last, disastrous year in Grand Prix racing, Georgia reflected, seeing the tiny frown that creased the space between the straight, black brows. Clearly he would much rather have retired with yet another golden prize under his belt instead of being forced out of the competition by a string of problems and near disasters that made it seem as if his legendary luck had finally deserted him.
‘But since then he has not been content to rest on his laurels. Instead, he has turned his attention to business, making a second fortune restoring and selling classic cars. So you can see that the woman who makes the winning bid tonight will be a lucky lady indeed. In fact, I can only bemoan the fact that I am not allowed to take part in this particular auction!’
The look the elegant brunette turned on Lucas Mallory could only be described as idolatrous, and Georgia felt a twist of deep cynicism as she saw the man at the end of the catwalk respond with a smile of megawatt brilliance that was clearly designed to have her, and every other woman in the room, melting into a warm pool at his feet.
That smile would get him anything, or anyone, as poor Kelly knew to her cost. For a couple of seconds the memory of her friend’s distress blurred Georgia’s hazel eyes and she had to shake her head firmly, sending her smooth mane of coppery coloured hair flying round her fine-boned face as she tried to drive the image from her mind.
She needed to concentrate on the plan that had brought her here tonight. Any thought of the callous way this man had behaved towards Kelly would only distract her from her purpose.
‘But I’m sure you’re anxious to get this part of the auction under way, so would anyone like to start the bidding?’
There was no shortage of volunteers, enthusiastic hands shooting up all around the room, but Georgia kept her own carefully manicured fingers firmly in her lap.
Steady, she warned herself, you don’t want to look too eager.
That was not the impression she wanted to give at all. And besides, she could afford to wait, to let others increase the price until some of them were forced to drop out.
Lucas Mallory, too, seemed quite content to wait. He looked perfectly at ease even in the glare of the spotlight, hands pushed deep into the pockets of the perfectly tailored black trousers he wore with an equally elegant dinner jacket and immaculate white shirt.
But of course the spotlight was his natural habitat. He had hardly been out of it at any point during the past ten years. If the tabloid press hadn’t been reporting his explosive success on the race track, then it had been the equally dramatic nature of his private life that had grabbed their interest.
The latter seemed to consist of a series of high-profile romances alternating with even more public break-upsif ‘romances’ was the right word. Certainly his associations could never be described as relationships, none of them seeming to last long enough to do more than register on the public awareness before they were unceremoniously discarded and Lucas Mallory moved on to pastures new.
‘Mallory’s Moppets, we’re known as.’ Kelly’s voice, shaking with bitterness, sounded inside her head. ‘Or the Pit Stop Popsies. At least, the ones who get as far as a date are called that! There’s another, even less flattering term that’s used for the others—the ones like me. I barely had a chance to warm his sheets before he pushed me out the door. The proverbial one-night stand, that’s me!’
‘But why did you let it happen?’ Georgia hadn’t been able to hide her concern. ‘Don’t you have any more respect for yourself than that? Why didn’t you just say no?’
‘Say no!’ her friend had echoed, rolling her eyes dramatically to emphasise just what she thought of that suggestion. ‘Georgie, no one says no to Lucas Mallory, at least, no woman with red blood in her veins! He is gorgeous, the sexiest thing on two legs ever to walk this earth.’
And, in spite of feeling decidedly prejudiced against the man on the stage, Georgia had to admit that even ‘gorgeous’ was rather too restrained a term to describe someone like him. It implied the sort of conventional, almost pretty-boy looks that turned actors into movie stars. Lucas Mallory had features that were too strong, a bone-structure that was too harsh for such a glamorous appeal.
But when those strong-boned looks were teamed with hair that gleamed like polished jet and eyes that seemed, from this distance at least, to be almost equally dark, the impact this man had was like a blow to the soul. With square, powerful shoulders and a tall, leanly muscular frame that carried not even an ounce more in weight than when he had earned his living as a trained sportsman, then ‘devastating’ was probably far nearer the mark.
And he was absolutely perfect for what she wanted. He was all male, a modern day macho hero to his fingertips, and a self-made man as well. Oh, yes, her father would love Lucas Mallory.
‘Any more? Would anyone like to raise.?’
Coming back to reality with a sense of shock, Georgia realised that she had been preoccupied for far longer than she had imagined. Already the bidding had slowed, the price having reached a total at which most of the interested parties had had to drop out. It was time to make a move.
‘Going once.going twice.’
Georgia raised her hand. Her action caused a buzz of interest from the audience, who had believed the sale to be almost over.
‘And a hundred,’ she said firmly.
For a couple of minutes she had a battle on her hands. One determined woman on the other side of the room matched each increase she made, but then, reluctantly, she had to drop out, shaking her head regretfully.
‘Sold!’ The gavel came down on the table with a bang. ‘Sold to Georgia Harding—you lucky thing! Please see Emily to pay, Georgie.’
Smiling to herself in satisfaction, Georgia got to her feet just as Lucas Mallory’s dark eyes scanned the room, seeking out the person who had finally bought twenty-four hours of his time. As that alert, intent gaze rested on her for a moment some uncharacteristic imp of mischief urged her into action. Picking up her wine glass, she raised it in a mocking toast.
But the teasing gesture rebounded on her with a vengeance a moment later as the dark, sleek head inclined in sardonic acknowledgement of her salute. In the same instant, she saw the black eyes slide deliberately from the top of her shining red-gold head and down over her body to the smart Italian sandals whose slender, twoinch heels took her height to an impressive near six feet.
The coolly insolent survey was so blatantly sensual that she felt irritation prickle over her skin, a spark of anger flashing in her changeable eyes. From his behaviour, anyone would have thought that she was the slave and Lucas Mallory her lordly purchaser.
For a brief moment, gripped by blind fury, she was strongly tempted to declare that she had changed her mind. Let someone else put up with this man’s arrogant assumption that any female must be putty in his hands!
But then common sense reasserted itself. After all, he was perfect, and once she had handed over her money he would be hers for the twenty-four hours that she needed him. After that, she would be only too pleased to see the back of him.
She was at the treasurer’s table, signing her cheque with a firm, decisive hand, when some change in the atmosphere around her, an intuitive shiver of awareness over her skin, alerted her. She just had time to draw a deep, calming breath before the man who had come up behind her spoke.
‘Miss Harding?’
It was a very attractive voice, low and pleasant. There was nothing in it to disturb her, but all the same she felt the tiny hairs at the nape of her neck lift in nervous response. Slowly she turned to face him, switching on a smile that was pure politeness, with no real warmth in it at all.
‘Yes?’
Those eyes weren’t actually black, she realised, seeing them properly for the first time. Instead, they were the deepest grey she had ever seen, dark and spectacular, like the rest of him. Her mind registered his impressive height and powerful build with an almost shocking