disorientating.
‘I’m sure you’re right, but I doubt if that state of affairs would continue for long... You’re a very attractive lady.’
Georgina gritted her teeth. ‘I’m sure you have a very nice line in insincere compliments,’ she hissed, ‘but I’d like to make it quite clear that I require an attentive, presentable escort, nothing more.’
‘Just an observation.’ He’d seen more attractive women, known truly beautiful women, experienced instant attraction and sometimes done something about it, but never before had he experienced such an immediate and urgent desire to touch, to claim a woman in a profoundly primal way.
This visceral reaction had been triggered by the briefest touching of eyes. The muscles in his belly still contracted as he recalled the blind bondage of that fleeting instant before his brain had started to function with its usual clarity. Callum frowned; he had every intention of keeping his hormones in check.
Georgina made a disgruntled sound of disbelief in her throat. She’d have to make it quite clear from the outset that she was not some pathetic female who had to hire a man to flatter her. He was window-dressing and he’d better remember it, she thought grimly.
‘What’s your cousin’s name? I really should have a little background information, to make things look realistic. I have my reputation to think of,’ he observed reasonably, entering into the spirit of the thing.
‘Harriet She’s marrying a solicitor, Alex Taylor, who, as you’ll no doubt hear, dumped me about eighteen months ago.’ Chin high, she crunched her gears noisily at a junction. ‘Hence the need for an attentive escort. You, Mr Smith, are a face-saving device,’ she told him, making a clean breast of the matter. In one way it was a relief to have someone she didn’t have to keep up appearances with; it didn’t matter what Callum Smith thought of her.
‘You couldn’t take all the sympathetic glances and whispers? ’ He was silently congratulating himself on his decision to follow his instincts where this woman was concerned. She didn’t feel obliged to employ any artifice with him; he was only the hired help. If she knew who he was he would be seeing quite a different picture; of that he was sure.
‘Precisely,’ she replied, relieved he was quick on the uptake. ‘I suppose you’ve been in similar situations before.’
‘Not precisely like this,’ he observed truthfully. ’But I’m quite resourceful,’ he added with almost languid confidence as she cast him a look of alarm.
‘I hope so,’ she said fervently.
‘Couldn’t you have got a friend to help you out today?’
‘Meaning I don’t have any friends or I wouldn’t have resorted to hiring you?’
’Now there’s an interesting thought.’
Georgina flicked him a brief, fulminating glare before gritting her teeth. ‘I come from a small village where the fact that my cousin is marrying provides hours of entertainment. I don’t want to expose a friend to that sort of curiosity. I need someone who can disappear without trace. Someone presentable, but—’
‘Forgettable?’
She grudgingly nodded her agreement. ‘You’ll stick out like a sore thumb,’ she complained, her mobile mouth pursing as she considered her ill luck.
‘Why’s that?’ he enquired, evincing interest.
‘We’ve had about two days’ insipid sun so far this summer; you look too tanned,’ she said critically. The fact was that he was far too arresting to fade into the background, but she wasn’t about to feed his ego; she felt sure he knew perfectly well what she meant. Under normal circumstances a man like him wouldn’t be seen with a girl as ordinary as her. ‘Don’t you know sunbeds are bad for the skin? Skin cancer!’ she elaborated darkly.
‘I’m touched by your concern but I’ve been working overseas, outdoors.’
‘Manual work?’ That would explain the splendid physique.
‘Don’t worry, it’s not catching.’
The disdain in his voice made her flush angrily. ‘I don’t give a damn if you’re an itinerant labourer or a brain surgeon so long as you don’t blow this for me. There’s nothing wrong with manual work.’
‘I feel better already.’
‘I’m glad one of us does,’ she said grimly. She’d had enough of the objectionable Callum Smith and the day had hardly begun!
CHAPTER TWO
THE VILLAGE CHURCH was the same one in which she had imagined herself walking down the aisle with Alex, and now she’d have to smilingly watch her cousin make that journey she’d so longed for. I don’t care any more, she told herself firmly as the constricting waves of emotion rose to suffocate her. She had no intention of wallowing in self-pity even though the temptation was strong.
She started as Callum held the door open for her; she hadn’t noticed him get out of the car.
‘Thank you, Mr Smith,’ she said, ignoring his outstretched hand.
‘I think you’d better make that Callum, in the interests of authenticity,’ he observed drily. ‘Don’t forget the hat.’ Slightly narrowed eyes had taken in at a glance all the tiny details of stress in the face of the girl beside him. She was hiding it well, but the tautness about her mouth and the rigidity of her usually mobile features gave away the inner turmoil. He found his eyes strangely reluctant to leave her slightly parted pink lips.
Flustered and mildly resentful because he appeared to be taking charge, Georgina grabbed the silky mushroom and crammed it on her head, tucking strands of her hair into the crown. ‘How’s that?’
‘You missed a bit.’ He took hold of a strand that had slithered down her neck and slid it under the fabric rim, recalling as he did so that he’d heard her referred to as ‘Miss Efficiency’ in scornful tones very recently. At the moment she looked very young and quite appalling vulnerable. Was that how she’d got to the old fox? he wondered cynically.
His fingers were very long, Georgina noticed as she gave a small, delicate shiver. The slight touch of faintly calloused fingertips against her throat was distracting, though not exactly unpleasant, she conceded. In fact, it was quite nice to be distracted from the ordeal ahead. ‘Charming. I’m sure the groom will be consumed with regret,’ he said, his lips twisting cynically.
‘I really couldn’t give a damn,’ she said haughtily. The implied criticism made her bristle defensively.
‘What a little trouper.’ The mockery was even more apparent this time, but before she had time to put him firmly in his place she found that one of his arms had snaked around her waist, his dark, tanned face was close to her own, and he was laughing huskily as though she’d just said something wildly witty.
‘What the...?’
‘Wedding guests at ten o’clock, closing fast,’ he hissed close to her ear. For good measure he nibbled said orifice. For some reason her eyes closed and a shiver went right down to her toes.
Blinking, she stared into the intense blue eyes. Deep tramlines radiated from the corners, and his lashes, whilst dark and thick, were straight. They weren’t just arresting eyes; they gave the impression of intelligence and humour, and a certain implacability shone clearly in the azure depths. He wasn’t just a physically overpowering person; intellectually, even on the briefest of acquaintances, he gave the impression of being a force to be reckoned with.
