Wedding-Night Baby. KIM LAWRENCE
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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