Just Say Yes. Caroline Anderson

with the last remnant of his mind, ‘I don’t know your name.’

      ‘Georgia,’ she said, her voice husky and soft. ‘Georgia Beckett.’

      Beckett. The memory teased at him, just out of reach. ‘Matthew Fraser.’ He held out his hand, wondering if he’d survive the contact, and found her slim, work-roughened little fingers firm against the back of his hand. He dropped it reluctantly, stunned by how good it felt.

      ‘Right, I’ll see you at seven,’ he said.

      ‘I still think it’s a dreadful imposition. I could get a taxi, for heaven’s sake—!’

      ‘And spend the whole evening on your own? How tedious. Anyway, I’m looking forward to it now. Just go and get ready, like a good girl, and I’ll go and harness the chariot.’

      She chuckled, a delicious sound that did strange things to him. ‘All right,’ she said, almost graciously. ‘Thank you.’

      ‘My pleasure.’ He returned her smile, then pocketing his mobile phone, he let himself out, slid behind the wheel of his car and heaved a sigh of relief.

      ‘Thank you, God,’ he said, and couldn’t stop himself from laughing out loud as he drove back down Church Lane towards home. He was about to spend the evening with the most tantalizing woman he’d met in ages. If only he could remember why he knew her and where he had met her before…

      Georgia sat down on the bottom stair and gazed blankly at the front door. How on earth had she talked herself into that? He could be a mass murderer! His name seemed slightly familiar—from the papers? Perhaps he’d got a prison record? He might have swapped the phones on purpose, as part of some deadly plan to find out where she lived and murder her—

      ‘Oh, Georgia, you’ve really lost the plot,’ she said disgustedly, stomping upstairs. ‘Murderer, indeed!’ Although he did have disturbingly piercing eyes…

      ‘You’re mad,’ she told herself, snatching open the wardrobe door and frowning at the contents. ‘Now—what is there? Something demure, simple, elegant—what a dazzling choice.’

      She took out her black dress—her only dress that answered at least some of her criteria—and hung it on the front of the wardrobe. Excellent. Now, shoes, and did she buy a miracle have a decent pair of tights? Glossy, for preference, barely black—

      ‘Aha!’ She snatched the new packet victoriously from the drawer, pulled on her underclothes, dried her hair, slapped on a thin layer of light foundation and did something clever with her eyes to widen them a little. Then a streak of lipstick, a quick smack and wriggle of her lips together to spread it evenly, and she was done.

      Sucking her lips in so they didn’t mark the dress, she shimmied into it, let it settle around her and stood back.

      A slash neck, sleeveless but with shoulders that extended to make tiny capped sleeves, it was cut on the cross and fell beautifully to skitter around her ankles, the heavy crêpe moving sensuously as she turned to check the back.

      Hmm. She sucked in her stomach, eyed herself again and shrugged. So she was a mother. And anyway, they were selling her design services, not her body, she reminded herself for the umpteenth time. A tiny worm of truth told her that it wasn’t the punters at the auction that she was worried about, but the manipulative phone-thief with the cock-eyed grin and the most interesting eyes she’d seen in a long time.

      A little flurry of panic rippled through her—or was it anticipation? What on earth had she been thinking about, letting him talk her into this? All that hogwash about depriving the charity of the money he was prepared to spend—dear me, I must be wet behind the ears, she thought in disgust, but she was smiling anyway.

      She twirled again, sucking in her tummy muscles, and nodded with satisfaction. She slipped her feet into the shoes, winced at the thought of standing for hours on feet that had already done a marathon day, and humming slightly under her breath, she went downstairs.

      Jenny said, ‘Wow!’, Lucy hugged her and said she was beautiful, and Joe said, ‘Go, Ma!’

      Approval? Heavens!

      Now, all she needed was her escort…

      CHAPTER TWO

      IT WAS a glittery do, sprinkled with rich women in mahogany tans and diamonds and not much else, and paunchy men glistening in the heat, their ample middles girdled up in cummerbunds to hide the fact that their trousers were too tight after dinner.

      Still, they were rich, they were going to spend their money in a good cause, and Georgia was just only too glad she was no longer part of that scene. She’d hated it—hated the entertaining for Brian’s clients, hated the strain and pressure he’d put her under, hated the false smiles and backstabbing bonhomie.

      Matthew, on the other hand, seemed to fit right in, except that his dress suit fitted him to perfection, gliding over his broad shoulders and tapering elegantly to his narrow waist and neat hips. The shirt was stark white against his skin, and she would lay odds his bow tie was a real one, not a cheat on a bit of elastic.

      He wasn’t sweating, either, and he looked comfortable and at ease talking to his numerous acquaintances. They’d been seated together at dinner, but she’d been monopolised by the man on her other side, and she’d hardly had a chance to talk to him.

      Pity, but maybe a good thing. He was altogether too interesting for her peace of mind, and when he bent his head closer to some clinging little vine to hear her doubtless inane conversation, Georgia found herself smitten by a wild urge to club him over the head with the nearest chair.

      Jealousy? Good grief! It was years since she’d felt anything, never mind jealousy! And over a total stranger! How perverse.

      How worrying…

      ‘Georgia, my dear, you’re looking lovely!’

      ‘Thank you, Adrian. You’re too kind.’ She looked up into Adrian Hooper’s slightly glazed eyes and dredged up a smile.

      He was the organiser of this shindig, a mover and shaker in local commerce, and she had a lot of respect for him. Unfortunately, he fancied her and it definitely wasn’t mutual. She deftly changed the subject. ‘It’s a good turn-out tonight—all the wallets bulging, I hope?’

      He laughed. ‘One can only hope so, my dear.’ He edged closer, a conspiratorial glint in his eye. ‘By the way, was that Matthew Fraser I saw you with earlier?’

      She was intrigued. ‘Yes—why, do you know him?’

      He threw back his head and laughed. ‘Of course I know him. Heavens, darling girl, everyone knows him! He’s—’

      ‘Adrian, old man, you’re hogging all the talent. Aren’t you going to introduce me?’

      Georgia’s heart sank. Adrian she could cope with, but this man was trying to see through her clothes and it was frankly a little embarrassing. Anyway, she wanted to hear more about Matthew—

      ‘Tim Godbold,’ the man said, sticking out his hand so Georgia had no option but to take it. ‘And you’re the famous Georgia Beckett. My dear, I’m delighted to meet you. Such talent as yours is rare indeed.’

      ‘You’re too kind,’ she said, scraping together a bright smile and wondering when he was going to release her hand from his damp and limpid grip. She eased it away and leant on the table behind her, discreetly wiping her palm on the heavy damask tablecloth. Yuck.

      ‘So what are you here for tonight, Mr Godbold?’ she asked, steering attention back to him.

      ‘Tim, please,’ he demurred with a laugh that she could only describe as intimate. Oh, Lord, she was going to be ill.

      ‘Tim,’ she said with a sickly grin. ‘What are you bidding for?’

      Big mistake.

      ‘Besides