Escort could not have been the first choice of career for him. What personal circumstances had reduced him...? It’s none of my business, she told herself, closing this line of speculation as a familiar voice broke her trance.
‘Georgie, is that you, darling? I didn’t recognise you. Did you, George? We were just talking about you...so brave. Still, better to find out these things early on.’
Georgina bit her lip as she nodded placidly at this trite observation. ‘Aunt Helen, Uncle George,’ she said quietly. The arm around her waist was suddenly very welcome. ‘This is Callum,’ she said triumphantly, much with the manner of a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat. But there the similarity ended. If Callum was to be likened to anything in the animal kingdom he was much more like a large, sleek, predatory cat.
Callum took the scrutiny of her relations in his stride. In fact, he seemed to have adopted a certain air of authority that made them look away first.
‘I meet some of Georgina’s relations at last,’ he said, enveloping her uncle’s hand in a grip that made the older man wince slightly. The kiss he planted on her aunt’s cheek made her blush and look as flustered as any teenager. ‘Charming church,’ he observed, glancing at the square stone building. ‘Norman, isn’t it?’ He took Georgina’s hand and intertwined his fingers with her own. ‘Am I speaking to the parents of the blushing bride?’
‘Indeed you are,’ Georgina agreed, bringing forth her very best not-a-care-in-the-world smile.
Blushing bride! Her dear cousin was far too hard-baked ever to blush. Harriet had awaited her opportunity and stalked Alex with all the cunning and guile of a jungle animal. Georgina had always known her cousin coveted her boyfriend. It was the fact that her unassailable belief that Alex would never even look at another woman had been proved false that made her inwardly cringe. Had she ever been that naive? When it came to the crunch he’d done a lot more than look!
But it’s useless to go over old ground, she told herself as she felt the familiar sensation of impotent fury rise. With my family history I should have known better. Well, I do know better now, she thought, her chin lifting.
Callum held the lych-gate to the churchyard open and waited for the older couple to pass through. ‘Smile,’ he hissed as they followed, still hand in hand. ‘You look like you’re on your way to the scaffold,’ he added.
Georgina’s eyes glittered with wrath and she struggled to withdraw her fingers. ‘I thought you were here to butter me up?’ she breathed angrily. This man had forgotten his passive role very thoroughly. He had no right to make personal comments.
He stopped in his tracks and jerked her around to face him. ‘I didn’t think you liked insincere compliments?’
‘I’m not too keen on insults either.’
‘I have my professional pride to consider,’ he told her gravely. ‘I would appreciate a little co-operation. Unless you relish the role of early Christian martyr?’
This question made her bite her lip. He was right, of course. She had to act a part in order to salvage her battered pride. ‘I’m not a professional,’ she reminded him. ‘And I find it strange...your being a total stranger.’
‘Live your part, Georgina; we’re a hot item,’ he contradicted her. His lips brushed hers, gently, but with a confident familiarity. ‘I thought all girls could fake it?’ His lips quirked in a deeply cynical smile.
‘I’m sure the girls you know can,’ she responded acidly. ‘Do you think you could limit that sort of authenticity to the basic minimum?’ she added, drawing away, her colour noticeably heightened. She summoned a distracted but brilliant smile for the usher, a boy she’d known since school.
‘Georgie?’ he said, a note of doubt in his voice. He flushed as she gave him a quizzical look, and continued hurriedly, ‘Bride or groom? Silly question; you’d hardly be with the groom, would you?’ The expression of ludicrous dismay that spread over his face made Georgina feel almost sympathetic.
‘We’ll find our own way, thank you, Jim,’ she said crisply, sweeping past him. ‘That’s my mother,’ she said to the man beside her in a hushed undertone as they entered the dim, ecclesiastical atmosphere of the old building. She nodded in the general direction of one of the front pews.
‘Pink hat?’ Callum had bent his head to catch her hissed words.
Georgina nodded. ‘We’ll clash marvellously; she’ll be furious,’ she observed fatalistically. ‘I should have known; Mother’s a pink sort of person.’ She led him selfconsciously to the front of the church.
‘Georgie, what possessed you to wear pink with your hair?’ Lydia Campion was a beautiful woman whose stern features had been softened by the years. As always she looked stunningly elegant. Georgina knew she could never achieve that degree of polish—the lie of the silk scarf, the tilt of the chin. To Lydia it was as simple as breathing; to her it took hours of painstaking consideration, and even then she was only halfway there.
Georgina shot her companion a tiny I-told-you-so look, before sitting down on the pew.
‘Mrs Campion, I have to take full responsibility for the outfit. Georgina was humouring me.’
The look of shock on her mother’s face as Callum, all eighteen-carat charm and charisma, bent forward across her and extended his hand made Georgina, despite the gravity of her situation, want to giggle. This was not the type of man her mother or anyone else expected good old Georgie to be with. For the first time since she’d seen Callum Smith she felt that her decision to employ a little face-saving artifice had been justified. Might as well utilise his slightly dangerous air for what it was worth. She was the only one to know how fake the glamour was.
‘He’s colour-blind,’ Georgina added with a faint quiver in her voice.
This frivolous comment earned her a swift frown from her parents. ‘Who is this, Georgina? Where are your manners?’
‘This is Callum Sm—’
‘Delighted to meet you, Mrs Campion.’
‘Do call me Lydia. You’re a friend of Georgie’s? She is so secretive.’
‘A little more than that, eh, sweetheart?’ Callum’s impossibly deep blue gaze was fixed on her face with teasing affection. The warm, rich, bitter-chocolate tones just hinted at unspoken intimacies. He was so incredibly convincing that she found herself blushing deeply.
At that moment a figure on the periphery of her vision rose from the row of pews just opposite her. Her head turned as if pulled by invisible strings and her stomach muscles clenched painfully.
The first time she’d seen him she’d been blind to everything else, but now she was uncomfortably conscious of the man beside her. Disturbingly she wanted to turn her head and look at him. The memory of the fleeting sensation she’d experienced when she’d first seen him washed over her. Had Alex ever made her feel like that? What a ridiculous time to admit how physically attractive she found her escort, she told herself crossly.
Alex was an extremely good-looking young man, tallish, athletic. His features were regular, his expression sincere and forthright. The teeth were standard toothpaste-advert stuff and his naturally blond hair was highlighted with exquisite restraint.
