The British Bachelors Collection

What His Money Can’t Hide

Maggie Cox

His Temporary Mistress

Cathy Williams

Trouble on Her Doorstep

Nina Harrington

The Tycoon’s Delicious Distraction

Maggie Cox

The Woman Sent to Tame Him

Victoria Parker

Once a Playboy…

Kate Hardy

The Secret Ingredient

Nina Harrington

How to Get Over Your Ex

Nikki Logan

Behind the Film Star’s Smile

Kate Hardy

My Greek Island Fling

Nina Harrington

Back in the Lion’s Den

Elizabeth Power

We’ll Always Have Paris

Jessica Hart

Seduction Never Lies

Sara Craven

Holiday with a Stranger

Christy McKellen

Anything but Vanilla…

Liz Fielding

Mr (Not Quite) Perfect

Jessica Hart

The Plus-One Agreement

Charlotte Phillips

The Return of Mrs Jones

Jessica Gilmore

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

What His Money Can’t Hide

About the Author

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

His Temporary Mistress

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

Trouble on Her Doorstep

About the Author

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

The Tycoon’s Delicious Distraction

About the Author

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

The Woman Sent to Tame Him

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Once A Playboy…

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

The Secret Ingredient

About the Author

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

How to Get Over Your Ex

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

Behind the Film Star’s Smile

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

My Greek Island Fling

About the Author

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EPILOGUE

Back in the Lion’s Den

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

We’ll Always Have Paris

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Seduction Never Lies

About the Author

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Holiday with a Stranger

About the Author

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

Anything but Vanilla…

Back Cover Text

About the Author

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

Mr. (Not Quite) Perfect

About the Author

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

The Plus-One Agreement

About the Author

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

The Return of Mrs Jones

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Copyright

What His Money Can’t Hide

Maggie Cox

The day MAGGIE COX saw the film version of Wuthering Heights, with a beautiful Merle Oberon and a very handsome Laurence Olivier, was the day she became hooked on romance. From that day onwards she spent a lot of time dreaming up her own romances, secretly hoping that one day she might become published and get paid for doing what she loved most! Now that her dream is being realised, she wakes up every morning and counts her blessings. She is married to a gorgeous man, and is the mother of two wonderful sons. Her two other great passions in life—besides her family and reading/writing—are music and films.

CHAPTER ONE

‘IS THE old place just how you remember it, Mr Ashton?’

The innocently asked question from his chauffeur Jimmy, as he drove Drake to his less than agreeable destination cut him open like a knife. Yes … his home town was just as dreary and dismal as he remembered it. His memory hadn’t lied.

Glancing out through the tinted car windows, noting the rundown buildings and general sense of despair that hung like a gloomy pall in the air, he felt a sensation in the pit of his stomach right then that was very close to nauseous. Was he insane even to think of revisiting this place, when it had caused him nothing but heartache and pain? It beggared belief that he had agreed his firm of architects would accept a commission from the government to create affordable, aesthetically pleasing housing to attract new residents to the area.

Drake put it down to a moment of insanity. Why anyone in their right mind would want to live in such a soulless pit he couldn’t begin to fathom. As his grey eyes stared hard at the drab scenes that flew by the backs of his eyes burned with remembered pain.

Snapping out of his reverie, he realised that Jimmy was still waiting for an answer. ‘Yes, I’m sorry to say it’s exactly how I remember it.’

‘Certainly looks like it could use a facelift.’ The broad good-natured face reflected in the driving mirror displayed his sympathy.

‘Where did you grow up, Jimmy?’ Drake asked him.

‘I was born and bred in Essex. The family didn’t have a lot of money but we pulled together. Had plenty of laughs along the way, as well as tears.’ He grinned.

Drake forced a smile. He wished he could have said the same about his own upbringing, but sadly there had been very few laughs in his home after his mother had walked out. His father had raised him, but he’d done it with an angry and bitter resentment that had made Drake wary of making too many demands. Even the most basic requests had been apt to enrage his father and make him particularly cruel. Very quickly he’d learned to be self-sufficient and resourceful … simply because he’d had to.

Enough of this pointless and painful introspection!

Scowling, he leant towards the driver’s seat. ‘Pull over at the end of the high street, then go and park, Jimmy. I’ve just spied a coffee place and I’m in need of some caffeine and food. I’ve also got to look over some papers. Give me at least a couple of hours and I’ll ring you to come and pick me up.’

‘Sure thing, Mr Ashton. Do you want to take your newspaper with you?’

‘Thanks.’

The aroma of rich roast coffee acted like a siren, reeling Drake in as he pushed open the heavy glass door of the café he’d noticed and entered. Years ago, when he was a schoolboy, this old Victorian building had housed the newsagents where his dad had bought his newspaper and tobacco, and later—when it had become a mini-supermarket—his cans of beer too …

The bittersweet memory was apt to sour Drake’s anticipated enjoyment of his breakfast, so he jettisoned it to the back of his mind in the same way he ruthlessly eliminated unwanted e-mails from his inbox. Instead he focused on the display of mouth-watering pastries, croissants and muffins in the glass cabinet facing him and his stomach rumbled appreciatively.

To hell with his usual cup of instant black coffee and burnt toast—his typical mismanaged breakfast because he was inevitably in a hurry.

Message to self: must hire a housekeeper who can cook. The last one he’d employed had been a dab hand at making beds, cleaning bathrooms and plumping up cushions, but she’d barely been able to boil an egg, let alone cook him breakfast—which was why Drake had fired her. This morning he was definitely in need of more substantial sustenance—especially in view of the task he was about to undertake. But, whatever his feelings about his home town, he would be viewing this visit with his usual detached professional air. At the end of the day he was here to take an unbiased look round. It was a preliminary to starting work with other professionals on the regeneration of an area that had been as tired and broken as an abandoned and rusted lawn-mower ever since he could remember.

At first when he had been approached by a government official to become involved he had baulked at the very idea. His memories of the area hardly fostered fond and sentimental recollections of a happy, carefree childhood that he would be pleased to revisit … anything but. The majority of his work was in the private sector, and up until now Drake had been happy to keep it that way. After all, it had made him rich beyond imagining, and thankfully had taken him far away from the pains of his childhood and youth. Yet in the end he’d seen accepting the commission as a cathartic exercise and an opportunity for him to erase a painful part of his past. For as well as regenerating his home town Drake also planned to demolish the house he’d grown up in and build something much more beautiful in its place.

His cruel father was long dead, but this small act would help Drake feel as if he were mentally freeing himself from his father’s grasp. Drake could imagine facing his father and saying to the man, No matter what you did to me when I was a kid, your despicable treatment is not going to rule the rest of my life. Now I’m the one who’s in control, and I’m going to knock this godforsaken house down and erect something in its place that will be testimony to a member of the family that at least has some integrity … who cares about making the environment more beautiful!

And Drake would do it too. He might have had his issues whilst living there, but nobody could accuse him of being a coward in not facing his demons. To help dissociate the personal from the pragmatic he’d made the decision to treat this commission just as any other architectural project he undertook, and he intended to apply his renowned design skills along with every bit of dedication and experience he had to help make the planned improvements an unmitigated success.

Up until now he’d believed the best way to deal with his sorrowful childhood memories was to relegate them to the deepest, darkest corners of his mind and endeavour to forget about them. It didn’t always work, but at least his policy of single-mindedly focusing on what was right in front of him had definitely helped bring rewards beyond even his wildest dreams …

‘Good morning. What can I get for you?’

Cutting off his distracted perusal of the goodies inside the display case, Drake glanced up into the most arresting pair of glossy brown eyes he had ever seen. If there were any thoughts in his head at all in that moment he couldn’t have said what they were. He was simply mesmerised. The owner of those eyes was a girl who was breathtakingly beautiful. She was dressed plainly in a maroon T-shirt with the café’s logo on it, and a pair of ordinary blue jeans, with a short navy-coloured apron tied round her trim waist. The nondescript clothing merely emphasised her loveliness.

Her thick dark hair was fashioned into a simple ponytail, and her features were nothing less than sublime. The only evidence of make-up that Drake could detect was the dark eye-pencil that underlined her lower lashes. How refreshing, he thought. So many women these days dressed for work as if they were going out to a nightclub. The other thing he noticed about the girl was that she bore a passing resemblance to an Italian movie actress he admired … except she was even prettier.

He was totally unprepared for the dizzying pleasure that assailed him. As his avid gaze met and held hers, he felt as if he was drowning in it. He stared helplessly, just like a dumbfounded schoolboy. ‘I’d like a large Americano, a couple of plain croissants—and do you have anything savoury, like a panini?’ he asked, his voice a little gruff as he answered because the arresting sight of her had so completely thrown him. ‘I’m hungry this morning.’

The girl’s big dark eyes widened, as if she was amused, but then she quickly lowered her lashes and looked away. ‘We don’t have any paninis, but you could have a toasted muffin with some bacon, or even bacon and egg?’

As her glance levelled once more with his, Drake saw her polite smile was definitely guarded. Had she registered his stunned reaction? A girl with looks like hers must get men hitting on her all the time. She was probably sick of it. No wonder she seemed wary.

‘I’ll go for the bacon muffin, I think.’

‘Okay.’ Her hands were already reaching for a large cream mug and a tray, but her brown eyes met his for another fleeting moment before turning towards the gleaming bank of coffee-making equipment behind her. ‘Why don’t you take a seat at one of the tables and I’ll bring your order over to you?’

‘Sure … thanks.’

Drake had immediately noted that the medium-sized cosily proportioned café wasn’t exactly teeming with customers on this drizzly September morning. He scanned his surroundings with a bit more attention to detail. The décor, with fading artistic prints on the walls, was definitely a little tired, but there were some charming extras—such as comfy sofas scattered with ethnic print cushions and a bookshelf full of well-thumbed books—which helped create a welcoming and friendly atmosphere. Another plus was that everything appeared scrupulously clean and tidy. But for a café that had a prime location on the high street he knew it ought to be a lot busier than it was to make a profit. Also, the prices he’d seen on the menu were far too low. The owner obviously didn’t have a business brain.

He frowned, feeling oddly guilty all of a sudden. Clearly the area had not prospered over the years. Drake was struck anew at how fortunate he was to have escaped the poverty that many of the local population were crippled by, and it certainly wasn’t going to get any easier for people in the current economic climate, he knew. At any rate, because the place was so quiet it meant he had his pick of the most appealing tables and the inviting sofas. Selecting a corner seat, he pushed his fingers through his light brown hair and found his attention once again drawn to the beautiful young waitress. The graceful way her slender body moved as she went about preparing his order put him in mind of watching a captivating butterfly.

In the midst of the wistful thought, a wave of irritation assailed him. Usually nothing tore him away from his work, but right now the compulsion to focus solely on her was doing a good job of exactly that. Consequently, the plans of the area that he’d received from the local council didn’t immediately get plucked from his briefcase. Instead he scanned the copy of the Financial Times that his chauffeur Jimmy had so thoughtfully handed to him as he’d left the car, but every now and again his glance was helplessly lured back to the girl.

Due to his success as one of the most in-demand architects in the country, Drake had never been bereft of interested female attention. But it had been six months now since Kirsty—his party-planner girlfriend of just under a year—had broken up with him, calling him ‘spectacularly selfish’ and too work-obsessed to fulfil her hoped-for dreams of marriage and children. He hadn’t denied the accusation. Frankly, he’d been surprised they’d lasted as long as they had. Usually his relationships didn’t extend beyond three to four months.

The truth was, Drake wasn’t interested in a deeper commitment. He much preferred having his freedom. The only problem with that was the fact he had a very healthy libido, and wasn’t keen on soulless encounters purely for sex. His ex and he hadn’t been a match made in heaven, but he had definitely missed having a warm and willing woman in his bed for the past six months …

‘Here you are.’ The brunette stunner who had prepared his breakfast flashed him another wary smile as she placed his coffee and food down on the table. ‘Enjoy,’ she added, clearly intent on returning to her post as quickly as possible rather than linger and pass the time of day with him.

‘What’s your name?’ The question was out before Drake could check it.

Her slim shoulders tensed visibly. ‘Why?’

Her guarded, less than warm response didn’t faze him. He shrugged a shoulder. ‘Because I’m curious.’

Turning the tables on him, she challenged, ‘What’s your name?’

‘Drake.’

‘Is that your first name or your last?’

‘My full name is Drake Ashton.’

‘Of course.’ Her widened brown eyes reflected dawning realisation. ‘You’re the celebrated architect who’s going to rejuvenate the area by creating attractive and affordable housing for potentially interested residents.’

She could have tagged supposedly onto the end of that sentence, because her tone suggested she doubted that he would be able to do any such thing. Drake was suddenly uncomfortably irked. ‘Not by myself … there are other people involved.’

‘But if the local papers are anything to go by you’re the one that’s excited all the interest.’ She frowned, staring back at him with disturbing candour. ‘Home town boy made good … that’s the story they’re running.’

Straightening his back against the red faux leather seat, he met her examining glance with one equally unflinching and frank. ‘Is it? Then seeing as I was born here I guess that more than qualifies me to have an interest in the place … wouldn’t you agree, Miss …?’ He tipped his head, scanning her well-fitting T-shirt for a badge with her name on it, and not immediately tearing his gaze away when he saw that there wasn’t one because the lovely shape of her firm, high breasts outlined by her clothing distracted him disturbingly.

‘It’s hardly any of my business what your motivations for coming back here are. I apologise if you think I was rude.’ Colouring slightly, she shrugged. ‘I’m sorry but I have to get back to work now.’

‘You still haven’t told me your name. And, in case you hadn’t noticed, including myself there are only three customers in the whole place. You’re not exactly rushed off your feet this morning,’ Drake observed wryly, glancing round.

Her cheeks reddened again, but whether this was due to embarrassment or irritation with him for being so persistent, he couldn’t tell.

‘My name’s Layla Jerome, and whether it looks busy or not I have to get back to work. I don’t just make drinks and serve them,’ she retorted, crossing her arms defensively over her chest. ‘There’s a myriad of jobs that need to be done in a café. You said you were hungry. You’d better drink your coffee and eat your bacon muffin before they go cold.’ And without further ado she marched back behind the counter, looking unashamedly relieved when a female customer with a small child in tow came in.

Layla … The beautiful name certainly suited her exotic good-looks, Drake reflected with satisfaction. Smiling to himself, he raised his mug of coffee to his lips, then reached for the temptingly aromatic muffin on his side plate. Before he left the café he fully intended to get her phone number, and when he did it would become a much better day altogether than he’d been anticipating …

The three other customers besides Drake Ashton—including the young woman and her child—had been and gone, and still the man sat there, absorbed in what appeared to be architectural plans. Layla knew this because he’d signalled to her to come over so that he could order another large Americano. She’d breathed more easily when he hadn’t tried to engage her in conversation but simply continued perusing the technical drawings he’d spread out on the table, yet the seductive waft of his expensive sandalwood cologne did disturb her. Its potent woody notes had hit her straight in the solar plexus when she’d returned to take his order, making her feel ever so slightly light-headed.

The other thing that had unsettled her was the vaguely amused glance from his curiously light grey eyes when she’d delivered his coffee. Why do that? she thought crossly. Did he think she was some easily impressed featherbrain who would fall at his feet simply because he smiled at her? It bothered her that she’d wasted even a second mulling it over—especially when she ought to know better. Her experience of men like him—confident, handsome, rich men, who took it as their God-given right to say what they wanted to women like her—had not helped Layla feel remotely easy in their company, and neither did she trust them.

Unfortunately she’d reached that conclusion the hard way. It was why she had given up her prestigious job as PA to an ambitious but unscrupulous broker in the City and returned home to work for her brother Marc in his café instead. Her income had plunged dramatically, but it was worth it to live the much more pared-down and uncomplicated life she lived now. No more paying rent on a London studio apartment that was not much bigger than a utility closet, and no more extortionate dry cleaning bills for the suits, skirts and jackets that her ambitious boss had required her to wear to present the efficient corporate image that he insisted best represented him.

Her change of job and income had also meant the end of expensive lunches in fashionable restaurants with colleagues eager to be seen in all the right places and hopefully headhunted by rival prestigious firms so that they could step up a rung or two on the career ladder. But for Layla the best thing of all about leaving her London life behind was that at least now she was working for someone she trusted. And in return her brother Marc respected and valued her—unlike her lying boss, who had fleeced her of all her savings with the promise of a money-making opportunity that would set her up for life. It hadn’t.

Instead the supposedly failsafe deal had cost her every penny of her hard-earned cash. Although she took full responsibility for allowing her desperation to quit a job she’d grown to hate to make her take such a risky gamble with her savings, she didn’t intend to allow herself ever to act so desperately again.

Releasing a long, heartfelt sigh, she let her glance settle on the still preoccupied Drake Ashton. His dark head was bent over the drawings and he was chewing the end of a pencil as he studied them. The picture he made called to mind a small boy mulling over his homework. The wave of compassion that swept through Layla at the idea took her by surprise. The polished handsome architect was surely the last man on earth who needed anyone’s compassion!

Her thoughts ran on. She wondered if by visiting her brother’s simple little café he had some idea of presenting a much more down to earth image than he was usually purported to have?

The local newspaper stated that he had a tough reputation and took no prisoners. It also said that he lived in a house worth millions in Mayfair, as well as owning property in the South of France and Milan, and that he had made his fortune by designing luxurious homes for the rich and famous. No doubt he was used to taking his morning coffee in locations far more affluent and glamorous than here.

Layla swept her hand irritably down over her ponytail. Why should she care where the man usually drank his coffee? What did concern her was that he might report back to the council and his other sponsors that their little café was dreary and rundown and, judging by the woeful lack of customers, would it matter if it had to be closed down to make way for a much more viable business?

The idea stirred white-hot fury in her belly, quickly followed by sickening fear. The café meant everything to her brother Marc. If he got wind that Layla had been less than welcoming to the well-known architect, and had potentially sabotaged his chances for investment because she was still smarting from her bad experience with her ex-boss, it was understandable that he would be furious with her.

An uncomfortable flurry of guilt and regret besieged her insides. The government representatives and council members who had headed up the public meetings she and Marc had attended to hear about the intended plans for the town’s regeneration had emphasised that everyone should be as helpful as possible to the influx of professionals who would be working hard on their behalf. Well, one thing was for sure … She hadn’t exactly got off to an impressive start with the head architect. Was there the remotest chance she could make a better impression without compromising herself? she wondered.

‘Layla?’

She almost jumped out of her skin when the man himself called her over again. Her heart thudded hard. Wiping the back of her hand across suddenly dry lips, she presented herself at Drake Ashton’s table. ‘Would you like some more coffee?’ Along with her bright and friendly smile, she ensured her tone was ultra-polite.

His disturbingly frank grey eyes all but pinned her to the spot. ‘Two cups at breakfast is my limit, I’m afraid, else I’ll be too wired to think straight. So, no … I don’t want any more coffee. Could you sit down for a minute? I’d like to talk to you.’

Swallowing hard, Layla panicked a little. Despite her musings about making a better impression, her gaze automatically sought out an escape route … an incoming customer, perhaps, or even her brother Marc returning from his trip to the suppliers? But no such luck. ‘What if a customer comes in? You know I’m supposed to be working.’

‘You can give me a couple of minutes of your time, surely? If you get a customer then of course you must go and serve them, but right now it’s quiet. I want to ask your views about something.’

‘Oh, yes?’

‘Sit down, Layla … please. Hovering makes me uneasy. Did you by any chance fill in one of the questionnaires the council sent round to locals?’

Her relief was palpable. He wanted to ask her about the regeneration of the town, that was all … Nothing more threatening or disturbing than that.

Lowering herself into the chair opposite him, she folded her hands neatly in her lap. ‘Yes, I did.’

‘Good. Would you mind sharing with me what your views are on the question, “What improvements do you think are most needed in the community”?’

The handsome face before her, with its chiselled jaw and high-sculpted cheekbones, suddenly looked very businesslike and serious. Layla wasn’t fazed. This was a topic that she took seriously too. ‘Aren’t you mainly concerned with designing new housing?’

‘I am. But my brief is fairly wide. I’ve been asked to look at not just housing for potential new residents, but also at what other builds might be possible that would benefit the community in general.’

Curling some hair that had come adrift from her ponytail behind her ear, Layla automatically leaned forward. ‘That’s music to my ears, because in my opinion one of the things that’s most needed in this community is more facilities for the young—by that I mean specifically for teenagers. The reason why a lot of teenagers hang around on street corners with their friends and get into trouble is because there’s nowhere for them to go and socialise. They’re too young to go to the pub and hang out there, and frankly they don’t need another excuse to drink when booze is already sold frighteningly cheaply at supermarkets and already causes havoc. No … What they need is a place specifically for them.

‘The local so-called “community” hall prides itself on keeping them away. The people who run it won’t take the time to get to know any of these kids and find out what they’re really like, but they’re very quick to judge and demonise them. A place where they can go and listen to music together, maybe play snooker or pool, would be fantastic. We could ask for volunteers from the community to help run it. That way it would bring young and older people together and would benefit us all.’

‘You sound like quite the crusader.’

‘I make no apology about that. It’s great that there are so many campaigns to help the elderly, it really is … but the young need help too. Don’t you think?’

Remembering his own emotionally impoverished and lonely childhood, when he had often yearned for somewhere to go where he could just be himself and forget about his unhappy home-life, Drake undoubtedly agreed. Layla’s impassioned tone as she had voiced her opinions had taken him aback, made him regard her in a whole new light. It had also strengthened his vow to get her phone number. In his world he didn’t often meet people who cared half as much about the welfare of others, and it certainly didn’t hurt that she was beautiful too …

‘I agree,’ he commented thoughtfully. ‘I’m going to look over some plots in the next few days for potential new builds, and I’ll definitely bear in mind what you’ve told me. Of course I can make recommendations, but ultimately the decision to establish a youth club or something similar lies with the council. They’re the ones who’ll have to allocate the funds.’

‘I know that. But an important man like you …’ Her eyes shone with renewed zeal. ‘A man who grew up in the area himself … perhaps you could bring some of your influence to bear? It would mean such a lot to the kids if you could.’

They both glanced towards the door as it swung open, heralding the entrance of a frail-looking elderly couple.

‘Looks like you’ve got some customers.’ Drake smiled, but his lovely companion was already on her feet and making her way back behind the counter.

Half an hour later Layla noticed that Drake was folding up the plans into a stylish leather briefcase. She chewed down on her lip as he crossed the room to speak to her. It felt as if every sense she had was on high alert as he neared. The man was seriously imposing, she realised. The shoulders beneath his stylish jacket were athletically broad, and his lean, muscular build and long legs meant that he would look good in whatever he wore—whether it was the dark grey chinos and smart blue shirt he was wearing now, or a scruffy pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Suddenly she seemed to be preternaturally aware of everything about him. He moved as if he owned the space and everything in it. And the amused, knowing glint in his silvery grey eyes made her stomach coil with tension.

‘The coffee and food were great—particularly the coffee,’ he commented, setting his briefcase down on the floor.

‘I’m glad you enjoyed it. My brother, who owns the café, buys the very best grade coffee he can get his hands on, and he took great pride in teaching me how to make it. His aim is always to deliver a good product and good service to his customers.’

‘In business that’s one of the best intentions you can have … that and being dedicated to making a profit. I meant to ask you before who owned the place. So it’s your brother? What’s his name?’

‘Marc Jerome.’

Her questioner tunnelled his long, artistic fingers through his hair, unwittingly drawing her attention to his strong, indomitable-looking brow. There were two deeply ingrained furrows there, she saw.

‘Have you always worked for him?’ he asked.

‘No.’ An unconscious sigh left her lips. ‘Not always.’

Drake looked bemused. ‘You don’t care to embellish on that?’

‘I worked in London for a few years, but I needed a change so I—I came back home.’ Lifting her chin a little, Layla wrestled with her usual reluctance to reveal much more than that.

‘What did you do in London?’

‘I was a personal assistant to a broker in the City.’

Raising a quizzical eyebrow, Drake looked even more bemused. ‘This is quite a career change for you, then?’

‘Yes, it is. Is there anything else you want to ask me before I get back to work, Mr Ashton?’

‘Yes.’ His gaze suddenly became disturbingly intense. ‘There is something else, Layla. I’d like your telephone number.’

‘Why?’

‘So that I can ring you and invite you out for a drink. Will you give it to me?’

Shock eddied through her like an ice-cold river. She hadn’t missed the gleam of admiration in his eyes when he’d first seen her, but she hadn’t expected him to invite her out or to be quite so quick in asking for her phone number.

‘If you’d asked for my brother’s number, so you could talk to him about his views on the area’s regeneration or about his business, then I would have been more than happy to give it to you. But to be honest I’m not in the habit of giving my number to men I hardly know.’

‘But you do know who I am. By that I mean I’m not some stranger who’s just walked in off the street. And, whilst I would definitely appreciate having your brother’s number so that I can ask him a few questions, right now it’s yours that I’m far more interested in.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Uncomfortably twisting her hands together, she nonetheless made herself meet his intense silvery gaze unflinchingly. ‘My answer is still no. I enjoyed our little chat earlier about what’s needed in the community, and I’m very encouraged by your interest, but—well … let’s just leave it at that, shall we?’ The need to protect herself from another over-confident and arrogant wealthy man like her ex-boss was definitely at the forefront of her mind as she spoke.

With a sigh, Drake stretched his sculpted lips into a slow, knowing smile ‘Maybe we will and maybe we won’t … leave it at that, I mean.’

He didn’t sound at all offended. In fact, as he picked up his briefcase, he gave her another enigmatic glance.

‘This is hardly the busiest or most populated town in the country. No doubt we’ll bump into each other from time to time. In fact I’m certain we will. Have a good day, won’t you? Oh—and why don’t you give your brother my number? I’d very much like to have a chat with him about his views on the town.’

He slid the business card that he’d taken from his jacket pocket across the counter, not waiting to see if she picked it up to examine it.

Opening the heavy glass door, he stepped outside onto the damp and grey pavement, and as Layla watched him go several seconds passed before she realised she was holding her breath …

CHAPTER TWO

JEROME … The name should have rung a bell as soon as he heard it. Slowing his stride, Drake turned his head to take another look at the faded, worn exterior of the building he’d just vacated. As soon as Layla had given him her surname he ought to have remembered that it was the name of the newsagents that had been in business there before the café. The place had been called Jerome’s, for goodness’ sake. Had the friendly newsagent who had often discussed the football results with him while he was waiting for his dad to make up his mind about what he wanted been her father? he wondered.

Drake calculated that she must be at least ten years younger than he was. That put her age at about twenty-six. He wondered whether, if he mentioned to Layla that he’d had genuine regard for her father, it might help persuade her to meet him for a drink—better still, dinner. At any rate, unless she had a boyfriend he wasn’t going to give up on the idea any time soon. Not when his first sight of her had been akin to falling into a dream he didn’t want to wake up from. He’d felt stunned, dazed and disorientated all at once, and it was hard to recall the last time his heart had galloped so hard and so fast. It struck him that she was the first woman who had ever declined to give him her phone number. It made him all the more determined to get her to change her mind.

Shaking his head in a bid to snap out of his reverie about the beautiful waitress, he determinedly walked on further down the street, stopping every now and then to make notes on his observations about the buildings and the retail outlets that occupied them. When he’d travelled about halfway down the road Drake’s finely honed instincts alerted him to the fact that he was being followed. Turning, he saw two men that were clearly from the press. It was pointless trying to fathom how they’d known he would be there. Somehow or other they always found out.

One of them was toting a state-of-the-art camera and the other a recording device. He just thanked his lucky stars the pair hadn’t invaded the café to try and interview him or he wouldn’t have had much conversation with the lovely Layla at all. Because they hadn’t, he was predisposed to be a lot less irritated with them than was usually the case when the press unexpectedly cornered him.

‘We’re from the local newspaper, Mr Ashton. Can we have a picture and maybe a quick interview with you for our readers? As you can imagine, everyone is very excited about your intended rehabilitation of the area and what the social and economic effects might be.’ The journalist with the recording equipment planted himself directly in front of Drake with an animated smile.

‘Okay. But the interview had better be quick because I’ve got work to do.’

‘Of course, Mr Ashton, but if we could just have a couple of pictures first that would be great.’

He tolerated the photos being taken, and then an interview, with an uncharacteristically amenable attitude—even when a small knot of curious bystanders gathered to see what was going on. The questions had been surprisingly intelligent and insightful, despite the apparent youth of the reporter, but when he had asked, ‘Can you tell us a bit about your personal experience of growing up here?’ it had been one question too far.

Drake had called an abrupt halt to the exchange, and phoned his chauffeur Jimmy and instructed him to meet him at the top of the high street. His heart was still racing uncomfortably as he turned his back on the journalist, photographer and bystanders and walked briskly away.

He was seriously relieved to see the sleek Aston Martin coming down the road towards him. Now he could focus on his work without impediment. There were a few other areas in the locality he wanted to survey before attending a meeting at the town hall to make a brief report, but after that he would be returning to his offices in London to oversee a couple of prestigious projects that were nearing completion. Projects that, although adding substantially to his bank balance and growing reputation, had been far trickier and more time-consuming than he’d anticipated, consequently causing him more troubled nights of broken sleep than he cared to recall …

‘So, what was your impression of Drake Ashton when you met him?’

Her brother had invited Layla downstairs to have some fish and chips with him that evening. After inheriting the family home in their dad’s will, they’d agreed to split the accommodation between them rather than sell it, and had had the two floors converted into self-contained separate flats. Layla had the upper floor and Marc the lower. When she’d moved to London—even though she’d suggested that he rent out her flat while she was gone—Marc had insisted he wouldn’t even think of it because it was her home. It would remain unoccupied until she returned, he’d declared, whether that was in one year or ten, and in the meantime she could come home for the odd weekend to see him.

When her career had come to its unexpectedly ignominious and humiliating end because of her crooked boss she’d been very grateful that she had a place to return to where she felt safe again. Being swindled out of her savings had left her feeling vulnerable and unsure of herself, and she hadn’t minded admitting to her brother that she needed to retreat from city life for a while to rebuild her confidence. Marc had responded by lovingly welcoming her home without judgement and giving her a job in his café.

Now, as Layla busied herself sorting out condiments and cutlery, Marc unwrapped the fish and chips he’d bought and expertly arranged the food on the plates he’d left warming in the oven. He was looking especially tired tonight, Layla noticed. There were dark rings under his eyes, and with his brown hair clearly not combed and his lean jaw unshaven he was looking a little the worse for wear. Had he been worrying about money again? Her heart bumped guiltily beneath her ribs at the mere idea. She knew that the council tax on the business premises had just gone up again, and the café’s takings were already substantially below what they would normally expect this month. The recession had hit all the local businesses hard.

‘What was my impression?’ she hedged, thinking hard about what to say and what not to say about her encounter with the charismatic architect. The experience had been on her mind a little too much that day, and she wished it hadn’t. ‘He looks like a man who knows exactly what he wants and how to get it. By that I mean you can tell why he’s been so successful. He was very businesslike and focused. I get the impression that very little gets past him.’

‘Let’s sit down at the table and eat, shall we?’ Marc forked a couple of mouthfuls of food into his mouth and swallowed it down before lifting his head to look directly at his sister. ‘They say he’s an investor as well as an architect. Did you know that?’

‘No, I didn’t.’

‘I’d really like to talk to him about the café.’

‘You mean ask his advice on how to help make it more financially viable?’

‘Not just that. I want to ask whether he’d be interested in investing in it.’ Exhaling a harsh breath, he wiped his napkin irritably across his mouth, then scrunched it into a ball.

Alarmed, Layla laid down her fork beside her plate and stared at him. ‘Are we in trouble?’

‘We’re operating at a serious loss. How could we not be? Trying to attract more customers when everyone around here is so fearful of spending money on anything but the bare necessities is like trying to get blood out of a stone! I’ve had two loans so far from the bank to help keep it going, and I’m in debt to the tune of several thousand pounds. I’ve invested all the money Dad left me to start it up and get it going, and now it looks like I might even lose the premises that he worked so hard to own. The café needs a serious injection of something, Layla, or else we’re just going to have to throw in the towel.’

Layla would do anything to help her brother feel more optimistic about the café—his pride and joy as he’d called it when he’d first decided to set it up. It made her heart feel bruised to see him looking so tired and worried all the time. But his intention to ask Drake Ashton to invest in it scared the life out of her. The man might be admired in his field, and have a glamorous professional profile, but they had no idea what his character or his values were.

Silently she berated herself again for trusting her own life savings to a money-making scheme that—with hindsight—had had so many holes in it. It was a wonder her boss hadn’t handed out life rafts to the gullible fools who had risked their hard-earned cash in it! If she’d held onto her money she could have given it to Marc to pay off his bank loan, and straight away ease his fear and worry about the café’s future.

Brushing back her hair with her fingers, she emitted a gentle, resigned sigh. ‘He gave me his business card to give to you,’ she told him. ‘He said he’d like to talk to you.’

‘Drake Ashton wants to talk to me?’ Straight away Marc’s dark eyes gleamed with hope.

Layla nibbled anxiously at her lip. ‘He’s an astute businessman, Marc, and from what you say the café is losing money hand over fist. I don’t get the impression that he’d be in a hurry to invest his money in a concern that doesn’t have the potential to make a healthy profit.’

‘Thanks for your support.’

At his stricken expression she reached forward and squeezed his hand. ‘You know my support and belief in you are unquestionable, and I think the café is wonderful … I just wish more people did too. I don’t want you to build your hopes up that Drake Ashton might be the answer to your prayers, that’s all. We might have to think of other options other than investment … that’s all I’m saying.’

‘You’re right.’ Pulling his hand away from hers, Marc lightly shook his head and smiled. ‘Trouble is I let my heart rule my head too much. I realise that’s not the best approach to running a business. Wanting a thing to work so much that it makes your ribs ache just thinking about it doesn’t necessarily mean it’s suddenly going to take flight and make your fortune. But it’s worth talking to Ashton anyway … he might give me a few tips at least. Give me his card in the morning and I’ll ring him. In the meantime let’s eat, shall we? Our supper’s going cold.’

Layla smiled, but inside she secretly prayed that when they spoke Drake Ashton wouldn’t thoughtlessly crush her brother’s dream into the dirt by telling him he should forget about the café and think about doing something else instead …

Turning his head, Drake squinted at the sunlight streaming in through the huge plate-glass windows. The hexagon-shaped chrome and glass building that housed his offices had become quite a landmark amid the sea of sandblasted Victorian buildings where it was situated, and he was justifiably proud of the design. If he’d wanted to shout out his arrival he couldn’t have made a bolder or louder statement. His workplace was a professional portfolio all by itself.

When the thought sneaked up on him from time to time that what he’d achieved was nothing less than a miracle, considering his background, he impatiently brushed it away, not caring to dwell on the past for even a second longer than he had to. It had become his motto to concentrate on the now. After all, the present made far more sense to him than the past could ever do.

‘Mr Ashton? There’s a man called Marc Jerome on the phone. He says you gave your business card to his sister so that he could call you.’

Drake’s secretary Monica appeared in the doorway to his office. She was a pencil-slim blonde whose efficiency and dedication to her job belied her delicate appearance. The woman could be a veritable tiger when it came to sifting out and diverting unwanted callers—whether on the phone or if they turned up unannounced. But the knowledge that it was Layla Jerome’s brother who was ringing made Drake immediately anxious to take the call. The beautiful woman had been almost constantly on his mind ever since he’d seen her, and if nothing else he wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to try and get her phone number again.

‘Put him through, Monica. I’ll take it.’

At the end of the call Drake pushed to his feet and moved restlessly across to the tall plate-glass panels directly behind his desk. Staring out at the parked cars on the street below, he could barely suppress the gratifying sense of satisfaction that throbbed through him. He had listened to Marc Jerome’s views on the needs of his local community, and when the younger man had asked for some business tips he had agreed to meet up with him so that they could discuss it more fully.

When that topic was safely out of the way Drake hadn’t been slow to seize the opportunity to ask directly if his sister was currently dating anyone. He had all but held his breath as he’d waited for the answer.

‘No, she’s not,’ Marc had replied carefully, definitely sounding protective. ‘As far as I know, she’s quite happy being free and single right now.’

Drake had allowed himself the briefest smile. ‘I’d really like to ask her about that myself, if you don’t mind?’ he’d returned immediately. There was a fine line between being bold enough to state your aim clearly and being pushy, but when it came to something he wanted as badly as this, he definitely wasn’t a man to let the grass grow under his feet—and neither was he overly concerned if he offended anyone. ‘It’s probably best if I talk to her outside of work. Maybe even on the day that you and I have our meeting?’

