His Reluctant Lover (9 page)

Georgette sat down on one of the hard chairs, taking a deep breath and enjoying the relative silence of Westminster Abbey.  It really was a stunningly beautiful church, she thought.  Taking out her notebook and pencils, she looked around, absorbing the lines, the ceiling and the curves of the archways.  She’d walked around, looked into the many chapels, then took a seat by the wooden choir section. 

While her mind absorbed, her fingers started drawing.  Nothing concrete initially.  She turned the page several times, almost doodling.  This was her process.  She had to get into the mood, into the spirit
of
the church before she could really design something
for
the church. 

But as she continued to doodle, the lines eventually started to take shape.  At first it was only the soft curve of a skirt but that followed the same lines as the stone ceiling with intricate webbing on the skirt.  Then the bodice followed, more curves, more ornate, medieval looking lines. 

By the time she was really into the design, she’d created tight sleeves and a high collar, and then a long, flowing skirt. 

She should have done this weeks ago, she thought.  Her pencil continued to move over the paper, she even flipped the page over to a fresh one and a new design flowed from her mind.  Yes, she should have escaped to Europe last week and then she wouldn’t have met Dylan, she wouldn’t have hurt Charles and she wouldn’t be completely confused about a man who made no sense to her life and what she wanted.  She didn’t want to be attracted to Dylan.  She wanted to marry Charles. 

Well, maybe not Charles.  He was a bit…dull, she finally admitted.  After her conversation with Dylan at the ice cream shop, she had to admit that she wanted to spend her life with someone she could have a real conversation with.  Charles liked numbers.  His life was all about numbers and tax issues, gross contribution, net contribution, indirect expenses and mortgage rates.  So no, there wasn’t a lot of room for other things in his life, so she had to accept that Charles might not be the perfect man for her.  But someone like Charles.  Someone kind and gentle.  Someone who was…safe.

Was that really what she was striving for?  Dylan’s smiling, teasing face came to mind and she hesitated.  But then common sense returned and she shook her head slightly. 

Yes, she wanted someone she wouldn’t care for too deeply.  Because caring meant that she would be hurt when they left. 

Pushing thoughts of her future, Dylan versus Charles and all her romantic fantasies aside, she pushed her mind to focus only on work.  She looked up at the elaborate alter of the ancient abbey with the lovely tile flooring.  Which actually gave her another idea for a dress and she whipped the paper over, her pencil flying across as the tile pattern slowly gave way to a more geometric, modern looking wedding gown.  She smiled as she looked down at this one.  Very avant guard, she thought, instantly liking the way the squares would flow over a woman’s curves, creating almost an optical illusion. 

Six designs later, she packed up her bag, surprised to realize that it was so late.  She exited the abbey with the throngs of other tourists, blinking when she was once more out in the bright sunshine.  Because the abbey was located right across the street from Parliament and Big Ben, the area was filled with tourists and business people rushing about, not to mention all the government workers who were hurrying to their next meeting.  There was a large police presence but they were mostly there to direct traffic and pedestrians.  Oh, and probably to protect the members of Parliament! 

Georgette had just turned towards the Parliament building when a tall, handsome man caught her attention.  Was that…?  She looked to the right where the large male was getting into the back of a black sedan but it was too crowded to get a good glimpse.  Dark hair, impossibly broad shoulders, arrogant angle of the head…

Ridiculous, she thought.  Turning to the left, she laughed slightly, wondering why she’d thought that Dylan could possibly be in London.  How crazy was that? 

She lifted her arm to hail a cab and, when one pulled up to the curb, she slid into the back seat, grateful for the relative cool.  London was experiencing a heat wave which was making the tube dreadfully hot.  She’d ridden the subway earlier today and the underground didn’t have adequate air circulation to deal with the current heat.  Further complicating her visit to London, all she’d packed were clothes for cooler weather so she was more than a little uncomfortable.  She’d have to pick up something different at one of the stores close by her hotel.  There was no way she could get through this weather in what she’d brought.  England was famous for rainy days and cool temperatures.  Why was the thermometer reaching into the high eighties today? 

