British Bachelors: Rich and Powerful
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She wasn’t a virgin, but apart from the unfortunate encounter with her ex-boss she hadn’t had sex for a long time, and her feminine muscles were tighter than she’d imagined they would be. Consequently she felt every exquisite inch of her lover. And now, even though there was no question that Drake desired and wanted her, insecurity surfaced. She had so little experience in knowing how to please a man. What if their lovemaking didn’t live up to his expectations? What if she disappointed him?
Seconds later both those unhelpful thoughts flew instantly from her mind as he started to move faster and more rhythmically inside her and she automatically wrapped her arms round his strongly corded neck to hold on. Making love with Drake was like riding the most tumultuous exhilarating wave, Layla thought.
As the inflammatory silkily hot sensations building inside her went way beyond the point where she could control them she dug her fingernails into his hard-muscled back and cried out as wave after wave of erotic velvet heat consumed her. With a deep guttural groan, and the light lustre of perspiration standing out on his handsome forehead, Drake suddenly stilled, and she knew that he too had reached the sensual pinnacle of their impassioned union.
Her heart leapt when he didn’t immediately move away, as she’d thought he might. Instead he leant forward and, with his face just bare inches from hers—so close that she could almost count every lustrous dark eyelash that swept over his dazzling silver gaze—said, ‘You may not have a lot of experience, my angel, but when it comes to satisfying a man’s desire, trust me—you have everything that’s needed and much more besides.’ He finished this comment with a sexy boyish grin that all but stopped her heart.
‘You’re not so bad yourself.’ She smiled.
After dropping a warm and lazy kiss on her surprised mouth, he lay down with his head between her breasts and trailed his fingers gently up and down her bare arm. Revelling in his deliciously erotic male scent, and the weight of his hard, lean body pressing her firmly down into the mattress, Layla resolved to memorise every moment of this ardent union with Drake—knowing that whatever happened to her in the future she would never forget it …
The second time they made love that night it was no less passionate, but the caresses on both sides were infused with tenderness and much more considered. To Layla’s delight, Drake paid particular attention to ensuring she received just as much pleasure and satisfaction as he did—if not more—and in turn she loved the fact that her intuition and desire led her to discovering just where and how he liked to be touched. In that discovery all her doubts about knowing how to please him disappeared.
Afterwards, they fell asleep in each other’s arms in the softly illuminated lamplit room.
After waking in the middle of the night because she was in need of the bathroom, Layla quickly returned to the sumptuous dishevelled bed she had so briefly vacated and switched off the lamps on the gleaming walnut cabinets that stood either side of it. The room was plunged into a near pitch-black darkness that was punctuated by the sound of Drake’s gentle breathing. He appeared to be in the deepest of slumbers.
Pleased at the thought that their lovemaking had helped him to relax, she snuggled down beside him, gently laid her arm across his abdomen and closed her eyes.
What could have been no more than a few minutes later, she found her arm violently pushed aside with an anguished shout.
‘Drake, what is it?’ Her hand quickly fumbling for the light switch on the lamp next to her, Layla pushed up into a sitting position as once again the room was suffused with a softly diffused glow.
Hearing the laboured breathing of the man lying by her side, she saw with a start that his brow was studded with perspiration, almost as though he was sweating out a fever. When he turned his head to look at her she saw that his wide-eyed gaze was nothing less than terrified. In the depths of his haunted grey eyes she saw the pain and horror of a man who had been shown a devastating glimpse of hell and believed himself to be trapped in that realm, perhaps for ever.
Leaning towards him, she cautiously touched his shoulder, softly murmuring, ‘You must have had a nightmare … a bad dream. But it’s gone now, Drake. You’re safe and here with me. There’s nothing to worry about, I promise.’
In response, he shrugged off her hand and roughly drove his fingers through his hair. Then he sat up. After that he simply fell into a kind of stunned trance, remaining mute. His harsh breaths continued for several more seconds before eventually returning to a more regular rhythm.
Still staring straight ahead of him he spoke. And his voice sounded as if it scraped over gravel when he declared suddenly, ‘You turned out the lights.’