‘You’d better ring her first and check and see if that’s okay,’ had been the distinctly wary-sounding reply.

‘Of course.’

And now Layla’s mobile phone number was writ large across his notepad.

He made a vow to ring her after lunch, just in case the café was busy, and, breathing out a relieved sigh, stopped gazing out the window and returned to his desk, bringing his focus determinedly back to his work …

‘Layla?’

‘Yes?’

‘This is Drake Ashton. I got your number from your brother Marc.’

In the midst of a leisurely stroll in the park, through the sea of burnished gold leaves that scattered the concrete path, Layla changed direction and strode across the grass to sit down on a nearby bench and take the call, her phone positioned firmly against her ear. Marc had despatched her to eat her packed lunch and get some fresh air after a surprising flurry of lunchtime trade, but any sense of feeling free to enjoy a precious hour in the autumnal sunshine had immediately vanished at the sound of the famed architect’s magnetically velvet smoky voice.

‘He told me you’d asked him for my number,’ she answered, already desperately rehearsing her carefully worded refusal of what she suspected would be another invitation to meet him for a drink.

Inexplicably, and against every impulse to act sensibly, she’d hardly been able to stop thinking about the man since he’d visited the café yesterday, and that was definitely a cause for concern. Just hearing his voice ignited an almost terrifying compulsion to see him again. The ethereal grey eyes that sometimes seemed almost colourless, the high cheekbones and cut-glass jaw seemed to be imprinted on her memory with pin-sharp clarity.

‘Then you’ll no doubt have guessed that I’m ringing to ask you out?’ There was a smile in his extraordinarily hypnotic voice. ‘I know you were reluctant to let me have your number, but I’d very much like to see you again. I’d really like the chance to get to know you a little, Layla. What do you say?’

‘If I’m honest, I’m not entirely comfortable with the idea, Mr Ashton.’

‘Drake,’ he inserted smoothly.

The tension in Layla’s stomach made her feel as if a band of steel was encircling it and tightening by the second. She drew the canvas bag that contained her sandwiches more closely to her side almost subconsciously, as if for protection. ‘I don’t mean to offend you, but I’m not interested in seeing anyone at the moment.’

‘You don’t like dating?’

‘I can take it or leave it, to tell you the truth. I’m certainly not a person who needs to have someone special in my life to make me feel whole or worthwhile.’

‘Good for you. But is that the real reason you’re hesitating to meet me, or is it perhaps because your last boyfriend let you down in some way or treated you badly?’

‘That’s none of your business.’

‘Maybe not. I’m just trying to find out why you don’t want to have a date with me.’

Layla expelled a heavy, resigned sigh. ‘The man who let me down wasn’t a boyfriend … at least not at first. But he was someone I’d put my trust in—completely wrongly, as it turned out. I was very badly deceived by him. Anyway, I—’

‘You’d rather not risk seeing me in case I do the same thing to you?’ Drake finished for her.

‘No, I’d rather not,’ she confessed reluctantly, feeling strangely as though she’d manoeuvred herself into a narrow dead-end she couldn’t easily reverse out of.

‘Not all men are bastards, Layla.’

‘I know that. I’d trust my brother Marc with my life.’

‘Speaking of your family—I knew your father, you know?’

Her heartbeat quickened in surprise. ‘Really?’

‘Jerome’s was my local newsagent. That’s where I knew him from.’

‘It’s a small world.’

‘I used to go there as a kid. We’d chat about football together. We supported the same team, and he used to tell me about all the matches he’d seen when he was young.’

‘He was crazy about football. And he loved having the opportunity to talk to another fan about the game—also about how his team were doing. My dad always had time for the children who visited the shop. He had the kindest heart.’ Suddenly besieged by memories of the father she had adored, as well as by a great longing for his physical presence, Layla couldn’t help the tears that suddenly surged into her eyes.

‘Presumably he’s not around any more? What happened, if you don’t mind my asking?’

‘He died just three months after a diagnosis of cancer of the throat.’

‘I’m sorry. That must have been a very hard cross to bear for you and your brother.’

‘It was.’

‘And your mother? Is she still around?’

‘She died when I was nine. Look, Mr Ashton, I—’

‘I’d really like it if you called me Drake.’

The invitation sounded so seductively appealing that even though she intuited that he’d used his past association with her father to break down her resistance, Layla found his skilful persuasion hard to ignore. Although her trust in men had been indisputably shattered by the dishonest behaviour of her boss, Drake’s regard for her father seemed perfectly genuine, she told herself.

Her lips edged helplessly into a smile. ‘You don’t give up easily, do you?’

‘No, I don’t. You don’t get far in the world of business if you’re not tenacious.’

‘I hear that you’ve agreed to meet with my brother and give him some advice about the café?’

‘I’m coming to see him on Thursday. After our meeting at the café I’m visiting the site where the first new builds for residential housing are going to be erected. I expect I’ll be there until quite late.’

Not knowing what to say, Layla shivered at the icy blast of wind that suddenly tore through her hair and swept the leaves on the path into a mini-cyclone.

‘Look … I really want to see you,’ he asserted, ‘but I don’t want to wait until Thursday. That’s far too long.’ He made no attempt to disguise his impatience. ‘How about throwing any caution you might be harbouring to the wind and going on just one date with me? If you come up to London I’ll take you out to dinner.’

‘When were you thinking of?’

‘Tomorrow … No, wait! Tonight … I want to see you tonight.’

‘Tonight is a bit short notice.’

Her inner guidance was already sending a loud warning to be careful pounding through her bloodstream. When her brother had confessed that he’d given Drake her number she hadn’t been able to help feeling annoyed at both men. She wasn’t some desirable commodity to be bartered over, for goodness’ sake! Neither had she expected the architect to ring her so soon. She’d like more time to mull his invitation over … time to come to her senses, more like, she thought irritably. Her ex-boss had had a way with words too, and had been a master at devising clever strategies to get what he wanted—sometimes underhand ones. She shouldn’t forget that. Although when it came to sheer charisma she didn’t doubt that Drake Ashton easily had the market cornered.

‘Have you other plans for tonight?’

‘No, but tomorrow night would suit me better.’ Hardly knowing where she’d found the nerve to tell him that, Layla grimaced.

‘I might not be able to make it tomorrow night.’

‘Never mind.’ Holding on to her determination not to be railroaded into flying off to London at the drop of a hat simply because Drake demanded it, she shook her head. ‘It will have to be Thursday after all, then.’ She deliberately kept her tone matter-of-fact. The other end of the line went ominously quiet. ‘Are you still there, Drake?’

His sharp intake of breath was followed by an equally audible sigh of frustration and her insides knotted.

‘I’m still here.’ Irritation was evident in every syllable. ‘Tomorrow night it is, then. Give me your address and I’ll send my driver to pick you up and bring you to my office. It’s close to the West End, and I’ll book us somewhere nice for dinner.’

‘You don’t have to send your driver. I can easily get the train into London.’

‘Are you always this bull-headed?’

Even though Drake was probably still irked with her for trying to thwart him, disconcertingly he chuckled, and the husky sound sent shivers cascading up and down her spine like sparks from a firework.

‘Because if you are, Layla, then I think I might have just met my match …’

CHAPTER THREE

SHE was half an hour late.

Having already been into his secretary’s office twice to see if Layla had left a message, Drake now found himself in front of the coffee machine on the landing outside his office, pressing the button for yet another cup of strong black Americano he didn’t really want.

Time had moved through the day like silt through reeds—slowly and painfully and laboriously, going nowhere fast. Whenever he thought about seeing Layla his insides were seized by alternate sensations of excitement and disagreeable anxiety. And several times that day a couple of colleagues had enquired if anything was wrong.

He hated the idea that they could see he was unsettled by something. Usually he endeavoured to keep his feelings strictly to himself—sometimes to the point of unsettling them because he expressed none of the usual emotional ‘ups and downs’ as they did. Yet he was quick to sing their praises when they did a good job for him, or worked overtime to help meet a deadline. Having built his reputation not on just designing builds to wow his clients but also by advising on and overseeing a project right up until the finish, Drake had ensured the people he employed were trustworthy and reliable team players. He might have grown up the quintessential ‘loner’ but he couldn’t do what he did without them.

Glancing down at his watch, it jolted him to see the time. Damn it all to hell! Why hadn’t he insisted that Layla let him send Jimmy to collect her instead of allowing her to make her own way here? He hadn’t because he’d got the feeling if he had she would have cancelled their date altogether and told him just to forget it …

‘Your visitor has arrived, Mr Ashton.’

The quiet, knowing tone of Monica, his secretary, broke into his unhappy reverie. To his dismay, he knew she’d guessed that the woman he was waiting to see was no run-of-the-mill visitor … that she was in some way special. If he quizzed her she’d call this instinct women’s intuition, and Drake couldn’t for the life of him understand why women had the gift in abundance and men didn’t. At any rate, he intensely disliked people expressing curiosity or interest in his private life—and that included unspoken interest.

Monica’s announcement that Layla had arrived had him turning towards her so fast that the scalding coffee in his polystyrene cup splashed painfully onto his hand. He uttered a furious expletive.

The secretary’s smile was replaced by an immediately concerned frown. ‘You’d better get some cold water on that straight away,’ she advised urgently, stepping towards him to relieve him of the cup.

‘Where have you put her?’ Drake barked, the sting of his scald aiding neither his temper nor his impatience.

‘In your office.’

‘Well, make sure she’s comfortable and tell her I’ll be there in a couple of minutes. I’m going to the bathroom to run some cold water over my hand.’

Staring at his reflection in the mirror over the sink, and not particularly liking what he saw, Drake scrubbed his hand over the five o’clock stubble that darkened his jaw and ignored the throb of his burn with stoic indifference. Knowing he was going out to dinner, he ought to have shaved—but it was too late now. His date would just have to take him as she found him, even though he more closely resembled a dishevelled croupier who’d been up all night rather than a successful and wealthy architect. At least he was wearing one of his hand-tailored suits, with a silk waistcoat over a white open-necked shirt. That should help him pass muster.

Muttering out loud at the agitation that rendered him nowhere near relaxed, he straightened his shirt collar and spun away from the mirror. He refused to put himself through the grinder about anything else tonight. Work was finished for the day and he was going out to dinner with a woman who had rendered him dangerously fascinated the instant his gaze had fallen into hers …

As he made his way back to his office an older colleague attempted to waylay him with a query. Drake was so intent on seeing Layla that he stared at the man as if suddenly confronted by a ghost.

‘Ask me about it tomorrow,’ he muttered distractedly. ‘I’m busy right now.’

‘Sorry if I interrupted something important.’

Looking bemused, his fellow architect exited the glass-partitioned landing and Drake continued on into the executive office suite that was his private domain. Standing outside the semi-open door, he sucked in a steadying breath before making his entry. Just before his gaze alighted on the woman he’d been waiting all day to see his senses picked up the sultry trail of her perfume, and the alluring scent made his blood pound with heat. When his eyes finally rested on the slim dark-haired figure standing by his desk, dressed in a classy cream-coloured wool coat over a black cocktail dress, he could barely hear himself think over the dizzying waves of pleasure that submerged him. His little waitress looked like a million dollars.

‘You made it,’ he said, low-voiced.

‘Yes. Though I don’t know why I came.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean that I haven’t accepted an invitation to dinner from a man in a very long time, and I’m still not sure why I accepted yours.’

‘Well, I’m glad that you did. You look very beautiful tonight, by the way.’

‘Thanks.’

His compliment had clearly discomfited her, Drake saw.

‘I don’t normally dress like this,’ she dissembled, ‘but I didn’t know where we were going so I—Anyway, are you annoyed that I’m late? The tube was delayed in a tunnel for twenty minutes … I don’t like to think why. I’m sorry if I kept you waiting.’

‘There’s no need to apologise. Although I did recommend that my driver pick you up rather than you getting the train, remember?’

‘Recommend? Is that what you did?’ Shaking her head, Layla forgot her previous awkwardness and emitted a throaty chuckle.

Already entranced by her beauty and presence, Drake was all but undone by the sound.

‘As I recall,’ she continued with a wry smile, ‘it sounded more like a royal command. But then I expect you’re used to telling people what to do and having it done?’

He kept quiet, because what she said was perfectly true. Yet he didn’t want her to gain the impression he was insufferably overbearing and demanding and not give him a chance to display some of the less ‘insufferable’ sides to his nature … For the first time ever he was suddenly unsure of his ground with a woman. The percentages that afforded him command of any relationship were usually stacked in his favour—sixty-forty at least …

‘Anyway, I still can’t believe I’m standing here in your office.’ Sighing softly, Layla smoothed her hand down over her hair. ‘I guessed it would be impressive, but even my imagination didn’t stretch as far as a hexagonal glass building that looks like something out of a futuristic sci-fi film. How on earth do you make something like this?’

‘A hexagonal building is definitely harder to construct than a square-cornered one, but apart from its unique exterior it makes for a far more interesting interior to live and work in. I’m all for enhancing domestic and business spaces, and hopefully getting people to enjoy spending time in them. Do you like it?’

‘All this glass …’ She glanced to her right and then to her left, and then up above her at the ceiling and its breathtaking view of the twilit sky. ‘It must be so light in here during the day. I definitely like the idea of that.’

‘That’s why I had the roof made out of glass. Sometimes I work in here at night, and if the moon is full and the stars are out I switch off the lamps for a while because they’re not needed. The illumination from the sky is so bright that it’s like a shroud of magical light blanketing everything.’

His companion’s big brown eyes were so transfixed by what he said that this time it was Drake who was discomfited. He’d never admitted to anyone that he did such a thing before, and certainly not to any of his colleagues. What on earth had possessed him to be so candid?

In a bid to divert Layla from the too personal confession he smiled and said, ‘Want me to give you a tour?’

Her smooth cheeks flushed a little. ‘Maybe some other time … Aren’t we supposed to be going out to dinner?’

‘Are you telling me that you’re hungry?’

‘I am, actually. But the truth is I don’t feel at my best in offices—even one as beautiful as this. My experience of being a personal assistant robbed me of all desire to ever work in one again. The world of “shocks and scares”—as my brother Marc calls it—was like a bear pit, and to work in an atmosphere where there’s such a high level of drama and tension every day is apt to make a person permanently on edge. It’s a lot more peaceful working in the café.’

Intrigued, Drake walked behind his desk and slipped on the tailored black jacket that he’d hung almost thoughtlessly over the back of his chair. It barely registered these days that the cost of his clothing far exceeded most ordinary people’s annual salaries. But then if you wanted the best, you had to pay for the best. He’d come a long way from the boy whose father had dressed him in charity shop finds.

Frowning at the bewitching girl who stood in front of his desk, he asked, ‘Can you tell me what your boss the broker was like?’

‘I’d rather not. At least not right now. Perhaps when I get to know you a bit better?’

His heart slammed against his ribs. ‘Can I take it, then, that you’re planning on us having more than one date?’

‘I’m not planning anything … it’s a policy of mine to always try and live in the moment.’

‘Mine too.’

‘Besides … it’s not just up to me, is it? Who knows? By the end of the evening you might be glad to see the back of me.’

‘Somehow that’s not how I envisage the evening ending.’ Quirking a droll eyebrow, Drake gestured that they should move towards the door. ‘Let’s go to dinner, shall we? I’ve booked us a table at a nice French restaurant I know.’

They had been escorted by an ultra-polite maître d’ to what Layla imagined must be the best table in the house. The ‘nice’ French restaurant Drake had mentioned turned out to be one of the most acclaimed eateries in Europe … let alone London. It had two Michelin stars and was populated tonight by an extremely classy-looking clientele who clearly weren’t short of a penny or two. Their table was situated in a discreet far corner of the room, and the candlelit setting was quite simply beautiful. Everything from the polished silverware to the gleaming candelabrum and the white linen tablecloth that was hung with frightening precision was arranged to exemplify the most exquisite good taste, and the genteel ambience was further emphasised by some softly playing classical music.

Drake touched his hand lightly to her back as Layla’s seat was pulled out for her by the maître d’, and he waited until he saw she was comfortable before seating himself. Was it normal to have felt his touch as strongly as though a powerful electrical current had penetrated her layers of clothing? God knew she’d been jumpy enough at his office, but alone with him like this, in an intimate setting far away from any working environment, she feared she would display her unease and self-consciousness by talking far too much. Back at his office she’d already babbled and said more than she’d meant to say. And what on earth had possessed her to suggest she might like to get to know him better? For a woman who had vowed to steer well clear of men of Drake Ashton’s elite calibre, she was doing abysmally poorly. Now she was sure that the heat he had ignited in her body with his brief touch must easily be displayed on her burning face.

‘I’ve heard about this place—of course I have—but I never thought I’d be so lucky as to get the chance to eat here. Rumour has it that the waiting list for a table is at least a year long. Is that true, do you think?’

Her restless hands nervously folded and unfolded her linen napkin. The magnetic silver-grey eyes in front of her glinted with amusement.

‘I have no idea. I simply had my secretary ring and book me a table.’

Layla didn’t get the chance to comment straight away, because just then a waiter handed them leather-bound menus and a female sommelier appeared to make recommendations for the wine they might like to order. She didn’t miss the fact that the attractive and vivacious redhead obviously knew Drake. The woman was completely professional, but she all but lit up when she saw him, and the banter between them sounded as though it was borne of a long-standing association.

When she’d left them alone again Layla sipped at the glass of water another waiter had poured for her and wondered if the sommelier and Drake had ever enjoyed a far closer relationship. The idea bothered her far more than it had a right to.

‘The reason you have no idea how long the waiting list is for a table,’ she announced jerkily, ‘is obviously because you’re an important man whose name alone gets you an automatic foot in the door.’

‘You sound as if that perturbs you.’

Her handsome date narrowed his gaze and she felt as if she’d just voluntarily put herself under a high-powered microscope that would hunt out every flaw and discrepancy in her character and ruthlessly bring it to light.

‘Why should it bother you that I can get a table in a good restaurant without having to wait for a similar time as most people do?’

Her skin prickling hotly with embarrassment, Layla frowned, feeling not just guilty and foolish but extremely gauche. ‘I didn’t mean to suggest that it bothered me. It was really just an observation. You’ve obviously worked hard to have the privileges you enjoy and I don’t even know why I mentioned it. Forgive me. Put it down to nerves.’

‘So I make you nervous, do I?’

‘Yes, you do a little.’

‘Why is that?’

‘Maybe you mistakenly think I’m a lot more confident than I am? The truth is I’m just a girl from an ordinary suburban home, and I’m not that comfortable in the company of privileged men like yourself.’

She’d hoped her honest admission might alleviate some of the anxiety she felt around Drake, but it didn’t. Instead she was left feeling even more gauche and unsophisticated.

At that very moment the pretty sommelier returned with their wine and proceeded to pour some into Drake’s glass for him to taste and approve. When he indicated with a nod of his head that he did indeed approve, she poured some into Layla’s. This time her companion’s compelling glance didn’t remotely invite the girl to linger longer than was absolutely necessary.

‘Thank you,’ he murmured, his businesslike tone suggesting she should leave. ‘Your health and happiness,’ he toasted, smiling at Layla.

The gesture was a long way from being businesslike. His captivating eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled and his lips curved generously, displaying strong white teeth. It was a killer combination and her body tightened helplessly.

‘The same to you,’ she murmured, lightly touching her goblet-shaped wine glass to his.

‘And, by the way, I didn’t get the impression that you were especially confident. My general impression is that you’re rather defensive, and consequently quite feisty because of it. Like a protective lioness wanting to divert attention away from a predator’s interest in her cub.’

‘I wasn’t trying to protect anyone.’

‘Yes, you were.’ Drake’s rich voice lowered meaningfully. ‘You were clearly trying to protect yourself, Layla.’

‘Is that so? Then, tell me, exactly what am I protecting myself from? I’d be very interested to know.’ Inside her chest, Layla’s heartbeat mimicked the disturbing cadence of a chugging steam train.

‘From me.’ As he carefully set down his wine glass, still holding onto the fragile stem with his forefinger and thumb, Drake’s gleaming intense glance all but devoured her.

‘But, saying that, I’m no predator. As far as women are concerned I’ve never found the need.’

His gaze continued to hold her spellbound, and she was helpless to break free from it.

‘I’ve never had to chase a woman in my life. It’s always been the other way round. However …’ Again he paused, as if carefully measuring his words. ‘I’ve always guessed that one day there would be an exception to break the rule.’

Feeling as if pure elemental lightning was scorching through her veins, Layla nervously licked her lips, feverishly trying to find coherent words to answer such an incendiary declaration. ‘Are you—are you saying that you’re pursuing me, Drake?’

His amused, provocative chuckle emanated from deep inside his throat. ‘I hope I won’t have to, Layla. But I rather think that will be up to you.’

Lifting his glass, he drank deeply from wine that the candlelight on the table seemed to turn into a deeply seductive blood-red river …

‘Are you and your guest ready to order, Mr Ashton?’

The waiter’s reappearance was well timed. It saved her from having to make a reply to a comment whose repercussions were still imploding shockingly inside her. She wasn’t naive as far as men’s desires were concerned. Her looks had often invited interested male attention … most of it unwanted. But never before had Layla been in a position where a man—a much admired and well-known man—told her so frankly that he would pursue her if she indicated she wasn’t interested.

Already she’d discovered that it was near impossible not to be interested in Drake. Every moment they spent together she was fighting hard to tamp down the flames of desire his mercurial silver gaze ignited every time his eyes met hers. It was going to be one almighty challenge to resist such an electrifying attraction for long.

At the waiter’s polite enquiry Drake opened the menu that had been languishing on the table in front of him, but before scanning it he glanced pointedly at Layla and said, ‘I think we need a few more minutes, don’t you?’

Not trusting herself to speak right then, she merely nodded her head.

‘We need a little more time,’ he told the waiter, who promptly and deferentially blended back into the general hub of the restaurant. ‘Shall I pour you some more wine?’

His lovely companion had been silent for the past few minutes as they ate their meal, and whenever Drake found himself helplessly studying her she seemed to be lost in a world of her own. Whilst he didn’t particularly mind the lapse in conversation, he was concerned that she might be regretting their date—and that was something he expressly didn’t want her to do. He should never have admitted so frankly that he would indeed pursue her if she indicated indifference to him. But in that unguarded moment lust and desire had got the better of him and his feelings had been hard to contain.

‘No, thanks.’ She declined his offer of more wine. ‘I can’t drink too much tonight. I’ve got a train to catch, and I’ve also got to get up early for work in the morning.’

‘You don’t have to rush to catch a train. My chauffeur will drive you home.’

‘How will you get home if your chauffeur drives me?’

Drake shrugged and took another sip of his wine. ‘He can drop me off on the way. I only live in Mayfair.’

‘I know,’ Layla answered, her pretty mouth curving in yet another ironic little smile. ‘I read it in the local newspaper. Lucky you.’

He hadn’t mentioned that he lived in Mayfair to impress her, but he couldn’t deny that he was peeved that she appeared so singularly unimpressed … dismissive, almost. It made him feel like the lead character in the story The Emperor’s New Clothes—a charlatan and a liar hiding behind a façade of wealth and success. In his mind he was still the poor boy living with a father who beat him and despised him and locked him in his bedroom in the dark when he wanted to exact particularly cruel punishment … His mouth tightened grimly as he fought the tide of agonising memory that rolled through him.

‘If you find it so disagreeable to accept my offer of a ride home in preference to catching a train then I’m not going to argue with you. As soon as we’ve finished eating I’ll pay the bill and we can go. There’s a tube station just round the corner.’

When hot embarrassed colour visibly flooded into her porcelain cheeks Drake firmly schooled himself not to let it remotely disturb him …

CHAPTER FOUR

THEIR date had been an unmitigated disaster.

Layla wasn’t quite sure what she had done to make Drake suddenly turn so cold towards her, but the fact was she’d definitely done something. He’d sat beside her in the car in chilling silence as his chauffeur dropped her off at the tube station. Even when she’d thanked him for the lovely meal and said goodbye he’d barely been able to bring himself to reciprocate. He’d merely murmured, ‘Goodnight, Layla’, and then glanced at her with those glacial grey eyes, as if wondering what on earth had possessed him to invite her out in the first place.

Now, hours after the date, she painfully tried to recall every word they’d spoken at dinner in a bid to discover where she had gone wrong. Several times she found herself revisiting Drake’s comment that he lived in Mayfair, and eventually—regretfully—had to own that her tone might well have been a little mocking. In no way had he been showing off to her, yet Layla had responded to the comment as though he had.

Because of her sour experience in working for her previous boss, she subconsciously believed that all wealthy and powerful men were arrogant and conceited and should be brought down a peg or two. No wonder Drake had decided to have nothing else to do with her. He probably thought she was an ignorant little fool. Though, to be fair, her remark had been an innocently thoughtless one, born out of her still feeling nervous and not just a little overwhelmed by him. No insult had been intended. But now she couldn’t help but believe he would never contact her again.

‘I’m taking an hour off at around eleven this morning for a meeting in my office. Can I leave you to hold the fort?’

Her brother’s voice broke into her morose musing. As if waking from a deep trance, Layla blinked up at him. She’d been arranging some fresh muffins on a shelf in the glass cabinet on the counter when she’d started reflecting on her date with Drake and wondering if she should risk telephoning him to make an apology.

As Marc patiently waited for her to acknowledge his comment she dusted some icing sugar from her hands and forced a smile. ‘Of course you can. We’re fairly quiet this morning, as you can see.’ She glanced across the café at the two middle-aged women seated on the comfy sofa—regulars of theirs, clearly enjoying their lattes and buttered currant buns and looking enviably content. Apart from them an elderly man and a teenage boy transfixed by his mobile phone were the only other customers.

‘The meeting is with Drake Ashton. Did you remember that he was coming today? Only you’ve hardly said a word about your date last night.’

‘Of course.’ Layla’s lips were suddenly numb. ‘It’s Thursday, isn’t it?’

‘Go to the top of the class!’ Grinning, Marc wiped the back of his hand across his brow. As usual his dark hair was slightly awry and uncombed, his black T-shirt crumpled and unironed.

‘I ironed you a pile of clean T-shirts yesterday and left them on your bed,’ she told him, her gaze raking his clothing. ‘How come you’re wearing that one? It looks like you slept in it. Don’t you think you ought to change if you’re having a meeting with Drake?’

‘So it’s Drake now, is it? Clearly you’re on much more informal terms with him since your date, then? I had my doubts when I first saw you this morning—you looked like someone had died. That naturally led me to conclude that things hadn’t gone well … which is why I haven’t quizzed you about it.’

‘Never mind about that.’ Impatiently Layla glanced round at the clock on the wall behind her. ‘He’s going to be here in just under half an hour. You need to change out of that scruffy T-shirt and comb your hair and endeavour to look a bit more presentable. That’s if you want him to think you’re serious about the business?’

‘Of course I’m serious about it!’ Marc scowled. ‘Why do you think I don’t sleep at night? Because I like going round looking like death warmed up?’

‘I don’t doubt your commitment. I know how much you care about making the café a success. I’m just saying that having the opportunity to talk to Drake Ashton is a chance that doesn’t come along every day, so you need to make the most of it. Look … if you leave now you’ll have just about enough time to change. Even if you don’t feel confident, it’ll help you feel miles better if you put on a clean and ironed shirt and comb your hair.’

‘You’re right.’ Sighing, her brother planted a resounding kiss on her cheek. ‘If Ashton arrives before I’m back, make him a nice cup of coffee and give him a bun, will you? Thanks, sis.’

As soon as Marc had left Layla checked her hair and eyeliner in her make-up mirror and tried hard to still the nerves that seized her at the knowledge that Drake was arriving in just a few short minutes for the promised meeting with her brother. Would he even acknowledge her when he saw her? she fretted. He’d been like the proverbial ‘ice man’ when he’d dropped her off at the tube station last night, and he hadn’t made any attempt to ring her and clear the air.

Knowing she would be utterly miserable if she succumbed to her feelings of fear and doubt about how he might behave towards her, she swung round to the digital radio on the shelf behind her and turned it on. As a lively pop tune filled the air she determinedly busied herself making the area round the counter even more pristine and inviting than it was already.

Twenty minutes later, after another worrying lull in custom, the glass door at the entrance opened, bringing with it a strong blast of frosted air. A mellow September it was not. Already it felt more like the onset of winter. But right then Layla was hardly concerned about the unseasonal temperature. Not when the reason for the suddenly open door planted his tall, lithe physique in front of the counter and made her heart race with one of his compelling enigmatic smiles. Wearing a stylish chocolate-brown cashmere coat over a fine dark suit, the handsome architect looked good enough to eat. Her blood heated even before he opened his mouth to speak.

‘Remember me?’

‘Yes, I do. You’re the man who cold-shouldered me at the end of our date last night.’

Even as the words left her lips Layla cursed herself for yet again blurting out the wrong thing. How could she have forgotten so soon that she’d intended to apologise for upsetting him—not greet him with a frosty accusation?

Drake’s handsome brow creased a little, emphasising the two deep furrows there. ‘I’m sorry about what happened … I really am. But I’m beginning to realize, Layla, that you have the propensity to rub me up the wrong way. Anyway, I should have called you straight afterwards and made amends. I wish I had. I certainly didn’t want the evening to end the way it did.’

The regret in his voice was accompanied by a glance filled with such intense longing that Layla could hardly believe it was directed at her. It had the effect of making her limbs suddenly feel as though they’d been injected with a powerful muscle relaxant, and she put her hands out onto the counter to support herself.

‘I sometimes don’t think before I speak,’ she murmured, reddening, ‘and I wish I did. Whatever I said or did that upset you I’m genuinely sorry for it.’

He nodded. ‘Then let’s start again, shall we? I’m going to visit a couple of sites after I see your brother, and I’d like you to come with me. I think you’ll be interested in hearing what’s planned there. I’ll drop you back here at the café afterwards. We’ll be a couple of hours at most.’

‘I’d love to come with you, but I can’t take time off just like that.’

Glancing round at the two remaining customers in the vicinity, Drake’s grey eyes glinted with humour. ‘Because you’re madly busy? Don’t worry—I’ll clear it with your brother when I see him. Is he around?’

‘He’ll be here any minute now. He—he had to dash home for something. Can I get you a coffee while you’re waiting for him?’

‘That would be great. I’ll have a strong Americano.’

‘What about something to eat?’

The question seemed to put him in a trance. His hypnotised gaze suggested he’d suddenly been plunged into a compelling private world of his own—a dimension that utterly and completely absorbed him. The faraway look in his eyes inexplicably made Layla’s heart ache. It was a bit like when his absorption in his technical drawings had put her in mind of a schoolboy concentrating hard on his homework.

She couldn’t help frowning. ‘Drake?’

‘What?’ Raking his fingers through his hair, he gave a rueful smile. ‘I don’t want any food, thanks. I’ve had some breakfast this morning. A coffee will be just fine.’

As if he was discomfited by his zoning out, he turned away, clearly intending to make for a nearby table. Layla stopped him in his tracks.

‘Do you mind if I say something?’

Warily he turned back. ‘Go ahead.’

‘I’m not for one second telling you how to conduct your business, so please don’t take this the wrong way, but Marc is a little fragile at the moment. He needs … well, he needs to hear something good … something that will help give him some hope for the café’s future. I’m not asking you to completely sugar-coat your advice, because obviously he needs to hear the truth, but whatever you advise him … would you—could you please bear that in mind when you talk?’

Again he drove his fingers through his hair. Although his expression was thoughtful, he also seemed a little weary, she thought.

‘There’s no sugar-coating the pill in business, Layla,’ he said, ‘but whatever advice I give to your brother, you can rest assured it will be fair and considerate … helpful too I hope. Was that all?’

With a self-conscious nod she turned her attention back to the task of making his coffee …

It felt so good to have her near again. As he drove the Range-Rover through the winding roads skirting the town Drake stole several covetous glances at his passenger’s arrestingly beautiful profile and now and then couldn’t resist lowering his gaze to the long slender legs encased in snugly fitting black cord jeans. He breathed in her perfume. It could have been life-giving oxygen as far as he was concerned, and he felt almost high on it.

After countless hours of hardly being able to concentrate on anything at all but Layla—long hours made even worse by the sleepless night that inevitably followed such pointed introspection—he was walking on air because she’d agreed to accompany him today. It didn’t matter that it was ostensibly for work, visiting the sites he’d been commissioned to rejuvenate with attractive affordable housing. How he hadn’t caved in and rung her after they’d parted last night he didn’t know. Except that he’d maybe had some idea of briefly punishing her with a show of indifference because he’d been so sure she’d been mocking him about living in Mayfair. He’d convinced himself that her unimpressed attitude suggested that she knew exactly where he came from and wasn’t going to let him forget it. But as soon as he’d set eyes on her again in the café, Drake had known it was himself that he’d punished. Now he was predisposed to be kinder.

‘Warm enough?’ he asked. The question earned him a sunny smile that was akin to the pleasure of eating hot buttered toast in front of a roaring fire—preferably with her.

‘This car has a great heater. The car I share with my brother has a heater that wouldn’t warm up a shoebox, let alone anything bigger. By the way, how did your meeting with him go?’

‘It was fine.’ Drake pursed his lips, amused. He might have known she wouldn’t be able to resist asking him about it. ‘I think I’ve given him some food for thought. It’s now up to him whether he acts on what I suggested or not. Most of all, he’s going to have to learn to be patient. Things take time to change for the better. By the way, we didn’t just talk about the café. You came into the conversation a few times too, Layla. The way he lit up at just the mention of your name told me that he adores you.’

It was impossible to suppress the jealousy that churned in the pit of his stomach when he thought about Layla regarding her brother in the same heartfelt way. Never in his life had he been on the receiving end of such a devoted sentiment.

Her slim shoulders lifted in a shrug. ‘I don’t know if it’s true that he adores me, but I admit that we’ve always been quite close. Do you have any brothers or sisters?’

‘No.’ Drake’s hands automatically tightened on the steering wheel. ‘I don’t. I’m an only child, I’m afraid.’

‘That doesn’t have to be a negative. Perhaps your parents decided that they only wanted you? Or maybe the reason they only had you was because they couldn’t have any more children?’

His companion’s innocently voiced assumptions sent a cold, clammy shiver up his spine. ‘I’ve no idea,’ he answered tersely. But he did. Being intimately acquainted with his family’s dysfunctional history, he knew only too well that neither of those scenarios was true. ‘I never asked them.’

‘And there’s no possibility of you asking them now?’

‘No. There isn’t. My mother walked out years ago, when I was just six, and my dad died when I was a teenager.’ It was hard to subdue the bitterness in his tone, and straight away he sensed the embarrassment and discomfort that his comments had inflicted on the woman sitting beside him.

‘I’m sorry, Drake …’

The sigh she emitted sounded genuinely heartfelt.

‘Forgive me for being so tactless. I had no idea about your background.’

‘It all happened a long time ago now, and it’s not exactly something I want to broadcast. I’d be grateful if you didn’t share the information with anyone else. In any case, as you can see …’ Turning his head briefly to observe her, he was instantly perturbed by the concern reflected back at him from her luminous brown eyes. ‘I’m a big boy now, and I get on just fine without my parents being around.’

‘You’re a lot tougher than I am, then.’ Her tone was tinged with sadness and regret. ‘I lost my mum when I was very young too. She contracted pneumonia after a bout of severe flu and never recovered. Then, when I was a teenager, I lost my dad. I still miss both of them more than I can say.’

Startled that her losses mirrored his own family scenario—albeit his mother hadn’t died but simply walked out—Drake was torn between voicing the usual polite words of commiseration and pulling the car over and impelling Layla firmly into his arms. He was aching with an almost unholy need to do just that. The mere idea of having an opportunity to touch her soft skin and silky hair, to feel her mouth tremble beneath his with what he secretly hoped might be an inflammatory need similar to his own, was almost too powerful to ignore.

But, seeing they were nearing the site he’d proposed they visit together, all he did was say thoughtfully, ‘I’m sorry you miss them so badly, but life goes on, doesn’t it? We have to try and make the best of things. When bad things happen you can either wallow in the idea that you’ve been dealt a bad hand or you can be determined to rise above it. Personally speaking, I was never going to stay around here and regard myself as some kind of victim—no matter how difficult or challenging it was to rise above my circumstances.’

He drove into the large denuded area that had already been cleared in preparation for building and pulled up beside one of the several works vans belonging to the contractor he’d hired. A few feet away scaffolding waiting to be erected lay in precisely organised piles on the cold hard ground.