The loss and bitterness she felt were suddenly physical. When Alex’s eyes passed over her without any sign of recognition she didn’t know whether to be glad or devastated. The city gloss she’d worked hard to achieve obviously worked. Pity she was still the same girl underneath the expensive clothes and make-up.
The large hand that suddenly clasped her jaw woke her from the short, intense abstraction. As her head turned life flowed back into her body, and it hurt, like icy fingers when the circulation in them began to move once more. ‘I take exception when a woman with me looks at another man like a drooling idiot.’ Low, conversational, his words made her blink. His face had come in close, the whole incident having the appearance of intimacy.
‘How dare you?’ she spat. The arrogance of the man was breathtaking. ‘So long as you’re paid, it’s no concern of yours what I do. Don’t get carried away with your role,’ she advised tartly. She felt humiliated at being caught out in the sort of behaviour she’d sworn to herself she’d not indulge in. Her anger, perfectly logically, was aimed at the only person who’d noticed her momentary weakness and who had had the tasteless effrontery to mention the fact.
‘It’s a waste of time to spend money on a love-struck swain if you behave with the discretion of an adolescent. Why should I waste my time and effort to act the lover if you aren’t going to co-operate?’
She was instantly stung by the insinuation that to act the lover required a vast amount of effort. ‘Because you’re being paid to do so,’ she hissed venomously. ‘So save the temperament. What are you anyway—an out-of-work actor? If you must know, you aren’t at all what I wanted. I require an escort, not a soul mate, so stop working so hard. Unless you’re an excellent liar you’ll end up making fools of us both. My mother’s interrogation techniques are honed to perfection,’ she told him drily, aware of the sharp eyes watching their every move.
He gave a snort. ‘If that—’ he jerked his head in the direction of the groom ‘—is your taste, I find it easy to believe I’m not what the doctor ordered. Take a dummy from the average shop window and you could have a facsimile of your perfect mate.’ The curl of his lip was openly derisory.
Her bosom swelled with outrage. ‘How dare you?’ The long-entrenched habit of thinking Alex encapsulated masculine perfection made her eyes flash.
‘Without any great effort,’ he murmured with casual, almost bored provocation. ‘You do keep saying that, or hadn’t you noticed? Repetition is a sign of a limited intellect, so I’ve heard.’
‘Do they employ many intellectual giants at the escort agency?’ she was pushed into responding sarcastically.
‘One for every snobbish client.’
Absurdly she felt suddenly apprehensive; there was something about the softness in his voice and the contrasting hardness in his deceptively guileless eyes Mentally she shook herself for having such fanciful thoughts. After today she would never have to see this man again; he had no influence upon her life. Still, he did have a point she would have to pull herself together if she was going to convince anyone she was totally heart-whole and leading a completely satisfying life.
Which, of course, she was. She had a stimulating career as a personal assistant in an advertising agency. A frown furrowed her wide, smooth brow as she thought of the man who had, up until recently, been her boss. Oliver Mallory, the infamous hand that had guided the well-known firm to its present place as one of the top six advertising agencies in the country. She had been his protégée and he had been her friend. Oliver had built the agency up from nothing and now he was gone. Though this left her own position uncertain, it was genuine sadness at the loss of the dear old reprobate that made her sigh.
She had everything she had wanted—a career, a flat of her own, independence, good friends, freedom—but without a man at her side she knew that her friends and relations would see only a jilted woman. The widely held conviction that a woman needed a man for fulfilment was one she personally detested. She had seen her own mother go through a series of temporary affairs of the heart, each one leaving her a little more desperate and lonely than the last. Her own recent experience of loss had made her determined never to repeat it.
‘Do you mind taking your hands off me?’ she said, raising her lowered eyes to the face of the man who was, given the time and place, in socially unacceptable proximity to her.
The hand that had captured her attention still lay along the line of her jaw; the tips of his fingers were burrowed into her hairline. His bent head was level with her own, close enough for her to be able to admire the texture of his bronzed skin, smell the masculine fragrance that drifted from him.
One of his fingers worked its way around a stray lock of hair that had escaped the confines of her wildly expensive headgear. The expression in his heavy-lidded, shadowed eyes as they watched the temporary corkscrew effect of his casual labour was absurdly riveting. Also the hard thigh pressed against her own on the wooden seat was distracting—unpleasantly so, she told herself, frowning as a pack of butterflies ran riot in the pit of her stomach.
The familiar strains of the Bridal March issued forth from the organ and, heart thudding, she pulled free, giving her escort a cold, dismissive look, as much to convince herself that he had nothing to do with the adrenaline surge that sent her heart against her ribcage as anything else. At a time like this she couldn’t possibly spare a second thought for anything but the main event.
The bride was tiresomely lovely, her responses clear and resonant. It was the groom who sounded less than his usual confident self. Georgina waited for the humiliation of the occasion to hit her, but with a sense of anticlimax she realised that she was able to view the whole ceremony with detachment. It was like watching a scene of a play she felt totally uninvolved.
Outside the sun did its duty and the guests huddled together whilst photographs were taken. Her lips curled in a cynical smile, Georgina watched her mother speaking with some animation to a distinguished-looking man she didn’t recognise. She kept her chin high and replied cheerfully to greetings from familiar faces, who looked at the tall figure at her side with varying degrees of curiosity, tinged in some cases, she was amused to see, with envy. Well, it was infinitely preferable to pity, she told herself.
‘Why did he ditch you?’
‘That’s an extremely insensitive question,’ she observed, stiffening. Her paid company was watching the proceedings with an air of impatient boredom.
’I’ve never been one to indulge maudlin self-pity.’
‘Or one to keep your opinions to yourself, it would seem.’
‘Just displaying a friendly interest.’
‘Just fishing for the salacious details, more like.’
The thick dark brows shot towards his hairline. ‘Salacious? I was just trying to make conversation, but now I’m really interested.’ The gleam of humour in his eyes was faintly malicious.
‘Actually, it was all very civilised. I went to London to do a business-studies course. We weren’t engaged or anything,’ she said with a detached smile, skimming sketchily over an emotional blow that had devastated her.
‘Everyone, including you, expected marriage,’ he observed shrewdly.
It was peculiar, but his neutral cynicism was much easier to cope with than the understanding sympathy that had been doled out to her at the time. ‘There was an understanding,’ she agreed, switching her weight from one foot to the other and checking who was within hearing distance. It would never do to have this conversation overheard.