Tugging the silk counterpane protectively up over her breasts, Layla felt inexplicable fear wash over her like an icy river. The statement had sounded like an accusation. ‘I did it automatically … when I returned from the bathroom.’
‘I don’t sleep with the lights out … ever.’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know that. If it makes things more comfortable for you, I can sleep in one of your guest rooms for the rest of the night, if you like?’
The scowl on his handsome face as he turned towards her was forbidding. ‘No! I don’t want that.’
Layla’s blood ran cold for a second time. ‘All right, then, I’ll—I’ll stay here with you.’
‘I’m sorry, Layla. I’m sorry if I scared you.’ He grimaced.
‘It must have been a terrible dream. Do you think that you could tell me about it?’
Although his troubled expression had started to ease a little, Drake stared at her as if once again cornered by something frighteningly threatening. ‘Please don’t ask me. It’s not something I feel ready to share and I don’t know if I ever will.’
‘This is one of those places you don’t want me to go? Is that what you’re telling me?’
He nodded and looked desolate for a moment, and although she desperately wanted to know Layla knew this wasn’t the time to enquire more deeply into why he didn’t sleep with the lights off. What he needed right now was unquestioning understanding, she decided, and maybe some consolation as well. Nightmares could disturb the strongest of characters.
Pushing aside the silk counterpane, she moved towards him, cupped his jaw, then tenderly kissed him on the mouth. It was like touching flame to dry tinder, and straight away the heat that flared between them made him haul her onto his lap so that her thighs spread over his, and the clash of lips, teeth and tongues became even more urgent and demanding.
When Drake moved his hands to her hips to position her over his already hard member, then pushed up inside her, Layla threw back her head and let loose a deep throated groan. She was still a little tender from their previous energetic coupling, but in a way this raw and elemental coming together was even more inevitable and necessary than both those occasions—because right now Drake really needed her. And for the first time in her life she discovered that she finally knew what it was to really need a man too …
As he started to move more deeply inside her his palms hungrily cupped and kneaded her breasts. Every now and then his fingers and thumbs tugged at her rigid nipples, sending fiery heat directly to her womb. With her tousled dark hair falling around her face Layla stared back into his blazing lustful glance, her heart pounding so hard it was difficult to think straight. But most of all she was struck dumb by the sheer intensity of the feelings she saw reflected in his eyes.
‘You are one seriously sexy and beautiful woman,’ he declared huskily, his breathing ragged with unashamed need and desire.
Leaving her breasts, his hands reached up to pull her face down to his. Just as their lips made contact she sensed him buck beneath her, and even as he kissed her it was with a mixture of shock and pleasure that she registered the hot liquid heat that spurted into her womb. But there was barely time to contemplate the event because in the very next moment her own climax burst upon her. Freeing her lips from his still demanding mouth and oh-so-seductive moist tongue, she let her head fall against Drake’s hard-muscled shoulder with a breathless gasp that was quickly followed by several more …
CHAPTER EIGHT
LAYLA was taking a shower and washing her hair. Having left her with one of his finest cotton shirts to replace the pretty blouse he had ripped open last night, Drake had nipped out to a local French patisserie to buy warm croissants and a pot of speciality fruit jam for them to enjoy with their morning coffee. Even as his mind teemed with provocative detailed reruns of the events of last night his body throbbed from the passionate lovemaking they had shared. He’d had little sleep, God knew, but this morning he felt on top of the world.
But as he let himself back inside the house, then made his way into the kitchen, it hit him like a steel wave crashing into his gut—how he had awoken in the suffocating dark and for chilling seconds been plunged back into the nightmare of his childhood.
Reaching for the kettle, he witnessed his hand shake slightly and cursed furiously. He still didn’t know why Layla hadn’t pressed him more for an explanation. Under the circumstances she’d had a perfect right to. What must she have thought when he’d told her that he never slept without the lights on?
He caught his breath when he remembered what she had done instead of probing him for answers. With her beautiful body moving over him, taking him to heaven instead of hell, Drake had quickly forgotten his nightmare of being locked in his bedroom in the dark and then hearing the slamming of the door that told him his father had gone out to the pub.