‘We’re here.’ Silencing the engine, he turned to study his passenger. ‘I know the weather’s not great, but I’d still like to show you the site and tell you what we’ve got planned. Are you still up for a look round with me?’

‘Of course.’ Peering out of the windscreen, she let a fond smile touch her lips. ‘There used to be a great playground here when I was a kid. My brother and I sometimes walked all the way from our house to get to it. My dad was inevitably working, so during the school holidays after Mum was gone we were more or less left to our own devices. We used to think it was a bit of an adventure to go to the playground on our own, to tell you the truth. Do you remember it, Drake?’

‘I do.’

His own memories of the playground that had once stood on the site were definitely not as fond as Layla’s, he mused. He too had visited it on his own, but he hadn’t made any friends when he was there. The other kids had probably been warned by their parents to stay away from the boy whose mother had left him and who had a father notorious for being bad-tempered and more often than not drunk.

Bringing his focus firmly back to the present, Drake returned his pretty companion’s smile. ‘By the way, you’ll have to wear a hard hat … Health and Safety demands it, I’m afraid. I’ve got a spare in the boot.’

The word cold didn’t come anywhere near to describing the effect of the slashing raw wind that cut into Layla’s face as soon as she stepped out of the car onto the flattened muddied ground. Shivering hard, and reflecting on the vehemence in Drake’s tone when he’d talked about rising above his circumstances after the devastating events of his childhood, she suddenly understood why his success must mean so much to him. From this rundown suburban no-man’s land to Mayfair was no small achievement. In fact, thinking about the deprivation in the area—both socially and educationally—his accomplishment was nothing less than remarkable. Wrapping her arms round the insubstantial padded jacket she wore with her jeans, she shivered again, fervently wishing she’d had the foresight to wear something much warmer.

‘Let’s walk. Some exercise will help warm you up. Here, you’d better put this on first.’

As he came to stand in front of her she saw the glint of concern that mingled with wry amusement in his mercurial grey eyes and her blood started to pump hard even before she started to walk round the site. She was so disconcerted by the reaction that as she moved forward to take the spare headgear he was holding out she immediately tripped over a stone and almost fell. The only reason she didn’t was because Drake’s hands caught hold of her arms just in time to steady her. In the process he grabbed the hard hat she was carrying and threw it to the ground, along with his own, so that he could properly support her.

During those volatile few seconds time slowed to a terrifying immediacy that ripped away all possibility of thought. Instead Layla was aware only of the acutely erotic heat that poured into the air between them. It was a formidable force that was impossible to ignore.

When her shocked gaze fell onto Drake’s, only to see the candid hunger that was laid bare in his eyes, she knew with a jolt that they were reflecting the same shocking, raw need that she was experiencing. His steel-like grip on her upper arms didn’t lessen as his warm breath hit the icy air with visible little clouds of steam. She yearned to say something … anything to restore the situation to some semblance of recognisable normality before it was too late … before she succumbed to something she might live to regret. But the idea abruptly melted away when in that very same instant he took his hands away from her arms to cup them either side of her jaw. The surprising sensation of a couple of rough-edged calluses and warm smooth skin pressed against her cold face was a sensual revelation.

With a harsh breath that was a precursor to the inevitability of his next action, Drake crushed her mouth savagely beneath his.

The combined taste of his lips and tongue was immediately sexy and addictive. Like a heady smooth cognac that she couldn’t stop herself craving even when she knew drinking it would likely get her into trouble.

Layla found herself in the midst of a sensually battering storm that threatened to rip her from her moorings for ever, and her ears were filled with the sound of her own breathless gasps as her hands curled possessively into Drake’s cashmere coat in a desperate bid to bring his strong hard body even closer to hers. What she wouldn’t give to be skin to skin with him right then, instead of wearing restrictive clothing that prevented them from touching each other as passionately as they craved. Even in the teeth of the cutting wind that blew around them the fire they’d lit between them surely blazed hot enough to keep even the most arctic temperatures at bay?

The clawing sexual need that suddenly consumed her rocked her with its force. With an indisputable sense of urgency Drake hurriedly unzipped her jacket and roughly palmed her breast. Even through her clothing his touch was like a lick of raw flame scorching her. With a rough groan he broke off the avaricious kiss that was threatening to get out of control. His mouth’s desertion left Layla helplessly pining for more. But she didn’t feel abandoned for long, because straight away he pushed her jacket collar aside and pressed his mouth to the juncture between her neck and shoulder.

His heat all but undid her there and then. At the same time as his lips moved seductively over that highly sensitive region he sank his teeth into her skin and bit her. If it hadn’t been for the fact that both his hands were holding her fast by her hips she was sure she would have fainted from the sheer scorching pleasure of it. Yet a kernel of common sense somehow engineered its way into the dangerous fog of desire, and with her heart racing she freed herself from the circle of his arms and stepped away. As she moved back her hand gingerly touched the tender place where he’d bitten, feeling the sting that undoubtedly meant he’d left his mark. Her face flooded with violent heat.

‘We shouldn’t be doing this. We can’t do this. You were—you were going to show me round the site and tell me about what’s planned here. Perhaps we should concentrate on doing that instead of—instead of …’

‘Wanting to rip each other’s clothes off?’

Drake’s throaty intonation and teasing smile came dangerously close to making Layla hungrily return to his arms. To prevent such an occurrence she made herself recall how devastated she’d been when her ex-boss had mercilessly persuaded her to invest her life savings in the financial scheme that had turned out to be totally crooked. The humiliating and hurtful memory reminded her of her vow to steer clear of wealthy charming men for as long as she lived. Better she fell for a factory worker or a postman so long as he was honest and true.

She’d already been burned by someone whose raison d’être was money and success, and she was in no hurry to experience a similar scenario.

‘I don’t know what came over me, but you can be sure it won’t happen again. Shall we go and look round the site now? Time’s getting on and I need to get back to work.’

She gave Drake the scantest glance she could manage, knowing that if she gazed too long into those magnetically compelling eyes of his her good intentions and warnings to herself would be crushed into oblivion and she would lose all ability to make sensible decisions where he was concerned for good.

‘Come on, then.’ He bent down to retrieve the hard hats he’d let fall to the ground. After placing one on his own head, he moved across to Layla and handed her hers. ‘Put this on. We’ll do what we came to do and walk round the site, then I’ll take you back to the café. Later on tonight, when you’ve finished work, I’ll ring you so we can talk about when to see each other again. And when we do, I’m going to absolutely insist that you let my driver collect you.’

‘Didn’t you hear what I said? What if I tell you I’ve decided I don’t want to see you again?’

‘I won’t believe you. Not after what just happened between us.’

Drake’s expression was as serious and formidable as she’d ever seen it. Layla’s icily tipped fingers gripped the hard hat tightly, but she wouldn’t put it on until she got her feelings off her chest.

‘Let me put you straight about something. I’m not interested in having some meaningless sexual fling with you that will burn out in a few days or even a few weeks. I won’t deny that I find you physically attractive, but that in itself isn’t enough to persuade me that it’s a good idea to see you again.’

‘No? Then what is?’

‘I’ll only agree to see you if you let me into your life a little … if you give me the chance to get to know the man behind the successful veneer you present to the world. If you’re willing to at least consider the possibility then I’ll agree to another date with you. If not, then we may as well forget the whole thing.’

‘Setting aside what I do for a living, and my public reputation, I’m a very private man, Layla. I very rarely let anyone get too close to me … especially women.’

He almost didn’t need to say the words. Straight away she was aware of the turmoil that raged inside him at the mere notion of allowing her more intimate access into his life. It was as though she was the enemy and he was behind an impenetrable wall of steel keeping her from advancing any further.

Her breathing was suddenly uncomfortably shallow. ‘So your previous relationships with women have been based on satisfying sexual desire and nothing more? Is that what you’re telling me?’

‘This really isn’t the time or the place to discuss this.’ Drake’s troubled gaze turned into a warning glare. ‘Right now I need to do my job and look round the site. I’ll ring you later on tonight and we can talk then.’

Indignation that she was being palmed off until it was more convenient made Layla bristle. ‘Don’t bother. I’m not interested in being placated by your no doubt charmingly reasonable explanation as to why you don’t want to let me get to know you properly, and neither am I interested in being some convenient bed partner while you’re in town.’ She unceremoniously shoved the hard hat into his hand. ‘Don’t worry about giving me a lift back to the café. The walk will do me good. I know the route back into town like the back of my hand.’

‘Don’t go.’

There was a heartfelt plea in his voice that stopped her in her tracks.

‘Why? Why shouldn’t I go?’ she asked, her heart thudding inside her chest as though she teetered on the edge of a cliff.

‘Because I want to show you round the site and explain what we’ve got planned to improve it.’ He expelled a frustrated sigh. ‘Aren’t you at least interested in that?’

Even though she was mad at him, Layla couldn’t deny that she was more than interested in the planned improvements. After all, she knew only too well what it would mean to the town and its downtrodden population. It would feel like a betrayal of everyone she knew who lived there to just walk away and pretend she didn’t care.

Pushing her windblown hair out of her eyes, she slowly nodded. ‘Of course I’m interested. All right, then … I’ll stay and let you show me around.’

Quirking a wary eyebrow, Drake smiled. ‘And what about me ringing you later on tonight so we can talk about another date?’

‘If you agree to seriously consider my request about letting me into your life a little … then, yes … you can ring me.’

Shaking his head, as if he knew it was pointless to pursue the matter further, Drake lightly placed his hand at Layla’s back and led her onto the site.

CHAPTER FIVE

‘SO WHAT do you think of the planned improvements?’ As he drove them out of the site, Drake stole an interested glance at his passenger and saw that her incandescent brown-eyed gaze was definitely reflective.

‘Ithink it’s terrific what you plan to do,’ she replied enthusiastically. ‘Especially the idea of having a communal garden with lots of lovely planting and an adjoining play area for the kids.’

‘You don’t think the kids will pull up the plants?’

‘No, Idon’t. Give people a place to be proud to live in, a place that’s aesthetically beautiful as well as practical, and in my view they’ll do everything they can to take care of it. A lot of the smaller children Iknow love plants and flowers, and if someone shows them how to plant and water them they’ll love them even more.’

‘So the plans have your personal seal of approval, Miss Jerome?’

Layla’s pale cheeks were suddenly flooded with the most becoming shade of pink. ‘You don’t need my approval … but I’m glad you asked my opinion just the same.’

‘There’s one more place I’d like to show you before Itake you back—a place that we’re planning to improve as well. It’s a short, nondescript side-street in one of the more rundown areas.’

‘Okay.’

Drake’s heart was thundering on the drive to the location where he’d been raised as a boy, but he tried to look beyond the now emptied shabby Victorian houses and envisage instead the more modern and attractive buildings he intended to erect in their place.

‘This is the street you were talking about?’ his companion asked, her expression puzzled as she peered through the windscreen.

‘Yes. It’s been empty for a long time now. Do you know someone who used to live here?’ Immediately Drake prayed that she didn’t. He didn’t want her view of him tainted by some gossipmonger’s lurid account of his family.

‘I don’t know anyone that lived here, but I know there are a few locals who are petitioning the council to save the buildings and have them renovated.’

His lips twisted ruefully. ‘I heard about that. As well-meaning as those folks are, I’m afraid the petition has already been discarded.’

‘Why?’

Taken aback by the look of horror on Layla’s face, and a little rattled by it, Drake sighed. ‘Because an independent party has purchased the entire street and has plans to demolish the houses and construct more contemporary residences in their place.’

‘When did you hear that?’ The huge brown eyes that had dazzled him right from the start widened in shocked disbelief.

‘About three months ago … when I put in a bid to buy the street.’

Layla’s even white teeth clamped down against the soft flesh of her plump lower lip and her slender hand pushed shakily through her hair. ‘So you’re the independent party?’

‘Yes … I am.’

‘And you plan to pull down these historic old buildings and replace them with cheap modern “Identi-Kit” houses with about as much character as cardboard egg-boxes?’

Drake would have grinned in amusement if it weren’t for the fact that Layla looked so painfully aggrieved. ‘I hope I have a lot more taste than that,’ he said dryly. ‘And for your information I never build cheap modern houses … no matter where they’re situated. First and foremost, it’s important to me to build housing that residents will be proud to live in, and I always utilise the most skilled craftsmen I can find to build them—as well as using the very best materials.’

‘Be that as it may, the Victorians knew how to build houses that stood the test of time and were elegant too, and I have to tell you that I’m one of the town’s residents who petitioned the council. If you’re planning on improving the area why can’t you just invest your money in renovating what’s already here?’

‘Because I’d rather rebuild than renovate, that’s why.’

‘I don’t understand. Why won’t you consider renovating?’

Even though seeing Layla’s obviously distressed glance was akin to being punched hard, and it had shocked him to learn that she had been one of the petitioners who had fought to keep the Victorian terraced houses rather than demolish them, Drake didn’t feel up to explaining why he’d rather raze the old buildings to the ground and build new ones. He was feeling somewhat peeved that Layla should take it upon herself to advise him what to do. When he’d last looked, he was the architect in charge of helping to regenerate the town.

‘I’d better get you back to the café,’ he murmured.

‘Why won’t you answer my question? If you’re planning on pulling down the houses you might at least have the courtesy to explain why.’

Turning to face her, Drake bit back his irritation as best as he could. ‘I can see that you clearly have some romantic ideas about renovating these properties, but it takes a hell of a lot of money to restore old houses and bring them back to their former glory. Sometimes it’s far more economical and easier to build new ones. Don’t forget I’m a businessman as well as an architect, Layla.’

Before she had a chance to reply he gunned the engine and reversed the car rapidly down the street, and she glumly averted her gaze to stare out of the window …

Layla had asserted that she wanted him to let her into his life and to get to know the man behind the successful veneer. It was the single most scary thing that a woman had ever said to him.

Drake put down the tumbler with a double shot of whisky in it and morosely folded his arms.

Even scarier was the growing temptation to flirt with the idea of considering her request. But he was worried that after showing her the street where he’d grown up, and telling her he planned to demolish all the houses there and erect new ones, she’d change her mind about wanting to get to know him at all. She’d hardly taken the news of his plans for the street well. Yet it hadn’t affected the powerful allure she still had for him. Damn it all to hell! Layla Jerome had put a spell on him … either that or he had somehow lost his mind.

The decision to return to the place of his birth to help regenerate the area was seriously backfiring on him. The very last thing he’d expected to happen was that he should end up seriously lusting after a beautiful local girl that worked in a café.

He’d come back to Mayfair after finishing work that evening, but he’d neither eaten nor showered. His mind, body and senses had been too caught up in a tornado of longing and lust to accomplish either of those fundamental things so he had headed out to a hotel bar he knew in a bid to hopefully distract himself. Eating held no appeal when there was so much churning going on in the pit of his stomach, and he hadn’t showered because he didn’t want to wash away the alluring scent of Layla’s body. Her seductive smell was all over him, and if he shut his eyes he could recall the wonderful sensation of her soft velvety skin beneath his fingertips and the incredible taste of her sexy mouth …

A bolt of inflammatory need shot straight to his loins and Drake silently cursed the ill-timed inconvenience of it. Even though she’d firmly told him that she wasn’t interested in a sexual fling that would last only a few days or weeks he was still hoping to get her into bed soon. She’d asserted that she wanted to get to know him, but he knew if he let her she would probably be extremely uneasy with the taciturn, insecure man behind the glamorous and successful reputation—a man who was still too haunted by his past to be anywhere near comfortable with the idea of making a serious commitment to a woman.

Glancing impatiently down at his watch, and seeing that it was much later than he’d thought, he lifted the glass he’d put beside him on the bar and drank down the remaining contents in one hit. Even though Layla had been less than warm towards him when he’d dropped her off at the café, Drake had insisted he would ring her, and if he left it any later he knew he probably wouldn’t get to speak to her at all tonight.

‘Had a bad day?’

He glanced round in surprise at the shapely blonde who lowered herself onto the barstool next to him. She wore a fitted silver-grey suit over a dark red shirt with a revealing neckline, displaying enough décolletage to start a small stampede. Except that the provocative sight left Drake completely cold. There was only one woman he would head up a small stampede for and that was Layla.

‘It wasn’t all bad,’ he drawled laconically, getting to his feet, ‘there were definitely some highlights.’

‘You’re not leaving?’

The pneumatic blonde didn’t try to hide her disappointment. But once on his feet Drake knew emphatically what was next on his personal agenda—and it wasn’t whiling away the evening in a bar making small talk with a woman who was clearly on the lookout for a profitable sexual encounter with someone.

‘I’m afraid I am. Have a nice evening,’ he murmured, the automatic half-smile that touched his lips quickly fading because all he could think about was getting back home and phoning Layla.

‘She’s gone to bed?’

On receiving this astounding information from Layla’s brother Marc, Drake stopped stirring the mug of strong black coffee he’d made and turned round to lean back against the marble-topped counter in the kitchen.

Feeling stunned and aggrieved at the same time, he couldn’t help the irritation that seeped into his reply. ‘What do you mean, she’s gone to bed? It’s barely after ten.’

‘She’s never been able to hack staying up late. She’s a real morning person.’

‘And how is it that you’re answering her mobile? Is she staying with you at the moment?’

‘We share a house. I have the ground floor and Layla the top. Didn’t she tell you that?’

‘No. She didn’t. Anyway, morning person or not, I’d appreciate it if you’d go upstairs and see if she’s still awake. I told her to expect my call,’ he said, mustering as much authority as he was able—because he was still reeling at the notion of her going to bed and apparently not being the slightest bit perturbed that he hadn’t rung earlier. Was it because she was still mad at him for wanting to knock the terraced houses down and build new ones?

‘I can’t do that, I’m afraid. I’ve got strict instructions not to. That’s why she left her phone with me. She said if you rang I was to tell you that she’ll ring you on Monday. I’m really sorry, Mr Ashton, but it’s more than my life’s worth to disturb her. You may not know this yet, but my sister’s got a real temper on her. Trust me—glass can be shattered when she loses it!’

Drake clenched his jaw and curled his palm into an angry fist down by his side. She was going to ring him on Monday? Was she playing some kind of game with him that entailed teaching him a lesson for not agreeing to renovate the Victorian terraced houses? he wondered. Could she even guess at the depth of frustration she’d left him with earlier today? More to the point, did she believe that her request that he let her get to know him had frightened him off? Clearly if it had she certainly wasn’t going to lose any sleep over it.

‘Okay. Thanks,’ he muttered, finding himself completely at a loss to know what else to say.

Crossly replacing the receiver, he dropped down into a nearby chair. Did she really mean to let an entire weekend go by before she saw him again? He scowled. If he’d had her address and had been anywhere near the vicinity of her home he would have considered battering down her door to make her come and speak to him if he had to … temper or no. He wasn’t about to let a potential display of volatile emotion put him off his goal. Besides which, the mere idea of Layla losing her temper instigated an immediate fantasy of him subduing it with a long, lazy open-mouthed kiss on that sexy mouth of hers.

Having already sampled her exquisite taste, the fantasy was almost too real to be borne. Releasing a hard to contain groan, Drake pushed impatiently to his feet. The hot leisurely shower he’d envisaged was going to have to be replaced by one closer to sub-zero temperatures if his frustration was going to be remotely eased tonight …

Layla released a long sigh of relief when Marc told her the next morning that Drake had rung. She’d gone to bed early because she’d been genuinely tired, but she’d also been irritated with him because he wouldn’t consider renovating the Victorian terrace. It was clear he was also aggravated with her, because she’d asserted that she wanted to get to know him, that she wasn’t just interested in a short-term fling.

The man clearly had issues around allowing a woman to get too close to him and Layla wanted to find out why. She also wanted to know why he wouldn’t consider renovating the Victorian terrace. Somehow she didn’t buy it that it was more profitable to build new residences in its place. Drake might be a businessman as well as an architect, but she didn’t believe that financial consideration was the only reason he wouldn’t look at renovation.

Still, at the end of the day the man was doing far more for the town than anyone had in too many years to mention, and even if she was upset he wouldn’t listen to a small local petition to keep the terraced houses she couldn’t let that taint her feelings towards him … not when she sensed deep down that he was a genuinely good man.

It was while she was clearing away the debris of her breakfast and stacking the dishwasher that a sudden idea took hold. Maybe it was time she played a more proactive part in their association? Perhaps it was time to turn the tables and this time surprise him? She decided that if anything at all was going to come from their association—be it an irresistible and unforgettable fling or a mutual commitment to a much more meaningful relationship—she wanted at least to have joint command of it. Never again would she allow a man’s desires to take precedence over her own wants and needs—or, as in the case of her unscrupulous ex-boss, to convince her that he knew best.

In particularly good spirits that day, Marc agreed to let her have the afternoon off. He even gave her an affectionate hug when she confessed she was going up to London to see Drake.

‘I like him. He’s a very astute businessman,’ he said, smiling. ‘He told me I shouldn’t be in a hurry to throw in the towel and sell the café just because the takings are down. At any rate it isn’t a good time to sell, and I’d only get peanuts for it. He explained that the whole point of regenerating the area was not just to encourage new residents to move here, but to encourage more successful and appealing retail outlets to inhabit the high street and sell their goods. The influx of new customers would help small businesses like the café become more thriving concerns. “Give it a couple of years at least to see if things work out,” he advised. So that’s what I’m going to do. I can’t tell you how much better I feel at having some direction at last. Say thanks again for me when you see him, won’t you?’

The fact that Marc was more than happy at the advice Drake had given him went a long way to firming Layla’s decision to pay him an impromptu visit. In any case, after that smouldering encounter with him yesterday at the building site she knew it was pointless to pretend she wasn’t aching to see him again. And she’d dearly love to find out a bit more about his background and childhood if she could. Sometimes he had a near haunted expression in his eyes—a faraway look that suggested he was tormented by some unspoken grief. Did his painful reflections dwell on memories of a troubled past? she wondered.

When the taxi dropped her off outside the stunning hexagonal building Drake had designed, she almost wished she had a stiff drink at hand to give her some Dutch courage. What if he didn’t welcome this spontaneous visit of hers and was mad at her for turning up unannounced? Should she at least have rung him to let him know she was coming? Then it wouldn’t have been a surprise.

Layla softly murmured that thought out loud.

A few minutes later, travelling in the swish modern lift up to Drake’s floor, she stole a glance in the mirrored interior to check her appearance. She’d left her shoulder-length dark hair loose today, and it helped cover the small pink abrasion that Drake had so passionately gifted her with. Carefully pushing aside some silken strands, she let her fingers tenderly examine it. Then, feeling somehow guilty, she let her hair fall back into place to hide it.

In a bid to appear a little more relaxed than she had been when Drake had taken her out to dinner, she’d opted to wear light blue denims and a plain white shirt with a lined fawn-coloured trench-coat for her spontaneous visit. But when her gaze honed in on the softly scarlet bloom that highlighted her cheeks, she stopped focusing on her appearance and looked away with a frown.

It had been her hope to present an image of relaxed composure when she saw him, but now there was no chance of that. Why, oh, why could she never seem to prevent her feelings from showing on her face like some people could? Forget composure. Her big-eyed ‘caught in the headlamps’ expression made her resemble a frightened rabbit rather than a determined young woman intent on taking a potentially volatile situation firmly into her own hands …

‘Do you have an appointment with Mr Ashton?’

Drake’s efficient, intimidating blonde secretary was like a sentry at the gates of Rome, suddenly alerted to an impending invasion. As she stood behind the desk with her arms folded her diamond chip blue eyes sternly raked over Layla’s appearance, as if silently warning her that it was going to take a minor miracle to get past her to see Drake.

‘No, I don’t.’ Swallowing hard, Layla knew her smile was uncertain and strained. ‘I thought—I thought I’d surprise him.’

The sound of Drake’s deep voice suddenly bellowing at someone behind the closed glass door that she knew led into his office made her start. The secretary’s coral painted lips stretched briefly in an ironic smile.

‘Somehow I don’t think my boss is remotely in the mood for surprises, Miss …?’

‘Jerome.’

‘Yes, of course. You were here the other evening, weren’t you? Except he was expecting you then.’

‘Yes. He was. Look, I’ve come a long way to see him today. Can you at least tell him that I’m here?’

‘I know you must be a friend of his, but I’m afraid I can’t. His diary is full for the whole afternoon. Why don’t you leave your phone number? Or you can write a message if you’d prefer? I’ll make sure that he gets it.’

The other woman perfunctorily pushed a lined pad and a pen across the contemporary glass desk that right then seemed to symbolise an insurmountable barrier Layla couldn’t cross. Frozen by indecision, her teeth worrying at her lip, she numbly picked up the pen, then stared down at the writing paper feeling wretched. It had obviously not been one of her better decisions to turn up at Drake’s office unannounced. Perhaps she could find a café somewhere nearby and try to reach him on his mobile?

Just as she leant over the pad to write a message his office door opened and he stepped out. Wearing a sky-blue fitted sweater that hugged his hard-muscled lean frame, and dark blue jeans that highlighted his strong long-boned thighs, he too was dressed much more informally today. But she barely had time to realise much else, because he came to an immediate standstill and stared at her as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. His piercing silvery gaze made her insides flutter wildly. Behind him, a well-built man dressed in a grey pinstriped suit, carrying what looked like some rolled-up technical drawings, stole the chance to slip away discreetly before his boss noticed that he was gone.

‘Layla. To what do I owe the honour?’ Drake’s almost languorous drawl was tinged with the faintest mockery.

Lying the pen back down on the pad, Layla quelled the flurry of nerves that seized her and straightened up to face him. ‘I thought I’d surprise you,’ she told him.

‘Well, you’ve certainly accomplished that.’

‘I missed your call last night.’

‘Yes, you did. Still … you’re here now. Do you want some coffee?’

Before Layla had the chance to reply he turned to his secretary and said, ‘Monica? Can you get me and my visitor some coffee, please?’

‘Have you forgotten that you’ve got an appointment with Sir Edwin Dodd in twenty minutes, Mr Ashton?’

‘Ring him and put him off, will you? Tell him something important has come up.’

The efficient Monica couldn’t hide her dismay, or the fact that she was suddenly quite flustered. Layla almost felt sorry for her.

‘This is a longstanding appointment … don’t you remember? He’s probably already on his way, and I don’t think he’ll take too kindly to being put off at the last minute.’

As he folded his arms her boss’s glance was formidably steely. ‘Am I labouring under the misconception that I’m the one in charge round here?’

‘Of course not. I apologise if I was a little too blunt. I’ll ring Sir Edwin straight away and make your apologies. Then I’ll get your coffee.’

‘Thank you.’ He directed his gaze back to Layla, and the faintest enigmatic smile touched Drake’s lips. ‘Why don’t you come into my office?’

Following her into the stunning room, with its panoramic view of rooftops and a gloriously cloudless blue sky, he quietly shut the door behind them. ‘It’s good to see you—if a little unexpected. Let me take your coat and bag.’

As soon as Layla had unbuttoned the fawn trench-coat she sensed Drake move behind her to help remove it from her shoulders. The potent mix of warm virile man, sexy cologne and the electrifying brush of his hands through the layers of her clothing made her feel quite faint with desire. It was extremely difficult to think straight above such a shockingly imperative need.

In contrast, Drake appeared almost to want to taunt her by moving deliberately slowly, his air definitely preoccupied. But after carefully folding her coat over the arm of a nearby chair, and depositing her shoulder-bag and tote on the seat, he finally returned to stand in front of her. Dropping his hands to his lean masculine hips, he released a long drawn-out sigh. ‘Well, well, well … You certainly know how to keep me on my toes, Layla Jerome.’

Fiddling with the ends of her hair, she couldn’t prevent the heat that flooded into her face. ‘I’m sorry. I should have rung you first.’

‘Then your appearance would hardly have been a surprise, would it?’

‘No, it wouldn’t.’

‘Besides … I definitely get the impression that talking on the phone isn’t exactly a favourite occupation of yours.’

Moving nearer, Drake curled his hands round her slim upper arms and slowly but firmly brought her body in closer to his. Layla caught her breath.

‘I wanted to wring your brother’s neck when he wouldn’t go and tell you that I wanted to talk to you,’ he confessed huskily.

‘It wasn’t his fault. I told him not to disturb me.’

‘And why did you do that, I wonder? Was it because you were angry that I was going to have those houses demolished in preference to renovating them?’

‘I don’t deny I was furious about that. I know you left our forgotten little town a long time ago, but there are a lot of things that I still love about it. One of them is the rundown shabby streets with their once beautiful and historic old houses. It makes me terribly sad to think about the hardworking families who once lived in them and experienced all their joys and sorrows there but are now all gone.’

‘Do you know for a fact that they were all hardworking and happy?’ Drake asked, gravel-voiced.

There was something in his tone that made Layla’s stomach drop. ‘No, I don’t. I just—’

‘I grew up in that shabby little street, in one of those once “beautiful and historic old houses”. As I recall, it wasn’t remotely beautiful when I lived in it. Unfortunately I didn’t experience much joy there either … plenty of sorrow, yes. And my father definitely wasn’t hardworking.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that. I didn’t mean to rub salt into any wounds by expressing my opinions, Drake.’

‘Forget about it. Like you said, the ghosts of the past are all gone now. So, tell me, do you usually go to bed so early?’

The humour that replaced the pain in his eyes lifted her heart after the sad confession about his home-life. At least she now knew why he was so determined to demolish those houses.

‘During the week when I work I always go to bed early. I know you wanted to speak to me last night, but do you really think talking on the phone is the best way to get to know someone? I personally prefer to talk to my friends face to face … especially when it comes to discussing something personal.’

Drake’s answering short laugh made all the hairs stand up on the back of her neck.

‘So it’s my friend you want to be now, is it?’

Brushing her hair out of the way, he laid his hand over her cheek, gently stroking the pad of his thumb down over her flushed skin, eliciting an explosion of goosebumps.

‘I’ll only agree to be your friend, Layla, if I’m afforded certain … shall we say … privileges?’ he said, smiling.

As enticing as the idea to afford him those privileges was, Layla determinedly held her ground, even though his touch was seriously making her melt. ‘I think that comment sounds very much like an avoidance strategy to me.’

‘You think I’m avoiding something, do you? What am I avoiding?’ With an incorrigible grin he moved his hand to rest it lightly on her shoulder.

‘Answering the question I asked you yesterday—about—about letting me get to know you … giving me the chance to see the real man behind the successful architect.’

Once again she caught her breath as she waited for his reply. His grin faded almost immediately and his grey eyes suddenly acquired a glint of terrifying sadness that made her stomach roll over.

‘That question ensured I barely slept a wink last night,’ he told her gruffly.

‘Why?’ she whispered.

‘Before I answer that, I have a question for you … Why did you give up a presumably well-paid job in London to move back home? What happened with this boss of yours? You said he wasn’t a boyfriend, but I get the feeling something intimate happened between you. Was it an affair that perhaps turned sour?’

Drake’s hands were suddenly fastening round her arms again, and his grip noticeably tightened, making her heart thump. ‘I didn’t have an affair with him. I just—he plied me with drink at an office party and I stupidly succumbed to sleeping with him. It was only the one time, and I hated myself for it straight after.’

Feeling angry that Drake had turned the tables on her, Layla tried to twist free, but he was having none of it and held her fast.

‘My boss was like a lot of men who have wealth and power. He thought it was a golden ticket to having anything he wanted, and no doubt after my refusing his requests for a date for so long it helped boost his ego to get me drunk and finally persuade me into his bed.’ Her face was suffused with embarrassed heat. ‘I despise myself for being so weak, because he was the most unscrupulous and unprincipled man I’ve ever met.’

‘Was that the reason you quit your job?’

Sucking in a steadying breath as the memory of the shameful betrayal that had finally forced her to leave washed over her, she gazed into Drake’s eyes with an unwavering furious stare.

‘No. At least, it wasn’t the main one. In another stupidly weak moment I let him persuade me to invest all my savings in a deal that was a total scam from start to finish. When I lost every penny, he shrugged as if he couldn’t care less and said, “That’s the business we’re in, Layla. It’s all about risk. Sometimes we win and sometimes we lose. You should have known that … silly girl.” He wasn’t wrong there.’ She shook her head bitterly. ‘I was silly … Let me rephrase that. I was utterly and unforgivably stupid. My common sense deserted me. But at the time I invested in his deal I’d long grown tired of the soulless nature of my job and my boss. I was desperate to leave. I wanted to retrain as a youth worker or something along those lines instead … something that could be of use to people. But I knew if I was going to study I’d need money to support myself. That’s why I fell for my boss’s expert sales pitch. I thought that because he’d reached the heights as a broker, and made a lot of money by speculating and taking risks himself, he must know what he was doing. I never thought for one minute that he might take me to the cleaners because I only slept with him once and refused to do so again. It’s amazing what we can convince ourselves of when we’re desperate, isn’t it?’

‘I’m sorry.’

The comment sounded genuinely compassionate, and Drake’s firm grip on her arms gentled.

‘Not half as sorry as I am. I know one thing for sure. I’ll never make a decision out of desperation again.’

‘You did nothing wrong, Layla. It’s your low-life ex-boss that needs hanging out to dry.’

‘Anyway …’ She lifted a shoulder in a shrug. ‘You live and learn, as my dad always used to say. Are you going to answer my question now, Drake?’

Withdrawing his hands, he pressed his fingers deep against his temples. For the first time since he’d appeared in the outer office she noticed the softly bruised shadows beneath his eyes that denoted his previous night’s lack of sleep.

‘I’ve been giving it some serious thought.’

Not brave enough to prompt him, Layla neither moved nor spoke.

Lifting his strong cut-glass jaw, Drake gave her one of his searing, compelling glances. ‘I want you Layla. I’m sure you know that only too well by now. You’re like a fever in my blood that I can’t recover from. So I’ve decided that I will give you more access than I’ve given to any other woman before and let you get to know me a little. But I want to make it clear that that doesn’t mean there’ll be no holds barred—because it’s quite likely there will be.’ The glitter in his eyes that followed this statement was almost fierce. ‘I don’t share my feelings or my thoughts easily. Maybe that’s a habit I’ll eventually learn to break, but there’ll definitely be boundaries if we become more intimate. Think you can handle that?’

With her heart bumping heavily against her ribs, Layla found herself nodding slowly. ‘Yes, I do. At least, I’m willing to take the risk.’

CHAPTER SIX

AFTER they had their coffee Drake gave Layla the ‘grand tour’ of his offices, because he knew if they stayed alone together any longer, cloistered in his private domain, he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off her. As it was he had to contend with the too interested glances of his colleagues … especially the men. But how could he blame them when her slim-hipped jeans-clad figure and beautiful face was a magnet for any male with a pulse? No matter how young or old …

From the moment he’d told her that he was willing to let her get to know him—barring one or two no-go areas that he hadn’t yet outlined—he’d begun to feel uncharacteristically possessive towards her. It was a new sensation for Drake, and one he’d never experienced before—not even with his ex Kirsty.

As they toured the offices on each floor Layla appeared genuinely fascinated by the different projects his architects and designers were undertaking—taking him and them aback by asking the kind of in-depth questions that he asked his clients himself in a bid to ascertain their construction needs. She was particularly interested in the social and environmental aspects of the various designs, and his younger male architects were only too happy to oblige her with full-length explanations, he saw. The realisation made him proud that he’d hired such good people, but it also made him intensely jealous that they were practically falling over themselves to interact with Layla.

When she stood beside them to examine an architectural model more closely, or leant over their shoulders to view a design or a technical drawing on a computer, did their hearts pound because she was so near as his always did?

He couldn’t wait to have her to himself again, and after a couple of hours of this self-inflicted torture Drake was more than ready for them to return to his off ice.

By the time they reached the executive floor he noted that it was nearing six in the evening and one or two people were packing up for the day, ready to go home. Monica looked decidedly disgruntled as he and Layla arrived back in the outer office, giving him the instant vibe that she wasn’t too impressed with his impromptu tour.

‘I’ve rescheduled Sir Edwin Dodd for Monday afternoon at two, but the other appointments you so unfortunately missed all ask if you could call them personally to establish when you’ll definitely be available. Other than that … All Quiet on the Western Front, as they say—and unless there’s anything urgent I’m going home.’

‘Thank you, Monica,’ he replied, smiling. ‘I appreciate your hard work today. I know it can’t have been easy cancelling my appointments at the last minute. Are those the phone numbers of the clients that I missed?’ He gestured towards the piece of paper she was holding out to him.

‘Yes.’ She perfunctorily handed it over, then impatiently hovered as he scanned down the printed list.

