“I do want to help you, Miss Dee...
About the Author
Books by Stephanie Howard
Title Page
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
Copyright
“I do want to help you, Miss Dee...
“Put it down to my passion for helping damsels in distress.”
“So, you’re a white knight in disguise? I stopped believing in fairy tales when I was twelve years old.
“But you still believe in monsters?” The deep blue eyes looked steadily into hers. “And though, alas, I’m definitely no white knight, I can help you fight the monster Duval.”
The next moment, she was drowning in the black-fringed blue eyes, feeling the warm physical aura of him wrap around her like an embrace. Jean-Claude Lasalle was clearly under the illusion that all he had to do to win any woman over was just look at her with those wonderful eyes of his and treat her to one of his heart-stopping smiles. And no doubt it usually worked. Women would drop like nine pins at his feet. She’d very nearly dropped herself. it was the raw sexuality of him. Some rare magic he possessed.
Stephanie Howard was bornand brought up in Dundee in Scotland, and educated at the London School of Economics. For ten years she worked as a journalist in London on a variety of women’s magazines, among them Woman’s Own, and was latterly editor of the now-defunct Honey. She has spent many years living and working abroad—in Italy, Malaysia, the Philippines and in the Middle East.
Books by Stephanie Howard
HARLEQUIN ROMANCE®
3373—THE BEST FOR LAST
Don’t miss any of our special offers. Write to us at the following address for information on our newest releases.
Harlequin Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont L2A 5X3
Waiting for Mr. Wonderful!
Stephanie Howard
TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID
PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND
CHAPTER ONE
GEORGIA knew instantly who the dark-haired stranger was, even though she’d never set eyes on him before. It had to be the Frenchman. She was absolutely sure of it. Deep inside, she felt a quick dart of fear.
He was seated on the wooden bench that stood against the front wall of the house beneath a glorious canopy of April-flowering wisteria. And, though it was obvious that he was waiting for her, he appeared not to have noticed her sudden arrival outside the front gate. His head was bent over the newspaper spread out on his knee.
So, for the moment at least, she had the advantage. Squaring her shoulders and taking a deep breath, Georgia pushed the gate open and stepped onto the gravel path.
‘Excuse me. Can I help you?’ Her tone was clipped as she strode towards him. Who did he think he was, making himself at home in her front garden?
He glanced up at once, quickly folding his newspaper and tossing it down beside him on the bench. Then, as though he hadn’t noticed her angry expression, with a slow, lazy smile he began to rise to his feet.
‘Enchanté, mademoiselle. I am Jean-Claude Lasalle.’
The instant he’d glanced up, Georgia had stopped in her tracks, her anger and fear abruptly forgotten. Suddenly, quite unconsciously, she was holding her breath. He was the most gorgeous-looking man she’d ever seen in her entire life.
Somewhere in his mid-thirties, he was tall and muscularly lean. You could sense the whiplash power beneath the expensive-looking blue suit. And he exuded from every pore a poised, raw dynamism that seemed to turn the very air electric. Georgia felt herself shiver. This man had sex appeal to burn.
He started to come towards her. ‘Forgive me for taking the liberty, but the seat looked so inviting and I didn’t really want to wait out in the street.’
As he spoke, Georgia was aware of his eyes travelling over her. Swiftly. Expertly. Taking in every detail. Every nuance and shadow of her pale-skinned oval face with its wide hazel eyes and—in her opinion—over-generous mouth. Every shiny, shoulderlength strand of her mahogany-dark hair.
Devoured in a single glance! I’ll bet he’s even soused that I curl my eyelashes! she thought wryly.
Then as his gaze moved downwards, taking her in from neck to toe, she had the very strong impression that he’d also worked out the fact that beneath her fitted cerise wool suit she was wearing nothing but her underwear!
To her annoyance, she felt a flicker of warmth inside her. Shame on you, Georgia! she said to herself. You ought to be mad at him, but in fact you actually rather enjoyed that!
He stopped right in front of her, extending his hand in greeting, and now it was Georgia’s turn to take a closer look at him—though she was considerably more discreet about it than he’d been! And the first thing she had to acknowledge, though it hardly seemed possible, was that Jean-Claude Lasalle was even more gorgeous up close.
His tanned, sculpted face with its strong nose and well-shaped mouth exuded a vibrant, powerful intelligence, and he had the most remarkable eyes, which at first Georgia had believed to be brown, but which she could see now were an astonishing deep cobalt-blue and fringed with lashes that any woman would envy. His hair, which flopped engagingly over his forehead, was as glossy as silk and as black as a raven’s wing.
She accepted his proffered hand, which clasped hers with strong, cool fingers in a handshake that sent a delicious electric charge up her arm. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ she heard herself say. ‘I’m Georgia Dee.’
‘Yes, I know who you are.’ The blue eyes smiled back at her. ‘I came here in the hope that I might have a few minutes of your time. There’s a rather important matter I’d very much like to discuss with you.’
