In contrast to such displays, Lucas Mallory strolled out into the glare of the spotlight with the easy, unruffled confidence of a man born to public favour and acclaim.

Everything about him, his firmly upright carriage, the assured lift of his chin, the measured, hunting-cat grace with which he moved, declared that he was sure of his welcome. Without a word having to be spoken he made it plain that he had never doubted for a moment what his reception would be like.

And he was right, of course. The ripple of applause that greeted his appearance swelled in volume as he strolled down the catwalk, growing to a thunderous roar when he came to a halt at the end. From his higher position, he surveyed the crowded room with leisurely nonchalance, a faint smile curving the corners of his beautifully shaped mouth and one dark eyebrow lifting in teasing challenge.

‘Oh, very cool!’ Georgia commented under her breath, her tone a blend of admiration and cynicism.

She was well aware of the fact that ‘Cool’ was reported to be Lucas Mallory’s middle name. Nothing, it was said, but nothing fazed him in any way at all. Even the appalling crash that had almost claimed his life hadn’t stirred a single shining hair on that handsome head.

‘I’m sure that I don’t have to tell you anything about Lucas Mallory.’ On the stage, the auctioneer was warming to her theme. ‘But for those of you who have been asleep for the past ten years or have just flown in from some far distant planet, let me say that the man before you was a World Champion racing driver. He won that accolade three times in succession, and might possibly have achieved a fourth win if it hadn’t been for a run of bad luck that ended in his unexpectedly early retirement.’

Mr Cool hadn’t liked that reference to his 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.’