‘That’s fine. Thanks again,’ he murmured.

‘I’ll say goodnight, then.’

Without further ado she slipped on her raincoat, arranged the strap of her bag securely over her shoulder, then exited the office without so much as a backward glance at either him or Layla.

Striding back into his private office, Drake dropped the paper onto his desk and then called out to his guest to come and join him.

‘I get the feeling that your secretary’s going to view me as enemy number one should I ever dare visit you here again … especially without an appointment.’ Stepping into the room and then quietly closing the door behind her, Layla shaped her mouth into a lopsided and rueful smile.

‘She runs a tight ship.’ Drake grinned. ‘She doesn’t like it when her captain goes AWOL.’

‘I can’t say I blame her. You probably missed several important appointments today.’

‘Do you really think I care about that right now?’

Planting himself directly in front of her, Drake could no longer resist the impulse to be closer. Watching her talking and smiling with his colleagues had been excruciating torment because he hadn’t been free to touch and hold her as he yearned to do. He hadn’t even dared catch her eye in case he revealed his longing in front of the people he was ultra-careful to keep his private life a firmly closed book to. At any rate, he fully intended to make up for that self-denial now.

He started by cupping Layla’s small, delicately made jaw, and straight away saw her eyes darken and grow even more lustrous beneath the long ebony lashes that swept down over them. His pulse quickened. The sensual silken texture of her skin beneath his fingers made him long to explore all of her without restraint, to drown in her beauty and get drunk on it without the fear of consequences to either his heart or his conscience.

‘You mesmerised them out there,’ he told her. ‘You’re going to be the talk of the place for weeks to come.’

‘I hardly think so.’

‘Then you clearly don’t know a lot about the male of the species.’

‘That’s probably true.’

Her dark eyes were troubled for a moment, and Drake could have kicked himself for reminding her of her dishonest ex-boss.

‘Returning to the present, I hope you haven’t made any plans for the weekend?’ he commented, lowering his voice, holding her gaze with invisible ties that hungrily bound it to his.

‘Why’s that?’

‘Because I’d like you to spend it with me.’

‘All of it?’

The wonderment in her voice made Drake chuckle. ‘Yes, all of it. And I’ll make sure you get home early enough on Sunday that you can get to bed at your usual time.’

‘So you’re expecting me to stay the night with you? I mean … not just one night but two?’

‘Think you could bear it?’ He hated the doubt that suddenly surfaced in his mind. He wished he could shoot it dead. ‘My house has several guest rooms. If you’d rather we didn’t share a room until you get to know me better, then I want you to know I’ll respect that.’

‘Thanks.’

The gratefully innocent smile she gave him told Drake that he’d said the right thing. He was immensely relieved. He didn’t want any more of their days or their evenings together to end in quarrels or disappointment. He’d rather suffer the torment of frustration than that.

‘Do I get a kiss for being so thoughtful and considerate?’ he teased, smiling.

In answer, Layla reached up on tiptoe and pressed her lips softly against his. Even though his first impulse was to ravish and plunder now that she’d agreed to his request, he summoned some stoic restraint from God only knew where and deliberately kept the kiss on the right side of slow and tender. But even so his hands moved up and down her back, and now and then ventured over the enticing curve of her delectable derrière.

‘Time’s getting on,’ she murmured. ‘Shouldn’t we go and get something to eat?’

Reluctantly freeing her lips from the sensuous, erotic glide of Drake’s gentle and surprisingly tender response to her kiss, Layla found herself staring up at him, noting the tiny bead of sweat glistening in the indentation above his carved top lip and the beginnings of five o’clock shadow already darkening his firm lower jaw. But most of all she registered the carnal hunger his mercurial grey eyes radiated back at her, and wondered how he’d managed to keep it at bay and kiss her with such tender restraint. If the tenor of that lovely kiss had been transformed at any point into a conflagration such as they’d ignited at the building site yesterday, she didn’t doubt that her suggestion of getting something to eat wouldn’t have been the very first suggestion she made …

Although genuinely relieved when Drake had stipulated he didn’t expect them to share a room and that she might like to get to know him a bit better before they became more intimate, she was still breathless at his invitation to stay the night. Not just one night, but two. Funny how things worked out, she mused. When she’d been readying herself to travel up to London to pay him a spontaneous visit she’d somehow found herself packing a toothbrush and a spare pair of undies into her tote … just in case. She hadn’t been behaving presumptuously, she told herself, just being sensibly prepared for an eventuality such as this. It was surely the practical thing to do when all Layla had to do was glance at the man for her to crave the most lascivious attentions imaginable.

Already it seemed that her vow to be cautious and utilise her common sense around him was seriously coming under fire.

‘That sounds like a good idea. How about we go back to my place and I’ll cook us something?’

‘You can cook?’

His eyes flashed with humour. ‘Don’t get your hopes up. I’m a million light years away from Cordon Bleu, but I can do basic stuff like a stir fry and spaghetti bolognaise. And if you’ve got a sweet tooth I have some artisan vanilla ice cream in the fridge.’

‘Then lead the way, Chef. My palate is all yours!’

Giving him a teasing grin, Layla moved across to the chair where Drake had left her black leather tote. But before she lifted it, Drake stepped up behind her and reached for her coat.

‘Let me help you put this on.’

‘Thanks.’ She breathed in the heat from his body, along with his arresting cologne, and briefly shut her eyes tight to savour the moment.

‘Let’s go.’ Catching her by her shoulders to spin her round, he dropped a light kiss onto her forehead and smiled.

It was dusk by the time Drake’s chauffeur Jimmy pulled up outside the house. Stepping out onto the pavement, Layla registered that the air was surprisingly warm as opposed to the wintry feel of yesterday, when she’d visited the building site with Drake. Her heart leapt with pleasure, because it seemed like a good omen, but her attention was quickly diverted from the balmy temperature to the arresting sight of the impressive Georgian house that loomed up before her.

It was positioned at the end of a precisely mown lawn, with an ornate stone fountain at its centre. The building itself was a perfectly proportioned five-storeyed, elegant townhouse, with large picture windows and a subtly painted green front door that had a carved sunburst pediment above it. The Regency terrace where it was situated was surely one of the best addresses in London, she mused.

Sensing Drake come to stand silently beside her, Layla made sure her tone was perfectly innocuous when she said, ‘So this is where you live? It’s beautiful.’

‘Why don’t you come in and see if the inside matches that impression?’

Before she even stepped through the door Layla knew that it would. But what she hadn’t expected was that the interior of such a traditional house would be decorated with such an eclectic mix of both traditional and modern furnishings and fittings. This was evidenced by the extremely contemporary black metal coatstand that might have been a sculpture standing just inside the door and the beautiful rosewood Regency armchair—both resting against a white marble floor that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a luxurious Italian villa.

As Drake led her down the hall to the foot of a staircase with a tasteful green and gold runner, she saw to her surprise that instead of a balustrade it had a sheer glass wall running alongside it. She couldn’t help turning towards her companion with a quizzical smile. ‘You’re a conundrum—you know that?’

His brow furrowed. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well …’ Sighing thoughtfully, she deliberately chose her words with care. No way did she want to make another inadvertent blunder and offend him. ‘You design these incredible state-of-the-art modern buildings, yet you live in a very traditional nineteenth-century house. And when you walk through the door there’s another surprise. Instead of traditional furnishings you’ve plumped for a real mix of old and new. It intrigues me. You intrigue me.’

Reaching towards her, Drake all but stopped her breath when he slowly and deliberately tucked some dark strands of her silky hair behind her ear. His silvery eyes glinted with warmth and humour, but Layla detected a surprising hint of vulnerability in the fascinating depths too—a vulnerability that he had to take great pains to keep hidden from the world at large, she was sure.

‘I’m very glad that I intrigue you,’ he replied. ‘Whilst I don’t see my wealth and position as some kind of “golden ticket” to get me anything I want, as your ex-boss did, I’ll happily accept any advantages that might act in my favour. At least where you’re concerned, Layla.’

When he said such seductive things to her he made it very hard for her to gather her thoughts. ‘So why do you live in a house like this when you’re renowned for designing some of the most contemporary buildings on the planet? That’s what I’d like to know.’

‘The watchwords for the Regency era were proportion, symmetry and harmony. I rather like that. As well as the desire for aesthetic beauty that the architects used as their guide, there’s something very comforting and solid about the houses that were constructed then. But I also like the challenge of modernity … designing buildings that meet more contemporary needs—such as larger spaces to live and work in with plenty of light.’ Drake’s well-shaped mouth shaped a grin. ‘But that’s enough talk about design for one day. It feels too much like work. I don’t know about you, but my stomach is crying out for some food. Let me show you round the rest of the house, then I’ll go and cook our dinner.’

‘I admit I’d love something to eat—but I’d also love to see what else you’ve done here.’

‘Then I’ll lead the way. But first give me your coat. You can leave your bag on the chair there.’ Waiting until Layla had done just that, Drake gestured her to ascend the staircase in front of him. ‘It will be my pleasure to show you round.’

After showing Layla three bathrooms with freestanding baths and every conceivable modern convenience that anyone could wish for, several bedrooms with chic French-style beds and original oil paintings on the walls, then a frighteningly elegant living room with exposed brick and French doors that led out onto a charming decked terrace, Drake proposed that they see the rest of the house after they’d eaten. So with that in mind they headed for the kitchen, where he proceeded to extract the ingredients for the stir-fry they’d agreed on from a large stainless steel refrigerator.

The kitchen was another testament to Layla’s host’s eclectic good taste. Every cabinet, piece of furniture and furnishing had clearly been positioned and designed to complement each other—from the glossed white and grey surfaces of the worktops to the arctic-white marble floor. But in contrast to the highly contemporary look that was one’s first impression on entering the room, the evidence of several small antique oils of horses in the park here and there, and a typically high Regency ceiling that hinted at a much more gracious era, reminded visitors that they were in the home of a man who was not wholly mesmerised by designs from the twenty-first century alone.

‘I love your home, Drake. I think it’s the most interesting house I’ve ever been in,’ Layla declared as she watched him reach up to a cabinet for a large stainless steel wok.

Setting the pan down on top of an unlit burner, he turned to face her. ‘Can I ask what you mean by “interesting”?’

His furrowed brow wore a frown, and she had the distinct feeling that her comment had perturbed him in some way. ‘I just mean that it’s not the kind of house I expected you to live in, but I really like it … and how you’ve decorated it. That’s all.’

‘You don’t think there’s something missing?’

‘Like what?’

Dropping his hands to his hips, Drake studied her intently. ‘I don’t know … warmth, perhaps? Some personal attribute that makes it feel more like a home?’

Intuiting what he was getting at, Layla felt her heart immediately go out to him. ‘Do you believe that you lack warmth, Drake?’ she asked softly.

Clearing his throat, he tunnelled his fingers restlessly through his hair. ‘I’ve lived alone for so long. Sometimes it concerns me that I’ve become a little too insular. How can I be the best architect I can be if I lose touch with what people really want in a home?’

The statement stunned her. ‘You are the best architect. Surely your considerable catalogue of work must tell you that? Isn’t that why you were commissioned to help regenerate our town?’

The tentative half-smile he gave her was definitely uneasy. ‘I don’t know why I said what I did. Put it down to me being at work since six this morning. I’m not complaining, but it’s been a hell of a long day. Anyway, I ought to crack on with cooking our meal.’

‘Is warmth what you want in a home?’ Layla ventured, her heart bumping beneath her ribs. ‘Is it something that you maybe didn’t experience as a child?’

The answering warning flash in his eyes was instant and intimidating—like burning embers from a fire that could potentially be dangerous to anyone sitting too close to the flames.

‘Remember I told you there were areas in my life where you absolutely don’t go? I’m afraid that’s one of them.’

Giving his comment her utmost consideration, Layla frowned. ‘Do you think if you never talk about those things that they’ll somehow just fade away? It’s my experience that they don’t, Drake. I’m not saying that talking alone makes them easier to deal with, but at least it’s a step in the right direction to making your peace with them.’

There was another irritated flash in his eyes, then he swallowed hard. ‘The subject is closed. Closed as in you don’t bring it up again … at least not until I indicate that you can. Is that clear?’

Mutely Layla nodded. It was definitely clear to her that now wasn’t the time to try and delve deeper or prolong the discussion. And she didn’t want to spoil their weekend together with a potentially heated argument. She would simply have to accept that she had to tread carefully round Drake until she sensed he was ready for a more intimate discourse about his past. Knowing he might never be ready for such a frank discussion, she either had to make her peace with that or walk away.

As he turned back towards the cooker she laid her hand just above his wrist, where a smattering of silken brown hair grazed the otherwise smooth flesh exposed by his rolled-up sweater sleeve. ‘Why don’t you let me cook the meal? You can pour yourself a nice glass of wine and go and relax in the living room. I’ll come and get you when the food is ready.’

‘As tempting as that sounds, you’re my guest, remember?’

She couldn’t help but grin. ‘But I’m a very amiable guest, who doesn’t mind mucking in when the situation calls for it. The fact that you’re so tired definitely warrants my assistance. Go on … pour some wine and go and relax. I’ll peer into cupboards and find out where everything is.’

Drake wrestled with her suggestion for just a couple of seconds longer, then relented. The troubled look on his face all but melted away before her eyes.

‘You’re the kind of guest that I could definitely get used to,’ he teased, tipping up her chin and dropping a warm, sexy kiss that was far too fleeting onto her lips.

Layla knew if she slipped her hand behind his head to hold him there a little longer then all further discussion about food and cooking would be put on hold for quite some considerable time …

‘Wait until you taste my food and see if you still think that.’

‘Will you be okay using the cooker?’ he checked.

‘Good question.’ She sighed, then grimaced as she scanned the large gleaming state-of-the-art hob and oven with its myriad chrome dials and knobs. ‘I’m sure I’ll be fine. It’s an intimidating-looking beast, but surely I don’t need a degree in rocket science to fry a few shrimps and cook some rice … do I?’

Her handsome host chuckled. ‘Let me turn on the hob for you.’ He flicked a switch, turned a dial, and the hob underneath its black glass shield glowed instantly red. ‘It’s as easy and as straightforward as that. No degree in rocket science required. Think you’ll be okay now?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘Good. I’ll leave you to it, then. Would you like a glass of wine to enjoy while you’re cooking?’

‘As lovely as that sounds, I’d better not. I might put too much paprika or chilli in the mix, and if I get even the slightest bit intoxicated then our stir-fry will probably be inedible!’

‘Warning received.’

Helping himself to a bottle from the sculpted metal rack on the other side of the room, along with a corkscrew and a glass, Drake left Layla with an irresistible lingering smile and a promise in his eyes that—if she let it—could tempt her away from the most sublime culinary feast even if she was starving …

CHAPTER SEVEN

HE KNEW he’d had a lucky escape. But how long could he avoid talking about his past with a woman who made the walls of self-protection he’d carved round himself paper-thin every time she smiled into his eyes, let alone when he kissed her?

His elbows resting on his thighs, Drake stared blankly ahead of him at the glass of ruby-red wine he’d left languishing on the coffee table. He clasped his hands, unclasped them, then clasped them again. In a bid to divert his restlessness he got up and strode across the room to the music centre. When the familiar mournful voice of a male singer-songwriter filled the air he found himself honing in on the lyrics that echoed his own deep-rooted yearning for happiness and peace. Both those longed-for states had been way beyond his grasp ever-since he could remember.

Growing up in an atmosphere of tension and rage had very effectively seen to that. Even at the tender age of six Drake had intuitively understood why his mother had walked out on his father. He’d been a bitter, jealous, angry man who would have kept her under lock and key if he could. She’d had no life with him at all. Yet what Drake didn’t understand—and probably never would—was how she could have walked out on her defenceless son, leaving him with the brute she had married.

His hands reached up to his cheeks to scrub them roughly, as if by doing so he could delete the agonising memory from his mind and heart for ever. He couldn’t, and his anguished thoughts ran on … How much resolve, faith and sheer grit had it taken for him to overcome his broken and unsupported childhood to reach the position he found himself in now? he asked himself.

Yes, he’d reached the heights of his profession, gained money and a laudable reputation beyond his wildest dreams, yet what good was any of it if at the end of his life he was still alone without someone to share it with? He released a slow harsh breath. With despair in her voice his ex had asked him the same question, and Drake had answered angrily.

‘I’m not interested in marriage or having children. That’s not for me. If you want that then you should go and find someone else.’

Well, Kirsty had taken him at his word and broken up with him that very night. Drake had heard recently through a mutual acquaintance that she was pregnant and engaged now, and he honestly wished her well. She was a nice woman, but not the soulmate he’d always secretly craved … a soulmate who would accept him for exactly who he was and not try to mould him into some imaginary ideal that she hoped he might become. What he wanted was a woman of infinite understanding with a capacity for unconditional love beyond measuring. It was a tall order.

Was Layla that woman?

Groaning out loud, he shook his head. How could she be when she was already probing him with uncomfortable questions about his feelings and his past? All he wanted to do was enjoy her body and her company. He wasn’t going to speculate much more beyond that. Shutting off the music, he returned to the luxuriously upholstered couch, reaching for his glass of wine and taking a long slug of the rich burgundy before his rear even touched the seat cushions.

Had he done the right thing leaving her to her own devices in the kitchen? he wondered.

His ensuing smile was helplessly wry. Her cooking surely couldn’t be any worse than that of the incompetent housekeeper he’d recently let go. Layla worked in a café, for goodness’ sake. She was well used to preparing food and making it look presentable. God forgive him, but he very much liked the idea of having her cook for him. In fact—despite his vow that he wouldn’t speculate on the future—he very much liked the idea of having her around full-stop …

The shrimp stir-fry had worked out better than Layla had hoped, and she and Drake had finished every scrap. She had to admit that watching him tuck into a meal she’d prepared with such obvious relish had given her a real sense of satisfaction and pleasure—if only because her nervousness round him hadn’t caused her to make a complete hash of it.

Immediately after they finished, she automatically stood up to clear the table, her intention to stack the dishwasher.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’

Although his grey eyes glinted with amusement, Drake’s voice had a definitely irritated undertone.

‘I was going to rinse the bowls and stack them in the dishwasher.’

‘You don’t think cooking a meal was more than enough demonstration of domesticity for one evening? Granted I need a housekeeper, but unless I’ve had a serious lapse of memory I wasn’t aware that I’d given the position to you.’

‘It’s no big deal to clear up.’

‘That’s not why I invited you home with me.’

His rough-edged tone told her exactly why he’d invited her home, and Layla couldn’t deny the same thought had been playing on her mind from the moment she’d set eyes on him back at his office … and even before that, when she’d somehow found herself packing a toothbrush and spare underwear into her tote. But she was still wary about surrendering to her physical desire for him too quickly. It was hard to shake the memory of how she’d been so badly used by her ex-boss.

‘You invited me home with you because I presented you with a fait accompli, turning up at your office like that.’ She stalled, crossing her arms over her chest. ‘You probably felt obliged.’

‘Obliged? You must be crazy.’

Abruptly getting to his feet, Drake strode round the glass-topped table. He unceremoniously pulled her against him, making her gasp. Suddenly Layla found herself on the most intimate of terms with his hard lean body, and the lust that blazed down at her from his eyes made her heart thump hard.

‘I swear to God you’ve put a spell on me, woman—because I can’t think of anything else but having you in my bed.’

‘You told me—you said that you had several guest rooms … that we didn’t have to share a room tonight.’ Her tongue was so thick she could barely get the words out.

‘I must have fooled myself into believing that I had will power, then.’

At the precise moment he stopped talking Layla knew without a doubt that she was fighting a lost cause. Heat was already pouring through her body in a torrent of libidinous need that she could scarce contain, and the idea of spending the night alone in one of Drake’s guest rooms instead of in his arms in his bed was akin to attempting to cross a burning hot desert without access to any drinking water. She simply couldn’t do it.

‘And I—I don’t want to spend the night alone in one of your spare rooms, Drake.’

‘Then come with me,’ he husked.

Somehow, her hand held firmly in his, she found herself climbing another glass-lined staircase that led to an upper floor. Barely registering the lush oil paintings that hung here and there on the ivory-coloured walls, or the black velvet sky she glimpsed through the various windows they passed, now she was the one who felt as though she was under a spell. When they reached his bedroom she saw that it was an undoubtedly masculine retreat, with clean, uncluttered surfaces and an original restored oakwood floor without so much as a single rug covering even the smallest square of it. The only less than pristine note was the rumpled burgundy silk counterpane on the large king-size bed. It looked as though its owner had attempted to straighten it in a hurry, thought better of it, then irritably decided to just let it be.

Layla refused to entertain the idea that maybe it was rumpled because he’d spent the night in it with a lover. Such a possibility would ruin everything for her.

Briefly letting go of her hand, Drake touched his fingers to a dimmer switch on the wall next to the door and glowing lamps gently filled the room with softly intimate light. Then he closed the door behind them and, turning back, hungrily fastened his hands either side of her hips.

‘Let me love you,’ he breathed. ‘No more talking or making promises we’re afraid to keep in case they don’t work out. Just let it be you and me alone together in this room … in this bed.’

He touched his lips to hers and the seductive spell already cast became a sensual magical dream that Layla never wanted to wake up from.

The hot thrust of his tongue into her mouth ignited a trail of fire straight to her core, causing her knees to buckle helplessly and making her sag as though drunk against the hard muscular wall of his chest. His arms immediately encircled her waist to hold her upright. Then she was effortlessly lifted up and transported across the room to the rumpled bed.

The moment she was lowered down onto the silken counterpane Layla knew it was imperative to get something off her chest before they went any further. ‘I don’t know what you’ve imagined, but I’m not—I’m not very experienced at this. The last occasion when I was intimate with someone was with my boss, and that was the most horrible mistake. Since then …’ She screwed up her face. ‘Since then I haven’t even wanted to get close to a man like this.’

His grey eyes glinting with gentle amusement, Drake touched his palm to her cheek. ‘I’m not interested in your past, Layla. The only thing I’ve imagined is you and me here and now, in this bed, writing a new page to both our histories.’

‘I want that too, Drake … But, on the subject of histories, I need to ask has there—has there been anyone that’s shared your bed lately?’

The astute grey eyes that seemed to be gifted with the unsettling ability to read her thoughts glinted with ironic disbelief, and perhaps some annoyance too. Layla sensed her cheeks redden helplessly. ‘I haven’t been intimate with anyone since my ex-girlfriend, and it’s been six months since we broke up,’ he confided.

‘You didn’t live together?’

‘No. We did not.’

Easing out a relieved sigh, she ventured an apologetic smile. ‘I didn’t mean to embarrass you, but I had to know.’

‘I understand.’

The steady, deeply assessing gaze he returned let her know he did indeed understand.

‘Now that we know where we both stand, how about we go back to where we were?’

Feeling suddenly daring, and perhaps a little reckless too, Layla reached up to Drake to cup her hands round his iron jaw and pull his face down to hers. The lower half of his visage was already shaded with bristles, and they inevitably abraded her softer feminine skin as she seductively kissed him, inviting his equally seductive response. Their open-mouthed ravenous kissing quickly and inevitably built into another conflagration, and the passion and fervour that pulsed through Layla’s veins secretly frightened her—because whatever came of this hot, wild attraction of theirs she already knew this man had ruined her for anyone else …

Tearing his mouth away from hers and breathing hard, Drake put out a hand and gently pushed her so that she found herself on her back. His silvery gaze searing her like a white-hot laser, he reached down and ripped the two sides of her cotton shirt apart so that the row of tiny buttons that fastened it flew off like confetti.

‘I’ll buy you a new one,’ he murmured.

Before he could apply the same treatment to her front-fastening white lace bra, her heart thundering like a sprinter’s as he raced for the finishing line, Layla deftly released the catch herself, so that her bared breasts were suddenly exposed to the silky night air and to her would-be lover’s appreciative aroused glance.

‘My God … you’re even more beautiful than I imagined,’ he declared, gravel-voiced.

Hurriedly assisting her to dispose of her torn shirt and bra, seconds later, with his well-developed jeans-clad thighs straddling her, Drake gave her the most intimately seductive smile she’d ever experienced. Then he bent his head to capture one of her tight aching nipples in the scalding cavern of his mouth. She almost hit the roof. The pleasure-pain as his teeth caught the tender flesh and lightly bit was like a lightning strike going straight to her womb. Moving his lips, he gave the same erotic treatment to its twin and, softly whimpering, Layla drove her fingers mindlessly through the silken strands of his hair to hold him to her.

Seconds later he came up for air and sat back on his heels. His hot, slumbrous gaze was filled with unashamed erotic intent, and slowly he unbuckled his leather belt, freed the button at the top of his jeans and unzipped his fly. ‘You do the same,’ he instructed huskily, at the same time reaching into his back pocket for a foil packet that he expertly ripped open.

Her mouth drying, Layla kicked off her shoes and, with fingers that shook helplessly, unzipped her jeans. Taking hold of both sides, she momentarily lifted her bottom up off the bed so that she could push the heavy denim down over her thighs. In front of her, Drake took the opportunity to discard his own clothing and expertly sheathed his aroused manhood with the latex protection. Her blood pounded with primal need when she saw the sheer magnificence of his strong and proud male body, with toned, well-defined muscles and a flat, lean abdomen. His job might not be physically demanding, but he clearly didn’t avoid the necessity to keep himself fit and strong.

Before Layla could rid herself completely of the jeans she had pushed down her legs Drake took over the task with a definitely urgent air, and straight afterwards tugged her silk white panties over her slender hips and jettisoned them carelessly over his shoulder. Bending towards her, he claimed her lips in a crushing hot kiss that not only stole her breath but acted like a seismic eruption in her already overheated blood. He was still kissing her when she felt his hand reach down to firmly press her thighs apart and brush once, twice, three times over her sensitive feminine core. The pleasure that intimate caress instigated was so intense that, because he was still kissing her, she had to swallow the low moan that immediately threatened to surface. But when he suddenly drove himself deeply inside her in a possessive motion that bordered on the passionately rough Layla freed her lips from his to gasp her shock and pleasure out loud against his shoulder.

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.

As Drake lifted his head to glance down at her she smiled and asked, ‘Did you think I wasn’t coming back?’

‘You were gone a long time. I was getting worried.’

‘Well, there was no need.’ Seeing by his expression that he wasn’t convinced, she felt her heart skip a beat. ‘What were you worrying about? Did you think I’d slipped out the back way and abandoned you?’ she teased.

‘Don’t joke about something like that.’

Immediately Layla saw that her unfortunately phrased question had touched a raw nerve and she winced in remorse. ‘I meant nothing by it—honestly.’

A searching look crept into his eyes. Lowering his voice he asked, ‘Did you take that pill?’

‘Yes … I did.’

He stared back at her as if totally at a loss to know what to say.

‘It’s all right,’ she assured him hurriedly. ‘It was the right thing to do … the only thing.’

‘Of course it was.’

‘Is there something about what happened between us that you’d like to talk about?’

‘What else is there to say?’

‘I suppose there’s plenty to say if you’re willing to be more open about your feelings. You said you’d let me get to know you, remember? I can’t help worrying about how I’m going to accomplish that if you keep on blocking every single avenue I try to go down.’

He dropped his arms from round her waist and folded them across his chest instead—across the sky-blue cashmere sweater he wore beneath his stylishly battered black leather jacket. ‘I know you’re not going to like my answer, but this really isn’t the ideal venue for a frank and personal discussion. Why don’t we wait until we get back to my place and talk about things then, like I suggested?’

Her heart thudding, once again Layla felt infused with hope. ‘You mean it? You’ll really talk to me openly and frankly and not refuse to answer any questions you’re uncomfortable with? To reassure you—I’m not some unscrupulous reporter who wants to write tittle-tattle about your life, Drake … I—I really care about you.’

‘Do you?’

It hurt her heart that there was suspicion amid the flare of hope she detected in his eyes. ‘Of course I do. Why do you think I chose to come up to London of my own accord to see you? Also, in spite of the stupid mistake I made with my boss, I’m not in the habit of having one-night stands. I slept with you because it meant something to me … don’t you know that?’ She stole a quick glance round to check they weren’t being overheard.

Drake’s broad shoulders lifted in a shrug, and the slight flush beneath his carved cheekbones illustrated his discomfort at the highly personal turn their conversation had taken. ‘Okay … I’ll agree to be as candid with you as I can,’ he relented, ‘but only if you respect that talking about my life and my feelings isn’t a muscle I flex easily. If any particularly difficult areas come up, I don’t want you to be aggrieved or to take it personally if I don’t feel I can discuss them.’

In answer, Layla caught and held one of the large smooth hands with its callused forefinger and thumb that were testimony that he didn’t shy away from hard physical work as well as more artistic and creative pursuits. ‘I’m not the Spanish Inquisition, Drake. If there are things you really don’t feel able to discuss then of course I’ll respect that. And, just so that we’re even, I promise to answer any questions you want to ask about me … deal?’

Raising a gently mocking eyebrow, he draped his arm affectionately round her shoulders and pulled her into his side. ‘Now I know where the phrase “she who must be obeyed” comes from,’ he joked.

CHAPTER NINE

BEFORE they went home Drake took Layla to an exclusive boutique in Mayfair to buy her a new blouse. From the moment he selected the shop to the minute they walked through the door he could sense her growing uneasiness with the project. He couldn’t understand why she seemed so reticent. There wasn’t one single woman he was acquainted with who didn’t like shopping. But then he already knew that Layla was unique. She was constantly surprising him.

The wafer-thin blonde assistant in her short-skirted dogtooth suit lit up like a hundred-watt lightbulb when they entered. Whether or not that was because she scented that Drake had money, he didn’t particularly care, so long as Layla was satisfied she’d acquired a blouse she was pleased with and would wear.

When, at his urging, she reluctantly started to examine the exquisite silk blouses on the very selective display rails and picked practically the first item she looked at, as if she couldn’t wait to get out of the shop, Drake shook his head with a teasing smile.

‘Do you really want that one?’ he asked doubtfully, privately thinking how prim and proper the elegant white garment appeared, even if it was made from the finest French silk crêpe.

‘I don’t want you to buy me one at all, if I’m honest.’ Layla sighed, self-consciously brushing her hair back with her hand. ‘I’m quite happy to wear your shirt until I get home.’

‘But you’re not going home until tomorrow, remember?’

‘Then you can lend me another shirt tomorrow. I’m sure you must own more than one.’

Her caramel-brown eyes sparkled with a mixture of defiance and merriment, and for a long moment Drake was transfixed by the heated longing that gripped him. It struck him like a thunderbolt right then that he was quite simply crazy about her, and almost couldn’t bear the thought of having her out of his sight. Excepting the mother who had deserted him, he’d never needed anyone that much before. The feeling was terrifying and exhilarating all at the same time …

He levelled his glance. ‘As great as my shirt looks on you, I’d really like to buy something exclusively for you … something pretty and sexy that will make you think of me every time you wear it next to your skin.’

He was rewarded with the most bewitching and pretty blush.

‘You choose something for me then,’ she suggested softly.

He didn’t miss the slight catch in her voice that told him she’d definitely been aroused by what he’d said. With an undeniable sense of satisfying male pride, and only too happy to oblige, Drake selected a couple of much more delicate specimens, made from what was labelled ‘silk Charmeuse’ and handed them to her.

‘They’re far too flimsy,’ she protested, dark eyes widening. ‘They look more like lingerie.’

‘Then they’re just what we’re looking for,’ he taunted gently.

‘They are?’

‘Trust me—you’re going to have the most appreciative audience you can imagine when you wear them.’

The smooth skin between Layla’s elegant dark brows creased a little. ‘I only need one blouse, Drake, not two.’ Leaning towards him, she lowered her voice to a near whisper. ‘Have you seen the prices on these?’ Turning the labels that were so prettily attached to the garments with slim pink and blue ribbons towards him, she seemed intent on his noting them.

He didn’t even trouble to spare them a glance. Instead he chuckled, then tenderly cupped her delicate jaw in the palm of his hand. ‘That’s the last thing you need to worry about, angel … And I’m not about to apologise for having money just because it makes you uncomfortable either.’

Her lips curved in a conciliatory smile. ‘Okay, I’ll go and try them on. Seeing as you’ve picked them out, it would be rude not to. Besides, it’s very hard to refuse you anything when you look at me like that,’ she breathed.

‘How am I looking at you? Tell me.’

‘Like I’m the gourmet meal you’ve been anticipating enjoying all day.’

With a provocative grin that sent the blood in Drake’s veins plunging helplessly south, she spun round on her heel and politely asked the assistant to show her to the changing room.

As Drake returned to the living room and placed the two cups of coffee he’d made down on the carved Regency table positioned in front of the sofa, Layla smiled up at him, commenting, ‘Mmm … just what the doctor ordered after that great spaghetti you rustled up for dinner.’ Curling her hair round her ear, her expression pensive, she added, ‘Come and sit down.’

‘I was intending on doing exactly that.’

‘We’ve had a wonderful day together, haven’t we?’

‘We have indeed.’

She fell silent for a few moments, then said, ‘Drake?’

‘What’s on your mind?’

‘Do you think we could have that talk of ours now?’

Momentarily distracted by the very feminine ivory-silk blouse she now wore in place of his white shirt, noting as he’d done at dinner that the sheer material meant he could see right through it to the pretty lace bra she had on underneath, Drake didn’t immediately register her question. When the words finally sank in his stomach plunged to his boots. Clearly there weren’t going to be any preliminaries to this little discussion of theirs, and it was becoming worryingly clear that he wasn’t going to be able to hide the truth of his past from her any longer.

His skin prickled hotly, and for one sickeningly uncomfortable moment he felt akin to a cornered animal. Raking his fingers through his hair, he dropped down onto the pinstriped armchair at the other side of the table, resting his forearms on his jeans-clad thighs with a heavy sigh.

‘So what do you want to talk about? My favourite music? Or maybe you’d like to hear what my top ten favourite movies are?’ He was hedging for time, using humour as a shield to divert any immediately awkward or difficult questions. But when he saw the concerned frown on Layla’s beautiful face Drake felt oddly guilty for taking such a cowardly tack.

‘Whilst I’d love to know what music you like, also what your favourite movies are, right now I’d like you to tell me a bit more about yourself. Then, as I said before … you can ask me things too.’

Linking his hands, he locked his glance with hers in a deliberately challenging stare. ‘Then why don’t you ask me a direct question and I’ll endeavour to answer it?’

‘All right, then.’ She nervously licked her lips and curled her hair round her ear again. ‘I’d like you to tell me a bit about your childhood.’

‘What would you like to know, exactly?’

‘Was it hard for you, being an only child?’

‘Compared to what? Being one of a large brood? How would I know, since that wasn’t my experience?’

‘Okay, then, perhaps you’ll tell me instead what it was like for you growing up in the area?’

It was the question Drake had feared the most, but he resolved himself to answer it because he didn’t want Layla to believe even for a second that he lacked the courage to tell her.

‘What was it like? In two words … miserable and lonely.’ Moving his head from side to side, he clasped and unclasped his hands. ‘I had a mother whose mind was always on leaving, and a father who was a bully and a drunk. After she left his bullying moved up to a whole new level. You can’t imagine how creative he could be when it came to devising punishments for me. Consequently I was always dreaming of ways to escape. When my art teacher at school took a serious interest in my ability for drawing and design, and suggested I might try to become an architect, I latched onto the possibility as though it was a lifeline—which indeed it was. From that moment on I didn’t care what my father did to me, because I knew that one day I’d get away … I’d carve a whole new life for myself and escape from both him and our drab little town for good.’

‘So how did you do that? Did you get the grades to go to university?’

‘Yes. I worked damned hard and fortunately I did.’ ‘Did you see your father at all after you went?’ As she took a sip of her coffee, then carefully set the blue and white cup back in its elegant saucer, Layla’s dark-eyed glance was thoughtful.

‘No.’ In return, Drake’s smile was helplessly bitter. ‘I only returned once after I left, and that was to go to his funeral. Needless to say I was the only mourner. Let’s put it this way: he wasn’t the most popular guy in the world.’

‘So how did he die? What happened to him?’

‘The silly fool smashed into a central reservation on the motorway whilst driving under the influence of alcohol. He was killed outright.’ Drake agitatedly tunnelled his fingers back and forth through his hair. ‘It wasn’t even his car. He’d borrowed it from some drinking crony who stupidly believed he’d return it in one piece. When I talked to the man he told me that my father was planning on driving up to the university to visit me. That’s why he’d borrowed the car. Unless he’d had some profound religious conversion and wanted to atone for his past ill-treatment of me, I very much doubt that it was true.’