She’d agreed that a ring was an extravagance when she and Alex were saving so assiduously. Strange how Harriet had managed to get a serious diamond on her finger in record time, she thought cynically. That was probably why Alex had exchanged his racy coupé for a more sedate saloon. Harriet was worth the sacrifice, it would seem.
‘Did you put up much of a fight? Or had you already got someone more interesting lined up? That can’t have been difficult,’ Callum said, his mind returning to this girl’s relationship with his uncle. Her rather full lips had drooped slightly. For someone who gave off such an air of wholesome sexiness her mouth was altogether more...sensual. A more accurate indication of her character? he wondered. Had her unorthodox manner of promotion been the bone of contention between lovers?
‘No man is worth fighting for,’ she replied, her tone ringing with grim conviction.
Callum caught her arm and swung her out of the path of a gaggle of small pages and bridesmaids. ‘Isn’t that a rather sweeping statement?’
‘I prefer comprehensive and accurate.’ The arm casually draped around her waist showed no inclination to shift. Rather than make herself conspicuous, she let it stay there. She hoped her attitude showed him how totally oblivious to the near proximity she was.
‘After getting your fingers burnt once?’ he said incredulously. ‘Or am I to infer you have a more chequered past than that?’
His cynical, knowing expression made her long to throttle him. ‘I know you’re bored, but I’m not about to enliven your afternoon with any juicy stories. My mother will track you down any moment and extract your vital juices,’ she said darkly and with some relish. Some people deserved her mother.
It was irritating to have to raise her chin to look into his face. Alex was just the perfect height—especially when he’d kissed her, she recalled wistfully. What would it be like to be kissed by this man? Dry-mouthed, she allowed the thought to crystallise with clarity in her head. Swallowing with difficulty, she killed this frivolous piece of speculation and lowered her eyes, which might be less obedient than her brain.
‘She seems occupied at present,’ Callum observed, glancing towards the spot where Lydia stood with the middle-aged guest.
‘Predictably so.’ Her mother was laughing—a low, husky sound that grated on Georgina’s frayed nerves.
‘Do I detect criticism from the daughter? Ought you not to have grown out of the desire to view your parent as a sexless entity? I take it your father is no longer around?’
She wriggled her hips decisively and his hands intuitively fell away from her waist. Where did he get off analysing and criticising her?
‘For your information my father has never been around—at least, not since I was born. He walked out on her, unable to take the strain of domesticity,’ she drawled sarcastically. ‘But Mother never gives up. Her life is not complete without a man on her arm and in her bed. In a place like this the fact doesn’t pass without comment. But they all slip away eventually. Like mother, like daughter—we obviously can’t hold our men—’ Breathing hard, she stopped abruptly and bit hard on her trembling lip, appalled at what she’d just said to a total stranger.
The unvarnished distress emanating from her was unsettling to Callum. He quashed any chivalrous instincts. He wasn’t about to let sentiment interfere with his original reason for seeking out Miss Campion. ‘Are you going to faint?’ He tried to sound unalarmed at the prospect but the violent fluctuation of her colour made him suspect the worst.
The grin was sudden and surprising, full of self-mockery and quite unintentionally charming. ‘Throw up, more likely,’ she said frankly. ‘But don’t worry; it’s passed. I’d be grateful if you’d forget what I just said.’
He met the direct, almost green stare squarely. ‘Your hang-ups are your business, lady,’ he drawled, his accent slightly more pronounced than usual. He touched his forehead as if saluting. The casual elegant gesture had none of the military about it.
Her lips tightened. ‘How do you manage to make everything you say sound like a judgement? Does it ever occur to you you’re in the wrong line of work? A charming, relaxing companion was what I was promised... Instead I got the Grand Inquisitor.’
‘If you’re not satisfied you can always complain. I’ll probably lose my job.’ The sigh was stoical. ‘But don’t let that deter you; we live in a consumer society. There’s no place for sentiment.’
She had to grin; he did ‘meek’ rather well. ‘Just try and look pretty and don’t say too much,’ she advised.
‘Sexist,’ he mumbled as they were ushered into a photo line-up.
The top table was not where she’d hoped to find herself placed. She scented Cousin Harriet’s hand in this arrangement; she always had been less than generous in victory. A great believer in salt rubbed firmly in the wound, our dear Harriet. Still, if she sat far enough back in her seat the depth of Callum’s impressive torso gave her some defence from the sight of the happy couple. The voices were not so easy to block out.
She’d wasted her breath telling Callum to keep his mouth in a strait-jacket. He’d been in earnest conversation with her uncle George for the past ten minutes. She couldn’t catch everything they were saying, but financial terms kept drifting in her direction. He might be a good con artist but her uncle made a very successful living as a financial advisor and it was only a matter of time before he discovered that Callum didn’t know what he was talking about.
She picked worriedly at her fish and drank her wine faster than was advisable on an empty stomach. One ear on an elderly relative on her left, she tried to hear what Callum was saying in his rather deep voice, waiting for her uncle’s respectful expression to turn to scorn.
Callum intercepted her sidelong glance and winked, his expression not changing as he continued to expand on his subject.
Angrily she accepted the wine waiter’s solicitous offer of a refill and swigged it back with scant regard for an expensive vintage. He’d laugh on the other side of his face when she spoke to the agency, she thought militantly. It might be a joke to him... A lump of self-pity rose in her throat as Harriet’s laughter made her teeth clench.
‘Callum, dar-r-rling,’ she purred. Her nails made inroads into the hand she affectionately covered on the damask tablecloth. ‘You really mustn’t talk business. You promised,’ she added, her eyes flashing warnings. If it hurt he managed to disguise the fact remarkably well.
With a flash of white teeth he picked up her claw-like hand and pressed it, open-palmed, to his lips. The gesture was more erotic than courtly.
Her eyes were caught in the bold, mocking glare of his regard. The explosion of heat that flooded across her skin must have been evident to him; it was a response that appalled and disgusted her, a physical thing over which she had no control. The confusion of churning sensations in her belly was profoundly basic and instinctual and she was ashamed of being susceptible to the brazen sexuality of this man. The wine obviously had a good deal to do with this uninhibited response.
‘Are you feeling neglected, angel?’ The dark brows lifted, but she could see the acknowledgement in his eyes of her helpless, angry response. ‘That will never do,’ he murmured huskily, and he let his lips move once more over her hand.