Dylan’s eyes narrowed as the taxi drove by.  “Stop the car!” he called out to his driver.  Immediately the car stopped and Dylan’s head swung around, trying to capture another sighting of the woman with auburn hair and pale skin.  Georgette had disappeared on him after the ballet and he’d been furious.  If he hadn’t had this meeting in London, he would have hunted her down and demanded that she face up to what was going on between them.  He pictured her hiding in her house with headphones on and her sketch book on her lap, pretending that the world wasn’t passing by while she lived in her boring, tedious world, enduring chaste kisses on the cheek from Charles Henson. 

He didn’t understand her, but he damn well was going to try once he got back to New Orleans. 

Ten minutes later, he walked into The Millennium Bailey’s Hotel in Kensington.  Every time he stepped into the elegant lobby, he pictured a woman in an old fashioned dress, holding a parasol and wearing a pert little hat on her head.  Lately, that head had softly burning, auburn hair and flashing brown eyes. 

Taking the elevator to the top floor, he tore off his jacket to toss it onto one of the plush chairs while dialing a number.  “Any information?” he demanded of his security team.  He’d given them the task of finding his missing southern belle but they weren’t having much luck. 

His head of security was reluctant to convey the news that they still were unable to find any trace of the lovely Georgette Charding.  “Not yet.  We’re checking with neighbors but no one has seen her since before you left.”

He cursed under his breath.  “Get me something!  Fast.” He abruptly disconnected the call.  He was starting to become worried. What if something had happened to her?  She’d rushed out of the theatre and he hadn’t been able to stop her before she dove into a cab.  He didn’t like that she was missing with no one to have seen her since that point. 

Georgette stopped in the middle of the lobby of the old fashioned hotel, staring down the long, narrow hallway.  Those shoulders!  Again!  The man disappeared into the elevator and she thought about rushing over to the front of it so she could see which floor the elevator stopped on.  Was she losing her mind?  Why did her mind keep seeing Dylan in every tall man who walked around London? 

Shaking her head, she took the stairs, focusing on the red carpet and the smooth, dark wood bannister.  She refused to let her mind conjure up any more “Dylan” sightings.  She was either losing her mind, or she was so desperate to see him again that she was making every man look like him.  Either way, it wasn’t healthy.

When she walked into her hotel room, she felt so much better.  Air conditioning!  It was heavenly, Georgette thought.  She dropped her leather purse onto the chair, then flopped onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling.  She hadn’t run away to Europe just to get away from him.  This trip had been planned, just not so immediately. 

As she continued to stare at the ceiling, her innate sense of honesty and fairness kicked in. 

She’d run away. 

Georgette hated to admit that because it showed a fear that she didn’t want to have.  But it was true.  Dylan scared her so much that she’d left on a trip to get away from him.  Unfortunately, it hadn’t worked.  The horrible man had gotten under her skin with his sexy, adorable half smile, his shocking wit and those…kisses. 

She sighed and rolled over, trying to bury her face in one of the down pillows.  She shouldn’t be this desperate for a man!  Especially a man who could hurt her so painfully.  She had to stop thinking about him.  And she really had to stop dreaming about him!  Those dreams!  She bit the corner of the pillow, then released it when she realized what she was doing. 

Why was this happening to her?  Why couldn’t she control her need?  Why couldn’t her body just be satisfied with Charles? 

Rolling back over, she looked again at the ceiling, trying to find answers.  But all her mind wanted to do was imagine Dylan without a shirt on.  Was he really as muscular as he felt under her fingers?  Did he have chest hair?  Probably a lot, she thought.  She hoped not.  She knew some women liked a huge pelt of hair but she preferred just a sprinkling of hair.

