The Man Who Saw Her Beauty. Michelle Douglas

smile grew, and she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. ‘By taking on the role of her fundraising manager. By co-ordinating and directing all her fundraising efforts.’

      Nick’s jaw dropped. ‘You can’t expect me to …’ He let the sentence trail off. The pictures rising in his mind were too hideous to put into words. Him get involved in the dog-eat-dog world of a beauty pageant?

      She sent him a pitying glance. ‘Oh, no, Nicholas. I expect a whole lot more than that.’

      His stomach clenched to hard ball of lead. ‘More?’ he croaked.

      ‘But fundraising manager will do for a start.’

      He wouldn’t know where to begin.

      ‘You were serious weren’t you? About making it up to Stevie?’

      ‘Yes, but …’

      ‘Words are cheap.’

      He saw then that she was right. He could repeat over and over again until he was blue in the face that he had faith in her, he could say it till the cows came home—and he would the moment he got home—but the only way to truly reassure Stevie, to prove that he believed in her, was to support her in a material way. Like co-ordinating her fundraising efforts.

      On the up side, being involved did mean he’d have a chance of protecting her against the more unsavoury aspects of the pageant, the competitiveness and bitchiness and constant undermining of one’s self-esteem …

      ‘It looks as though you have yourself a deal, city girl.’ He could have sworn, though, that when he extended his hand she was curiously reluctant to take it.

      Blair might act all haughty and aloof, but somehow he knew he’d needled his way in under her skin. The thought made him grin. It made him hold her hand for longer than custom demanded.

      When he finally released her the colour in her cheeks was high and a purely masculine satisfaction settled in the pit of his stomach.

      Game on.