If she could have, she’d have climbed out of her skin. Her nerve-endings were on fire, screaming. Dry-mouthed, she shifted in her seat fretfully.
Uncle George regarded them indulgently. ‘My fault, Georgie, dear. You’ve got a sound man there,’ he said approvingly.
This unexpected recommendation made Georgina’s fuming silence lengthen. Her uncle was not the sort of man who threw compliments around lightly. ‘You always were a sterling judge of character, Uncle George,’ she said drily. The man she loved was barely feet from her and here she was, suffering contemptible, primitive responses to a stranger. It was morally indefensible; worse still, she hadn’t had the sense to hide it.
‘Will you behave?’ she said in a furious undertone as she pulled her hand free.
‘In what particular way did you have in mind?’ he enquired with interest. He winced as girlish laughter rang out once more. ‘You know, I think you should pity that stuffed shirt of yours. He’ll have to live with that laugh for the rest of his natural. Always supposing things last that long.’
‘I wish them all the best,’ she observed primly.
‘Lying little hypocrite,’ he said conversationally. He swirled the liquid in his glass around but didn’t lift it to his lips. ‘Like all females you’re a vindictive little beast who can’t wait to see the man grovel at your feet.’
‘I can well believe the females in your life feel that way,’ she responded tartly. She had rehearsed the tender scene of Alex turning up begging her forgiveness once too often to look him directly in the eye. ‘I don’t find the role of plucky little victim to my taste; that’s the only reason you’re here. I have no wish to make Alex jealous, which, considering what I got for my money, is just as well.’
The deep blue eyes narrowed to slits and his lips twisted with scornful amusement. ‘You’re comparing me unfavourably to that?’ he said with a scornful lift of his shoulders and a flickering glance in Alex’s direction.
‘You really do think a lot of yourself, don’t you?’
‘My self-esteem was fairly healthy last time I looked,’ he agreed.
‘If I had a large pin I’d like to deflate it,’ she murmured longingly. ‘Only I’d call it ego.’
‘Your nose was never constructed to be looked down, sweetheart.’
‘I’m well aware of my physical deficiencies, thank you!’ she replied tartly. With a mother who was an acknowledged beauty she couldn’t help but be. Her nose was unremarkable, her mouth too big. She gave a small sigh. People who were obsessed with their appearance often neglected their personality, or so she often found—if they had any at all. She wasn’t about to fall into that trap.
‘I wouldn’t say it’s a deficiency. I’d call it kind of cute.’ The blue eyes which examined the sudden rush of colour that stained her cheeks looked remarkably guileless. ‘Say, I know today’s a real traumatic experience for you, so why don’t we forget the rotten mongrel who humiliated you and relax? The food’s good, the wine could be better but it’s plentiful, and I won’t blow your cover. Lighten up, eat, drink and dance a little. Enjoy the charming company you’ve paid for.’
‘Charming?’ She couldn’t help smiling.
‘I have a reputation to uphold,’ he told her solemnly. ‘Is it a deal?’
The smile bordered on the irresistible, so recklessly she raised her glass and found herself agreeing.
CHAPTER THREE
‘GEORGIE, he’s absolutely gorgeous, darling. Where did you find him?’
‘Yellow Pages, Alice,’ she told her drooling school-friend with a grin. Callum was dancing with the bride, displaying remarkable grace and co-ordination for such a large man.
‘You never used to be so enigmatic,’ her friend grumbled, her eyes on Callum’s progress across the floor. ‘You even look different.’ Her eyes moved critically over her old friend’s slender figure.
Georgina hardly heard. The man might be abominably conceited, she reflected, her eyes too on the tall figure, but he did have some reason. Controlled power, languid grace and an ability to make everyone present hang on his every word were all attributes that she privately thought could be put to better use in some other capacity than that of hired escort. He had something indefinable but potent; she had given up trying to classify him into any category she had ever come across.
He still remained something of an enigma. Although he had, true to his word, been charming and amusing over the remainder of the meal, he had managed to learn quite a lot about her life, her work and friends whilst unobtrusively redirecting any questions about himself. Why the mystery? she wondered.
He looked up suddenly, his dark features turning intuitively in her direction. Rather than avert her gaze and look elsewhere, she kept her eyes level and her chin square. There was enquiry, a challenge in his bold stare, transmuted as he held her eyes to stark and unadulterated desire.
No man had ever, as far as she could recall, looked at her so brazenly before. The message in his stare was a blatant admission of desire. She had certainly never experienced this flash fire of wildly conflicting sensations. She stood stock-still, caught in the current that passed between them. She recognised that she was a victim of her own primitive cravings, but felt powerless to resist.
With a soft word Callum extricated himself from his partner, who showed an inclination to pout, and moved purposefully across the room.
‘This is Alice,’ Georgina said nervously as he reached her side.
‘Hello, Alice. I haven’t danced with Georgina yet. You don’t mind if I steal her away, do you?’ His eyes only left her face for a second. She was drawn onto the dance floor without even realising she’d relinquished her role as wallflower. ‘This day is not turning out at all as I’d expected, Miss Campion.’
‘It isn’t?’ she said thickly. The numbness that had hit her seconds before was slipping away to be replaced by a swamping awareness of her body and its reactions and this man, this stranger who held her, his body. She’d drunk too much. She’d been building up to this day for weeks; it was the stress, the entire cocktail of emotional havoc that was responsible for the sexual awareness that had sprung to life.
‘You were described to me as very efficient. I wasn’t expecting hair like glossy autumn leaves, soft, buttermilk skin and sultry lips like ripe strawberries.’
She swallowed, frighteningly aware of how much a captive she was of the deep, resonant voice and the glittering eyes. Excitement and a totally alien exhilaration were swirling in her veins. Common sense, with which she knew she was amply endowed, told her that her bruised ego was lapping up this attention because of its traumatised state. But it was difficult to reconcile common sense with the feverish clamour of her blood. She was aware of trembling—a fact he too couldn’t have failed to notice.
‘Very poetic,’ she replied, injecting scorn into her voice and pulling her eyes from the magnetic tug of his gaze. ‘This really wasn’t in the job description, you know.’ She swallowed. How wrong had she been when she’d thought this man was ill-equipped to act as an escort! She’d almost disastrously forgotten that that was what he was. It was the height of stupidity to fall for a look of desire. Do I need to be wanted that much? she thought bitterly. It must be genetic!