His English was perfect, enhanced by a delicious French accent, and that lazy, warm smile was as seductive as sin. Georgia looked at him and felt her insides turn to jelly. You can discuss anything you like with me, she almost felt like saying.
Almost.
Mentally, she gave herself a shake. What was she thinking of? Had she forgotten who this man was? Was she out of her mind, allowing herself to be seduced by a handsome face and a far too easy smile? She snatched her hand away and took a couple of steps back as her anger and fear at once flickered back to life.
With suspicious, narrowed eyes, she looked into his face. ‘Was it you who came looking for me this afternoon at my shop?’
Georgia had been out at the time, having a late lunch, but when she’d got back Kay, her assistant, had told her about their mysterious foreign visitor. He hadn’t told Kay why he wanted to speak to Georgia, but Georgia had guessed without too much difficulty. And, for the rest of the afternoon, she’d been unable to think of anything else.
She watched him now, breathing carefully, as he responded. ‘Yes, I did drop in at your shop. As I told your assistant, I planned to return later, but unfortunately I got tied up with other things. So, since I’m rather short of time, I decided to try and catch you here. I figured you’d probably get home from work about now.’
With another quick smile, he answered her unspoken question. ‘It was very easy to find out where you lived. I simply looked up your home address in the phone book.’
‘I see.’ Her growing anxiety made it easy to resist his smile this time. Georgia fixed him with a sharp look. ‘And what’s this matter you wish to discuss
with me? It must, as you say, be important for you to have put yourself to all this trouble.’ In spite of her calm tone, she could feel her heart thumping.
‘It is also rather urgent.’ His expression had grown serious. As he paused, Georgia could feel his eyes scour her face. ‘So let’s not waste any more time. Let’s go somewhere private and discuss it.’
He made as though to step past her and head for the front door of her flat.
‘Just a minute!’ At the harsh note in her voice, Georgia saw him hesitate. ‘This important, urgent matter...does it in any way concern my shop?’ She held her breath, fearing she knew what his answer would be, but praying with every fibre of her being that she was wrong.
She was not wrong. He looked straight at her. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It does.’
The words seemed to hang for a moment in the air, dark and menacing, sending a rush of panic through her. So her tormentors had not given up, after all.
Until Kay had told her about Lasalle’s visit this afternoon, Georgia had dared to believe that all her recent headaches were finally over. It had actually begun to look as though the Paris-based company who, six weeks ago, had begun an all-out campaign to persuade her to sell her thriving little clothes shop had finally accepted that it wasn’t for sale. They would never get their hands on her beloved Georgia D, no matter what dirty tricks they employed.
She took a deep breath and looked Lasalle straight in the eye. ‘In that case, you’ll have to talk to my solicitors.’
Her voice was stiff with contempt as she reeled off their names. On the surface, Lasalle appeared to be a rather different type from the other couple of envoys who’d been sent over to harass her, but beneath the glossy exterior he was no doubt just another thug who took pleasure in bullying a defenceless woman.
‘You’ll have no trouble tracking them down,’ she added with a cool smile. ‘They’re listed in the phone book which you’re already so familiar with. Just give them a ring. I’m sure they’ll be most helpful.’
Dismissively, she turned away, about to stride past him to the front door.
He moved faster than a viper. Before she’d taken a single step, Lasalle was standing in front of her, blocking her path.
‘You surprise me. I had imagined that, considering recent events, you’d be a little more interested in hearing what I have to say.’
Considering recent events. How about that for a perfectly blatant attempt at intimidation? As a couple of those recent events went flashing through her brain—the mysterious fire in the storeroom that had damaged most of her stock, the dispute over her lease that had almost lost her the shop—Georgia felt her contempt for him instantly double.
‘I’m sure my solicitors will be interested.’ She barely glanced at him as she spoke. ‘Give them a ring. Make an appointment to speak to them. But now, if you don’t mind, get out of my way.’
‘It’s not your solicitors I wish to speak to.’ He remained precisely where he was, fixing her with a look that seemed to pierce right through her skull. ‘The person I’ve come here to Bath to speak to, Miss Dee, is you.’
‘That’s really too bad, I’m afraid, Monsieur Lasalle. I don’t waste my time speaking to people like you.’
Her eyes flashed back at him, her cheeks pink with anger. What right did he think he had to take this overbearing attitude?
‘So, what I would suggest is that you move out of my way, now, then just get off my property and go back to wherever it was you came from.’
She’d expected him at least to look a little put out by this attack, which had been delivered in her most lethally cutting tone of voice. But, instead, he simply looked into her furious face and smiled.
One dark eyebrow lifted. ‘Is this,’ he wanted to know, addressing her as though she were some disrespectful child who’d just had the temerity to talk out of turn, ‘the way you generally treat people who are trying to help you?’
‘Help me?’
‘Yes, help you. That is what I’m trying to do.’
This was a new twist. ‘And in what way are you trying to help me?’ Georgia feigned a look of curiosity. What kind of idiot did he take her for?