Even when his father had returned he’d never come up to unlock his son’s door or check if he was okay. No, Drake would be forced to stay there until he’d cried himself to sleep.
Needing to shake off the hurt that suffused him at the memory, he filled the kettle from a filtered water jug and pressed the switch for it to boil. Then he measured generous spoonsful of aromatic coffee grounds into a cafetière and arranged the warm croissants he’d bought on two patterned side plates. As he reached into the fridge for some milk, another disturbing realisation stopped him in his tracks. Instead of cursing, this one made him shut the fridge door dazedly and stand there shaking his head in wonder and disbelief.
Caught up in the vortex of uncontrollable need and lust last night, along with the fantasy that maybe Layla was the woman who really could help put an end to his nightmares and loneliness for good, if she genuinely grew to care for him, he hadn’t given a thought to using protection. And, having not had sex for a long time until her boss had so deviously seduced her by plying her with drink, he doubted very much that Layla was on the pill. In which case it was entirely possible that Drake had made her pregnant. If such an event occurred then it was the most reckless act he’d committed since he’d left his teenage years behind and become a man.
‘Hello, again … Are you making coffee, by any chance?’
Standing in the doorway with a shaft of sunlight playing upon her newly washed dark hair, wearing Drake’s too-large pristine white shirt over fitted blue jeans, his ravishing lover took his breath away. It struck him that he’d never seen a woman look more beautiful or desirable as Layla did right then.
As he moved towards her his heart skipped a beat. ‘Hi. Not only am I making coffee, but I’ve been out to buy us some croissants and fruit preserve too.’
Walking into his arms as though it was the most natural thing in the world for her to do, she teased, ‘You must be trying to win the Most Considerate Man of the Year award, then. Don’t worry, as far as I’m concerned you’ve already won the prize.’ Reaching up and kissing him on the mouth, she glanced up at him from beneath her lustrous dark lashes and blushed charmingly.
Drake chuckled. ‘Ain’t that the truth …? I certainly have won the prize.’ As his arms tightened a little more round her slender hourglass waist, he smiled. ‘By the way, I’m never going to wash that shirt of mine again when you give it back.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it will have the scent of your very sexy body all over it … From now on it’s elevated to being my favourite item of clothing.’
‘Well, on that rather provocative little note, I think we should sit down and partake of those delicious-looking croissants you’ve bought … of course that’s as soon as you get your act together and make the coffee, Mr Ashton,’ she added mischievously.
As she extricated herself from his arms to move towards the table he caught hold of her hand and, lifting it to his lips, reverently kissed her fingers.
‘What was that for?’
‘Do I need a reason other than that I simply felt like it?’ Feeling his heart swell with the kind of addictive warmth he couldn’t ever remember feeling before, Drake kept a hold of Layla’s hand, reluctant to let it go. ‘That’s not strictly true. I just wanted to thank you for last night … for understanding.’
It was a relief to him to know that he didn’t have to say any more than that, because staring back into her compassionate brown eyes he knew no other explanation was necessary … at least for now.
‘I hated seeing you so distressed. Whatever horrors you were dreaming about, I just wanted to try and help you forget them.’
‘Trust me …’ He grinned. ‘You did.’
As he released her hand so he could return to the counter and make the coffee Layla frowned and briefly touched his arm, indicating that she wanted to extend their little discussion. ‘Drake?’
‘What is it?’
‘Last night when we—when we made love again … we didn’t use protection.’
‘I was standing here thinking about that just before you came in.’ He rubbed his hand round his chiselled jaw and grimaced. ‘I’m usually much more careful about such things, but I’m afraid that the power of events rendered my common sense obsolete.’ As if subconsciously illustrating the fact, he moved his heated glance helplessly up and down her figure. ‘I definitely wasn’t thinking straight, that’s for sure. It’s understandable that you’ve been worrying yourself sick.’