‘My God, Drake!’

Layla’s expression was almost distraught, he saw. Knowing her kind heart, it wouldn’t have surprised him to learn that she was feeling compassion for his loser of a father.

‘I’m so sorry you had to face such a horrendous and sad ordeal on your own,’ she murmured, twisting her hands together in her lap. ‘It must have been hard enough for you not to have someone back at home, sending you love and support while you were away studying, but then to hear that your father had died … and possibly on his way to visit you as well …?’

‘You think it was hard for me, do you?’ he challenged, his temper rising. The old, painful wounds that he privately nursed, encrusted with bitterness and resentment, were still apt to make him feel murderous. ‘The only thing I felt when I heard the bastard had died was relief like you can’t possibly imagine!’

‘You said he was cruel. Was his cruelty the reason you don’t like sleeping without the light on?’

Sensing all the colour drain from his face, Drake shivered hard at the haunting reminder of his appalling home-life when he was a boy. ‘Every night he’d remove the lightbulbs in my bedroom and lock me in for the night in the dark. More often than not he’d go out and leave me on my own until the early hours of the morning, and even when he returned he wouldn’t knock on my door to check and see if I was all right.’

‘Why? Why did he do that?’

Drake’s lips twisted in disgust. ‘He told me it would make me a man. Personally, I think he did it simply because he could.’

‘You should have reported him … told someone at your school what he was doing. That kind of inhuman behaviour is child abuse, Drake.’

‘You make it sound so simple—but how does a frightened child tell someone his private horror story when he feels the most sickening shame about it? When he secretly believes he must have done something bad to deserve it?’

‘You did nothing wrong. You were only a little boy, for goodness’ sake! Your father was the adult in the family. He should have taken proper care of you. You aren’t supposed to “deserve” love and care. It’s the fundamental right of human children everywhere. I wish someone could have told you that so you wouldn’t have carried such shame and fear around with you all these years.’

‘Well, they didn’t, and I managed. End of story.’

‘You may have managed to get by despite your circumstances, but that’s not the end of the story, Drake … not if you’re still afraid to sleep in the dark and are plagued with nightmares.’

‘That’s not your concern. I deal with it. Shall we change the subject?’

‘I’ve one more question. Do you mind?’

Before Layla got the chance to ask it, he interjected quickly, feeling bleak. ‘I do mind, as I’m sure you know, but ask anyway. Then it’s my turn.’

‘What about your mother, Drake?’

Her luminous dark eyes were tender and her tone was infinitely gentle, respectful of the now tense atmosphere between them … like an intrepid novice explorer negotiating the walk across a frozen river for the very first time. One false move could make the ice splinter and send her plunging into the freezing waters below.

‘Did you ever see her again after she left?’

‘No, I didn’t. She obviously just wanted to put her seven years with my father behind her—start a new life somewhere else and forget about us both.’

‘Why would she want to forget about her little son? I’m sure that can’t be true, Drake. Her heart must have been breaking in two to leave you behind with a man like your father. She must have been absolutely desperate for her to carry out such an act.’

He gulped down some of his coffee, then wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. ‘Desperate or not, she presumably made a better life for herself somewhere else and decided not to risk ruining it by coming back for me.’

Restlessly he pushed to his feet, absolutely hating the misery and pain that made him feel unbearably exposed and vulnerable in front of a woman he already cared too much about. A woman whose rejection of him, if it ever came, he would probably never recover from. For a few desperate moments he despised Layla for the power she unknowingly held over him. He was also furious with her for goading him into revisiting the tormented past he’d striven so hard to forget.

Before he knew it, Drake had turned on her with a fierce scowl. ‘Are you happy now? What else do you want to know about me so that you can sit there smugly making your analysis? An analysis that will no doubt help you feel so much better about your own comparatively trivial disappointments.’

Stricken, Layla rose slowly to her feet and folded her arms over the pretty diaphanous blouse Drake had taken such pleasure in seeing her wearing. ‘We’re not having a competition about who’s suffered the most, Drake. All I wanted to do … all I hoped to do was get to know you a little, so that you wouldn’t feel the need to be anyone other than yourself … your real self … around me. Yes, we’ve all had sadness and disappointment in our lives—and some of us, like you, have experienced dreadfully unhappy childhoods … But that doesn’t mean we should be ashamed of our pasts or try to hide them. Sometimes it’s our most challenging and difficult experiences that help us evolve into the compassionate and thoughtful people we are.’

‘Is that how you felt when your unscrupulous ex-boss fleeced you of your life savings … compassionate?’

Hearing the almost cruel mockery in Drake’s tone, Layla hugged her arms over her chest even more, needing to protect herself. Had she pushed him too far and too soon in getting him to talk about his past? What if her kindly meant questioning to get him to open up a little about himself so that they might forge a closer bond had done nothing but turn him against her and made him suspicious of her motives? If they didn’t have trust then they had nothing worth having at all.

‘No,’ she replied. ‘I didn’t feel remotely compassionate towards him. I was too busy blaming him for cheating me and blaming myself for being an idiot for trusting him in the first place … for being so gullible in trusting my savings to his little scheme and for letting him seduce me.’

‘He got you drunk.’

Unhappily she nodded her head. ‘Yes, but I let him. I could have said no to him, but he was a charmer and I fell under his spell. Anyway, that aside, after some time had gone by I definitely felt as though I’d learned a lesson I’d never forget. For a start, I’d have loved to give the money I had to Marc, to help the business. As for my boss, I know that if he carries on cheating people like he does then inevitably life will teach him an invaluable lesson. A lesson that will hopefully make him reflect on his behaviour and stop him seeking to advance himself by exploiting anyone else.’ She chewed thoughtfully down on her lip, then smiled uncertainly. ‘At least that’s my hope.’

Drake started to pace the polished wooden floor, the expression in his fascinating grey eyes suggesting they were reaching internally for some longed-for escape route … perhaps a time warp that could transport them back to the moment when he’d first walked into the room with their coffee, when he might have told Layla he’d changed his mind about having their little discussion.

All her instincts cried out for her to go to him and hold him tight, to tell him how courageous he’d been to reveal the cruelties of his childhood, but sensing he was still tormented by his frank and painful admission she stayed where she was, not wanting to risk upsetting him further.

Coming to a sudden standstill, he swept his still restless gaze up and down her figure. ‘What made you decide to take the contraceptive in the end?’ he asked.

‘Why? Did you think I wouldn’t take it and just pretend that I did?’

‘No. I never thought you’d try and deceive me. I just …’

‘What, Drake? I’m sensing there’s something you want to ask me.’

‘When you think about the future, do you ever think about having children?’

Breathing out a relieved sigh, Layla couldn’t help smiling. ‘Of course … One day I’d love to be a mum.’

‘One day when the “right man” comes along, presumably?’

Now his voice was rough-edged and cynical and it made her heart bleed.

‘If by the right man you mean a man that I love with all my heart and want to be with for the rest of my life, then, yes … that’s when I’ll be ready to become a mum.’

Drake’s eyes bored into her like a laser. ‘My ex-girlfriend wanted children.’

‘She did?’

‘That was one of the reasons we broke up. She wanted them and I didn’t. And, more importantly, I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life with her, so there was no way I’d make her the mother of my children. When I explained my reasons to her as diplomatically as I could, apart from accusing me of being emotionally crippled and totally insensitive for not understanding her desire for marriage and children, she said I was the most spectacularly selfish man she’d ever met and didn’t doubt that I’d end up alone.’

Layla’s heart bumped with sorrow and dread as she waited for him to continue.

A corner of his mouth quirked painfully. ‘She was right.’

‘Sometimes it helps us to have clarity when we know what we don’t want,’ she commented softly, the dread she’d felt inside that he might have stated that he would never want marriage or children slowly and thankfully subsiding.

‘It does indeed.’

‘So how do you feel about having children if you—if you meet the right woman?’

‘It would definitely be something I’d consider.’ He gave her a sheepish look. ‘I used to think I’d never want a family. Maybe it’s my age, but now I don’t think I’d be as closed to the idea as I was before. Shall we leave it at that and get out of here for a while?’

The glimmer of some unspoken urgent idea was evident in Drake’s animated gaze, and apart from what he’d just revealed about the possibility of being open to the notion of having children it made Layla’s heart race.

‘Why? Where do you want to go?’

‘I’ve heard that it’s going to be an exceptionally clear night. I’d like to take you to my office and show you that view of the stars through the glass roof.’

Remembering how surprised and moved she’d been when he’d told her that he sometimes turned out the lights if he was working late and the stars were bright, she felt a genuine thrill of anticipation.

‘All right,’ she agreed, smiling, ‘I’ll go and get my coat.’

‘Layla?’

‘Yes?’

‘I didn’t mean it when I accused you of being smug earlier. I was just … I was just angry that you got me to talk about that stuff. But now—now I’m glad that you did.’

Walking up to him, she gently touched his unshaven cheek with the tips of her fingers and tenderly laid her lips over his mouth. Straight away she sensed the heat they stoked into flame between them—but before she let it consume her, she lifted her head and told him, ‘I think you telling me about your childhood was the bravest thing I’ve ever heard.’

His arms tightened possessively round her waist. ‘You’re good for my ego, you know that?’

Her eyes were already drifting closed, even before his lips made the fire they’d started to kindle a moment ago burst into uncontrollable flame …

CHAPTER TEN

DRAKE had laid a blanket and some cushions down on the heated wooden floor in his office, and Layla settled herself down beside him and rested her head in the crook of his arm, staring up in wonder at the cornucopia of dazzling stars that were gloriously twinkling above them through the glass ceiling. He’d been absolutely right when he’d told her that the light they emitted was so bright there was no need to turn on the lamps.

‘What a genius idea to do this,’ she declared enthusiastically, turning towards him.

‘So it’s a genius Iam now, is it?’

For sheer vivacity and beauty, in Layla’s opinion the sparkle in Drake’s haunting grey eyes as he glanced back at her was equal to the array of stars that shone down on them. The realisation that she loved him … loved him with all her heart … struck her absolutely dumb. All she could do right then was stare into his carved handsome face and mentally imprint every beloved feature to memory, so that his image might sustain her whenever they were apart.

‘What is it?’ he asked, frowning, intuiting that something profound had pierced her. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing’s wrong. As a matter of fact, things couldn’t be more right.’

Somehow she managed to divert him from learning the stunning realisation that had just rocked her world off its axis. She guessed that now wasn’t the right time to share the news—not when he’d already had such a torrid time revisiting his agonisingly painful past. There was also a terrible fear inside her that he might not welcome her revelation—might even reject her if he wasn’t ready to explore the possibility of them having a future together. She decided that she would bide her time.

‘I’m just … I’m really enjoying myself, that’s all,’ she said lightly.

‘Me too.’ Reassured, Drake smiled and dropped an affectionate kiss onto her forehead.

For once he looked completely at ease. Even the furrows on his indomitable brow seemed more relaxed.

Layla couldn’t help sighing. ‘Don’t you wish you could capture some of your most magical experiences and keep them for ever? I mean keep them safely locked away in a silk-lined drawer and bring them out whenever you have a bad day or simply need a pick-me-up?’

Hugging her companion’s lean trim waist in the chambray shirt he wore loose over his jeans, she pressed closer into his side, breathing in his earthy masculine smell as though it was the most alluring and compelling perfume she’d ever scented.

He chuckled and she felt his fingers ruffle her hair. ‘Omit the silk-lined drawer, sweetheart, and I totally concur with what you’re saying. This is indeed one of those magical experiences that I’ll never forget. But, for me, this whole weekend has been like that.’

‘Has it? I was afraid I’d ruined everything by getting you to answer questions about your past.’

‘You haven’t ruined anything, and you were entitled to question me. Didn’t I make a promise that I’d talk to you? I’ve come round to thinking that perhaps it was about time I opened up to someone about what happened when I was a kid, even though it was probably one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.’ Drake’s expression visibly softened. ‘I’m glad that it was you I confided in, Layla. I wouldn’t have told anyone else and that’s the truth … not even a trained counsellor. My deepest darkest secrets would have gone with me to my grave.’ His wry smile was reflective.

‘Don’t say that.’ She caught his hand and urgently kissed it. ‘I can’t bear the thought of you being tormented by the past for the rest of your life and never telling anyone … never having any relief from the pain of it. I’m glad you agreed to talk to me, Drake, even though it was painful and difficult.’ Staring deeply into his eyes, she finished, ‘I’m also glad that you don’t hate me for making you share your secrets with me.’

Bewildered, Drake shook his head. ‘I could never hate you … no matter what you did to me. Don’t you know that?’

She emitted a relieved sigh and her lips curved warmly. ‘We’re still friends, then?’

‘Is that all you want to be to me … a friend?’

His lowered husky tone was akin to cream liqueur poured into a cup of the finest dark roast coffee … devastatingly warm and rich with a hint of luxurious velvet that was far too enticing to resist. Before Layla could reply, his lips had alighted on hers with an almost savage groan, and in the next instant his hot silken tongue was plundering the satin interior of her mouth as his big hands cupped her face and his hard-muscled body moved on top of hers, his superior weight pressing her spine deep into the luxurious woollen blanket he had lain down on the floor.

As far as Layla was concerned it might as well have been a soft feather bed. There was no sense of discomfort at all. How could there be when every ounce of her attention was intimately focused on the man who was once again taking her to a paradise she never wanted to leave, just so long as she could stay there with him for ever?

When they returned to the house and retired to bed, deliciously sated from their ardent lovemaking, Drake didn’t have a single qualm about turning out the light. There was no need to wonder why he suddenly found the normally difficult task easy. The prospect of the black velvet night enveloping him and filling him with dread like it usually did didn’t feature even once in his thinking … at least not with Layla lying beside him. Even though he’d fiercely resisted sharing the truth of his past with her, she had somehow broken through his iron defences to show him how sharing his story could actually help him banish the ghosts that haunted him—not make them even more cloying.

For the first time in years he’d discovered the true value of confiding in someone he trusted. But the most important thing that he’d learned from their heart-rending conversation was that the belief he’d had about having to deserve love was completely wrong. As a child, it had been his fundamental right to be taken care of, Layla had told him. He hadn’t been denied love because he was ‘bad’. It was just that his parents had been incapable of taking proper care of him, and how could that be his fault?

Talking about what had happened was already alleviating some of the fearful beliefs that had crippled him for too long. Consequently, with his ravishing dark-haired lover warmly enfolded in his arms, for the first time ever Drake slept the deep dreamless sleep of a man whose resentment and fear of the past was blessedly absent.

That night no dark or agonising dreams came to haunt him, and he felt like the most privileged and blessed man in the world when he woke to the joyful sound of birds singing the next morning and witnessed the sun beaming through the windows to herald a bright new day. If he didn’t pride himself on being an innately logical man he might have said it was a very good omen. An omen that meant psychologically he’d turned an important corner.

Logical or not, he had the strongest urge to share his reflections with Layla. A jolt of panic knifed through him when he saw she wasn’t there. Sitting bolt upright, Drake touched the sheet where her body had lain in sleep. It was still beguilingly warm. Where was she? Taking a shower?

He leapt out of bed and threw open the en-suite bathroom door to check. The moist shampoo-scented air in the marbled bathroom told him that she had indeed taken a shower, but had clearly moved on somewhere else. Returning to the bedroom, he pulled on a pair of clean silk boxers and dragged on his jeans. Barefoot and bare-chested, he hurried downstairs to the kitchen, calling out her name as he went.

‘I’m in here,’ she called back, and when Drake planted himself in the kitchen doorway she turned to him with a smile so beautiful and beguiling that he clean forgot what he’d been going to say to her.

He swallowed hard and cleared his throat, ‘You’re wearing my shirt again,’ he observed, helplessly aroused at the sight of her long bare legs and the provocative outline of her panties, tantalisingly visible through the pristine white cotton.

‘Do you mind?’ Chewing down on her lip, she smoothed her still damp hair away from her face. ‘I just grabbed something to put on after my shower so I could come downstairs and make us some coffee.’

‘You can wear whatever you like that belongs to me.’ Moving towards her, he grinned. ‘Although I’d prefer it if you wore nothing at all.’

‘That’s not a terribly good idea when I’m boiling water.’

‘Are you always so cautious?’ Sliding his hands round her waist, Drake let his hungry gaze drink her in as if she was the finest wine he’d ever sampled. But even the most full-bodied Cabernet Sauvignon or French Bordeaux didn’t have the power to heat his blood like Layla did.

‘Sometimes not cautious enough,’ she murmured, flattening her palms against his chest as if to stop him from getting any closer.

‘Why? Don’t you trust me?’

She lifted an amused dark eyebrow. ‘Not when you come down to the kitchen looking like you’ve got lascivious intentions in mind rather than wanting to enjoy a cup of my expertly made coffee.’

‘Can’t I have lascivious intentions and enjoy your expertly made coffee as well?’

‘I’m sure you can. But my own intentions are to make some toast, because I’m at my hungriest in the morning. By the way, did you sleep all right last night? You certainly looked peaceful when I woke up this morning and saw you. That’s why I decided to let you sleep on for a bit.’

His mouth quirked with a wry smile, ‘I slept like I’d been pleasantly drugged. I can’t recall having even a single dream.’

‘So … there were no nightmares?’

‘None.’ Drake tenderly threaded his fingers through her long damp hair. ‘See what a positive effect you have on me, Ms Jerome?’

‘I aim to please.’

‘Do you indeed?’

A self-conscious tinge of scarlet coloured her cheeks. ‘Seriously, though, I’m so glad you slept better. I hope it becomes a regular feature … the start of a much more relaxed and enjoyable phase of your life. You deserve it, Drake. By the way—I’ve got one more question to ask you.’

‘What’s that?’ A wave of pleasure had rolled through him at her kindness, her genuinely unselfish hopes for his future, but he had a brief moment of trepidation wondering what she might be going to ask him.

‘Do you have any marmalade? It’s just that it’s my favourite thing to have on toast in the morning.’

His relief that her question wasn’t more taxing knew no bounds. With a chuckle, he affectionately pinched the end of her nose. ‘Baby I’ve got whatever your heart desires.’

Unable to resist impelling her against his chest, Drake felt the blood in his veins thrum hotly at the delicious sensory pleasure of her soft feminine curves next to his harder masculine body.

The big long-lashed dark eyes that he’d been so mesmerised by when he’d seen Layla for the very first time widened to saucers. ‘That’s a very beguiling claim, but luckily for you all I want right now is some marmalade.’

‘Is that really all you want?’ He slid his hand all the way down her slim back to rest it on her peach-shaped derrière, then pressed her against him so that she could be in no doubt about how much he wanted her. He was so aroused it was painful.

‘You don’t play fair,’ she chastised, wagging her finger schoolmistress-like at him, her voice completely devoid of sympathy. ‘As tempting as you are … as needy as you are … I’m afraid I’m going to have to exercise some of that bull-headedness you once accused me of because before I contemplate anything else I really need my breakfast.’

Before he could stop her she’d wriggled out of his arms and headed for the bread-bin atop the kitchen counter. He knew it contained the brown seeded loaf that he’d bought at the deli along with their croissants yesterday. Sighing, he realised he would manfully have to subdue his desire—at least until she’d had her breakfast. Clearly there was no stopping the woman when her mind was set on something. His feelings were a provoking mix of frustration and affection.

‘I’d be a poor host indeed if I didn’t let you eat.’ He smiled and, moving across to the large American-style fridge, extracted an unopened pot of marmalade. ‘Why don’t you make the coffee and let me do the toast?’ he suggested. ‘After that we’ll—’

‘Go back to bed?’ Layla’s chocolate-brown eyes met his with an unwavering amused stare that made Drake’s heart miss a beat.

‘My thoughts exactly,’ he agreed huskily.

It was hard for Layla to accept that their time together was coming to an end. Having already explained that he probably wouldn’t be able to see her this week, due to his colossal workload—not least of all their town’s pressing and much needed regeneration—Drake had definitely looked unhappy when he’d told her. Telling herself she’d just have to accept his absence and pray that the following week might yield a greater possibility of them seeing each other again, Layla fell silent as he drove them home, not trusting herself in case she broke down and confessed that she loved him.

Why did the prospect of saying goodbye to him this evening feel like a death sentence? she wondered miserably. They’d had such a wonderful day together—laughing and talking and making love till they were breathless and sated, then somehow finding the energy to go down to the kitchen and make themselves something to eat. It didn’t seem right that they should be parted for even an hour, let alone a whole week!

‘Before I drop you home I’d like to show you something.’ Drake’s handsome carved profile was disconcertingly serious as he stared out through the windscreen, making the necessary turn that would take them out of the near deserted high street.

The only occupants in evidence were a couple of local teenagers leaning against a galvanised steel grille shop-front, smoking. Compared to the wealthy and elite part of the capital she and Drake had just come from, the shabby provincial town seemed even more rundown and drab than it usually did.

‘Show me what?’ Layla asked, unable to suppress the feeling of inexplicable apprehension that coiled in the pit of her stomach.

‘The house where I grew up.’

He spared her a brief unreadable glance just as she registered that they were approaching the small shabby side-street whose abandoned terraced houses he planned to tear down and replace with modern ones. The house he drew up outside was a dismal grey terrace with all the windows shattered and broken and a large ‘Keep Out’ sign emblazoned across the dingy charcoal-grey front door. The stone steps that led to the once fashionable arched brick entrance were covered in litter and broken beer bottles, she saw. No doubt some of the population of jobless teenagers and youths hung out there, she thought.

Unsure about what to say, she laid her hand across Drake’s, not moving it even when she sensed him flinch uncomfortably.

Now that she knew something of his unhappy past, she hoped visiting the street wouldn’t bombard him with tormenting memories. It wasn’t hard to imagine what he must be thinking, and no doubt that was why he was so determined to demolish the houses rather than have them renovated. Did he hope that when the houses were smashed to smithereens it would likewise crush the hurtful nightmares of his past? Last night she’d been so encouraged when he’d been able to turn out the light and sleep more easily, and she didn’t doubt that trend would continue if only he could realise he wasn’t to blame for what had happened to him as a child … that he’d always deserved to be loved just as much as anyone else did.

‘It’s funny,’ he murmured, ‘but it looks so much smaller and insignificant than it did when I was a child. If my dad was still alive I bet he’d look smaller and insignificant too.’

‘If the thought helps you no longer see him as an ogre, and you can start to put your disturbing memories of him to bed, then I’m glad you think that. But I’m sure that if he could see you now and learn what a successful and wealthy man you’ve become—through all your own efforts too—he would be proud … even if he couldn’t bring himself to show it.’

A muscle flinched in the side of Drake’s lean, carved cheekbone, conveying the undoubted tension in his body. ‘The old bastard was too mean to be proud of anyone or anything … especially his son. He was totally self-obsessed. But thanks for the thought just the same.’

Grimacing, Layla didn’t shy away from the bitterness and sorrow she heard in his tone and lapse into silence. Instead an even stronger determination to stay as positive as possible and not collude with his misery arose inside her. ‘You know if it was renovated along with all the others in the street this house could potentially be very nice. Was it in such a sorry state as it is now when you lived here with your dad?’ she asked.

Sighing heavily, Drake shook his head. ‘It was always rundown, but not as bad as it is now, thank God. As I got older I used to try and keep it free from litter at least. And the windows never got broken because it was my job to clean them. I didn’t dare risk kicking a football around outside and potentially ruining all my hard work. Even then I longed for my surroundings to be beautiful.’

Helplessly picturing the small boy who’d taken on the household jobs his father should have assumed, in a bid to maintain some sort of pleasing exterior to what must have been his desperately unhappy interior life, Layla grimaced again. ‘Has it helped you coming back here to see it again?’ she asked softly.

‘Who knows?’ The expression in his haunting grey eyes was far away for a moment. ‘Only time will tell. The point is I didn’t want to hide anything from you—that’s why I brought you here. I wanted you to see for yourself the house and the environment I grew up in. I wanted to be truthful and show you exactly where I came from … who I really am.’

‘I feel privileged that you trust me enough to show me, Drake. But who you really are isn’t defined by your past, you know. You can write a new script every day … every moment, in fact. It didn’t happen overnight, but recently I’ve come to realise that myself. Thinking about how my boss ripped me off just keeps me stuck in the same miserable, unhappy story. It doesn’t help me move on and enjoy my life, and just because we’ve been hurt by someone in the past it doesn’t mean that everyone we meet in the future is going to hurt us.’

‘I’m sure you’re right.’ Drake’s steady glance was deeply thoughtful for a moment. ‘I’ve got something I want to tell you before I take you home.’

‘What’s that?’

‘I’m not going to have the houses demolished after all. I’m going to have them renovated, as you suggested.’

Layla was speechless. Then, as hope and elation poured through her at the same time, she smiled at Drake and said, ‘You are? What changed your mind?’

‘You did, Layla. You made me see things differently. I’ve begun to wonder if this regeneration of the town isn’t a good opportunity for me to bury the ghosts of the past and start over. I have the means and the know how to help others who live here have a better and more beautiful environment that might inspire them to do something good with their lives instead of feeling hopeless, and that’s exactly what I plan to do. I’m also going to turn my old house into that youth club you suggested the town needs.’

‘You mean it?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘I can hardly believe it,’ Sighing, Layla slowly shook her head in wonder. ‘I’m so proud of you, Drake … so proud. I don’t doubt that given time you’re going to make a huge difference to people’s lives with all you plan to do here.’

‘Talking of time—I ought to get you home.’

Lifting her hand in a gentlemanly gesture that might have come straight out of a Regency novel, he brushed his lips against her fingers with almost polite restraint. Even then Layla realised the heat between them was but a mere breath away, and could be ignited by one unguarded glance, let alone a touch. Breathing out slowly, she somehow found a smile—no easy task when she knew they would soon have to say goodbye to each other. She honestly wondered how she would survive the next few days without seeing him.

As if the same realisation had suddenly occurred to him, Drake clenched his jaw and gunned the engine. But as the car sped along the dark shabby streets Layla believed that he would indeed put the ghosts of his troubled past behind him and truly start afresh. He’d told her she had helped him see things differently. Did that include her assertion that he could write a new script for his life? Whether the idea would help him reflect on the possibility of a brighter future with her, she could only hope and pray …

‘It’s the house on the right-hand side.’

‘You mean the large Victorian?’

‘That’s right.’

Driving through the well-kept streets on the much more affluent side of town, Drake felt the pit of his stomach churn helplessly. From her description of where she lived, he’d already guessed that Layla’s upbringing had been a million miles away from his own. Without even hearing her address he only had to remember the kindness of her father who’d run the newsagents to know that she’d been well taken care of. There was also the brother who adored her … the brother who was determined to make a currently unprofitable coffee house a roaring success, and had given her a job when her sleazebag employer had swindled her out of her savings. Who wouldn’t be envious of having a sibling like that to rely on?

After spending such an unbelievably joyous weekend with Layla, he hated the insecurity that suddenly seized him. The prospect of not seeing her again for an entire week didn’t help. Following her out of the car, Drake struggled hard to win back his equilibrium.

‘Will you come in and have a coffee with me before you head back to London?’ she asked him, her tone hinting at her uncertainty that he might not.

‘That would be great.’ Determinedly finding a reassuring smile, he reached for her hand. Didn’t she know that the prospect of spending a little more time with her made him feel as wildly happy as a prisoner on death row who’d been given an unbelievable last minute reprieve?

As they climbed the steps to the impressive porch of the house the scarlet front door opened from the inside and Marc, Layla’s tousle-headed brother, appeared to greet them.

‘The wanderer returns.’ He immediately stepped forward to envelop his sister in a hard warm hug, and Drake had no choice but to let go of her hand. The cold stab of jealousy that slashed through his insides at being forced to relinquish her even for a moment almost made him feel physically sick it was so strong.

‘Are you okay?’ The other man wore a frown as he held Layla at arm’s length to examine her. ‘I tried God only knows how many times over the weekend to reach you, but you’d obviously turned off your phone.’ He glanced warily at Drake over her shoulder. ‘I tried your mobile as well, but that was turned off too. Anyone would think the two of you had disappeared off the planet!’

Drake’s gaze tumbled helplessly into Layla’s and their eyes exchanged a very private signal of mutual understanding. ‘We stayed on the planet, but I don’t deny we shut out the world for a couple of days,’ he drawled, low-voiced.

‘I was perfectly fine, Marc,’ Layla cut in quickly. ‘You know I’m quite capable of taking care of myself, so there was absolutely no need for you to worry. Now, I’m going upstairs to my flat to make Drake and me a cup of coffee. Do you want to join us?’

‘Thanks all the same, but I won’t. The accounts beckon, I’m afraid. By the way—I made a couple of Victoria sponges to take into the café tomorrow. Help yourself if you’d like some with your coffee. It’s nice to see you again, Drake … even if you did kidnap my beautiful sister for the weekend!’

‘It’s good to see you too,’ Drake murmured, right then feeling anything but friendly towards the other man.

He was glad to be invited upstairs to Layla’s flat so that they could have some privacy. Back at the house in Mayfair, he’d asked her if she thought his home lacked warmth. Glancing round the cosy living-room in her flat, with its sandalwood-scented air, homely feminine touches, mismatched furniture, family portraits on the walls and enough candles in the fireplace to light a cathedral, it wasn’t a question she would ever have to ask him. Her home was an irresistibly warm expression of the lovely woman who inhabited it, and Drake was suddenly unsure about the hopes he’d subconsciously been nurturing over the weekend.

What could he possibly offer a woman like Layla, apart from what his material wealth could provide? he wondered. Having come into contact with her generous heart and concern for others, he doubted whether that would even be an inducement. Why would she want to leave a home she loved with a brother who adored and looked out for her to move up to London and live with him? he mused. Especially when her experience of living and working there previously had been indelibly soured by an unscrupulous boss who had swindled her out of her life savings and seduced her. Wasn’t that why she had retreated from city life in the first place? To lick her wounds in a place of safety?

As sure as night followed day, and despite his plans to regenerate the town and improve it, Drake certainly wouldn’t contemplate returning to live with her, no matter how strong his feelings were. And even if they could agree on a mutually acceptable place of residence if they got together permanently, what if one day Layla walked out on him, just as his mother had? What if she made that soul-destroying decision because she’d reached the same conclusion his ex had made about him … that he was ‘emotionally crippled’ and—despite his wealth and success—a poor bet if he couldn’t shake his past? Could he risk such a devastating possibility and be left to live his life without her?

‘Do you fancy a slice of Victoria sponge with your coffee?’ As she returned to the living room from the kitchen Layla’s cheerful voice broke into his bleak introspection.

‘No, thanks.’ He gave an awkward shrug of the shoulders. ‘In fact, I don’t think I’ll stay and have coffee after all. I’ve had my mobile switched off since Friday night, and I’ve probably got at least fifty or sixty messages I need to reply to.’

Her lovely face was immediately crestfallen, and Drake felt like the very worst criminal.

‘Can’t you stay for just half an hour longer? Surely that won’t make a lot of difference? In any case, it won’t be late by the time you get back to London. You’ll have plenty of time to answer your messages then,’ she pointed out reasonably.

Her suggestion was more than tempting, but he had already made up his mind to go. They had spent an amazing and intense time together, but now he needed some space and time alone to get his head straight.

Without thinking he moved across the room and took her into his arms. ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart, I really am. But I’ve got a heavy week ahead of me and there are plans and drawings I need to study, as well as replying to my phone messages. We’ll see each other again very soon … I promise. I’ll ring you just as soon as I know when I can take some time off.’

Her dark eyes looked alternately sad, then resigned. That disappointed and melancholy glance made Drake feel as though someone had punched him hard in the gut.

‘If for some reason you can’t reach me on my mobile you can leave a message with Marc, either here or at the café,’ she told him, her tongue moistening her lips as if they’d suddenly turned dry.

‘Great.’ His fingers firmed possessively round her slim upper arms, the warmth of her satin skin provocatively evident in the sheer silk blouse he had bought her. Desolation settled in the pit of his stomach at the thought of sleeping in his bed tonight without her. ‘It’s been an incredible weekend and I’ve loved every minute of it being with you, Layla,’ he told her honestly, his voice low.

In answer, her pretty lips curved to form the sweetest smile. ‘I’ll never forget lying on the blanket in your office looking up at the stars through that amazing glass ceiling,’ she admitted softly.

‘We’ll do it again some time soon. That’s a promise.’

‘I’ll hold you to that.’ Reaching up on tiptoe, she pressed her lips gently against his. ‘You’d better go before I make a complete fool of myself and cry,’ she said.

Forcing himself to ignore the instinct to plunder and ravish her mouth, as he longed to do, Drake slowly nodded his head. ‘Thanks for everything,’ he murmured, reluctantly extricating himself from their embrace and walking to the door.

‘It was my pleasure,’ Layla murmured, and he turned briefly to give her a smile …

CHAPTER ELEVEN

LAYLA threw herself into a frenzy of activity in a bid to try and keep her anxious thoughts about Drake at bay. When she wasn’t working at the café, serving the trickle of customers that came in throughout the day and keeping it spick and span, she was tidying and de-cluttering her flat, and driving the laden boxes of clothes and bric-a-brac she’d collected to a charity shop in support of sick children. After that, she avidly perused her cookery books to come up with new and enticing recipes that she could cook for herself and Marc.

It was only in the unguarded moments that sneaked up on her from time to time that the memory of Drake—how he looked, the sound of his voice, how it felt when he took her in his arms—had the ability to make her catch her breath and her body ache with longing.

As the interminably long week progressed she relived time and time again the frighteningly naked and poignant smile he’d left her with, wishing she’d had the courage to ask him there and then what was really on his mind. Was it that he’d decided he didn’t want to commit to a relationship with her after all now that he’d revealed so much about his wounded past? Because it made him feel far too exposed and vulnerable? Didn’t he know that she’d rather die than betray him by sharing what he’d told her with anyone else?

When the working week drew to a close without any word from him at all, Layla determinedly resisted the overwhelming urge to ring him. Instead she drove to the building site where Drake had taken her that day to explain his plans for the area’s improvement, in the no doubt unrealistic hope that he might be there. He wasn’t.

When she arrived she saw straight away that the construction workers had clearly shut up shop for the day. The muddied landscape and recently erected scaffolding looked bleak, cold and abandoned … the description could well have been applied to her.

Back in her flat, she nearly jumped out of her skin when the hallway telephone rang. Abandoning the removal of her jacket, she haphazardly shrugged it back onto her shoulders and urgently grabbed the receiver.

It was him … it had to be him.

‘Hello?’

‘Layla? It’s me—Colette.’

She’d never been so disappointed to hear the voice of a friend. It was a loyal pal she occasionally enjoyed ‘girly’ nights in with—drinking wine, putting the world to rights and giggling over the latest rom-com together.

‘Hi,’ she answered, her hand shaking from the onrush of adrenaline that had poured through her when she’d thought the caller might be Drake. ‘How nice to hear from you. It’s been a while. How are you?’

‘I’m good. How about you?’

‘I’m fine, thanks.’ It grieved Layla that she wasn’t able to sound more convincing. A girl needed her friends—especially at times like these—and Colette was a good one.

‘Hmm …’ the other girl commented. ‘You don’t sound fine to me. Want to talk about what’s been going on?’

Was she a mind-reader? Flushing guiltily, Layla absently curled some silky dark strands of hair round her ear. ‘I’ve met someone, that’s all.’

There was a pause, then Colette asked wondrously, ‘You mean you’ve met a man you’re crazy about?’

‘How did you know?’

‘Because if you weren’t crazy about him you wouldn’t even tell me you’d met someone. You’re not a girl who indulges in casual meaningless encounters … or casual meaningless sex, for that matter. I’ve always sensed that when you finally met a guy you were genuinely attracted to it would have to be all or nothing. Who is he and where did you meet him?’

Feeling protective of Drake’s privacy, and how much or how little she could safely reveal about him, Layla examined the short unvarnished fingernails she’d recently taken to nibbling and sighed. ‘I met him here … in the town.’

‘Is he local?’

‘No. He lives and works in London.’

‘What on earth was he doing here, then?’

The incredulity in her friend’s voice didn’t surprise her. Their town was hardly the jewel of the county … at least not yet. ‘Working … He’s part of the professional team that’s working on the regeneration.’

‘So he’s a town planner or surveyor, perhaps?’

She swallowed hard. ‘Something like that.’

‘Okaay … I can tell you’re being more than a little protective of him … Got any plans for tonight?’

‘No … I don’t.’ Layla wished she was planning on getting ready to see Drake, and it hurt more than she could say that she wasn’t.