She laughed out loud, the sound breaking the silence of the room.  “Like you have had a lot of experience with different levels of chest hair!” she said to herself, then sat up and jumped into the shower.  She had to get a grip, to calm down and focus on work.  She had to create new designs and usually she was able to come up with several that would work.  She just had to focus on work and not on a handsome, too tall, too muscular and too annoying man. 

She’d just have an early dinner then go to bed with her sketch book.  She hadn’t been sleeping well over the past week, her mind coming up with dreams of making love with Dylan.  But she kept waking up in the middle of the night with the sheets tangled around her legs and her body overheated from the dreams.  Dreams in which she couldn’t find fulfillment.  Dreams where she wouldn’t let herself finish what they were doing. 

She slipped on her only sleeveless dress, a simple pair of heels and a touch of makeup.  Grabbing her leather bag, she walked back down the hallway and stairs to the hotel restaurant.  She’d just eat alone and get some work done before having an early night.  Maybe if she had a glass of wine, she would sleep better and wouldn’t dream about Dylan tonight. 

A wicked thought popped into her mind.  Maybe if she had that glass of wine, she would sleep long enough to finish the dream!  She shivered with anticipation at the thought.  Goodness, she wouldn’t let herself go through with it in real life but wouldn’t it be nice to just…finish the fantasy? 

Entering the hotel bar, she was impressed with the décor.  It wasn’t the normal pub style.  This bar had dark purple walls with interesting wall sconces and dramatic chandeliers.  The low tables were surrounded by comfortable chairs instead of the artsy, uncomfortable perches some bars displayed.  The music was a bit louder than she would prefer, but that was okay.  She wanted to relax and the jazzy music suited her mood. 

“A glass of chardonnay,” she said as the waiter arrived to take her order. 

Dylan heard the voice and his whole body froze.  He’d come downstairs for a drink before he had to leave for his dinner appointment.  But hearing that voice, the unmistakable southern drawl aligned with the familiar husky sound, his mind and his libido went into overdrive. 

She was here! 

He almost laughed out loud, thinking that she’d run away from him after the theatre only to run right to the city he was in.  How serendipitous.   

Turning around, he looked at the restaurant which was just on the other side of a fireplace that separated the bar from the diners.  “You’ve got to be kidding,” he murmured under his breath.  He almost laughed again, but refrained, afraid of startling the lovely woman dressed all in conservative black. 

“Hennessey,” he said to the bartender, then leaned against the side, surveying the woman who had escaped him.  Well, not really escaped since she was sitting right there, looking lovelier than any woman he’d ever observed. 

With her legs crossed, they looked to be miles long.  She didn’t even have to wear high heels to make those legs look long.  They were stunning.  His eyes traveled upwards, enjoying the way the black material tried to hide those breasts.  But they were too large, too full.  And her waist was too tiny.  Nothing could hide the fullness of those luscious breasts. 

He took a sip of the liquor, feeling the burn all the way down his throat.  Taking out his cell phone, he texted the man he was supposed to meet, telling him that an emergency had just come up and he’d have to cancel.  When he was finished, he looked back at the woman, enjoying the drink and her loveliness. 

She was drawing, her eyes flashing and he wondered if she knew how those red lips twitched when she sketched.  It was obvious when she liked what she was drawing because her lips smiled slightly.  Damn, those lips were enticing!

Time to move in, he told himself. 

Georgette’s pencil scraped across the page when the large, male frame sat down across from her. 

Looking up, she gasped when she recognized Dylan’s handsome smile. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.  He wasn’t supposed to be in London!  She blinked, thinking she’d simply conjured him up in her imagination because she’d been thinking about him so often over the past couple of days. 

But no, it wasn’t just her imagination.  He was here.  He was sitting across the table from her! 

Dylan noticed the small things about her now.  Her breathing increased, he noticed her breasts, and those delicious nipples pressing against her dress, telling him all that he needed to know.