Bedded at the Billionaire's Convenience(61)

That was an eventuality Pierre hadn’t expected and it had knocked him for six, but when he had casually suggested to his mother that it was probably a rebound relationship Didi had laughed out loud and informed him gaily that they seemed to be very serious indeed. He was, in her words, an absolutely charming man.

‘A musician,’ she confided, in between asking him for his opinion on three rugs she liked. Pierre pointed randomly to the nearest and then pressed her, as obliquely as he could, for details.

‘What kind of musician?’ He could hear the scorn in his voice and tempered it with polite interest. ‘One of those long-haired types with body piercings, I expect. Maybe a tattoo on his arm somewhere?’

But no. A concert musician. No piercings, no tattoos, although apparently he did have lovely dark hair, which he raked back in a most attractive manner.

From that point on things, at least for Pierre, had gone from bad to worse. While his mother had merrily continued to enjoy the sights of London, he had battled with an increasingly foul temper.

And to even the score in his eyes, he had made the huge tactical error of inviting Sonya, a lawyer with whom he had worked a couple of times and who had slipped him her card with the explicit invitation for him to call any time, for dinner with them at a French restaurant in Chelsea.

It had not been a success. Sonya had tried too hard to impress by showing just how clever she was and Didi had been polite but distant. Several times Pierre had had to steer the conversation away from work-related issues that seemed numbingly tedious, but whichever direction he had turned Sonya had been determined to prove her worth. She had succeeded, he had thought afterwards, only in showing herself to be egotistical, insensitive and lacking in a sense of humour.

And now here he was. Didi was on her way back to Devon, probably napping in the back of the Bentley because his driver was taking her back. She had had a wonderful time. She had bought two rugs because choosing had been impossible, several spring outfits and little presents for Georgie, which Pierre had darkly imagined her sharing with her new musician boyfriend.

He stood up and glared down at the streets below. Three months! Three months and he was still wondering what she was up to! Except now, of course, he knew. She was showing someone else just what a talented little number she was between the sheets. And, more than that, probably planning all sorts of things together in the future. Engagements, weddings, two point two kids and the pet dog.#p#分页标题#e##p#分页标题#e#

He dropped his head against the glass window and closed his eyes.

When he opened them he had made a decision. He wouldn’t be able to take the Bentley but he wasn’t averse to a spot of public transport. In fact, without having to concentrate on the roads, he would be able to think and he had a hell of a lot to think about, starting with why he had ever let her go and ending with whether he could win her back.

He left straight from his office. Like most aggressive men who felt uncomfortable with inactivity, Pierre was now filled with an urgency to see her. In fact, he would have taken the company helicopter but he couldn’t be bothered with the arrangements and, besides, he really did need to decide what happened next and, worse, what he would do if she slammed the door in his face. A very real possibility considering how patronising he had been towards her at their last meeting.

Several hours later and the train deposited him into a steady drizzle for which he was ill prepared in his white shirt, tie and suit trousers minus the jacket, which might have protected him from the sudden bad weather.

Nerves, which had never been something from which he had suffered, suddenly kicked in and for a few seconds he contemplated turning round and heading back. But only for a few seconds. Then he shrugged off the thought and caught a taxi outside the station straight to her house.

The trip took under fifteen minutes. The joy of a traffic-free zone and he was deposited, in the gathering early evening twilight, right where he had a bird’s eye view of the musician leaving her house. The musician with his dark hair and not a body piercing in sight. In fact very normal garb of pale trousers and a jumper underneath which he was wearing a collared shirt of some description. She didn’t kiss him at the door but she might just as well have. The surge of jealous rage that ripped through Pierre was as savage as if they had made love in front of him.

He stuffed a wad of notes into the taxi driver’s hand and stepped out of the taxi, slamming the door behind him, slamming it so loudly that he could see Georgie look across, startled.

Of course she didn’t shut the door in his face, but he suspected that she might have been tempted to, and to spare them both from that particular temptation he bounded towards her, scowling as she pulled back ever so slightly, though when he was there, standing in front of her, her face was a mask of politeness.