The cobalt-blue eyes narrowed. ‘You may not be aware of it, but you’re in serious danger of losing your business. I came here to try to help you hang onto it.’
Another new twist. So, he was a white knight come to rescue her? He really must think she was totally naive!
Georgia fixed him with a cool look. ‘That’s terribly decent of you, but it just so happens that I don’t need your help. I’m perfectly capable of hanging onto my business by myself.’
She paused for a moment, then added with a mocking smile, ‘What makes you think I’d fall for a ridiculous story like that, anyway? Why on earth would I believe that you want to help me? Why would you want to do that? You don’t even know me.’
‘Very true. I don’t. But I know a little about you, and I also know something about your situation...’ Before she could butt in and demand to know why he was so interested, he elaborated, a sudden harsh smile on his lips, ‘Actually, I would say I know more about your situation than you do if you seriously believe you can handle this thing yourself.’
‘What thing?’
‘The takeover bid.’
A tingle of fear ran down her spine. Ignoring it, she told him, ‘You’re a little out of date. I have reason to believe that the takeover bid’s been dropped.’
‘Really? Well, it would certainly be nice if you were right. After all your hard work building up your shop from nothing to become one of the most highly regarded fashion shops in the south of England, it would be a tragedy if it were to end up in the hands of someone else. I can appreciate that’s the last thing you’d want to see happen.’
‘You’re dead right. It is. And it’s the last thing that’s going to happen. Nobody’s going to get their hands on my shop.’
He was watching her. ‘I admire your confidence,’ he told her. ‘But alas, I very much fear it’s misplaced.’ He paused. ‘Perhaps you don’t appreciate the full extent of what you’re up against. Duval’s not the kind of man to give up on something he really wants.’
Duval. At the sound of that hated name, quite involuntarily, Georgia’s fists clenched. The owner of the French fashion chain which had been trying to buy her shop, Duval had come personally to pay her a visit once, seeking to win her round with a mixture of promises and veiled threats. And, though she’d no actual proof, she was totally convinced that Duval had been behind the series of events—including the storeroom fire and the wrangle over her lease—which had suddenly started happening after she’d refused to play ball.
Georgia didn’t scare easily, but Duval had scared her. For a time, it had looked as though he might manage to drive her out of business.
She felt a chill touch her skin now as, in a clinical tone, Lasalle spelled out to her, ‘Your shop is perfect for Duval. Just what he’s been searching for to provide him with a foothold so he can start expanding into Britain. And, believe me, he’s absolutely determined to have it.’
‘You would know that, of course.’ Anger and disgust filled her and she made no attempt to keep them from her voice. ‘Since it’s perfectly clear that you’re one of his lackeys. You’re a little different from the others, of course. Not quite so crude. I congratulate Duval on his subtle change of tactics.
‘But it’s not going to work. I’m going to give you exactly the same reply as I gave the others... Go back and tell Duval he’ll never have my shop. And now...’ she tossed her head at him ‘...get out of my way and let me past.’
‘I’m not Duval’s lackey.’
Georgia flicked him a scathing look. My, but weren’t those low-lifes touchy? ‘OK. Employee, then. I’m sorry I trod on a tender nerve. But the message is still the same.’ She glared into his face. ‘And now, for the last time, get out of my way.’
‘I’m not his employee either. I don’t work for Duval. That’s not why I’m here. Like
I told you, I’m here to help you.’
‘Oh, yes. I forgot. And why do you want to help me? You didn’t get round to telling me that.’
‘No, I didn’t. My reasons are not something you need to know. Just be grateful that I do want to help you, Miss Dee—for, believe me, you very much need my help.’ His eyes raked her face, then suddenly he smiled. ‘Put it down to my passion for helping damsels in distress.’
‘So, you’re a white knight in disguise?’ She really was supposed to believe that! ‘Well, I’m sorry, Monsieur Lasalle, but I’m afraid I don’t buy that. I stopped believing in fairy tales when I was twelve years old.’
‘But you still believe in monsters? Having met Duval, you must.’ The deep blue eyes looked steadily into hers. ‘And though, alas, I’m definitely no white knight, I can help you fight the monster Duval.’
There was a silence. Georgia stared at him, suddenly unsure what to believe. There’d been an earnest fless, almost an urgency in his eyes when he’d spoken then. Could he be on the level, after all? Was he really here to help her? Ought she to listen to whatever it was he’d come to say?
He seemed to read her mind. ‘Let’s go inside and talk. It’s important. I know how much your shop means to you.’
‘I doubt that.’
She glanced away. Her shop meant the world to her. For over three years she’d poured herself, body and heart and soul, into making it the runaway success it had become. It was the fulfilment of a dream. A lifetime’s ambition realized. But it was much, much more to her than just a business. It was the means to enable her to pay back those she loved. The thought of losing it and all it stood for made her blood run cold.
Waiting for Mr. Wonderful! Page 1
