Bedded at the Billionaire's Convenience(42)

‘I’m sorry, Didi. Work. Usual Christmas problems…you look lovely! Don’t tell me you’ve got another new jumper!’

‘A few, actually! Pierre’s just through in the kitchen. Very informal tonight. Just a casserole.’

Georgie stripped off her poncho and one of the jumpers, leaving just a fitted thin woolen jumper and her long skirt. ‘I’ve dressed for the occasion,’ she joked, but her stomach was doing its usual somersaults as they strolled, still chatting, into the kitchen. Even her breasts were weirdly tingling, as if her body had gone onto red alert and was reacting accordingly.

Pierre, with his back to her, was stirring the ubiquitous pot that had filled the kitchen with a wonderful aroma. The pine table was already set for three and Georgie felt another twinge of guilt at her late arrival. She should have been there forty five minutes ago.

‘Smells yummy,’ she said, reluctantly walking towards Pierre because that was what would be expected. He turned around and this time the grin on Georgie’s face was genuine.

‘Goodness, Pierre! You’re wearing an apron.’ She took a couple of steps back and looked at him critically. ‘Golly, I wish I’d brought my camera!’ She started laughing. The apron was one she had bought for Didi years back on the spur of the moment and it sported an amusing little saying about women never divorcing men who wore aprons. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve cooked!’ she spluttered, trying to swallow down the laughter because those blue, blue eyes didn’t seem to be sharing her level of amusement.

‘It’s not unheard of,’ Pierre muttered, scowling. She came in, looking like a teenager with those blonde pigtails, her cheeks still pink from the cold outside…laughing so that her face softened…making inroads into his pride, which had slammed into place the minute she had refused his advances. Refused him!

‘Unheard of for you!’ Georgie laughed, throwing her head back.

‘Fair enough,’ Pierre muttered, exerting undue force as he spun around and begin vigorously stirring the contents of the big pan. Aware of Didi busying herself as she poured Georgie a glass of wine, Pierre forced himself to relax. ‘Anyone can follow instructions from a recipe book,’ he said, very much aware of her peering curiously into the pot as though suspicious of its contents.#p#分页标题#e##p#分页标题#e#

‘Have you ever?’

‘No.’

‘Bet you don’t even own a recipe book!’ Georgie hooted.

‘Which,’ Didi piped up, ‘is a very good idea for a Christmas present.’

That made Georgie stop in her tracks. Christmas. Of course, she was supposed to buy him a Christmas present! It was to be expected.

‘Oh, we’ve decided not to give each other any Christmas presents,’ Pierre said smoothly, and even though he had beat her to an excuse Georgie still felt an unwelcome little surge of hurt.

‘What on earth do you mean?’ Didi sounded perplexed.

‘We thought…’ Georgie said, thinking on her feet, ‘we just thought…that it might be nicer to donate the money to one of the homeless shelters. There are so many people who have absolutely nothing and Christmas is such a wonderful opportunity for us to just…play our part…’

‘That’s a lovely sentiment, darling…’ Didi handed her a glass of wine and smiled. ‘Although Pierre already does so much for the underprivileged.’

‘He does?’ Georgie looked at him. ‘You do?’

‘I’ve only found out myself today, haven’t I, Pierre?’ She smiled warmly at her son’s back as he continued to stir a concoction that no longer needed stirring. ‘We popped into St Michael’s Church to get some charity Christmas cards and one of the ladies in charge of the stall recognised him. Didn’t she, Pierre? I’m surprised he hasn’t told you himself!’

Surprise wasn’t the word Georgie would have used to describe how she was feeling. More dumbstruck. ‘P-probably his natural modesty,’ she managed to stutter. ‘You never said you—’

‘I know. Shocking, isn’t it?’ Pierre leant towards her, out of range of his mother’s eagle ears—she might be a little slower on her pegs but there was nothing wrong with her hearing. ‘I’m not the complete bastard you think I am.’

‘Pierre has set up a fund through his company which helps with urban regeneration and, as a part of that, helps displaced teenagers to find creative outlets. Christmas-card designing is just one of the things and the lady in question had brought several packs down to sell as she’s here for the holiday to stay with her daughter…’