’And I’m certain you made that quite clear at the outset.’ His voice held a degree of almost amused affection which made her glance up.
’Perhaps that’s why the agency described me as efficient.’
‘The agency...?’ he murmured sharply. ‘Oh, yes, the agency. I never mix business with pleasure.’ Perhaps this occasion called for a little flexibility, he told himself.
‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ she said uncertainly. God, how could she be such a fool as to fall for a slick chat-up line and blue eyes? This was superficial attraction, basic. She wished hard that she hadn’t addled her senses with all the free wine.
‘I’d be more than happy to be your escort on an unpaid basis.’
She was almost sure he was teasing her and the mockery helped her fight the spell that the music, the atmosphere... and Callum were weaving. ‘I’m flattered, but you’re not the sort of man I’d go out with.’
Callum neatly avoided a collision with a couple who were both much the worse for the champagne. ‘I was thinking more along the lines of staying in,’ he admitted with a devilish gleam in his eyes.
The breathless sensation could not be solely attributed to the neat manoeuvre that had swung her around one hundred and eighty degrees. ‘I hardly think we’re compatible.’ She couldn’t recall ever being propositioned before so the correct response was difficult to gauge. She was almost sure he was joking and it would make her appear ridiculous if she made too much of the incident.
‘Strange. I’ve been getting quite different messages,’ he murmured. One hand slid down her hair, letting the heavy, silky strands slide through his fingers. ‘Could it be you’re afflicted with the great British disease of being unwilling to mingle outside your own class? Would I be a social embarrassment for an upwardly mobile career woman?’ Mild but damning contempt liberally coated his words.
‘Are you insinuating I’m a snob?’ she replied, registering that his scornful words identified him as probably not being British. ‘I take it from your smug, egalitarian tone that you don’t hail from these shores?’
The slight friction of his hand against the nape of her neck was sending flurries of warmth tingling through her body. His other hand had pulled her body close enough against his own for her to be aware of how taut and muscular his spare frame was. The effort to keep her head from flopping forward against the invitation of his solidly muscled chest made tiny beads of perspiration break out along her upper lip.
‘Are you trying to tell me that if I was an eminently respectable professional like your stuffed dummy you’d still be fighting against this attraction?’ His eyes gleamed with disdain.
To compare this temporary insanity with what she had felt for Alex might have made her smile under less stressful circumstances. She might have worshipped Alex uncritically and, in retrospect, pathetically, but she had never felt anything nearly so insidiously primitive in his arms. Sometimes she thought her self-restraint had had a lot to do with his seeking comfort elsewhere.
‘I’ve given up on emotional complications in my life.’ She wished she sounded as confident about this as she had hoped she would.
‘This is more instinctive than emotional, don’t you think?’ he mused, a lick of grim humour in his voice.
When she looked up there was something far more fierce than humour in his eyes—hunger. Her eyes moved of their own volition to his mouth, and the sensuous curl of his lips made her throat close over. The hot, liquid sensation in her belly expanded to flood her already unsteady limbs. The fantasy that passed before her eyes was full of texture and taste. In fact, all her senses seemed to be involved in the concept of this simple, imaginary kiss.
‘There speaks the male of the species,’ she retorted, her voice all the more angry because of the diversions her mind was taking. ‘A physical experience without emotions is an unrewarding one for a woman.’
‘I thought you’d given up on emotions?’ he said with a quirk of one eyebrow. ‘Does this mean you’ve taken a vow of chastity?’
‘Is that so outrageous?’
‘I think for some people celibacy might be a possible solution. People with a genuinely asexual personality, that is—those who pretend things they are incapable of feeling just to conform. It’s not the answer for someone as sensual as you. Repressing your true nature is no answer.’
‘And you’d know all about my personality!’ she snapped scornfully.
‘I think you’re the sort of woman who is afraid to stand up for what she believes in. You’re big on independence and self-sufficiency, but when an opportunity to display the fact is offered you, what do you do? Rush off to hire a body to wear a suit so you blend in prettily. It takes guts to stand out, Georgina,’ he drawled. ‘It seems to me you like to take the safe option.’
His words had homed in on the disquiet she had felt about the entire face-saving exercise. Damn him! she thought, raising her turbulent eyes to his impassive face. ‘I take it I’m meant to be forced to display that I’m full of radical action by sleeping with you—not the safe option.’
He appeared unfazed by her hot accusation. ‘You have been thinking about it, then,’ he said with a small, disturbing smile playing about the corners of his lips.
Her vehement denial died as she met the cynical knowledge in his eyes. She acknowledged she’d just been manoeuvred into a corner by something of an expert. The music had stopped and they stayed stationary in the middle of the floor. Her attention was so concentrated on her partner than she didn’t hear Alex the first time he spoke.
‘Can I have the next dance, Georgie?’
She spun around, eyes wide, her cheeks still flushed from the stimulation of her fencing with Callum.
‘Go ahead, sweetheart,’ Callum urged, his hand comfortably patting her behind encouragingly. He regarded the slightly younger man in an almost indulgent manner that visibly grated on Alex. ‘The least I can do, as indirectly you’re responsible for my meeting Georgina. Incidentally, she hates being called Georgie; didn’t she ever tell you?’ The music started up and he slipped away, his long strides taking him swiftly out of sight into the crowd.
‘Shall we?’
Georgina pulled herself together with a tense smile. She’d been staring after Callum like a hypnotised idiot; embarrassment at this bizarre behaviour brought a fresh rush of colour to her skin. She thought wistfully of the bland partner she’d imagined.
‘You look well, Georgie...Georgina,’ Alex stumbled awkwardly. ‘I hardly recognised you.’
‘Should I be flattered? But it’s still the same old me, Alex.’ Or was she? she wondered, still in daze. The nights of bitterness and heartache, the sense of betrayal and the deep sense of inadequacy she’d fought against with all her will seemed oddly distant as she faced the object of all those thwarted desires.
‘You seem different.’
She glanced at him curiously, surprised that she could be objective. He sounded faintly piqued at the transformation, which consisted mostly of a sophisticated outfit and an air of self-confidence that was three parts artifice.
Had Alex ever looked beyond the surface? she wondered. She’d been very young when she’d met him and malleable in many ways. That had suited Alex. The only contention that had ever arisen between them had occurred when she had insisted she wanted more careerwise than a receptionist’s job. When she’d insisted on going on her business-studies course, commuting home at weekends, he’d been stiffly disapproving.