‘That’s settled, then. I can tell you’re in need of some friendly advice and support. As soon as I get ready, and pop into the off-licence on the way for a cracking bottle of wine, I’ll be round to pay you a visit. And don’t worry about searching through your collection for a film … we’ll have far too much to chat about for that! Bye for now. I’ll see you soon.’

As she heard the line disconnect at the other end Layla stared blankly at the wall, wondering miserably if she could summon up the energy to share confidences with a well-meaning friend when in all honesty she’d much rather crawl under the duvet and cry …

He’d sat in the car outside the house for almost ten minutes, mentally rehearsing what he was going to say to her. The first hurdle Drake had to cross was whether Layla was actually in, because he hadn’t phoned ahead to let her know he was coming. When he’d seen the lights shining from the windows of the upper floor he had murmured a fervent and relieved, ‘Thank God …’ and told himself that fate must be on his side after all.

Now that he was here he could hardly believe he’d so foolishly stayed away from her for an entire week. Yes, he had genuinely had a workload that barely gave him time to draw breath, but the real reason he hadn’t rung her was because he’d had a nagging story running in his head about her being unwilling to compromise on what she wanted. Consequently he’d allowed the twin gremlins of doubt and fear to prevent him from taking the courageous step he needed to.

This morning, for the first time in days, Drake had woken with the clarity of mind he’d prayed for and his heart filled with absolute certainty about what he should do. But now that he was here, sitting outside the gracious Victorian house that Layla had grown up in, he suddenly felt unsure again. After all, there was no guarantee that she’d be happy to see him, was there? Not after he’d so abruptly cut their last evening together short without any real explanation. What if she thought he was a terrible coward … even worse an unreliable bastard?

‘Damn!’ A colourful expletive followed his frustrated exclamation, and hurriedly stepping out onto the pavement from the Aston Martin that he’d told Jimmy he would drive himself that evening, he closed the door shut with a slam.

Straightening the blue silk tie he wore with his tailored suit, he climbed the wide stone steps up to the front door, his heart hammering harder than if he’d received a prestigious commission from the Queen herself. When he rang the bell, and shortly afterwards saw the hallway light come on through the frosted panes in the door, he stood there in dry-mouthed anticipation of seeing Layla again, fervently hoping that nothing would jinx the event.

‘Well, well, well—as you said to me when I paid a surprise visit to your office … To what do I owe the honour?’

Dressed in black skinny jeans and a biscuit-coloured cardigan, with her feet bare, Layla flashed her glossy brown eyes as if Drake was the last person on earth she’d expected or indeed wanted to see. But her less-than-warm welcome made him even more determined to get her to see reason, and his avid gaze roamed her beautiful features with a slow, teasing smile.

‘If I tell you that this past week I’ve missed you more than I’ve ever missed anyone or anything in my life will that get me an invite in for the cup of coffee I so foolishly declined when I was last here?’ he asked, his voice pitched intimately low.

She was still holding onto the doorframe, as if undecided whether to let him over the threshold or not, but there was a glimmer of what he took to be hope in her eyes, and the majority of the tension that had been making his insides ache for days slowly ebbed.

‘That’s all you want? A cup of coffee?’ she quizzed warily.

‘A cup of your expertly made coffee would be a start, I suppose.’

‘A start to what, exactly?’

‘I’m hoping a frank and truthful conversation.’

‘That’s what I’d like too. Okay. But I’m afraid you’re going to have to wait until my friend leaves. She’s popped round to give me a little female support.’

Drake frowned. ‘Support for what?’

Her cheeks turned engagingly pink. ‘There are times when we women need a good friend to turn to. This is one of those times.’

‘Are you saying that you needed to discuss you and me?’ he asked warily.

‘What do you think? Did it even cross your mind that I might be feeling a little low after you left so abruptly on Sunday? We were getting on so well—you even took me back to the street where you grew up and told me about your plan to renovate the houses instead of pulling them down. But then … then we came back here and you suddenly decided you had to leave. I haven’t discussed anything personal with Colette, but I was planning on telling her that I’d met someone that I—Anyway.’ She flushed and glanced down at the floor for a second. ‘That’s when the doorbell rang. You couldn’t have timed your arrival more perfectly if you’d tried.’

‘And what were you going to tell your friend, I wonder? That I took you back to my house, mercilessly seduced you, then took you home and hurriedly made my exit, never to be seen or heard of again?’

Drake tried and failed to keep the angry hurt from his tone. More than he hated the idea of having Layla discuss him with her friend, he abhorred the idea that she might believe he could indeed be so callous.

Her face fell. ‘I would never have described what happened between us like that. Did you honestly think that I would?’

‘Look … can I come in? Can’t you tell Colleen, or whatever her name is, that I’ve driven down from London especially to see you and I really need us to talk?’

The mere idea of Layla having to entertain her friend when he was near desperate to clear the air between them and tell her his feelings made Drake feel tense and impatient again.

In an aggrieved tone she answered, ‘If you’re in that much of a hurry to talk to me, why couldn’t you have rung me earlier in the week to let me know you were coming this evening? And, by the way, it’s Colette—not Colleen. She’s a good friend, and I don’t get to see her that often. I won’t risk offending her by asking her to leave just because you’ve suddenly decided you need to talk to me!’

‘Okay.’ Forcing down his deep disappointment, Drake lifted and dropped his shoulders resignedly. ‘I’ll just wait until she goes, then … if that’s all right with you, I mean?’

‘You’d better come in.’

Removing her hand from the doorframe, Layla stood back to allow him entry into the hall. As she went past him to shut the door he had to curl his hand into a fist to stop himself reaching out to touch the shining curtain of dark hair that fell onto her shoulders. Was it only a few short days ago that he’d had the incredible good fortune to do such a thing with impunity?

‘Let’s go upstairs. Colette was about to open the bottle of wine she brought with her. Perhaps you’d like a glass?’

‘I think I’ll decline. I want to keep a clear head this evening.’

‘I’ll just make you some coffee, then.’

‘That would be great … thanks.’

When his avid gaze fell into hers for a full uninterrupted second, the cascade of heat and hunger that assailed him almost made Drake stumble, and his heart thumped hard when he saw by her darkening pupils that Layla was fighting a similar battle.

‘I should have rung you,’ he confessed huskily, ‘but I wanted to get my head straight. I had a lot to think over. Can you forgive me?’

‘You’re here now, and that’s all that matters.’

Her gentle smile was like a wisp of ephemeral smoke—there one minute and gone the next. But, having seen it, he couldn’t help but feel reassured.

At the top of the stairs a pretty young woman with gently waving blonde hair, wearing a tan-coloured raincoat over a smart blouse and jeans, stood waiting for them.

‘You’re not leaving, Colette?’ Layla asked, startled.

‘Sweetheart, you don’t need me to hang around now. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I guessed when I heard a man’s voice that it must be the guy you were going to tell me about.’ She glanced up at Drake with a smile, ‘I’m Layla’s friend Colette.’ She reached out and shook his hand, adding, ‘And you are …?’

‘Drake.’ He didn’t hesitate to give his real name, because something in the girl’s frank blue eyes told him that she was fiercely loyal to Layla. ‘Drake Ashton.’

‘You’re the famous architect that’s helping to regenerate the town?’

He grimaced. ‘I’m just one of a group of professionals that’s been commissioned.’

The blonde’s eyes twinkled mischievously. ‘And are any of the other professionals as fit as you, Drake?’

‘Colette!’ Layla shook her head in disbelief at her friend’s daring.

‘Don’t worry, Drake, I’m only teasing. Layla knows I’m very happily married, and right now I’m going to head back home and suggest that my other half and I go out for a nice romantic meal somewhere. Why don’t the two of you open that bottle of wine I brought and enjoy it on me?’

Noticing that Layla was frowning, as though concerned that her friend felt under pressure to cut short her visit, Drake caught her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. ‘I promise that the next time you and Colette arrange a girls’ night in I won’t break up your evening by demanding you spend time with me instead.’

‘That’s settled, then. I’m going.’ The blonde gave him a satisfied conspiratorial wink.

‘And the bottle of wine is on me next time, Colette,’ he promised.

‘I’ll hold you to that. Just make sure the two of you have some fun tonight, won’t you? And there’s just one more thing, Drake …’

‘What’s that?’

‘Don’t break her heart. Trust me, you’re a very lucky man that she’s interested in you. I was beginning to wonder if she’d ever find someone she really liked.’

His eyes lit on Layla in a penetrating gaze. ‘Rest assured I don’t take her for granted.’

Tearing her glance from his, Layla stepped round him to give her friend an affectionate hug. ‘Thanks for coming over. I’ll give you a ring very soon, I promise.’

‘I’ll look forward to it. Bye, sweetie.’

As soon as she and Drake were alone again, Layla walked in silence back into the flat. It disturbed him that she appeared so ill at ease. Did she really have no idea how he felt? Following her into the kitchen, he glanced at the unopened bottle of wine standing on the counter. Standing beside it were two slim-stemmed glasses and a corkscrew.

‘I know I said I’d have coffee, but shall we break the ice by having a glass of wine?’ he suggested lightly, hunting for a way to help her relax.

‘Break the ice?’ Layla rounded on him with a disbelieving glare. ‘Has our relationship become so brittle since we last saw each other that we need an icebreaker to help us communicate? I for one would rather just get straight to the point.’

‘I agree. Why don’t we do just that?’

‘You agree?’

Resisting the urge to smile, because she looked so damn adorable right then, Drake threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘I do. Why don’t you go first and tell me what you’ve been thinking?’

‘All right, then. I will.’ Folding her arms, she moved restlessly across the black and white tiled floor and back again. ‘Something happened when you dropped me back home on Sunday. You were going to stay for coffee, but then you suddenly changed your mind. Personally, I don’t believe your urgent departure had anything to do with work or having to return your phone messages. Something about being in my home made you uncomfortable. What was it, Drake? Did you suddenly fear I’d make some sort of demand on you that you didn’t want or perhaps didn’t feel ready to meet? Or maybe it was that you wished you hadn’t shown me where you’d grown up because it made you feel too vulnerable?’

Wincing, Drake pushed his fingers through his hair and nodded slowly. ‘I didn’t fear you making demands on me, Layla. But you’re right … I did have reservations about showing you my old home … at least the first time. The second time we went back I was less tense, because I wanted to tell you that I’d changed my mind about tearing the houses down … that I had decided to renovate instead. But when we came back here and I saw that you’d grown up in a much better part of town than I had … and in such a beautiful home … the home you share with a brother who clearly means the world to you and who clearly adores you too … I wondered what I could possibly offer you that would be an incentive for you to exchange all that simply to be with me?’

Sweeping her fringe back off her face, Layla knew her expression was genuinely stunned. ‘You seriously don’t know what you could offer me that would be an incentive to stay with you?’

His heartbeat accelerated, making it hard for him to articulate his feelings. He drew in a deep breath to steady himself. ‘Let’s look at the facts, shall we? You have a lovely home here—a home full of warm family memories that you understandably returned to when things turned sour for you in London. You’d probably never consider living in the city again, and even though I came back here to help with the town’s regeneration and improve it I’m sure you can understand why it’s not a place I would personally ever want to live in again.’

‘Going back to what you were saying before. Are you telling me that you want me to stay with you, Drake? I mean … as in living with you?’

His mouth drying, he moved across the room to stand in front of her. ‘Yes … that’s exactly what I’m saying, Layla.’

Her soft cheeks flushed rosily. ‘Why? Why do you want me to live with you?’

The blood in Drake’s veins thundered hotly in embarrassment when he realised she didn’t know. Instead of telling her how he felt, as he’d planned to do, he’d somehow lulled himself into believing she would intuit everything. Grimacing, he silently made a vow that he would never let fear and doubt stop him from confessing his true feelings to this woman ever again.

He touched his palm to her cheek and held it there, loving the sensation of her warm satin skin. ‘I want you to live with me because I’m crazy about you … crazy to the point of feeling like you’ve put me under some kind of spell. Even when I’m supposed to be working I can’t stop thinking about you. What I’m trying to tell you is that I love you, Layla. I love you more than I ever dreamed it was possible to love anyone, and I don’t want to blow my one chance at real happiness by letting you go. If you can’t live in London, and I can’t live here, then we’re just going to have to come up with some mutually agreeable compromise.’

Her beautiful dark eyes danced teasingly. ‘What makes you think I’d never consider living in London with you?’

Frowning, Drake rested his hands either side of her svelte hips and couldn’t resist the compelling urge to bring her closer into his body. ‘That low-life of a boss of yours must have hurt you badly with what he did. I perfectly understand why the memory of such a painful experience might put you off the idea of living there. I also understand why it means a lot to you to live here. For one thing, apart from the happy memories of your childhood, your brother’s here. Not only that, you’ve got a job working for him. I doubt that you’d agree to resign to come and live with me, would you?’

‘You seem to think you know a lot about what I want and don’t want, don’t you? Will you give me the chance to tell you what I want myself?’

‘Of course.’

Emitting a soft breath, Layla smiled. ‘First of all, I love you too, Drake … I didn’t know it at the time, but maybe it happened when your incredible grey eyes looked back into mine that very first time? I never dreamt I’d fall for someone so hard and so fast, and at first it scared me. It scared me a lot. But the truth is I’d live anywhere you wanted me to just so long as I could be with you. And as for Marc—I’m sure I can persuade him to rent out my flat to help him make some extra money to pay off his debts, and also to give the café some much needed redecoration.’

‘What about your job there?’

‘I was thinking I’d keep it until the town project comes to an end. I don’t mean I’ll stay living here, if you want me to move in with you sooner, but when the regeneration is complete I’ll get a job somewhere local to wherever we’re living.’ Pausing, she reached up to gently push some hair back from his forehead. ‘There’s one more thing I want to tell you. When I lost my life savings I didn’t really lose anything of value … at least not in the sense of true value. Even though I was upset and demoralised by it at the time, after I moved back here I started to realise I should be grateful for what I had … not mourn what I’d lost. And for me it’s always been the people I love that I value the most.’

Capturing her hand, Drake brought it up to his lips and planted a warm lingering kiss in the centre of her palm. ‘You are one incredible woman—you know that?’

‘No, I’m not. It’s you who’s incredible. To come back here and help bring hope and new life to the community by improving the town after your sad experiences growing up here … well, it’s beyond brave in my book. Why did you decide to take the commission, by the way? You’ve never told me.’

He thought hard for a moment, wanting to be absolutely truthful. ‘I suppose subconsciously I was looking to reinvent my relationship with the place … to bury my regrets and turn my memories into much more positive ones. When I was first contacted about working on the regeneration my instinct was not to touch it with a bargepole. But I forced myself to think more deeply about it, and in the end I decided to take it on for the very reasons I just explained. Seeing as that decision brought me to you, Layla, I’m guaranteed the good memories I always secretly craved. I never thought for one moment that I’d find the most beautiful girl in the world living here, and that I’d instantly fall in love with her, but I did … I did. It really is a dream come true.’

‘I’m just ordinary, Drake … hardly the most beautiful girl in the world.’

‘Sweetheart, you’re going to have to learn to take compliments if you’re going to be with me, because I plan to shower you with them every day throughout our long and happy marriage.’ He smiled.

This astounding announcement put Layla’s mind into a dizzying spin and made her heart clamour wildly. ‘You want to marry me?’ she asked incredulously.

‘Just as soon as it can be arranged—and I won’t be slow to pull a few favours from the official powers-that-be to help me achieve that, I promise you.’

‘There’s one more thing I’d like to ask you.’

‘What’s that?’

This time when he responded to the notion of her asking what might be another personal question he didn’t look remotely wary or defensive, Layla noticed. Instead his glance was infinitely warm and understanding.

‘Not jumping the gun or anything … but would you really consider us having children?’

‘Would you believe me if I told you that when I realised I might have made you pregnant I honestly considered asking you to go ahead and have the child if there was one? When you told me you’d taken that emergency contraceptive I felt like I’d been robbed of an incredible opportunity that I’d never even realised was important to me.’

Feeling her heart melt, Layla couldn’t disguise the wondrous happiness she felt at his words. ‘I’d love to have your baby—you know that? Because I know you’ll be the most incredibly loving and inspirational father. In which case I’m guessing I should definitely say yes to your proposal, shouldn’t I?’

She didn’t have a chance to say anything else right then, because Drake lowered his head to hers and kissed her with a hunger that wouldn’t be sated until they both capitulated to the desperate need to be even closer—a desperately wild and passionate need that would always be a feature of their marriage until they were old, Layla guessed happily …

His Temporary Mistress

Cathy Williams

CATHY WILLIAMS can remember reading Mills & Boon Modern Romance books as a teenager, and now that she is writing them she remains an avid fan. For her, there is nothing like creating romantic stories and engaging plots, and each and every book is a new adventure. Cathy lives in London, and her three daughters—Charlotte, Olivia and Emma—have always been, and continue to be, the greatest inspirations in her life.

To my three daughters,Charlotte, Olivia and Emma,and their continuing supportin all my endeavours…

CHAPTER ONE

SO IT WAS bad news. The worst possible. Damien swivelled his leather chair so that it was facing the magnificent floor-to-ceiling panes of glass that afforded his office suite such spectacular views of London’s skyline.

The truism that money couldn’t buy everything had come home to roost. His mother had been given the swift and unforgiving diagnosis of cancer and there was nothing a single penny of his bottomless billions could do to alter that bald fact.

He wasn’t a man who ever dealt in if onlys. Regret was a wasted emotion. It solved nothing and his motto had always been that for every problem there was a solution. Upwards and onwards was what got a person through life.

However, now, a series of what ifs slammed into him with the deadly precision of a heat-guided missile. His mother’s health had not been good for over a year and he had taken her word for it when she had vaguely told him that yes, she had been to see her GP, that there was nothing to worry about...that engines in old cars tended to be a little unreliable.

What if, instead of skimming the surface of those assurances, he had chosen to probe deeper? To insist on bringing her to London, where she could have had the best possible medical advice, instead of relying on the uncharted territory of the doctors in deepest Devon?

Would the cancer now attacking her have been halted in its tracks? Would he not have just got off the phone to the consultant having been told that the prognosis was hazy? That they would have to go in to see how far it had spread?

Yes, she was in London now, after complicated arrangements and a great deal of anxiety, but what if she had come to London sooner?

He stood up and paced restlessly through his office, barely glancing at the magnificent piece of art on the wall, which had cost a small fortune. For once in his life, guilt, which had been nibbling at the edges of his conscience for some time, blossomed into a full-scale attack. He strode through to his secretary, told her to hold all his calls and allowed himself the rare and unwelcome inconvenience of giving in to a bout of savage and frustrating introspection.

The only thing his mother had ever wanted for him had been marriage, stability, a good woman.

Yes, she had tolerated the women she had met over the years, on those occasions when she had come up to London to see him, and he had opted to ignore her growing disappointment with the lifestyle he had chosen for himself. His father had died eight years previously, leaving behind a company that had been teetering precariously on the brink of collapse.

Damien had been one hundred per cent committed to running the business he had inherited. Breaking it up, putting it back together in more creative ways. He had integrated his own vastly successful computer firm with his father’s outdated transport company and the marriage had been an outstanding success but it had required considerable skill. When had he had the time to be concerned over lifestyle choices? At the age of twenty-three, a thousand years ago or so it seemed, he had attempted to make one serious lifestyle choice with a woman and that had spectacularly crashed and burned. What was the problem if, from then onwards, his choices had not been to his mother’s liking? Wasn’t time on his side when it came to dealing with that situation?

Now, faced with the possibility that his mother might not have long to live, he was forced to concede that the single-minded ambition and ferocious drive that had taken him to the top, that had safeguarded the essential financial cushion his mother deserved and required, had also placed him in the unpalatable situation of having disappointed her.

And what could he do about it? Nothing.

Damien looked up as his secretary poked her head around the door. With anyone else, he wouldn’t have had to voice his displeasure at being interrupted, not when he had specifically issued orders that he was not to be disturbed. With Martha Hall, the usual ground rules didn’t work. He had inherited her from his father and, at the age of sixty-odd, she was as good as a family member.

‘I realise you told me not to bother you, son...’

Damien stifled a groan. He had long ago given up on telling her that the term of affection was inappropriate. In addition to working for his father, she had spent many a night babysitting him.

‘But you promised that you’d let me know what that consultant chap said about your mother...’ Her face was creased with concern. She radiated anxiety from every pore of her tall, angular body.

‘Not good.’ He tried to soften the tone of his voice but found that he couldn’t. He raked restless fingers through his dark hair and paused to stand in front of her. She would have easily been five ten, but he towered over her, six foot four of pure muscular strength. The fine fabric of his hand-tailored charcoal trousers and the pristine white of his shirt lovingly sheathed the lean, powerful lines of a man who could turn heads from streets away.

‘The cancer might be more widespread than they originally feared. She’s going to have a battery of tests and then surgery to consolidate their findings. After that, they’ll discuss the appropriate treatment.’

Martha whipped out a handkerchief which she had stored in the sleeve of her blouse and dabbed her eyes. ‘Poor Eleanor. She must be scared stiff.’

‘She’s coping.’

‘And what about Dominic?’

The name hung in the air between them, an accusatory reminder of why his mother was so frantic with worry, so upset that she was ill and he, Damien, was still free, single and unattached, still playing the field with a series of beautiful but spectacularly unsuitable airheads, still, in her eyes, ill equipped to handle the responsibility that would one day be his.

‘I shall go down and see him.’

Most people would have taken the hint at the abrupt tone of his voice. Most people would have backed away from pursuing a conversation he patently did not want to pursue. Most people were not Martha Hall.

‘So have you considered what will happen to him should your mother’s condition be worse than expected? I can see from your face that you don’t want to talk about this, honey, but you can’t hide from it either.’

‘I’m not hiding from anything,’ Damien enunciated with great forbearance.

‘Well, I’ll leave you to ponder that, shall I? I’ll pop in and see your mother when I leave work.’

Damien attempted a smile.

‘Oh, and there’s something else.’

‘I can’t think what,’ Damien muttered under his breath as he inclined his head to one side and prayed that there wouldn’t be a further attack on his already overwrought conscience.

‘There’s a Miss Drew downstairs insisting on seeing you. Would you like me to show her up?’

Damien stilled. The little matter of Phillipa Drew was just something else on his plate, but at least this was something he would be able to sort out. Had it not been for the emergency with his mother, it would have been sorted out by now, but...

‘Show her up.’

Martha knew nothing of Phillipa Drew. Why would she? Phillipa Drew worked in the bowels of IT, the place where creativity was at its height and the skills of his highly talented programmers were tested to the limit. As a lowly secretary to the head of the department, he had not been aware of her existence until, a week previously, a series of company infringements had come to light and the trails had all led back to her.

The department head had had the sternest possible warning, meetings had been called, everyone had had to stand up and be counted. Sensitive material could not be stolen, forwarded to competitors... The process of questioning had been rigorous and, eventually, Damien had concluded that the woman had acted without assistance from any other member of staff.

But he hadn’t followed up on the case. The patent on the software had limited the damage but punishment would have to be duly meted out. He had had a preliminary interview with the woman but it had been rushed, just long enough for her to be escorted out of the building with a price on her head. He had more time now.

After a stressful ten days, culminating in the phone call with his mother’s consultant, Damien could think of a no more satisfying way of venting than by doling out just deserts to someone who had stolen from his company and could have cost millions in lost profits.

He returned to his chair and gave his mind over completely to the matter in hand.

Jail, of course. An example would have to be set.

He thought back to his brief interview with the woman, the way she had sobbed, begged and then, when neither appeared to have been working, offered herself to him as a last resort.

His mouth curled in distaste at the recollection. She might have been a five foot ten blonde but he had found the cheap, ugly working of the situation repulsive.

He was in the perfect mood to inform her, in a leisurely and thorough fashion, that the rigours of the British justice system would be waiting for her. He was in the perfect mood to unleash the full force of his frustration and stress on the truly deserving head of a petty criminal who had had the temerity to think that she could steal from him.

He pulled up all the evidence of her ill-conceived attempts at company fraud on his computer and then relaxed back in his chair to wait for her.

* * *

Downstairs, in the posh lobby of the most scarily impressive building she had ever entered, Violet waited for Damien Carver’s secretary to come and fetch her. She was a little surprised that getting in to see the man in the hallowed halls of his own office had been so easy. For a few misguided seconds she nurtured the improbable fantasy that perhaps Damien Carver wasn’t quite the monster Phillipa had made him out to be.

The fantasy didn’t last long. No one ever got to the stratospheric heights of success that this man obviously had by being kind, forgiving and compassionate.

What was she doing here? What was she hoping to achieve? Her sister had stolen information, had been well and truly suckered by a man who had used her to access files he wanted, had been caught and would have to face the long arm of the law.

Violet wasn’t entirely sure what exactly the long arm of the law in this instance would be. She was an art teacher. Espionage, theft and nicking information couldn’t have been further removed from her world. Surely her sister couldn’t have been right when she had wailed that there was the threat of prison?

Violet didn’t know what she would do if her sister wasn’t around. There were just the two of them. At twenty-six, she was four years older than her sister and, whilst she would have been the first to admit that Phillipa hadn’t always been an easy ride, ever since their parents had died in a car crash seven years previously, she loved her to bits and would do anything for her.

She looked around her and tried to stem the mounting tide of panic she felt at all the acres of marble and chrome surrounding her. She felt it was unfair that a simple glass building could fail to announce such terrifyingly opulent surroundings. Why hadn’t Phillipa mentioned a word of this when she had first joined the company ten months ago? She pushed aside the insidious temptation to wish herself back at the tiny house she had eventually bought for them to share with the proceeds left to them after their parents’ death. She valiantly fought a gut-wrenching instinct to run away and bury herself in all the school preparations she had to do before the new term began.

What on earth was she going to say to Mr Carver? Could she offer to pay back whatever had been stolen? To make some kind of financial restitution?

Absorbed in scenarios which ranged from awkward to downright terrifying, she was startled when a tall grey-haired woman announced that she had come to usher her to Damien Carver’s office.

Violet clutched her bag in front of her like a talisman and dutifully followed.

Everywhere she turned, she was glaringly reminded that this was no ordinary building, despite what it had cruelly promised from the outside.

The paintings on the walls were dramatic abstract splashes that looked mega-expensive...the plants dotting the foyer were all bigger and more lush than normal, as though they had been routinely fed on growth hormones...the frowning, determined people scurrying from lift to door and door to lift were younger and more snappily dressed than they had a right to be...and even the lift, as she stepped into it, was abnormally large. She dodged the repeated reflection of her nervous face and tried to concentrate on the polite conversation being made.

If this was his personal secretary, then it was clear that she had no idea of Phillipa’s misdeeds. On the bright side, at least her sister’s face hadn’t been reprinted on posters for target practice.

She only surfaced when they were standing in front of an imposing oak door, alongside which two vertical sheets of smoked glass protected Damien Carver from the casual stares of anyone who might be waiting in his secretary’s outside office.

Idly tabulating the string of idiotic mistakes Phillipa Drew had made in her half-baked attempt to defraud his company, Damien didn’t bother to look up when his door was pushed open and Martha announced his unexpected visitor.

‘Sit!’ He kept his eyes glued to his computer screen. Every detail of his body language suggested the contempt of a man whose mind had already been made up.

With her nerves unravelling at a pace, Violet slunk into the leather chair directly in front of him. She wished she could direct her eyes to some other, less forbidding part of the gigantic room, but she was driven to stare at the man in front of her.

‘He’s a pig,’ Phillipa had said, when Violet had offhandedly asked her what Damien Carver was like. Violet had immediately pictured someone short, fat, aggressive and unpleasant. Someone, literally, porcine in appearance.

Nothing had prepared her for the sight of one of the most beautiful men she had ever seen in her life.

Raven-black hair was swept away from a face, the lines and contours of which were finely chiselled. His unsmiling mouth filled her with cold fear but, in a strangely detached way, she was more than aware of its sensual curve. She couldn’t see the details of his physique, but she saw enough to realise that he was muscular and lean. He must have some foreign blood in him, she thought, because his skin was burnished gold. He made her mouth go dry and she attempted to gather her scattered wits before he raised his eyes to look at her.

When he finally did turn his attention to her, she was pinned to the chair by navy-blue eyes that could have frozen water.

Damien looked at her for a long time in perfect silence before saying, in a voice that matched his glacial eyes, ‘And who the hell are you?’

Certainly not the woman he had been expecting. Phillipa Drew was tall, slim, blonde and wore the air of some of the women he had dated in the past—an expression of smug awareness that she had been gifted with an abundance of pulling power.

This woman, in her unflattering thick black coat and her sensible flat black shoes, was the very antithesis of a fashion icon. Who knew what body was lurking beneath the shapeless attire? Her clothes were stridently background, as was her posture. Frankly, she looked as though she would have given a million dollars to have been anywhere but sitting in his office in front of him.

‘I’m Miss Drew... I thought you knew...’ Violet stammered, cringing back because, without even having to lean closer, she was still overwhelmed by the force of his personality. She was sitting ramrod-erect and still clutching her handbag to her chest.

‘I’m in no mood for games. Believe me, I’ve had one hell of a fortnight and the last thing I could do with is someone finding their way into my office under false pretences.’

‘I’m not here under false pretences, Mr Carver. I’m Violet Drew, Phillipa’s sister.’ She did her best to inject some natural authority into her voice. She was a teacher. She was accustomed to telling ten-and eleven-year-olds what to do. She could shout Sit! as good as the next person. But, for some reason, probably because she was on uncertain ground, all sense of authority appeared to have abandoned her.

‘Now why am I finding that hard to believe?’ Damien vaulted upright and Violet was treated to the full impact of his tall, athletic body, carelessly graceful as he walked around her in ever diminishing circles. Very much like a predator surveying a curiosity that had landed in his range of vision. He withdrew to perch on the edge of his desk, obliging her to look up at him from a disadvantageous sitting position.

‘We don’t look much alike,’ Violet admitted truthfully. ‘I’ve grown up with people saying the same thing. She inherited the height, the figure and the looks. From my mother’s side of the family. I’m much more like my dad was.’ The rambling apology was well rehearsed and spoken on autopilot; God knew she had trotted it out often enough, but her mind was almost entirely occupied with the man in front of her.

On closer examination, Damien could see the similarities between them. He guessed that their shade of hair colour would have been the same but for the fact that Phillipa had obviously dyed hers a brighter, whiter blonde and they both had the same bright blue eyes fringed with unusually dark, thick eyelashes.

‘So you’ve come here because...?’

Violet took a deep breath. She had worked out in her head what she intended to say. She hadn’t banked on finding herself utterly distracted by someone so sinfully good-looking and the upshot was that her thoughts were all over the place.

‘I suppose she sent you on a begging mission on her behalf, did she?’ Damien interjected into the lengthening silence. His lip curled. ‘Having discovered that her sobbing and pleading and wringing of hands didn’t cut it, and having tried and failed to seduce me into leniency, she thought she’d get you to do her dirty work for her...’

Violet’s eyes widened with shock. ‘She tried to seduce you?’

‘A short-sighted move on her part.’ Damien swung round so that he was back in front of his computer. ‘She must have mistaken me for the sort of first-class idiot who could be swayed by a pretty face.’

‘I don’t believe it...’ And yet, didn’t she? Phillipa had always had a tendency to use her looks to get her own way. She had always found it easy to manipulate people into doing what she wanted by allowing them into the charmed space around her. Boys had always been putty in her hands, coming and going in a relentless stream, picked up and discarded without a great deal of thought for their feelings. Except, with Craig Edwards, the shoe had been on the other foot and life had ill prepared her to deal with the reversal. Violet was horribly embarrassed on her sister’s behalf.

‘Believe it.’

‘I don’t know if she told you, but she was used by a guy she had been dating. He wanted to get access to whatever files he thought you had on...well, I’m not too sure of the technical details...’

‘I’ll help you out there, shall I?’ Damien listed the range of information that had fortunately never found its way into the wrong hands. He sat back, folded his hands behind his head and looked at her coldly. ‘Shall I give you a rough idea of how much money my company stood to lose had your sister’s theft proved successful?’

‘But it didn’t. Doesn’t that count for something?’

‘What argument are you intending to use to try and save your sister?’ Damien drawled without an ounce of compassion. ‘The got-sadly-caught-up-with-the-wrong-guy one or the but-it-didn’t-work one? Because I can tell you now that I’m not buying either. She told me all about the smooth-talking banker with an eye to the main chance and a plan to take a shortcut to a career in computer software by nicking my ideas, except your sister, from the brief acquaintance I had with her, didn’t exactly strike me as one of life’s passive victims. Frankly, I put her down as a co-conspirator who just didn’t have the brains to pull it off.’

Violet looked at him with loathing. Underneath the head-turning good looks, he was as cold as a block of ice.

‘Phillipa didn’t ask me to come,’ she persisted. ‘I came because I could see how devastated she was, how much she regretted what she had done...’

‘Tough. From where I’m sitting, it’s all about crime and punishment.’

Violet paled. ‘She’s being punished already, Mr Carver. Can’t you see that? She’s been sacked from the first real job she’s ever held down...’

‘She’s twenty-two years old. I know because I’ve memorised her personnel file. So if this is the first real job she’s ever held down, then do you care to tell me what she’s been doing for the past...let’s see...six years...? Ever since she left school at sixteen? If I’m not mistaken, she led my people to believe that a vigorous training course in computers was followed by exemplary service at an IT company in Leeds... A glowing written and verbal reference was provided by one Mr Phillips...’

Violet swallowed painfully as a veritable expanse of quicksand opened up at her feet. What could she say to that? Lie? She refused to. She looked at the hatefully confident expression on his face, the look of someone who had neatly led the enemy into a carefully contrived trap. Phillipa had said nothing to her about how she had managed to secure such a highly paid job at a top-rated company. She knew how now. Andrew Phillips had been her sister’s boyfriend. She had strung him along with promises of love and marriage as he had taken up his position at an IT company in Leeds. He hadn’t been out of the door for two seconds before she had turned her attention briefly to Greg Lambert and then, fatally, to Craig Edwards.

‘Well?’ Damien prompted. ‘I’m all ears.’ A part of him was all too aware that he was being a little unfair. So this girl, clearly lacking in guile, clearly well intentioned, had plucked up the courage to approach him on her sister’s behalf. Not only was he in the process of shooting her down in flames, but he was also spearheading the arrow with poison for added measure.

The past few weeks of stress, uncertainty and unwelcome self-doubt were seeking a target for their expression and he had conveniently found one.

‘Look—’ he sighed impatiently and leaned forward ‘—it’s laudable of you to come here and ten out of ten for trying, but you clearly need to wake up to your sister’s true worth. She’s a con artist.’

‘I know Phillipa can be manipulative, Mr Carver, but she’s all I have and I can’t let her be written off because she’s made a mistake.’ Tears were gathering at the back of her eyes and thickening her voice.

‘My guess is that your sister’s made a number of mistakes in her life. She’s just always been able to talk her way out of them by flashing a smile and baring her breasts...’

‘That’s a horrible thing to say.’

Damien gave an elegant little shrug of his shoulders and continued to look at her in a way that made her whole body feel as though it was burning up. ‘I find that the truth is something best faced squarely.’ Except, he privately conceded, that was something of a half truth. He had nonchalantly refused to face the truth about his mother’s concerns over his lifestyle, preferring to stick it all on the back burner and turn a blind eye.

‘So what happens now?’ Violet slumped, defeated, in the chair. It had been a vain hope that she could appeal to his better nature.

‘I’ll take advice from my lawyers but this is a serious charge and, as such, has to be dealt with decisively.’

‘When you say decisively...’ She was mesmerised by the icy, unforgiving lines of his face. It was like staring at someone from another planet. Her friends were all laid-back and easy-going. They cared about humanitarian issues. They joined protest marches and could argue for hours over the state of the world. The majority of them did charity work. She, herself, visited an old people’s home once a week where she taught basic art. She had only ever mixed with people who thought like her. Damien Carver not only didn’t think like her, she could tell that he was vaguely contemptuous of what she stood for. Those merciless eyes held no sympathy for anything she was saying. She could have been having a conversation with a block of marble.

‘Jail.’ Why beat about the bush? ‘A learning curve for your sister and an example just in case anyone else thinks they can get away with trying to rip me off.’

‘Phillipa wouldn’t last a day in a prison cell...’

‘Something she should have considered before she decided to try and hack into my computers to get hold of sensitive information,’ Damien responded drily.

‘It’s her first offence, Mr Carver... She’s not a criminal... I understand that you won’t be giving her any references...’

