Bedded at the Billionaire's Convenience(9)

But it didn’t seem quite right to talk about anything serious while he was concentrating on driving through London. In fact, it barely seemed comfortable to talk at all, and she was quite happy to stare out of the window and watch the streets of London crawl by.

The few times she glanced over to him, she felt her heart begin to pound harder in her chest. His profile, perfectly etched, was grimly forbidding. No wonder people quailed in his presence, she thought. He had probably specialised in fear induction at university, along with economics, law and politics.

His house was in Chelsea and Georgie, who knew absolutely nothing of London, could tell at a glance that it would have carried an almighty price tag. Maybe it was the rarity of the square around which fanned out the crescent of tall, red bricked Victorian buildings, each identical with their impeccable façades, their little steps leading up to front doors and their ornate black railings. Despite being in the very heart of fashionable London, the area still managed to exude quiet, secluded privacy.

Or maybe it was the tell-tale display of expensive cars parked outside.

‘It’s lovely here, Pierre,’ Georgie said, to break the silence which was beginning to stretch like elastic between them. ‘Very quiet…in fact, does anyone actually occupy these houses? I see cars and a few lights behind windows, but where is everyone?’ She laughed nervously as he opened the front door.

‘This isn’t a small village in Devon, Georgie.’ Pierre turned to her briefly. ‘Neighbours don’t waste hours chatting over the garden fence.’

‘You’d be surprised what a person can find out over a garden fence.’

‘Really? Not much of interest to me, I don’t think.’

‘Well no, I guess not. I mean, we don’t make idle chat about the stock market or the latest takeover bids in the private sector.’ The last time Georgie had met one of Pierre’s girlfriends, she had been subjected to a long and sleep inducing conversation about the wonders of the New York stock exchange, where, apparently, the woman had worked for three years before returning to London to head the futures department of an investment bank. Georgie could remember nodding a lot but really just wanting to chew her own arm off in boredom and frustration at the other woman’s patronising attitude.

‘No.’ Pierre pushed open the front door and preceded her into his hallway. ‘Why break out of the mould when it’s so much easier to just pass the time of day talking about local gossip and the farming industry?’

‘Why are you so…so…arrogant, Pierre?’

He tossed his keys on the small console table in the hall and ignored her. ‘Close the door behind you, Georgie. I’ve just about got time to offer you a cup of coffee, or something stronger if you want, although, if I recall, you prefer to keep clear of that evil stuff. Then I’m going to have to change.’ He glanced over his shoulder with a small frown. ‘Where do you intend to stay tonight?’

Georgie was busy having a thorough look at his house, or at least what she could see of it. It wasn’t quite what she had expected. She had expected something cold and minimalist, a bit like the man himself, but it was a surprisingly warm place. The entrance hall was tiled, but the colours were strong and earthy, reds and terracottas and blues and creams. There were paintings on the wall, recognisable rural scenes, and the banister leading up to the first floor was gleaming oak.#p#分页标题#e##p#分页标题#e#

‘Well?’ he demanded and she reluctantly tore her inquisitive eyes away from the rest of her surroundings.

‘I didn’t really think about it.’ Georgie shrugged. ‘Actually, I thought I might have arrived in London a lot earlier, but there were delays at every stage. Still. I guess I could travel back tonight or else maybe you could point me in the direction of a cheap and cheerful bed and breakfast? If you know where one might exist?’

Pierre leaned against the doorframe and looked at her through narrowed eyes but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he turned on his heel and disappeared through the doorway so that Georgie was obliged to follow him, though very slowly because she had no intention of rushing her inspection of his house.

There were two rooms on either side of the generous hall and she could make out cool creams in one and in the other what appeared to be a fully operational office, complete with all the gadgetry of the twenty-first century, although the walls were lined with books and the Oriental carpet extending across most of the floor lent it an intimate, cosy atmosphere.

‘In your own time!’