‘Everyone grows up, Alex,’ she observed now, with a wistfulness partly reserved for her lost naïvety. Everyone had known about Alex and Harriet for weeks before she had caught on. The constriction in her throat swelled.
‘I treated you pretty badly.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed, noticing he was the first one to look away. She’d wanted to make him wonder whether he’d made the right decision and, if she read the signs correctly, that was exactly what he was doing. Strange how little pleasure it afforded her. ‘Lovely wedding.’
‘I wanted something simple.’
‘Harriet didn’t,’ she observed with a faint smile. What Harriet wants, Harriet gets, including my man!
He shrugged awkwardly and she worked hard not to tangle her feet with his. Dancing with Callum had been as easy as breathing—a strange combination of instinct and rhythm. The contrast made her frown.
‘Emotional hothouses, weddings,’ she said lightly.
‘I miss you. I didn’t realise how much...’
The words she’d longed to hear filled her with a sudden deep panic. ‘I don’t think you should be saying this, Alex.’ He’d manoeuvred them into a quiet alcove and the drop in volume meant that her voice sounded loud.
‘Neither do L’
Startled, she spun around to see Callum watching them, leaning with negligent ease against a fake Doric pillar.
‘I was just...’ Alex blustered, letting go of Georgina and backing off a step.
‘I know exactly what you were doing, mate.’ The smile on Callum’s lips was benevolent, but the expression in his eyes made the younger man blanch. ‘I suggest you lie in the bed of your own making and leave Georgina to lie in hers. Speaking of which, darling, I’ve managed to get us the last room available. You’ve had too much to drink and I’m not about to drive that death trap of yours.’
‘But...’ she began, alarm and outrage in her eyes.
‘You don’t need to be in work until Tuesday so why worry?’
‘See you, Georgie,’ Alex muttered, sliding away.
‘Oh...what? Yes, sure.’ To him their exchange must have seemed incredibly intimate. A light squabble between two lovers.
‘Aren’t you going to thank me for rescuing you? Or didn’t the lady want to be rescued? Seducing the bridegroom on his wedding night might be the sort of revenge your soul craves.’
She was so angry that she felt as if she’d explode with frustration. ‘My cravings are none of your business. How dare you interfere?’ she breathed wrathfully. ‘I can only hope your little contribution was pure fiction.’
He shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘How had you intended getting home? You’ve been knocking back the vino with splendid abandon all afternoon.’
The way his eyes moved over her body as he said ‘splendid abandon’ made her head spin slightly and she didn’t think ‘vino’ had anything to do with her reaction. ‘I can’t afford this place,’ she said in a hushed tone. The rather over-the-top grandeur of the establishment was not to her taste and she was sure the prices were even less so.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll pay.’
‘You seem to be very affluent all of a sudden,’ she said with suspicion.
‘Well, at least you’ve not objected to spending the night with me,’ he said, pleased to see the distrust swallowed up by horror.
‘I have no intention of spending the night with you. I’ll spend the night with Mother.’
‘Who left a little earlier... and she wasn’t alone. You might not be welcome there.’
She swallowed, admitting the accuracy of his surmise. ‘How did you know I don’t need to be in work till Tuesday? ’ she said, suddenly realising a point that had been niggling at the back of her mind.
‘You must have told me,’ he said carelessly. ‘Whilst you were elaborating on your amazingly responsible position.’
She sucked in her breath wrathfully. The faint curl of disdain on his lips made her stiffen. ‘I wasn’t aware I said anything of the sort. You seem doubtful that I’m capable of working.’
He shrugged. ‘It depends on how far you got due to your pretty face.’
Now she knew he was being sarcastic; pretty was one thing her face was not! ‘I got where I am due to my own merits and a bit of luck. Much like anyone else, irrespective of sex. Just because you rely on your looks and dubious charm, don’t assume we’re all tarred with the same brush.’
‘From what you said, your boss took a bit of a shine to you. I suppose your high-flown morals didn’t let you take advantage of the fact?’ he responded drily.
‘Oliver merely gave me an opportunity to prove myself,’ she said stiffly. The idea of Oliver being influenced by anyone or anything beyond his precious company was laughable. ‘But if his successor has the same biased outlook as you I probably will be out on my ear shortly. I would imagine he’ll be advised to do just that,’ she admitted, a frown pleating her smooth brow.
On paper her credentials were not impressive and she seriously doubted whether she’d have the opportunity to prove her worth. There were several senior executives who had resented the responsibility Oliver had given her and they’d probably already fed the nephew from the outback enough to poison her chances of staying on.
Back-stabbing was an art form in the advertising world and she’d already suffered a good deal of spiteful innuendo concerning her promotion to Oliver’s right hand. He might have been past middle age but he had been virile and active enough to give the scandalmongers fuel for their fantasies.
‘Won’t you get a fair hearing?’ Callum asked, his expression hard and assessing as he watched the expressions flitting across her face.
She shrugged. ‘The nephew is some farmer from the outback,’ she observed dismissively. ‘I doubt very much if he’ll have an opinion of his own.’ After Oliver’s dynamic, hands-on management style she doubted if anything was ever going to be the same again.
‘Still, you could hold his hand and make yourself as indispensable as you did to the uncle.’
The soft voice held a strange underlying acid note that made her eyes narrow and look beyond the languid air of casual interest. The blue eyes gazed back at her benignly, his lips drooped at one corner in a lopsided smile; it was an expression that was somehow strangely familiar. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it.
‘I’ve no desire to hold anyone’s hand and that goes for you too,’ she said forcefully, her mind returning to her more immediate problems. ‘I can’t possibly spend the night with you.’
‘Why not compromise? Sleep off your afternoon’s excess and you can drive us back this evening.’
His simple statement made all her worries about imminent seduction suddenly seem foolish. She cursed her overreaction. Verbal sparring of a sexual nature was probably as mundane as discussing the weather to him. That was what he did—made lonely women feel attractive. Mortified, she felt her spine stiffen defensively. He was probably more worried about getting back to town as early as possible. She was, after all, just another job, like any other lonely woman.
‘That sounds reasonable,’ she said briskly. Pride brought her chin up to an aggressive angle. ‘What will you do?’ It was deeply embarrassing to think she’d convinced herself that he was actually interested in her.
