How humiliating!  Georgette had no choice in the matter.  Her father was furious with her – with some justification -- and in order to get back into his good books, she had to work for the ultimate male chauvinist, Lukas.  Unfortunately, they had met before.    Her only hope was that, with the help of a few useful props, he wouldn’t recognise her.  But then she discovered that they would be sharing a tent… 

George picked up the bag from the desk and turned to go.  Then, with a sudden tremor, she stopped.

The tall figure seemed to fill the doorway.  Cool grey eyes swept the small reception area, impatiently dismissing the airline staff and American tourists eager to be off on safari.  Lukas headed for the desk, totally oblivious of the head-turning ripple that marked his progress across the room.

George watched his progress with apprehension.  She remembered only too well that arrogant, hackle-raising assurance that was making the prickles stir on the nape of her neck.

Ridiculously she wished she’d had time to make herself look a bit more presentable.  Her hair was everywhere, and she cursed her stupid suit to perdition.  At least he would never connect the seductively dressed girl he had placed over his knee with his crumpled mess.  But she grabbed the plain tinted spectacles from her bag and placed them on her nose as an extra precaution.

‘I’m looking for George Bainbridge.  He should have arrived this morning.  Could you page him for me, please?’  The receptionist stared, then giggled.

Lukas had been polite enough, but now he drew straight brows into a frown.  Speaking slowly and carefully, as if she were slow-witted, or could not speak English, he tried again.

‘I am Lukas.  He is expecting me.’  The girl looked at George and as he turned to follow her gaze, George could no longer postpone the moment.  She firmly squashed the butterflies that were beating a tattoo in her abdomen and stepped forward.

‘I think you must be looking for me, Mr Lukas.  I am Georgette Bainbridge,’ she said coolly.  She extended her hand with a confidence she was far from feeling and trusted that he would not notice the slight tremor that seemed, quite suddenly, to have invaded her entire body.

For a long moment he stared at her.  She shifted uncomfortably under his hard, unbelieving gaze.  ‘Everyone calls me George…’  Her voice trailed off uncertainly and she dropped her hand.  He was obviously in no mood to take it.

His eyes travelled slowly from the toes of the plain black calf shoes, taking in the crumpled grey tailored suit and the white silk scarf that she had knotted so flippantly about her throat the night before, but which she was now aware looked merely sad.  She had completed her transformation with a severe bun, from which wisps of hair were untidily escaping, and large tinted spectacles that were left over from the time she had suffered from an unsightly eyes infection.  The effect she had strived for was efficient and businesslike, but after sleeping in her clothes she looked anything but.

George was not unused to men weighing her up, assessing the possibilities, had seen Lukas do it himself.  But he showed no such interest on this occasion.  The curve of his mouth showed nothing but distaste and under his breath he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear, ‘Oh, my dear God.  What on earth have I don to deserve this?’

Stung, George was about to tell him.  She opened her mouth, then remembered her father’s words.  ‘Keep Mr Lukas happy and you’re forgiven.’  She wouldn’t allow this wretched man to ruin her plans. 

From the book AN IMAGE OF YOU by Liz Fielding
ISBN 978-1847829030  (UK)
Imprint: Romance TM
(R) & TM are trademarks of the publisher