‘What happened wasn’t just down to you, Drake.’ Shrugging a rueful shoulder, Layla nonetheless made her gaze direct as she levelled it at him. ‘You weren’t the only one who wasn’t thinking straight. But I’m going to have to find the nearest chemist when we’ve finished our breakfast, so that I can buy an emergency contraceptive pill.’
Drake didn’t know why, but a deeply unsettled feeling swept through him. If he had to analyse it he’d probably describe it as a sense of indignant protest … as if something he hadn’t even known was precious was being threatened and being taken away from him.
‘Anyway, I’ll have my breakfast and then head out and find a chemist. Do you know if there’s one nearby?’
Clenching his jaw a little, he answered soberly, ‘There is. Don’t worry. I’ll take you there.’
‘Thanks.’ Lowering her glance, she wrapped her arms protectively round her chest, as though perturbed. Then she silently made her way over to the table and sat down.
Right then Drake couldn’t find the courage to ask her why she suddenly looked so sad …
The day was surprisingly fair, and they agreed to kick off their weekend break with a visit to one of the capital’s well-known art galleries. They were running separate exhibitions by two influential British artists whose work Layla and Drake both admired and were keen to view. But as they walked slowly through the lofty wooden-floored galleries with the same reverential sense of visitors to a hushed cathedral, the morning-after pill that Layla had purchased from the chemist all but burned a guilty hole in her coat pocket.
Between them they seemed to have made an unspoken agreement not to discuss the topic again, and certainly Drake hadn’t suggested she take the contraceptive straight away. It was probably utter madness, and Layla didn’t know why she should be so hesitant in swallowing the pill with the mineral water she’d purchased. Except that if she was really honest with herself she did know why. Since last night her heart had been full of a passionate romantic longing she couldn’t seem to control, and as she walked round the gallery with her hand firmly encased in her handsome companion’s it just grew stronger and stronger.
What would it be like to be the mother of this enigmatic man’s child? she wondered. Would he adore his son or daughter as much as Layla undoubtedly knew she would? There was still so much about Drake that she didn’t know—places that he’d warned her to stay away from … It had crossed her mind more than once today that the nightmare he’d had last night probably involved some disturbing memories from his past. What were they? He’d told her yesterday that he hadn’t known much joy in the house where he’d grown up, only sorrow. If only she could persuade him to share some of the experiences that haunted him it might help dispel the hold they had on him.
Stopping in front of a jolting ‘warts and all’ self-portrait of the artist whose work they were viewing, Layla stared back into bottomless blue eyes that seemed so full of pain and regret and desires left unfulfilled and expelled a helpless sigh of commiseration.
Turning his head to study her, Drake was immediately concerned. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘He looks like such a tormented soul, bless him.’
‘By all accounts he was. A latter-day Van Gogh who was plagued by depression and eventually took his own life. But at least while he lived he did what he loved.’
‘I suppose we should thank God for small mercies. Do you still love what you do, Drake?’
‘Of course.’
There was no hesitation in his answer, and Layla was pleased that at least there was one area of his life where unhappiness and a sense of isolation didn’t dog him as she was beginning to guess it often did. ‘Did you ever do any drawing or painting as a child?’ she asked conversationally.
A shadow immediately stole across his face. ‘Only when I was at school.’
‘And did you enjoy it?’
A corner of his mouth quirked, nudging an engaging dimple in the side of his cheek and dispelling the shadow she’d glimpsed. ‘I did. Turns out that I had a bit of a talent for it … I guess it was the precursor of my love of designing houses—which is why I chose architecture as a career. I suppose, as well, I always believed that our homes should be beautiful, and if I designed them I could make them as beautiful as I wanted.’
‘That’s a lovely intention. You never drew or dabbled with paints at home?’
‘No.’
It was a flat no, without any suggestion or possibility of further elucidation, Layla realised.
‘Didn’t you want to?’ she ventured.
Her companion stayed worryingly silent.
‘Clearly this must be another one of those places that I’m not supposed to go, then?’ She couldn’t prevent the note of exasperation that crept into her voice.
He lifted a dark eyebrow and lightly shook his head. ‘My home-life was hardly conducive to having the freedom to draw or experiment with paint or colour. That’s all I’ll tell you for the time being. Perhaps we can talk about this later? Right now I think we should just enjoy the art, don’t you? After all, it’s what we came for.’