‘Sleep, if you’ve no objection,’ he drawled. ‘My body clock’s still haywire. I’ve been out of the country.’
‘You’re Australian?’ He nodded, a wing of dark hair flopping into his eye; he brushed it back impatiently and her imagination was captured again by the long, elegant shape of his hands and fingers.
She closed her eyes and shook her head; the whole procedure took seconds but it did help focus her thoughts. The southern hemisphere seemed to have played a large part in her life recently, what with Oliver’s nephew coming from there too. She could have done without either!
‘I’m sure we can come to a civilised arrangement. I’m very sorry to delay you,’ she said formally. ‘Perhaps you could arrange some coffee for me?’ About time I started acting like the cool career woman I’m meant to be, she thought.
A dark brow shot up and he gave her a slow, sardonic stare. ‘Miss Brisk Efficiency,’ he drawled, preparing to move away. ‘Perhaps, as I’ve fulfilled my contract, you should intersperse your commands with the odd please and thank-you.’
She flushed at the remonstrance and gritted her teeth resentfully. She knew she was overcompensating for her ridiculous behaviour earlier but she wasn’t about to admit it to him.
She was still staring after Callum, reflecting that he was the most appalling man she’d ever met, when Harriet appeared with a rustle of silk at her side. The bride got right down to the subject which was making her lips quiver with temper.
‘I might have known you’d try and ruin my day out of pure spite!’
The sheer inaccuracy of this statement temporarily robbed Georgina of speech. ‘Why would I want to do that?’ she said eventually, her tone meant to deflate what looked like a volatile situation. The last thing she needed right now was a scene.
‘As if you didn’t know. I suppose you don’t know Alex hasn’t taken his eyes off you.’ The cold eyes swept disparagingly over Georgina’s finery. ‘You really don’t have the figure to take that outfit.’
‘Then I expect Alex is only marvelling at my bad taste,’ Georgina responded, her temper wearing paper-thin by this point. ‘You really have no need to worry, Harriet; I have no aspirations to take your husband from you. I’m not alone, in case you hadn’t noticed.’
‘What’s wrong, Georgie—hasn’t he found out yet you’re frigid?’ The blue eyes sparkled with malice as she gave a brittle laugh. ‘Alex said it was like being in bed with a statue. I’m not worried about you,’ she sneered. ‘I just didn’t want you to make a fool of yourself.’ With a final, triumphant smile she swept away, her long skirts hissing on the floor.
Georgina was secretly amazed at how she’d managed to keep her own expression blank. Each poisonous dart had hit its target but she’d never let the other girl know. She could have told her that Alex had in fact slept with his new wife before her, but she didn’t want to stoop to the same name-calling tactics as her cousin.
The timetable of events only made her own humiliation worse. It was ironic that when, after resisting Alex’s attempts to make their relationship more intimate, she had finally felt she was ready he had already been unfaithful to her with Harriet. I gave my all and it obviously compared unfavourably with what he already had on offer, she thought with bitter self-mockery.
‘You look pale. Are you all right?’ Callum asked, returning with a cup of coffee.
‘Sorry, did you say something?’ she responded vaguely. It was hard to put the bitter recollections aside and concentrate on the present.
‘The girlie chat with the blushing bride has left you looking like a basket case,’ he observed bluntly.
‘Well, I’m not about to share all the grisly contents with you,’ she said, straightening her shoulders. ‘So you’ll have to settle for a coffee while I go and apply some blusher.’
Callum found himself admiring the determined set of her jaw and the ramrod line of her slender back as she wound her way through the throng. Whatever else she was, Georgina Campion had guts.
Georgina had had two cups of coffee, the bride was ready to leave and Georgina’s head was splitting. They were all crammed in the foyer for the ritual send-off when Harriet deliberately caught her cousin’s eye; the look of triumph was malicious. Recalling her encounter with Alex earlier, Georgina could almost feel sorry for her, with the emphasis on almost She could certainly meet the stare with perfect equanimity—a fact that made Harriet’s pretty features harden.
Georgina wondered what she had ever done to make the girl dislike her so much. She watched as Harriet’s arm moved in an arc and the bouquet hit her full-force in the face, knocking her hat off in the process. The action brought a flurry of giggles and high-spirited comments. Georgina felt her eyes water with pain but smiled through the tears.
By the time Callum retrieved her hat it had been trampled on. She was clutching the rather limp flowers unenthusiastically as he dusted it down and handed it back to her. He watched the narrow-eyed, dispassionate intensity as she brushed a stray tear from her watering eyes.
‘There goes a week’s pay,’ she observed, dropping it in the nearest waste-paper bin. She didn’t need any reminders of this day.
‘Georgie, can we offer you two a lift anywhere? Your mother’s?’ Uncle George included Callum in the good-natured offer.
‘We have a room actually, but thanks anyway,’ Callum said, speaking for them. She felt the weight of his hands once more on her slumped shoulders, wielding the strength of tensile steel as they rested deceptively lightly upon her.
‘I think you can drop the role now,’ she snapped as her uncle moved away with an affectionate admonition not to be a stranger. ‘You’ve more than fulfilled your obligations. On second thoughts your last official duty can be to get rid of these.’ Her nose wrinkled in distaste as she pushed the bouquet into his hands.
‘Aren’t they supposed to predict your imminent nuptials? ’ he said, flicking a white rose with his finger.
‘Not if I’m conscious,’ she said feelingly.
‘I think that’s called tempting fate, Georgie.’ He drawled the hated appellation with deliberate relish. ‘Or should I revert to Miss Campion now my role as official escort is over?’
‘You could revert to silence,’ she suggested, eyeing her tall, elegant companion with grim dislike.
‘Feeling hung-over, are we?’
‘I don’t suppose you drank anything?’ she snapped sarcastically.
‘Nothing alcoholic,’ he agreed. ‘After long-haul flying that would have been a mistake. You’re one of my first...’ he raised his eyes and she saw he looked peculiarly amused ‘...assignments since I arrived.’
‘I thought you’d be one of those macho types convinced their iron constitution can withstand anything. Or are you a fitness freak?’
‘You’re smarting, but don’t take your frustrations out on me. I’m not renowned for being the suffer-in-silence type.’
She gave a loud sniff. ‘I can imagine what you’re renowned for,’ she snapped nastily.
He caught hold of her arm as she stalked past him. ‘And what would that be?’ he enquired silkily.

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