Bedded at the Billionaire's Convenience(32)

The room was already beginning to warm up, which meant that Pierre must have advanced the heating. The entire house had been re-plumbed at the time of purchase and the central heating worked like a dream, unlike hers, which clattered noisily into life with the same reluctance to do its job as her car.

With her back to the door and safe in the knowledge that Pierre was sitting in front of a computer somewhere in the cottage, probably now totally oblivious to his surroundings, Georgie stripped off her borrowed nightwear and began sorting out her clothes, first checking to see whether the snow was still falling. It was, but less aggressively than the night before. She should be able to make it back to her place provided her car co-operated.

She turned away from the window, her mind chewing over the problem of how she could beat an exit without it appearing indecently hasty for someone who should be joined to her new-found love at the hip.

And there he was. She hadn’t heard the door being pushed open, hadn’t even been aware that she had left it very slightly ajar, not wanting the click to rouse Didi who needed her beauty sleep more than she cared to admit.

Shock raced through her, taking away her instinct to shield her naked breasts. She just stood there, her mouth parted, her hands limply at her sides. He was carrying a tray on which were two mugs of coffee and some toast.

He walked in and the freeze-frame shattered. Georgie covered her breasts, cheeks bright red with anger and sheer mortification.

‘What are you doing up here?’ she yelped. ‘You’re supposed to be downstairs! Working! You said so!’

‘I said nothing of the sort.’ Pierre rested the tray on the bed, then straightened up. ‘I’ll look away if you want to put something on, although it’s a bit like shutting the stable door after the horse has bolted. Anyway, it’s not as if I haven’t seen a naked woman before…’ But not this one. Oh, no. He had done his damnedest to make his voice as neutral as possible, but he felt as if he could see right through those protective hands trying to shield her nudity, see right through to the vision that had confronted him when he had walked into the bedroom.

She was as slim as he had expected and her breasts small and pert, tipped invitingly with rosy nipples that had made his powerful body surge into immediate response.

Nothing like any of the women he had dated in the past, who had, without exception, been taller and more curvaceously built.

She had the sort of body that exquisitely matched her personality—young, girlish, somehow innocent.

He turned away, frowning at his own dramatic response to her, waiting while she stuck on her shirt and skirt, the whisper of clothes telling its own story of someone trying to get dressed as quickly as was humanly possible.

Eventually he turned round to find her in the same position but this time fully clothed, arms rigidly folded. She had pulled back the curtains and thin winter sunlight gave the room a cool, spectral greyness.

‘I told my mother that I would bring her breakfast in bed. I didn’t go downstairs to work. I went to make some coffee and toast.’

‘You should have said!’

‘You mean asked your permission?’ He strolled towards her. ‘You’re trembling like a leaf,’ he murmured, putting his hands on her arms and feeling her stiffen under him. A feeling of being utterly out of his depth and liking it rushed through his body, leaving him shaken and disconcerted. Her skin was as soft as a peach.

‘Get off,’ Georgie mumbled wildly, but her body wilfully refused to take evasive action. Instead, she remained standing still with her fingers biting into the soft flesh of her arms while his hands on her continued to sear her skin.#p#分页标题#e##p#分页标题#e#

Pierre ignored her protest. It was meaningless anyway. Her voice might be telling him to leave her but her body was singing a different song.

And he, to his bemusement, felt as randy as a teenager. ‘Why?’ he asked softly, ‘Is that what you really want me to do?’

‘Yes!’ Georgie said weakly. ‘Of course it is,’ she added, frantic to convince herself as much as him.

Pierre undid the pony-tail and pushed his fingers into her hair and Georgie drew in her breath, partly shocked by the gesture but mostly floundering in confusion, hopelessly trying to figure out what to do and to actually do it.

‘You have beautiful breasts.’ He bent and nuzzled her face with his mouth, which elicited a moan from her. ‘Can I touch them?’

Georgie, beyond speech, didn’t say anything. She wanted this man so badly she was literally shaking from it. When did this happen? When did she hand over control of her mind to someone else? She felt his hand drop to her waist, slip underneath the loose-fitting top, the first of the many layers she wore in winter, rather than simply two with a coat.