Damien burst out laughing. Was this woman for real? ‘Not giving her references? Have you heard a single word I’ve just said to you? Your sister will be put into the hands of the law and she will go to prison. I’m sure it won’t be a hardcore unit with serial killers and rapists but that’s not my problem. You can go visit her every week and she can productively use the time to reflect on the wisdom of a few personality changes. When she’s released in due course back into the big, wide world, she can find herself a menial job somewhere. I’m sure the process of rehabilitation will be an invaluable experience for her. Of course, she’ll have a criminal record, but, like I said, what else could she have expected?’ He reached into one of the drawers in his massive desk, fetched out a box of tissues and pushed it across to her.

Violet shuffled out of her chair and snatched the box from his desk. Her eyes were beginning to leak. What else was there to say?

‘Don’t you have any sense of compassion?’ she whispered in a hoarse undertone. ‘I promise I’ll make sure that Phillipa doesn’t put a foot astray ever again...’

‘She won’t be able to when she’s behind bars. But, just out of curiosity, how would you manage to accomplish that feat anyway? Install CCTV cameras in her house? Or flat? Or wherever it is she lives? As long-term solutions go, not a practical one.’

‘We share a house,’ Violet said dully. She dabbed her eyes. Breaking down was not the way to deal with a man like this. She knew that. Men like him, people like him, only understood a language that was similar to the one they used, the harsh and ugly language of cold, merciless cruelty. He wouldn’t appreciate a sobbing female and he just wouldn’t get the concept of loyalty that had driven her to confront him face to face in his own office.

Unfortunately, being tough and aggressive did not come naturally to Violet. She might have possessed a strength of character her sister lacked, but she had never had the talent Phillipa had for confrontation. ‘And I would never dream of spying on anyone. I would keep an eye on her...make sure she toed the line...’ Easier said than done. If Phillipa decided to try and defraud another company, then how on earth would she, Violet, ever be able to prevent her? ‘I’ve been doing that ever since our parents died years ago...’

‘How old are you?’ The connections in his brain were beginning to transmit different messages now. He stared at her carefully. Her eyes were pink and her full mouth was still threatening to wobble. She was the picture perfect portrait of a despairing woman.

‘Twenty-six.’

‘So you’re a scant four years older than your sister and I guess you were forced to grow up quickly if you were left in the role of caretaker... I’m thinking she must have been a handful...’ For the first time in weeks, that feeling of being oddly at sea, at the whim of tides and currents over which he had no control, was beginning to evaporate.

Wrong-footed by the sudden change of tempo in the conversation, Violet met those fabulous navy eyes with a puzzled expression. She wondered whether this was a prelude to another rousing sermon on the salutary lessons to be learnt from incarceration. Maybe he was about to come out with another revelation, maybe he was going to inform her in that cold voice of his that Phillipa had done more than just make a pass at him. She was already cringing in mortification at what was to come.

‘She went off the rails a bit.’ Violet rushed into speech because, as long as she was talking, he wasn’t saying stuff she didn’t want to hear. ‘It was understandable. We were a close family and she was at an impressionable age...’

‘And you weren’t?’

‘I’ve always been stronger than Phillipa.’ He was still staring at her with that speculative, unreadable expression that made her feel horribly uneasy. ‘Phillipa was the spoiled one. I got that. She was a beautiful baby and she grew into a beautiful child and then a really stunning teenager. I was sensible and hard working and practical...’

‘You must be hot in your coat. Why don’t you remove it?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘The central heating here is in perfect working condition. You must be sweltering.’

‘Why would I take my coat off, Mr Carver? When I’m going to be leaving in a short while? I mean, I’ve said everything there is to say and I’ve tried to appeal to your better nature, but you haven’t got a better nature. So there’s no point in my being here, is there? It doesn’t really matter what I say, you’re just going to tell me that Phillipa needs to be punished, that she’s going to go to prison and that she’ll come out a reformed person.’

‘Maybe there’s another discussion to be had on the subject...’

Violet hardly dared get her hopes up. She looked at him in disbelief. ‘What other discussion, Mr Carver? You’ve just spent the past forty-five minutes telling me that she’s to be held up as an example to your other employees and punished accordingly...’

‘Take the coat off.’

Violet hesitated. Eventually she stood up, awkwardly aware of his eyes on her. She harked back to what he had said about her sister trying to seduce him. She had heard the contempt in his voice when he had said that. She wondered what his thoughts would be when he saw her without the protective covering of her capacious coat, and then she sternly reminded herself that what she looked like was irrelevant. She had come to plead her sister’s case and she would take whatever sliver of compassion he might find in his heart to distribute.

Damien watched the unflattering coat reveal a baggy long-sleeved dress that was equally unflattering. Over it was a loose-fitting cardigan that reached down to below her waist.

‘So the question is this...with your sister facing a prison sentence, what would you be prepared to do for her?’

He let that question hang in the air between them. Her eyes, he absently thought as she stared at him in bewilderment, weren’t quite the same shade of blue as her sister’s. They were more of a violet hue, which seemed appropriate given her name.

‘I would do anything,’ Violet told him simply. ‘Phillipa may have her faults but she’s learnt from this. Not just in the matter of trying to do something she shouldn’t, but she’s had her eyes opened about the sort of men she can trust and the ones she can’t. In fact, I’ve never seen her so devastated. She’s practically locked herself away...’

Damien thought that a few days of self-imposed seclusion before rejoining the party scene was a laughable price to pay for a criminal offence. If that was Violet Drew’s definition of her sister’s devastation then her powers of judgement were certainly open to debate.

‘So you would do anything...’ he drawled, standing to move to the window, briefly looking out at the miserable grey, muted colours of a winter still reluctant to release its grip. He turned around, strolled to his desk where he once again perched on the side. ‘That’s good to hear because, if that’s really the case, then I would say that there’s definitely room to negotiate...’

CHAPTER TWO

‘NEGOTIATE? How?’ VIOLET was at a loss. Would he ask her for some sort of financial compensation for the time his people had spent tracking Phillipa down? If no money had actually been lost, then she could hardly be held accountable for any debt incurred and, even if money had actually been lost, then there was no way that she could ever begin to repay it. Just thinking of all the money his company nearly did lose was enough to make her feel giddy.

This was not a situation that Damien liked. As solutions went, it left a lot to be desired, but where were his choices? He needed to prove to his mother that she could have faith in him, that he could be relied upon, whatever the circumstances. He needed to reassure her. If his mother wasn’t stressing, then the chances of her responding well to treatment would be much greater. Who didn’t know that stress could prove the tipping point between recovery and collapse in a case such as this? Eleanor Carver wanted him settled or she would fret over the consequences and that was a worst case scenario waiting to happen. He loved his mother and, after years of ships-in-the-night relationships, it was imperative that he now stepped up to the plate and presented her with a picture of stability.

The grim reality, however, was that he had no female friends. The women in his life were the women he dated and the women he dated were unsuitable for the task at hand.

‘My mother has recently been diagnosed with cancer...’

‘I’m so sorry to hear that...’

‘Stomach cancer. She’s in London at the moment for tests. As you may know, with cancer, its outcome can never be predicted.’

‘No. But...may I ask what that has to do with me?’

‘I have a proposal for you. One that may be beneficial to both of us.’

‘A proposal? What kind of proposal?’

Damien looked steadily at the woman in front of him. On almost every level, he knew this was, at best, questionable. On the other hand, looking at the bigger picture, didn’t the value of the ends more than make up for the means? Sometimes you had to travel down an unexpected road to get to the desired destination.

And now a virtual stranger, a woman he would not have looked at twice under normal circumstances, was about to be ushered into his rarefied world to do him a favour and he was well aware that she would be unable to refuse because her own protective instincts for her sister had penned her into a place in which she was helpless.

‘For some time, my mother has had certain...misgivings about my lifestyle...’ He realised that he had never actually verbalised any of this to anyone before. He wasn’t into the touchy-feely business of sharing confidences. It was reassuring to know that Violet Drew didn’t actually count as someone with whom the sharing of confidences was of any significance. He wasn’t involved with her. It wasn’t as though she would attach herself to anything he said and use it as a way of insinuating herself into a relationship. And yet...he still had to fight a certain hesitancy.

He impatiently swept aside his natural instinct for complete privacy. Hell, it wasn’t as though he was in a confessional about to admit to an unforgivable mortal sin!

‘Has she?’

‘If you’re wondering where this is going, then you’ll have to hear me out. One thing I’m going to say, though, is that nothing I tell you leaves this room. Got it?’

‘What are you going to say?’

‘My mother is old-fashioned...traditional. I’m thirty-two years old and, as far as she is concerned, should be in a committed, serious relationship. With a...ah...let’s just say a certain type of woman. Frankly, the sort of woman I wouldn’t normally look at twice.’

‘What sort of women do you look at?’ Violet asked, because his remark seemed to beg further elaboration. Looking at him, the answer was self-explanatory.

‘Let’s just say that I tend to spend my time in the company of beautiful women. They’re not the sort of women my mother has ever found suitable.’

‘I still don’t know what this has to do with me, Mr Carver.’

‘Then I’ll spell it out. My mother might not have long to live. She wants to see me with someone she thinks is the right sort of woman. Currently, I know no one who fits the bill...’

Enlightenment came in a blinding rush. ‘And you think that I might be suitable for the role?’ Violet shook her head disbelievingly. How on earth would anyone ever buy that she and this man were in any way involved? Romantically? He was aggressively, sinfully beautiful while she...

But of course, she thought, that was the point, wasn’t it? Whilst his type would be models with legs up to their armpits and big, long hair, his mother obviously had a different sort of girl in mind for him. Someone more normal. Probably not even someone like her but maybe he figured that he didn’t have time on his side to hunt down someone more suited to play the part and so he had settled for her. Because he could.

Damien calmly watched as she absorbed what he was saying. ‘You’re nothing like anyone I’ve ever dated in my life before, ergo you’ll do.’

‘I’m sorry, Mr Carver.’ Violet wondered how such physical beauty could conceal such cold detachment. She looked at him and couldn’t tear her eyes away and yet he chilled her to the bone. ‘For starters, I would never lie to anyone. And secondly, if your mother knows you at all, then she’ll see right through any charade you have in mind to...to...pull the wool over her eyes.’

‘Here’s the thing, though, Miss Drew...your sister is facing a prison sentence. Is that what you really want? Do you honestly want to condemn her to the full horrors of a stint courtesy of Her Majesty?’

‘That’s awful! You can’t blackmail me...’

‘Whoever said anything about blackmail? I’m giving you an option and it’s an extremely generous one. In return for a few days of minor inconvenience, you have my word that I’ll call the dogs off. Your sister will be able to have her learning curve without having to suffer the full force of the law, which you and I both know is what she richly deserves.’ He stood up and strolled towards the impressive window, looking out for a few seconds before returning to face her. ‘I wouldn’t want you to think for a minute that I won’t do my utmost to make sure your sister is punished should you decide to play the moral card. I will.’

‘This is crazy,’ Violet whispered. But she had a mental snapshot of beautiful Phillipa behind bars. She didn’t possess the inner strength to ever survive something like that. She was a woman who was reliant on her beauty to get through life and that had left her vulnerable. Maybe she did indeed need to have a forceful learning curve, but prison? Not only would it destroy her, but if she ever found out that she, Violet, had rejected an opportunity to save her, then would their relationship survive? There was no large extended family on whom to rely, no one to whom either of them could turn for advice. A few second and third cousins up north...and then just old friends of their parents, most of whom they no longer saw.

‘No one does stuff like this.’ She made a final plea. ‘Surely your mother would rather you go out with the sort of women you like rather than pretend to be with someone you don’t.’

‘It’s not quite as simple as that.’ Damien raked his fingers through his hair, suddenly restless as the need for yet more confidences was reluctantly dragged from him. ‘Of course, if it were a simple case of my mother not approving of my choice of woman, then it would be regrettable, but something we could both live with.’

‘But...?’

‘But I have a brother. Dominic is six years older than me and he lives at home with my mother in Devon.’ Damien hesitated. Nine years ago, before time and experience had done its work, he had been stupid enough to fall for a woman—so stupid that he had proposed to her. It had been an eight-week whirlwind romance that had largely taken place in bed. But she had been intelligent, a career woman, someone with whom he could envisage himself enjoying intellectual conversations. And then she had met Dominic and he had known within seconds that he had made a fatal error of judgement. Annalise had tried to cover her discomfort, and he had briefly and optimistically given her the benefit of the doubt until she had haltingly told him that she wasn’t sure that she was ready to commit. He had got the message loud and clear. She could commit to him, but she would not commit to him if he came with the baggage of a disabled sibling, someone he would have to look after when his mother was no longer around. Since then, he had made sure that he kept his relationships with women short and sweet. He had never taken any of them to Devon and only a few had ever met his mother, mostly when he had had no choice.

He had to fight back his natural instinct to keep this slice of his life extremely private. It was a place to which no one was invited. However, these were circumstances he could never have foreseen and, like it or not, he would have to give the woman in front of him some background detail. It wasn’t a great position in which to find himself. He restively began to prowl the room while Violet distractedly watched him. There were so many things to process that her brain seemed to have temporarily shut down and, instead, her senses were making up for the shortcoming, had heightened so that she was uncomfortably and keenly aware of the flex of every muscle in his body as he moved with economic grace around her, forcing her to twist in the chair to keep her eyes on him.

‘My brother was born with brain damage,’ he told her bluntly. ‘He’s not completely helpless, but he’s certainly incapable of leading a normal life in the outside world. He is wheelchair-bound and, whilst he has flashes of true brilliance, he is mentally damaged. My mother says that he was briefly starved of oxygen when he was born. The bottom line is that he is dependent on my mother, despite the fact that he has all the carers money can buy. She believes that he needs the familiarity of a strong family link.’

‘I understand. If you’re not settled or at least involved with someone your mother approves of...she feels that you won’t be able to handle your brother if something happens to her...’

‘In a nutshell.’

Looking at him, Violet had no idea how he felt about his brother. Certainly he cared enough to subject himself to a role play he would not enjoy. It pointed to a complexity that was not betrayed by anything on his face, which remained cool, hard, considering.

‘It’s never right to lie to people,’ Violet said and the forbidding lines of his face relaxed into a cynical smile.

‘You don’t really expect me to believe you, do you? When you spring from the same gene pool as your sister?’

‘There must be some other way I can...make amends for what Phillipa’s done...’

‘We both know that you’re going to cave in to what I want because you have no choice. Ironically, your position is very much like my own. We’re both going to engage in a pretence neither of us wants for the sake of other people.’

‘But when your mother discovers the truth...’

‘I will explain to her that we didn’t work out. It happens. Before then, however, she will have ample opportunity to reassure herself that I am more than capable of taking on the responsibilities that lie with me.’

Violet’s head was swimming. She shakily got to her feet, but then sank back down into the chair. He was right, wasn’t he. She was going to cave in because she had no choice. They both knew it and she hated the way he had deprived her of at least having the opportunity to come to terms with it for herself.

‘But it would never work,’ she protested. ‘We don’t even like each other...’

‘Liking me isn’t part of the arrangement.’ Damien circled her then leant forward to rest both hands on either side of the chair and Violet squirmed back, suffocating in a wave of intense physical awareness of him. Everything about him was so overpowering. There was just so much of him. She found it impossible to relax. It was as if she had been plugged into an electrical socket and her normally placid temperament had been galvanised into a state of unbearable, strangulating tension.

‘But your mother will see that straight away...she’ll know that this is just a farce...’

‘She’ll see what she wants to see because people always do.’ He needed her to. He knew he had not been a perfect son. His mother had never complained about the amount of time he spent away. She had always been fully understanding about the way work consumed his life, leaving very little room for much else, certainly very little room for cultivating any relationship of any substance, not that he had ever been inclined to have one. Her unprotesting acceptance had made him lazy. He could see that now but then hindsight was a wonderful thing.

He pushed himself away and glanced at his watch. ‘I intend to visit my mother later this evening.’ This time when he looked at Violet, it was assessingly. ‘I’m taking it that you will agree to what I’ve suggested...’

‘Do I have a choice?’ she said bitterly.

‘We all have choices. In this instance, neither of us are perhaps making the ones we would want to, but...’ he gave an eloquent shrug ‘...life doesn’t always play out the way we’d like it to.’

‘Why don’t you just hire an actress to play the part?’ Violet glared resentfully at him from under her lashes.

‘No time. Furthermore, hiring someone would open me up to the complication of them thinking that there might be more on offer than a simple business proposition. They might be tempted to linger after their job’s been done. With you, the boundaries are crystal-clear. I’m saving your sister’s skin and you owe me. The fact that you don’t like me is an added bonus. At least it ensures that you won’t become a nuisance.’

‘A nuisance, Mr Carver?’

‘Damien. However gullible my mother might be, calling me Mr Carver would give the game away.’

‘How can you be so...so...cold-hearted?’

Damien flushed darkly. As far as he was concerned, he was dealing with a situation as efficiently as he could. Drain it of all emotion and nothing was clouded, there were no blurry lines or grey areas. His mother was ill...she was anxious about him...desperate for him to produce someone by his side whom she could see as an anchor... His task was to come up with a way of putting her mind at rest. It was the way he tackled all problems that presented themselves to him. Calmly, coolly and decisively. It was an approach that had always served him well and he wasn’t going to change now.

He pushed the ugly tangle of confusion and vulnerability away. He had always felt that he was the one on whom his mother and Dominic needed to rely. After his father’s death, he had risen to the challenge of responsibilities far beyond any a boy in his twenties might have faced. He had jettisoned all plans to take a little time out and had instead sacrificed the dream of kicking back so that he could immerse himself in taking over the reins of his father’s company. His only mistake had been to fall for a woman who hadn’t been able to cope with the complete picture and, in the aftermath, he had wasted time and energy in the fruitless pastime of self-recrimination and self-doubt. He had moved on from that place a long time ago but negative feelings had never again been allowed to cloud his thinking. Indecision was not something that was ever given space and it wasn’t about to get any now.

‘How I choose to deal with this situation is my concern and my concern only. Your role isn’t to offer your opinion; it’s to be by my side in two days’ time when I go and visit my mother. And you asked me what I meant by a nuisance...’ There was no chance that she would become a liability. They were two people who could not have been on more opposing ends of the scale. If she hadn’t told him that she didn’t like him, then he would have surmised that for himself. It was there in the simmering resentment lurking behind her purple-blue eyes and in her body language as she huddled in the chair in front of him as if one false move might propel her further into his radius. Of course it didn’t help that she considered herself there under duress, but even when she had first walked into his office she had failed to demonstrate any of those little signals that heralded interest. No coy looks...no encouraging half smiles...no fluttering eyelashes...

He wasn’t accustomed to a reaction like this from a woman and, in any other situation, he might have been amused, but not now. Too much was at stake. So, whatever he thought, he would make his position doubly clear.

‘A nuisance would be you imagining that the charade was real...getting ideas...’

Violet’s mouth fell open and she went bright red. Not only had he blackmailed her into doing something she knew was wrong, but he was actually suggesting, in that smug, arrogant way, that she might start...what, exactly...? Thinking that he was seriously interested in her? Or imagining that she was interested in him?

He really was, a little voice whispered in her head, quite beautiful but she would never be interested in a man like him. Everything about him, aside from those staggering good looks, repelled her. Her soft mouth tightened and she looked back at him with an equal measure of coolness.

‘That wouldn’t happen in a million years,’ she told him. ‘The only reason I’m even consenting to this is because I don’t have a choice, whatever you say. And how do I know that you’ll keep your side of the deal? How do I know that you won’t take proceedings against my sister after I’ve done what you want...?’

Damien leaned forward. Every line of his body threatened her. ‘How do I know that you won’t turn around and tell my mother what’s actually going on? How do I know that you’ll deliver what I need you to? I guess you could say that we’re going to be harnessed to one another for a short while and we’re just going to have to trust that neither of us decides to try and break free of the constraints... Now, we need to discuss the details...’ He strode towards his jacket, which had been tossed over the back of the leather sofa against the wall. ‘It’s lunchtime. We’re going to go and grab something and start filling in the blanks.’

He expected her to follow. Was he like that with all women? Why on earth did they put up with it? She had to half run to keep up with him, past the grey-haired secretary who looked at them both with keen interest as she was ordered to cancel all his afternoon appointments, and then back down to the foyer where, it now seemed like a million years ago, she had sat in a state of nervous panic waiting to be shown to his office.

She couldn’t fail to notice the way everyone acknowledged his presence as he strode ahead of her. Conversations halted, backs were straightened, small groups dispersed. There was absolutely no doubt that he ran the show and she wondered how her sister could ever have thought that she could get away with trying to steal information from him. Perhaps she had never personally met him, but surely Phillipa would have realised, even if only through hearsay, that the man was one hundred per cent hard line? But then Phillipa had been busy losing her head to a guy who had spotted a way in to making a quick buck via a back door. Her sister, for once, had found herself being the victim of manipulation. Chances were she hadn’t been thinking at all.

Her coat was back on because she had expected them to be walking to wherever he was taking her for lunch, but in fact they headed down to a lift that carried them straight to an enormous basement car park and she followed him to a gleaming black Aston Martin which he beeped open with his key.

‘Tell me the sort of food you like to eat,’ he said without looking at her.

‘Is that the first step to pretending we know one another?’

‘You’re going to have to change your attitude.’ Damien was entirely focused on the traffic as he emerged from the underground car park into the busy street outside. ‘Two people in a relationship try to avoid sniping and sarcasm. What sort of restaurants do you go to?’

He slid his eyes across to her and Violet felt a quiver of something sharp and unidentifiable, something that slithered through her like quicksilver, making her skin burn and prickling it with a strange sensation of awareness.

This was a business deal. They were sitting here in this flash car, awkwardly joined together in a scheme in which neither wanted to participate but both were forced to, and she could do without her nervous system going into semi-permanent free fall.

She needed to hang on to her composure, however much she disliked the man and however much she scorned his ethics.

‘I don’t,’ she told him evenly. ‘At least not often. Sometimes after work on a Friday night. I’m an art teacher. I haven’t got enough money to eat out in fancy restaurants.’ She wanted to burst out laughing because not only did they dislike each other, but they were from opposite sides of the spectrum. He was rich and powerful, she was...almost constantly counting her pennies or else saving and the only power she had was over her kids.

Damien didn’t say anything. He had never gone out with a teacher. He leaned towards models, who moaned about not being paid enough...but usually it meant for the purchase of top end sports cars or cottages in the Cotswolds rather than fancy meals out. Most of them wouldn’t have been caught dead in cheap clothes or cheap restaurants. They earned big bucks for strutting their stuff on catwalks. In their heads, there was always a photographer lurking round the corner so getting snapped looking anything but gorgeous and being anywhere but cool was unacceptable.

‘When you say fancy...’ he encouraged.

‘What do you call fancy?’ she asked him, because why should she be the one under the spotlight all the time?

He named a handful of Michelin-starred restaurants which she had heard of and she laughed with genuine amusement. ‘I’ve read about those places. I don’t think I’d make it to any of them, even for a special occasion.’

‘Really,’ Damien murmured. He altered the direction of his car.

‘Really. Your mother will be very curious to discover what we see in one another. How would we have met in the first place?’ For a few seconds she forgot how much she disliked him and focused on the incongruity of the two of them ever hitting it off. ‘I mean, did you just see me emerging from the school where I work and decide that you wanted to come over for a chat?’

‘Stranger things have been known to happen.’

But not much, Violet thought. ‘Where are we going, anyway?’

‘Heard of Le Gavroche?’

‘We can’t!’

‘Why not? You said you’ve never eaten out at a fancy restaurant. Now’s your big opportunity.’

‘I’m not dressed for somewhere like that!’

‘Too late.’ He made a quick phone call and an attendant emerged from the restaurant to take the keys to his car. ‘I eat here a lot,’ Damien explained in an undertone. ‘I have an arrangement that someone parks my car and brings it back for me if I come without my driver. You can’t wear the coat for the duration of the meal. I’m sure what you’re wearing is perfectly adequate.’

‘No, it’s not!’ Violet was appalled. The surroundings weren’t intimidating. Indeed, there was a charm and old-fashioned elegance about the place that was comforting. Damien was greeted like an old friend. No one stared at her. And yet Violet couldn’t help but feel that she was out of her depth, that she just didn’t look the part. She had dressed for what she had thought was going to be a difficult interview. The clothes she wore to work were casual, cheap and comfortable. She wasn’t used to what she was now wearing—a stiff dress that had been chosen specifically because it was the comforting background colour of dark grey and because it was shapeless and therefore concealed what she fancied was a body that was plump and unfashionable.

‘Are you always so self-conscious about your appearance?’ was the first thing he asked as soon as they were seated at one of the tables in a quiet corner. He eyed her critically. He had never seen such an unflattering dress in his life. ‘In addition to allowing your sister to walk free, you’ll be pleased to hear that you’ll benefit from our deal as well. I’m going to open an account for you at Harrods. I have someone there who deals with me. I’ll give you her name, tell her to expect you. Choose whatever clothes you want. I would say a selection of outfits appropriate for visiting my mother while she’s in hospital.’ He looked at her horrified, outraged expression and raised his eyebrows. ‘I’m being realistic,’ he said. ‘I may be able to pull off the opposites attract explanation for our relationship, but there’s no way I can pull off a sudden attraction for someone who is completely disinterested in fashion.’

‘How dare you? How dare you be so rude?’

‘We haven’t got time to beat around the bush, Violet. My mother won’t care what you wear but she will smell a rat if I show up with someone who doesn’t seem to care about her appearance.’

‘I do care about my appearance!’ Violet was calm by nature but she could feel herself on the verge of snapping.

‘You have a sister who’s spent her life turning heads and you’ve reacted by blending into the background. I don’t have to have a degree in psychology to work that one out, but you’re going to have to step into the limelight for a little while and you’ll need the right wardrobe to pull it off.’

‘I don’t need this!’

‘Are you going to leave?’

Violet hesitated.

‘Thought not. So relax.’ He pushed the menu towards her. ‘You teach art at a school...where?’ He sat back, inclined his head to one side and listened while she told him about her job. He was taking everything in. Every small detail. The more she talked, the more she relaxed. He listened to her anecdotes about some of her pupils. He made encouraging noises when she described her colleagues. She seemed to do a great deal of work for precious little financial reward. The picture painted was of a hard-working, diligent girl who had put the time and effort in while her pretty, flighty sister had taken the shortcuts.

Violet realised that she had been talking for what seemed like hours when their starters were placed in front of them. Having anticipated a meal comprised of pregnant pauses, hostile undertones and simmering, thinly veiled accusations and counter accusations, she could only think that he must be a very good listener. She had forgotten his offensive observation that she didn’t take care of herself, that she had no sense of style, that she needed a new wardrobe to meet his requirements. She wanted to defensively point out that wearing designer clothes was no compensation for having personality. She was tempted to pour scorn on women who defined themselves according to what they wore or what jewellery they possessed. It took a lot of effort to rein back the impulses and tell herself that none of that mattered because none of this was real. They weren’t embarking on a process of discovery about each other. They were skimming the surface, gleaning a few facts, just enough to pull off a charade for the sake of his mother. That being the case, she didn’t need to defend herself to him, nor should she take offence at anything he said. His request that she buy herself a new wardrobe was no different from being told, on applying for a job working for an airline, that there would be a uniform involved.

‘What sort of clothes would your mother expect me to show up in?’ Once more in charge of her wits, Violet paid some attention to the food that had been placed in front of her. Ornate, as beautifully arranged as a piece of artwork, and yet mouth-wateringly delicious. ‘I don’t own many dresses. I have lots of jeans and jumpers and trousers.’

‘Simple but classy might be good...’

‘And how long would I be obliged to play this part?’

Damien pushed aside his plate to lean forward and look at her thoughtfully. Down to business. Although he had to admit that hearing about her school days had been entertaining. It made a change to sit in a restaurant with a woman who wasn’t interested in playing footsie with him under the table or casting lingering looks designed to indicate what game would be played when the footsie was over. He wondered whether she had ever played footsie with a man, which made him speculate on what body was hidden under her charmless dress. It was impossible to tell.

‘There will be a series of tests spanning a week. Maybe a bit longer until treatment can be transferred to Devon.’

‘I expect your mother will be anxious to get back to her home... Can I ask who is looking after your brother at the moment?’

‘We have a team of carers in place. But that’s not your concern. You will be around while she is in London. As soon as she leaves for Devon, your part will be done. I will return with her and, during that time, I will eventually break the news that we are no longer a going concern. At that point, I intend to demonstrate that she has nothing to be worried about...’ He looked at her flushed heart-shaped face and his eyes involuntarily wandered down to the swell of full breasts straining against the unforgiving lines of the severe dress she had chosen to wear.

Violet sensed the shift of his attention from his unemotional checklist of facts to her body. She didn’t know how she was aware of that because his face was so unreadable, the depth of his deep blue eyes revealing nothing at all, and yet she just knew and she was appalled when her body reacted with a surge of intense excitement that shocked and bewildered her.

Unlike her sister, Violet’s history with men could have been condensed to fit on the back of a postage stamp. One fairly serious relationship three years previously, which had ended amicably after a year and a half. They had started as friends and no one could accuse them of not having tried to take it a step further, but, despite the fact that, on paper at least, it made sense, it had fizzled out. Back into the friendship from whence it had sprung. They kept in touch and since then he had married and was living the fairy tale in Yorkshire. Violet was happy for him. She harboured the dream that she too would discover her fairy tale life with someone. She was certain that she would know that special someone the second he stepped into her life. In the meantime she kept her head down, went out with her friends and enjoyed the company of the guys she met in a group. She didn’t expect to be thrown unwillingly into the company of a man of whom she didn’t approve and feel anything for him bar dislike. Certainly not the dark, forbidden excitement that suddenly coursed through her body. It was a reaction she angrily rejected.

‘You will agree that you’ll be profiting immensely from your side of this deal...’ More food was brought for them although his eyes never left her face. She had amazing skin. Clear and satiny-smooth and bare of make-up, aside from some remnants of lipgloss which he suspected she had applied in a hurry.

‘You still haven’t told me where we’re supposed to have met.’ Violet looked down and focused on yet more artfully arranged food on her plate, although her normally robust appetite appeared to have deserted her. She was too conscious of his eyes on her. Having given house room to the unwelcome realisation that there was something exciting about being in his presence, that that excitement swirled inside her with a dark persuasive force that she didn’t want, not at all, she now found that she had to claw her way back to the level of composure she needed and wanted.

‘At your school. It seems the least convoluted of solutions.’

‘Why would you be in a school in Earl’s Court, Mr Carver? Sorry, Damien...’

‘I know a lot of people, Violet. Including a certain celebrity chef who is currently working on a programme of food in schools. Since I’ve set up a small unit to oversee the opening of three restaurants, all of which will be staffed by school leavers who have studied Home Economics or whatever it happens to be called these days, then it makes perfect sense that I might be in your building.’

‘You haven’t really, have you?’ Violet was unwillingly impressed that he might be more than an electronics guru. ‘I mean become involved in a set-up like that...’

‘Why do you find that so hard to believe?’ He shrugged. Did he want to tell her how satisfying he found this slice of semi charity work? Because certainly he didn’t expect to see much by way of profit from the exercise. Did he want to explain that he knew what it felt like to have someone close who would never hold down a job? He was almost tempted to tell her about his long-reaching plan to source IT projects within his company for a department that would be fitted out to accommodate the disabled because he knew from experience how many of them were capable and enthusiastic but betrayed by bodies that refused to cooperate.

‘Don’t bother to answer that—’ he brushed aside any inclination to deviate from the point ‘—this isn’t a soul-searching exercise. Nor do we have the time to get into too much background detail. Like I said. You smile and leave the rest to me. Before you know it, you’ll be on your merry way and everyone will be happy.’

CHAPTER THREE

‘BUT HOW? HOW did you manage to do it? I know I keep going on about it, but it’s just so...incredible!’

Phillipa was sitting across the kitchen table from Violet. In front of her inroads had already been made into a bottle of white wine. She had greeted the news of Damien Carver’s unexpected leniency yesterday with stunned disbelief, incredulity, anger that Violet might be stringing her along and, finally, she had taken it on board, although Violet could tell that her vague explanations hadn’t quite passed muster.

‘I begged and pleaded,’ Violet said for the umpteenth time. ‘When did you start drinking? It’s only five-thirty!’

‘You’d be drinking too if you were in my position,’ Phillipa said sulkily, unwinding her long legs, which had been tucked under her, and standing up to stretch in a lazy, languorous movement like a cat. Stress had not affected Phillipa the way it would other people. She still managed to look amazing. Although it wasn’t hot inside the house because the thermostat was rigidly controlled to save money, she was wearing a thin silky vest and a matching pair of silky culottes. Violet assumed that they had been one of the many presents she had received from Craig as he had manoeuvred to get her on board with his plan.

From what Violet had gathered, he had disassociated himself from Phillipa and denied all knowledge of what she had done. Nevertheless, he was, she had been told only an hour before by her clearly gleeful sister, who had recovered well from her devastation, out of a job and planning on leaving the country. He hadn’t deleted her fast enough from his Facebook account to prevent her from maliciously charting his progress but he had as soon as she had posted a message informing the world that he was a crook and a bastard and that if anyone bought that phoney crap about better opportunities abroad then they were idiots.

‘I don’t suppose you managed to persuade him to let them give me a reference, did you?’ Phillipa asked hopefully and Violet stifled a groan of pure despair. ‘Okay, okay, okay. I get the picture. But...thanks, sis...’

‘You don’t have to keep thanking me every two seconds.’

‘I know I can be a nightmare.’ She hesitated, thought about pouring herself another glass of wine and instead reached for a bottle of water from the case on the ground next to her. ‘But I’ve really had time to think about...everything...and I’ve been in touch with Andy... So I may have used him just a teeny bit in getting me that job, but he’s a good guy...’

A good guy who hadn’t been thinking with the right part of his body when he fudged you a dodgy reference, Violet thought.

‘And he’s been given the sack,’ Phillipa continued glumly.

‘Was he very angry with you?’ She shook her head, reluctantly amused at the half smile tugging the corners of her sister’s mouth.

‘He adores me.’

‘Even after the whole Craig Edwards fiasco?’

‘I explained that I just hadn’t been thinking straight at the time... Well, we all make mistakes, don’t we? Anyway, seeing that we’re both out of a job...we’ve decided to pool our resources...’

‘And do what, Pip?’

‘Don’t be cross, but he has a good friend out in Ibiza and we’re going to take our chances there. Bar work. Some DJing...loads of opportunities... I hocked all that stuff that creep gave me; well, why should I return any of it? When he nearly got me behind bars?’

Violet sat down heavily and looked at her sister. Like a married couple, they had been hitched together for better or for worse ever since their parents had died. She was twenty-six years old and had never known what it might be like to live on her own, without having to accommodate anyone else, without having to compromise, without having to tailor her needs around her sister’s. Phillipa had always done her thing and Violet had picked up whatever pieces had needed picking up. She had been the shoulder to cry on, the stern voice of discipline, the nagging quasi parent, the worried other half.

‘When would you go?’

‘I’m heading up to Leeds in the morning and then we’ll take it from there. Andy’s got to sort out the lease on his flat...get his act together... You don’t mind, do you?’

‘I think it’s a brilliant idea.’ Already her mind was leaping ahead to the following afternoon, when she would be meeting Damien’s mother in hospital for the first time. She realised that she had been holding a deep breath, worrying about the possibility of Phillipa asking questions, demanding to know where she was going... Stuck at home, still smarting from losing her job under ignominious circumstances, Phillipa was bored and restless...a lethal combination given the fact that she, Violet, would be trying hard to keep a secret. If Violet was clued up to her sister’s foibles, then her sister was no less talented at spotting hers, and an inability to keep a secret was high on the list of her weaknesses. Now, at least, there would be one less thing to stress about.

And perhaps this was a rut... Wasn’t there always a point in time when apron strings needed to be cut?

She thought of Damien’s casually dismissive remarks about her relationship with her sister and gritted her teeth to block out the mental images of him that seemed to proliferate at speed and without warning. She couldn’t think of anyone else, ever, who had managed to infiltrate her head the way he had. From the minute they had parted company, half her waking time had been occupied with thoughts of him and it infuriated her that not all of them were as virulently negative as she would have liked. She harked back to the cold, arrogant words leaving his mouth and then she recalled what a sexy mouth it was...she thought of that hard slashing gesture he had made with his hand when he had condemned Phillipa to jail and then, in a heartbeat, she couldn’t help but recall what strong forearms he had and how the dark hair had curled around the dull silver matt of his watch...