Although Drake’s response might not be as warm as she could wish, it did stir a faint hope in her that at last he was coming round to the idea of discussing his past with her.
For some reason all of a sudden she couldn’t abide the thought of the all-important pill burning a hole in her pocket. What was she thinking of, delaying taking it? She wasn’t an immature teenager, for goodness’ sake! She was a fully-grown woman and the situation called for her to be sensible and realistic.
What on earth had possessed her to become so entranced by the crazy notion of having Drake’s baby? They weren’t in a committed relationship. She worked in a low-paid job in a café, and Drake had an important commission to help regenerate their underachieving impoverished town and help set it on its feet again. The last thing he or she needed was to be faced with the prospect of having a baby. Add to this the fact that they’d only known each other for the shortest time, and this sizzling sexual heat they had for each other would likely burn itself out very soon, and it simply confirmed that her decision to take the damn pill was absolutely the right one. Anything else was simply delusional … perhaps dangerously so.
Yet it didn’t help the ache in Layla’s heart whenever she so much as glanced at Drake to become any less intense.
Glancing round, she saw the sign for the ladies’ room at the far end of the gallery and, abruptly freeing her hand from his clasp, murmured, ‘Excuse me, but I need to go to the Ladies. I won’t be long.’
‘Layla?’ His grey eyes glinted with such concern that it made her insides execute a cartwheel.
‘Yes?’
‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes, I’m fine.’
‘When you get back we’ll go upstairs to the restaurant and get some coffee. After we’ve seen everything we want to see here I’d like to take you shopping, to buy a new blouse to replace the one I ripped.’
‘There’s no need.’ Scalding heat poured into her cheeks at the memory of just how he had managed to rip her blouse, and as if he’d read her mind Drake’s grey eyes twinkled in amusement.
‘Yes, there is,’ he argued with a husky catch in his voice. ‘I want my shirt back.’
She knew he was trying to make amends for his curt tone earlier, and while it warmed her to think that he cared about her feelings, and about replacing the blouse he’d torn in the heat of passion last night, she couldn’t deny that she suddenly felt unspeakably desolate at the idea that other than sexually he probably wasn’t going to let her get anywhere near the wounded man she guessed hid behind the self-contained façade of wealth and success he projected after all. She was feeling less and less sure he really would discuss his past with her.
‘Okay. We’ll have coffee, see the rest of the exhibition, then go shopping.’ Turning away, she headed briskly towards the end of the gallery without checking even once to see if his mercurial haunting gaze followed her progress …
By the time she emerged from the ladies’ room Layla had sat in the toilet cubicle breaking her heart for at least ten minutes. Then, when she’d calmed down sufficiently to realise the utter futility of her behaviour, she’d stepped out in front of the bank of unforgiving bathroom mirrors to find her eye make-up tellingly smudged and her face as white as a ghost’s. After re-applying her make-up and spritzing the inside of her wrists with the last of her perfume—a precious leftover luxury from her time working in London—she’d finally swallowed the contraception down with at least half a bottle of water, tossed back her hair, lifted her chin and returned to the gallery to find Drake.
She spied him sitting on one of the long wooden benches interspersed here and there in front of the displayed paintings. With his hands loosely linked across his knees and his neck bent because he was staring down at the floor, it wasn’t hard to deduce that he wasn’t meditating on the stunning art. No, once again he was lost in a compelling world of his own.
‘Drake?’
‘You’re back.’
Layla was dumbfounded by the relief and delight in his eyes. Giving her a smile more precious to her right then than all the world’s diamonds, he stood up and gathered her into his arms. Transfixed, she felt as if the priceless art along with every single soul in the gallery simply disappeared. All she could focus on right then were the carved masculine lips that slowly but surely moved towards hers to greet her with an all too brief but hungry kiss. The velvet touch of his mouth and the delicious sensation of his strong arms urging her against him were a powerful antidote to the distressing doubt and fear that had accompanied her to the ladies’ room.