Enthused by a positive response, Phillipa was off. Ibiza would be great! She was sick of the English weather anyway! The club scene was brilliant! She’d always wanted to work in one! Or in a bar! Or anywhere, it would seem, where computers were not much in evidence.

She left early the following morning, with promises that she would be in touch and saying she would have to return anyway to pack some things, although she could just always buy out there because they wouldn’t need much more than some T-shirts and shorts and bikinis...

Deprived of her sister’s ceaseless chatter, which had veered from the high of realising that she wasn’t going to be prosecuted to the bitterness of acknowledging that she’d been thoroughly used by someone she had thought to be really interested in her, Violet was reduced to worrying about her forthcoming meeting with Damien.

He had informed her, via text, that he would meet her in the hospital foyer.

‘Visiting hours start at five,’ he had texted. ‘Meet me at ten to and don’t be a second late.’

If the brevity of the text was designed to remind her of her indebtedness to him and to escalate the level of her already shredded nerves, then it worked. By the time she was ready to leave for the hospital, she was a wreck. She had spent far too long choosing what to wear. Damien’s offer of a complete new wardrobe from Harrods to replace the one he obviously thought was dull, boring and inadequate, had been rejected out of hand and she was left with only casual clothes, one of her three dresses having already been used up on her interview with him. Having sneakily checked him out on the Internet, she had had a chance to see first-hand the sort of women he went for. Tall, leggy beauties. The captions informed her that they were all models. She actually recognised a couple of them from magazines. Was it any real surprise that he had suggested funding a new wardrobe for her? His mother would have to seriously be into the concept of opposites attracting if there was any chance that they would be able to pull off the charade he had signed her up for. She was short, with anything but a stick-like figure, long, unruly hair that resisted all attempts to be tamed and, as she had quickly discovered after five seconds in his presence, was never destined to be the sort of subservient yes girl he favoured.

She wore jeans. Jeans, a cream jumper and her furry boots, which were comfortable.

He was waiting for her in the designated place at the hospital. Violet spotted him immediately. He had his back to her and was perusing the limited supply of magazines in the small gift shop near the entrance.

For a few seconds, she had the oddest sensation of paralysis. She could barely take a step forward. Her heart began to beat faster and harder, her mouth went dry and she could feel the prickly tingle of perspiration break out over her body. She wondered how she could have forgotten just how tall he was, just how broad his shoulders were. He had removed his trench coat and held it hooked by a finger over one shoulder. His other hand was in his trouser pocket. Even in the environment of a hospital, where people were too ensconced in their own private worlds of anxiety and worry to notice anything or anyone around them, he was still managing to garner interested stares.

He turned around and Violet was pinned to the spot as he narrowed his eyes on her hovering figure. She was still wearing the shapeless, voluminous coat she had worn when she had come to the office to see him on her begging mission, but now her fair hair was loose and it spilled over her shoulders in waves of gold and vanilla. Against the black coat, it was a dramatic contrast. He doubted she ever went to the hairdresser for anything more than a basic cut, and yet he knew that there were women who would have given an arm and a leg to achieve the vibrant, casually tousled effect she effortlessly had.

‘You’re on time,’ he said, striding towards her, and Violet instinctively fell back. ‘My mother is looking forward to meeting you. I see you didn’t take advantage of the offer of a shopping spree.’

‘I think that either someone will like me or not like me, but hopefully it won’t be because of what I happen to be wearing.’ She fell into step beside him. Although she tried her best to maintain a healthy distance, there was a magnetism about him that seemed to want to draw her closer, a powerful pull on her senses that defied reason. She had to resist the strangest urge to look across at him and to just keep looking.

He was explaining that his mother had wanted to find out everything about her, that he had been sketchy on detail but had fabricated nothing at all. She had been intrigued to find out that he was dating a teacher, he said.

‘And did we meet in the canteen at school?’ Violet asked politely as she walked briskly to keep up with him.

‘I thought I’d leave it to you to come good with the romantic touches,’ Damien told her drily.

‘Doesn’t it upset you at all that you’re lying to your own mother?’

‘It would upset me more to think that her health might be compromised because she was worried about my stability.’ He glanced down at her fair head. She barely reached his shoulder. He could feel her reluctance pouring through every fibre of her being and he marvelled that she could be so morally outraged at a simple deception that was being done in the best possible faith and yet forgiving of her sister, who had committed a far greater fraud. He wondered whether that was the outcome of family dynamics. Just as quickly as his curiosity reared its head, he dismissed it. He wasn’t in the habit of delving too deeply into female motivations. He enjoyed women and was happy to move on before simple enjoyment could become too fraught with complications. And yet this wasn’t just another female to be enjoyed, was she? In fact, enjoyment didn’t actually feature on his list when it came to Violet Drew.

They had taken the lift up to the floor on which Eleanor Carver had a private room. It was a large teaching hospital with a confusing number of lifts, all of which seemed to have different, exclusive destinations to specialised departments.

‘I don’t know anything about you,’ Violet said in a sudden rush of panic. She tugged him to a stop before they could enter the room where his mother was awaiting her arrival. ‘I mean, I know about your brother...but where did you grow up? Where did you go to school? What are your friends like? Do you even have any friends?’

She had pulled him to the side, where they were huddled by the wall as the business of the hospital rushed around them.

‘Now that’s just the sort of thing that’s guaranteed to make my mother suspicious,’ Damien murmured, looking down at her into those remarkable violet eyes. ‘A girlfriend who thinks that her guy is such a loser that he can’t possibly have any friends. You’re supposed to be crazy about me...’ He reached out and trailed his finger along her cheek and for a few heart-stopping seconds Violet froze. She literally found that she couldn’t breathe. The noise and clatter around her faded into a dull background blur. She was held captive by deep blue eyes that bored into her and set up a series of involuntary reactions that terrified and thrilled her at the same time. She could still feel the blazing path his finger had forged against her skin and belatedly she pulled away and glared at him.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I know. Crazy, isn’t it? Actually touching the woman who is supposed to be head over heels in love with me. You didn’t think the charade would just involve you sitting across the bed from me and making small talk for half an hour, did you?’

‘I... I...’

‘The occasional gesture of affection might be necessary. It’ll certainly make up for the fact that we’re practically strangers.’ Damien pushed himself away from the wall against which he had been indolently leaning. He thought of Annalise, the wife who never was. He had fully deluded himself into thinking that he had known her. In fact, it turned out that he hadn’t known her at all. He had seen the perfect picture which had been presented to him and he had taken it at face value. He had committed himself to the highly intelligent, beautiful career woman and had failed to probe deeper to the shallow upwardly mobile social climber. So the fact that he and his so-called girlfriend were strangers hardly made the union less believable as far as he was concerned.

Violet hadn’t banked on gestures of affection. In fact, she had naively assumed that she would just be sitting across a hospital bed from him and making small talk with his mother.

‘There’s no need to look so uncomfortable,’ he drawled lazily.

‘I’m not uncomfortable,’ Violet hurriedly asserted. ‘I just hadn’t thought about that side of things.’

‘There is no that side of things. There’s the pretence of affection.’

‘Oh yes. I forgot. You only like women who are decked out in designer gear and have the bodies of giraffes!’

Damien threw back his head and laughed and a few heads turned to stare for a couple of seconds. ‘Are you offended because you’re not my type?’ He thought of Phillipa. How on earth could two sisters be so completely different? One brash and narcissistic, the other hesitant and self-conscious? Yet, curiously, so much more genuine? Intriguing.

Violet blushed furiously. ‘I think we’ve already established that you’re not my type either!’ she bristled. ‘And shall we just go in now?’

‘Is your moment of panic over?’

‘I really dislike you, do you know that?’

‘You bristle like a furious little bull terrier...’

‘Thank you very much for that!’

‘And entering the room with that angry expression isn’t going to work...’

Violet’s mouth was parted as she prepared to respond appropriately to that smug little smile on his face. His mouth covered hers with an erotic gentleness that took her breath away. He delicately prised a way past her startled speechlessness and his tongue against hers was an invasion that slammed into her with the force of a hurricane. It was the most sensational kiss she had ever experienced and all she wanted to do was pull him closer so that she could continue it. Her skin burned and she felt a pool of honeyed dampness spread between her legs. She wanted the ground to open up and swallow her treacherous body whole as he gently eased himself away to push open the door to his mother’s room.

He was smiling broadly as he entered and she could not have looked more like a woman in love. He had kissed her at the right time and the right place and her flushed cheeks and uneven breathing and dilated pupils were telling a story that had no foundation in fact.

He wanted his mother to believe that they were all loved up and Violet smarted from the realisation that one clever kiss had done the job. Eleanor Carver was smiling at them both, her arms outstretched in a warm gesture of welcome.

She was smaller than Violet had imagined. Whilst her son was well over six feet tall, Eleanor Carver was diminutive in stature. She looked impossibly frail against the bed sheets but her eyes were razor sharp as she rushed into inquisitive chatter.

‘Don’t excite yourself, Mother. You know what the consultant said.’

‘He didn’t say anything about not exciting myself! Besides, how can I fail to be excited when you’ve brought me this delightful girl of yours to meet?’

Violet stood back and watched as Damien fussed around his mother. He was so big and so powerful and yet there was a gentleness about him as he bent down to kiss her on the cheek and make sure that she was propped up just right against the pillows. It was as though he had slowed his pace to accommodate her and it brought an unwelcome lump to Violet’s throat.

‘He’s like a mother hen now that I’m cooped up here.’ Eleanor smiled and patted him on the hand.

Violet smiled back and thought that he was more fox in the coop than innocent hen and, as if he could read her mind, Damien grinned at her with raised eyebrows.

‘Violet would be the first to agree that I’m the soul of sensitivity...’ He moved so that he was standing next to her and she tried not to stiffen in alarm as he slipped his arm around her.

‘I’m not entirely sure that’s the description that springs to mind...’ Violet unbuttoned her coat and slipped it off. In the process, she managed to edge skilfully past him to the chair next to the bed.

Still grinning as he imagined some of the descriptions she might have had in mind for him, he wasn’t prepared for the hourglass figure that took his breath away for a few shocking seconds. This was not what he had expected. He had expected frumpy, slightly overweight...someone who could perhaps do with shedding a few pounds. Was it because his expectations had been so wildly at variance with the voluptuous curves on offer now that he felt the sudden thrust of painful response? Or had his diet of thin, leggy models left him vulnerable to the sort of curvy, full-breasted figure that had once haunted his testosterone-fuelled teenage dreams?

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught his mother watching him and he stopped staring to move and stand behind Violet so that he could rest both his hands on her shoulders.

From this position, he felt no guilt in appreciating the bounty of her generous breasts. She was small in stature and a positive innocent compared to the hardened, worldly, sophisticated women he dated. She didn’t have a clue how to play the games that eventually led to the bedroom. He thought that if she did know them, then she would refuse to play them. So the lush sexiness of her body was all the more of a turn-on. Standing behind her, he could barely drag his eyes away from her gorgeous figure.

It wasn’t going to do. This wasn’t about attraction or sex. This was an arrangement and he didn’t need it to be complicated because his testosterone levels had decided to act up.

He pulled over the other spare chair and sat next to her because staring down at her was proving to be too much of an unwelcome distraction.

His mother had launched into fond reminiscing about his childhood. Halting her in mid-stream would have been as impossible as trying to climb Everest in flip flops, so he allowed her to chatter away for as long as she wanted. He hadn’t seen her so animated since she had been diagnosed and, besides, as long as she was chatting, she wasn’t asking too many detailed questions. Eventually he looked at his watch and gave a little cough to indicate departure time. He would have to admit that Violet had done well. She had certainly shown keen interest in every anecdote his mother had told and had been suitably encouraging in her remarks, whilst managing to keep them brief. Watching her out of the corner of his eye, he could appreciate what he had failed to previously when he had been too busy putting his plan into action and laying down the rules and boundary lines. She was a naturally warm, empathetic person. It was what had driven her to come and see him in defence of her sister when she must have been scared witless. It was what made her smile with genuine warmth at his mother as she triumphantly reached the punchline of her story involving him, two friends and a bag of frogs.

‘We really should be going, Mother. You mustn’t over tire yourself.’

‘Life will be very limited for me if I can’t get excited and I can’t get too tired, darling. Besides, there are so many questions I want to ask you both...’

Violet sneaked a surreptitious glance at Damien’s hard, chiselled profile and the memory of that kiss snaked through her, bringing vibrant colour to her cheeks. Of course he hadn’t been turned on. As he had made abundantly clear on more than one occasion, he dated supermodels. She had been chosen to play a part because she was at his mercy and because she wasn’t a supermodel. He had kissed her like that in order to achieve something and it had worked.

It filled her with shame that she had been turned on. She cringed in horror at the realisation that she had wanted the kiss to go on...and on...and on... She wondered where her pride had gone when she could be held to ransom by a man she loathed to do something of which she heartily disapproved and yet, with a single touch, find her willpower reduced to rubble.

‘Damien’s barely told me anything about how you two met... He said that it was a couple of months ago...but that he didn’t want to say anything for fear of jeopardising the relationship...’

‘Did he?’ Violet glanced across, eyebrows raised. ‘I didn’t realise that you felt so...vulnerable...’ Her voice was sugary-sweet.

Damien rested his hand over hers and idly stroked her thumb, which sent her pulses racing all over again, but, with his mother’s eyes on them, what could she do but to carry on smiling?

‘It’s a lovable trait, isn’t it? Darling?’ he murmured, looking her straight in the eyes and reaching to cup the nape of her neck with his hand, where he proceeded to sift his fingers through her hair.

‘So how did you meet?’ Eleanor asked with avid curiosity.

‘Darling—’ Damien continued to caress her until every part of her body was tingling in hateful response ‘—why don’t you tell my mother all about our...romantic first meeting...?’

‘It really wasn’t that romantic.’ Violet tried to shift away from the attentions of his hand, which was something of a mistake as he promptly decided to switch focus from her hair to her thigh. ‘Actually, when I first met your son, I thought he was rude, arrogant and overbearing...’

Damien responded by squeezing her thigh gently with his big hand in subtle warning.

‘He...er...came to the school for a...er...meeting with our head of Home Economics...’ The pressure on her thigh was ever more insistent but, instead of turning her off, it was having the opposite effect. How on earth could her body be so wilful? When had that ever happened? She felt faint with a dark, forbidden excitement that went against every grain of common sense and reason. She wanted to squeeze her thighs tightly shut to stifle her liquid response but was scared that if she did he would duly take note and know exactly what was going on with her rebellious body. He was, after all, nothing like the guys she knew. He was a man of the world and, even on short acquaintance, she suspected that he was as knowledgeable and intimate with the workings of the female mind as it was possible for any man to be. The thought of him second-guessing that she found him sexually attractive was mortifying.

‘Do you remember how bossy you were with poor Miss Taylor?’ she asked, scoring points wherever she could find them and trying hard to ignore what his hand was doing to her. Out of sight of his mother’s eyes because of the positioning of the chairs, his roaming hand came to rest on her thigh just below the apex where her legs met. When she thought of how that hand would feel just there, were it against bare skin, were he able to brush the downy hair with his fingers, her brain went into instant meltdown.

‘We all got the impression that you were terribly important—too important to be time wasting at a school because the CEO couldn’t make it... I’ll admit, Mrs Carver, that my first impressions of your son were that he was a tad on the arrogant, conceited, bossy side...thoroughly unbearable, if you want the truth...’

‘And yet you couldn’t tear your eyes away from me,’ Damien murmured in quick retaliation. He smiled and leaned across to feather a kiss on the corner of her mouth, making sure to keep his hand just where it was. ‘Don’t think I didn’t notice when you thought I wasn’t looking...’

‘Ditto,’ Violet muttered in feeble response because what else could she do, short of launching into a scathing attack on everything she had decided was awful about him?

‘So true.’ Damien allowed himself the luxury of looking at her with lazy, speculative eyes. ‘And how could I ever have guessed that underneath your shapeless clothes was the figure of a sex goddess...?’

Violet went bright red. Was he joking? Continuing with their subtle duel of words which carried an undertone that his mother would not have clocked? Was he laughing at her? What else? she wondered, hot and flustered under the scrutiny of his deep blue eyes. She kept her gaze pointedly averted, looking at his mother with a smile that was beginning to make her jaws ache, but every inch of her was tuned in to Damien’s attention, which was focused all on her. One hundred per cent of it. She could feel it as powerfully as if a branding iron had been held to her bare skin.

‘Hardly a sex goddess... There’s no need to tell lies...’ she mumbled with an embarrassed laugh, while trying to play half of the loving couple by awkwardly leaning towards him and at the same time taking the opportunity to snap her legs firmly shut on a hand that was getting a little too inquisitive for her liking.

‘You’re just what my son needs, Violet,’ Eleanor confided with satisfaction. ‘All those girls he’s spent years going out with... I expect you have a potted history of Damien’s past...?’

‘Mother, please. There’s no need to go down that road. Violet is very much in the loop when it comes to knowing exactly the sort of women I’ve dated in the past...aren’t you, darling...?’

‘And I find it as strange as you do, Mrs Carver, that someone as intelligent as your son could have been attracted to girls with nothing between their ears. Because that’s what you’ve said, haven’t you, dearest? I’m sure they were very pretty but I’ve never understood how you could ever have found it a challenge to go out with a mannequin...?’

Damien smiled slowly and appreciatively at her. Touché, he thought. She had been gauche and awkward when she had come to him with her begging bowl on her desperate mission to save her sister’s skin but he was realising that this was not the woman she was at all. Warm and empathetic, yes—that much was evident from the way she interacted with his mother. She had also been prepared for him to walk all over her if she thought it would help her sister’s cause. However, freed from the constraints of having to yield to him in the presence of his mother, her true colours were emerging. She was quick-tongued, intelligent and not above taking pot shots at him under cover of a smiling façade and the occasional glance that tried to pass itself off as loving.

He found that he liked that. It made a change from vacuous supermodels. Certainly, a charade he had been quietly dreading now at least offered the prospect of not being as bad as he had originally imagined and, ever creative when it came to dealing with the unexpected, he had no misgivings about making the most of a bad deal. So she thought that she’d get a little of her own back by having fun with double entendres and thinly cloaked pointed remarks? Well, two could play at that game and it would certainly add a little spice to the proceedings.

‘You’re so right, my dear...’ Eleanor’s shrewd eyes swung between the pair of them. Their body language...their interaction...her son was set in his ways...so where did Violet Drew fit in...? How had the inveterate womaniser become domesticated by the delightful schoolteacher who seemed willing to trade punches...? And where were the airheads who simpered around him and clung like leeches? Sudden changes in appetite were always a cause for concern, as her consultant had unhelpfully pointed out. So what was behind her son’s sudden change in appetite? For the first time Eleanor Carver was distracted from her anxiety about her cancer. She enjoyed crosswords and sudoku. She would certainly enjoy unravelling this little enigma.

‘Of course...’ she glanced down at the wedding ring she still wore on her finger and thoughtfully twisted it ‘...there was Annalise...but I expect you know all about her...?’ She yawned delicately and offered them an apologetic exhausted smile. ‘Perhaps you could come back tomorrow? My dear...it’s been such a pleasure meeting you.’ She warmly patted Violet’s outstretched hand. ‘I very much look forward to getting to know you much, much better...I want to find out every little thing about the wonderful girl my son has fallen in love with.’

CHAPTER FOUR

SO WHO WAS ANNALISE?

Violet was pleased that she had not been tempted to ask the second they had left his mother’s room. She didn’t know, didn’t care and was only going to be in his company for a short while longer in any case.

Infuriatingly, however, the name bounced around in her head over the next week and a half, as their visits to the hospital settled into a routine. They met at a predetermined time in the same place, exchanged a few meaningless pleasantries on the way up in the lift and then played a game for the next hour and a half. It was a game she found a lot less strenuous than she had feared. Eleanor Carver made conversation very easy. Little by little, Violet pieced together the life of a girl who had grown up in Devon, daughter of minor aristocratic parents. Childhood had been horses and acres of land as a back garden. There had been no boarding school as her parents had doted on their only child and refused to send her away and so she had remained in Devon until, at the age of seventeen and on the threshold of university, she had met, fallen head over heels in love with and married Damien’s father, an impossibly dashing half Italian immigrant who had wandered down from London with very little to offer except ambition, excitement and love. Eleanor had decided in seconds that all three were a better bet than a degree in History. She had battled through her parents’ alarm, refused to cave in and moved out of the family mansion to set up house in a little cottage not a million miles away. In due course, her parents had come round. Rodrigo Carver might not have been their first choice but he had quickly grown on them. He offered business advice on the family estate when fortunes started turning sour and his advice had come good. He had a street smart head for investment and passed on tips to Matthew Carrington that saw profits swell. In return, Matthew Carrington took a punt on his rough-diamond son-in-law and loaned him a sum of money to start up a haulage business. From that point, there had been no turning back and the half Italian immigrant had eventually become as close to his parents-in-law as their own daughter.

Violet thought that Eleanor Carver probably believed in fairy tale endings because of her own personal experience. Whirlwind romance with someone from a different place and a different background...a battle against the odds... Was that why she had accepted her son’s sudden love affair with a woman who could have been from a different planet?

She had posed that question to Damien only the day before and he had shrugged and said that he had never considered it but it made sense; then he had swiftly punctured that brief bubble of unexpected pleasure by adding that it was probably mingled with intense relief that she had been introduced to a woman who wouldn’t run screaming in horror at the thought of wellies, mud and the great outdoors.

For once, Violet arrived at the hospital shop ahead of schedule and was glancing through the rack of magazines when she heard him say behind her shoulder, ‘I didn’t get the impression that you were all that interested in the lifestyles of the rich and famous...’

She spun round, heart beating fast, and in that split second, realised that the hostility and resentment she had had for him had turned into something else somewhere along the line. She wasn’t sure what, but the sudden flare of excitement brought a tinge of high colour to her cheeks. When had she started looking forward to these hospital visits? What had been the thin dividing line between not caring what she wore because why did it matter anyway, and taking time out to choose something with him in mind? She had always felt the sparrow next to her sister’s radiant plumage. She couldn’t compete and so she had never tried. She had chosen baggy over tight and buttoned up over revealing because to be caught up in trying to dress to impress was superficial and counter-productive. So when had that changed?

Everything they said in that room and every fleeting show of affection was purely engineered for the sake of his mother and yet she found that she could recall each time he had touched her. She no longer started when his hand slid to the back of her neck. A couple of days ago he had casually tucked some of her hair behind her ear and she had caught herself staring at him, mouth half open, transfixed by a rush of violent confusing awareness, as if they had suddenly been locked inside a bubble while the rest of the world faded away. His mother had snapped her out of the momentary spell but it was dawning on her that lines were being crossed. She just didn’t know what to do about it. She would have to find out just how long the charade was destined to continue. Yes, she had made a deal but that didn’t mean that she could be kept in ignorance of when the deal would come to an end. Her life was on hold while she pretended to be his girlfriend. She needed to find out when she would be able to step back to reality.

‘Aren’t we all?’ she snapped, taking a step back and bumping into someone behind her. Flustered, she muttered apologies and then looked straight into Damien’s amused blue eyes. Usually he came straight to the hospital from work. Today was an exception. He wasn’t in his suit but in a pair of black jeans and a thick cream jumper. She couldn’t peel her eyes away from him.

‘My apologies. Shall I buy the magazine for you?’

Violet discovered that she was still clutching the magazine and she wondered why because she had had no intention of getting it. ‘Thank you, but there’s no need. I was just about to buy it myself.’

‘Please. Allow me.’ He made an elaborate show of studying the cover of the magazine. ‘I dated her,’ he mused, but his interest stopped short of flicking through the magazine to look further.

If that passing remark was intended to bring her back down to earth, it certainly succeeded and Violet was infuriated with herself for the time she had taken choosing which pair of jeans to wear and which jumper. Ever since he had made that revealing remark about her body, and even if it had been meant for the benefit of his mother, she had chosen her snuggest jumpers to wear, the ones that did the most for a figure like hers. Now she was reminded of just the sort of body he looked at and it wasn’t one like hers.

‘What’s her name?’ Violet wondered if it was the mysterious Annalise his mother had dropped into the conversation on that first evening.

‘Jessica. At the time, she was on the brink of making it to the catwalk. Seems she got there.’ He paid for the magazine and handed it over to her.

‘I’m not surprised. She’s very beautiful.’

And once upon a time, Damien thought, she would have encompassed pretty much everything he sought in a woman. Compliant, ornamental and inevitably disposable.

He looked down at the argumentative blonde staring up at him with flushed cheeks and a defiantly cool expression and felt that familiar kick in his loins. The complication which he had been determined to sideline was proving difficult to master. He wondered whether it was because denial was not something he had ever had the need to practice when it came to the opposite sex. When he had concocted this plan, he had had no idea that he might find himself at the mercy of a wayward libido. He had looked at the earnest, pleading woman slumped despairingly in the chair in his office and had seen her as a possible solution to the problem that had been nagging away at him. Nothing about her could possibly have been construed as challenging. There had not been a single iota of doubt in his mind that she might prove to be less amenable than her exterior had suggested.

While it was hardly his fault that his initial judgement had a few holes, he still knew that the boundaries to what they were doing had to be kept in place, although it was proving more challenging than expected. Every time he touched her, with one of those passing gestures designed to mimic love and affection, he could feel a sizzle race up his arm like an electric current. Those brief lapses of self-control were unsettling. Now, as they began moving out of the hospital shop, he stopped her before they could head for the lift.

‘We need to have a chat before we go up.’

‘Okay.’ This would be an update on how long their little game would continue. Perhaps he had had word back from the consultant on the line of treatment they intended to pursue. When she thought of this routine coming to an end, her mind went blank and she had to remind herself that it couldn’t stop soon enough.

‘We could go the cafeteria but I suggest somewhere away from the hospital compound. Walking distance. There’s a café on the next street. I’ve told my mother that we might be a bit later than usual today.’

‘There haven’t been any setbacks, have there?’ Violet asked worriedly, falling into step beside him. ‘A couple of days ago your mother said that they were all pleased with how things were coming along, that it seems as though the cancer was caught in time, despite concerns that she might have left it too late...’

‘No setbacks, although my mother would be thrilled if she knew that you were concerned...are you really? Because there’s just the two of us here. No need for you to say anything you don’t want to. No false impressions to make.’

‘Of course I’m concerned!’ She stopped him in his tracks with a hand on his arm. ‘I may have agreed to go through this charade because my sister’s future was at stake, but your mother’s a wonderful woman and of course I would never fake concern!’

Damien recognised the shine of one hundred per cent pure sincerity in her eyes. For a second, something very much like guilt flared through him. He had ripped her out of her comfort zone and compelled her to do something that went against the very fabric of her moral values because it had suited him. He had thrown back the curtain and revealed a world where people used other people to get what they wanted. It wasn’t a world she inhabited. He knew that because she had told him all about her friends in and out of school. Listening to her had been like lifting a chapter from an Enid Blyton book, one where good mates sat around drinking cheap boxed wine and discussing nothing more innocuous than the fate of the world and how best it could be changed.

Still, everything in life was a learning curve and being introduced to an alternate view would stand her in good stead.

‘How is your sister faring in Ibiza?’ he asked, an opportune reminder of why they were both here.

Violet smiled. ‘Good,’ she confided. ‘Remember I told you about that job she wanted? The one at the tapas restaurant on the beach?’ Despite the artificiality of their situation, she had found herself chatting to Damien a lot more than she had thought she might. Taking the lift down after visiting his mother, wandering out of the hospital together, he in search of a black cab, she in the direction of the underground...conversation was always so much less awkward than silence. And he was a good listener. He never interrupted and, when he did, his remarks were always intelligent and informative. He had listened to her ramble on about her colleagues at work without sneering at them or the lives they led. He had come up with some really useful advice about one of them who was having difficulties with a disorderly class. And he had cautioned her about worrying too much about Phillipa, had told her that she needed to break out of the rut she had spent years constructing and the only way to do that would be to walk away from over-involvement in what her sister was getting up to. If Phillipa felt she had no cushion on which to fall back, then she would quickly learn how to remain upright.

Had she mentioned Phillipa and the job at the bar? Damien thought. Yes. Yes, she had. Well, they saw each other every day. The periods of time spent in each other’s company might have been concentrated, but they conversed. It would have been impossible to maintain steady silence when they happened to be on their own. Admittedly, she did most of the conversing. He now knew more about the day-to-day details of her life than he had ever expected to know.

‘I remember.’ No references needed for a bar job. Good choice.

‘Well, she got it. She’s only been there two days but she says the tips are amazing.’

‘Let’s hope she’s not tempted to put her hand in the till,’ Damien remarked drily but there was no rancour in his eyes as they met hers for a couple of seconds longer than strictly necessary.

‘I’ve already given her a lecture about that,’ Violet said huffily.

‘And what about the partner in crime?’

‘He wasn’t a partner in crime.’

‘Aside from the forging of references technicality.’

‘He’s working on restoring a boat with his friend.’

‘He knows much about boat restoration?’

‘Er...’

‘Say no more, Violet. They’re obviously a match made in Heaven.’

‘You’re so cynical!’

‘Not according to my mother. She complimented me on my terrific taste in women and waxed lyrical about the joys of knowing that I’m no longer dating women with IQs smaller than their waist measurements.’

They had reached the café and he pushed open the door and stood aside as she walked past him. The brush of his body against hers made her skin burn. So his mother was pleased with her as a so-called girlfriend. She thought back to the eye-catching brunette on the magazine cover. He must find it trying to have pulled the short straw for this little arrangement. He could have been walking into a café, or into an expensive restaurant because hadn’t he already told her that the women he dated wouldn’t have been caught dead anywhere where they couldn’t be admired, with a leggy brunette dangling on his arm. Instead of her.

He ordered them both coffee and then sat back in his chair to idly run his finger along the handle of the cup.

‘Well?’ Violet prompted, suddenly uncomfortable with the silence. ‘I don’t suppose we’re here because you wanted to pass the time of day with me. It’s been nearly two weeks. The new term is due to start in another ten days. Your mother seems to be doing really well. Have you brought me here to tell me that this arrangement is over?’ She felt a hollow spasm in the pit of her stomach at the prospect of never seeing him again and then marvelled at how fast a habit, even a bad one, could be turned into something that left a gaping hole when there was the prospect of it being removed.

‘When I told you that our little deal would be over and done with in a matter of days, I hadn’t foreseen certain eventualities.’

‘What eventualities?’

‘The consultants agree that treatment can be continued in Devon.’

‘And that’s good, isn’t it? I know your mother is very anxious about Dominic. She speaks to him every day on the telephone and has plenty of contact with his carers, but he’s not accustomed to having her away for such a long period of time.’

‘When did she tell you this?’

‘She’s phoned me at home a couple of times.’

‘You never mentioned that to me.’

‘I didn’t realise that I was supposed to report back to you on a daily basis...’

‘You’re supposed to understand the limitations of what we have here. You’re supposed to recognise that there are boundaries. Encouraging my mother to telephone you is stepping outside them.’

‘I didn’t encourage your mother to call me!’

‘You gave her your mobile number.’

‘She asked for it. What was I supposed to do? Refuse to give it to her?’

‘My mother plans on returning to Devon tomorrow. She’ll be able to attend the local hospital and I will personally make sure that she has the best in house medical team to hand that money can buy.

‘That’s good.’ She would miss Eleanor Carver. She would miss the company of someone who was kind and witty and the first and only parent substitute she had known since her own mother had died. There had been no breathtaking revelations to the older woman or dark, secret confessions, but it had been an unexpected luxury to feel as though no one expected her to answer questions or be in charge. ‘I guess you’ll be going with her.’

‘I will.’

‘How is that going to work out for you and your work? I know you said that it’s easy to work out of the office but is that really how it’s going to be in practice?’

‘It’ll work.’ He paused and looked at her carefully. ‘The best laid plans, however...’

‘I hate to sound pushy but would you be willing to sign something so that I know you won’t go back on what you promised?’

‘Don’t you trust me?’ he asked, amused.

‘Well, you did put me in this position through some pretty underhand tactics...’

‘Remind me how much your sister is enjoying life in sunny Ibiza...’ Damien waved aside that pointed reminder of his generosity. ‘Naturally, I will be more than happy to sign a piece of paper confirming that your sister won’t be seeing the inside of a prison once our deal is over.’

‘But I thought it was...’ Violet looked at him in confusion.

‘There’s been an unfortunate extension.’ He delivered that in the tone of voice which promised that, whatever he had to say, there would be no room for rebuttal. ‘It seems that your avid attention and cosy chats with my mother on the phone have encouraged her to think that you should accompany me down to Devon.’

‘What?’ Violet stammered.

‘I could repeat it if you like, but I can see from the expression on your face that you’ve heard me loud and clear. Believe me, it’s not something I want either but, given the circumstances, there’s very little room for manoeuvre.’ Could he be treated to anyone looking more appalled than she currently was?

‘Of course there’s room for manoeuvre!’ Violet protested shakily.

‘Shall I tell her that the prospect of going to Devon horrifies you?’

‘You know that’s not the sort of thing I’m talking about. I...I...have loads to do before school starts...classes to prepare for...’

Damien waited patiently as she expounded on the million and one things that apparently required her urgent attention in London before raising his hand to stop her in mid-flow.

‘My mother seems to think that having you around for a few days while her treatment commences would give her strength. She’s aware that you start back at school in a week and a half.’ She had no choice but to do exactly what he said; Damien knew that. When it came to this arrangement, she didn’t have a vote. Still, he would have liked to have her on board without her kicking and screaming every inch of the way. And really, was it so horrific a prospect? Where his mother lived was beautiful. ‘She’s not asking you to ditch your job and sit by her bedside indefinitely.’

‘I know that!’

‘If I can manage my workload out of the office, then I fail to see why you can’t do the same.’

‘It just feels like this is...getting out of control...’

‘Not following you.’

‘You know what I mean, Damien,’ Violet snapped irritably. ‘I thought when I accepted this...this...assignment...that it was only going to be for a few days and it’s already been almost two weeks...’

‘This situation isn’t open to discussion,’ Damien said in a hard voice. ‘You traded your freedom for your sister’s. It’s as simple as that.’

‘And what about when I leave Devon? When do I get my freedom back?’ Violet hated the way she sounded. As though she couldn’t care less about his mother or her recovery. As though the last thing in the world she wanted was to help her in a time of need. And yet this wasn’t what she had signed up for and the prospect of getting in ever deeper with Damien and his family felt horribly dangerous. How could she explain that? ‘I’m sorry, but I have to know when I can expect my life to return to normal.’

‘Your life will return to normal—’ he leaned forward, his expression grim and as cold as the sea in winter ‘—just about the same time as mine does. I did not envisage this happening but it’s happened and here’s how we’re going to deal with it. You’re going to put in an appearance in Devon. You’re going to enjoy long country walks and you’re going to keep my mother’s spirit fighting fit and upbeat as you chat to her about plants and flowers and all things horticultural. At the end of the week, you’re going to return to London and, at that point, your presence will no longer be required. Until such time as I inform you that your participation is redundant, you remain on call.’

Violet blanched. What leg did she have to stand on? He was right. She had effectively traded her freedom for Phillipa’s. While her sister was living a carefree existence in Ibiza, she was sinking ever deeper into a morass that felt like treacle around her. She couldn’t move and all decision-making had been taken out of her hands.

‘The more involved I get, the harder it’s going to be to tell your mother...that...’

‘Leave that to me.’ Damien continued to look at her steadily. ‘There’s another reason she wants you there in Devon,’ he said heavily. ‘And, believe me, I’m not with her on this. But she wants you to meet my brother.’ His mother had never known the reasons for his break-up with Annalise, nor had she ever remarked on the fact that, after Annalise, he had never again brought another woman down to the country estate in Devon. The very last thing he wanted was a break in this tradition, least of all when it involved a woman who was destined to disappear within days.

‘That’s very sweet of her, Damien, but I don’t want to get any more involved with your family than I already am.’

‘And do you think that I do?’ he countered harshly. ‘We both have lives waiting out there for us.’ The fact that control over the situation had somehow been taken out of his hands lent an edge to his anger. When his mother had suggested bringing Violet to Devon, he had told her, gently but firmly, that that would be impossible. He cited work considerations, made a big deal of explaining how long it took to prepare for a new term—something of which he knew absolutely nothing but about which he had been more than happy to expound at length. He had been confident that no such thing would happen. His fake girlfriend would not be setting one foot beyond the hospital room.

His mother had never been known to enter into an argument with him or to advance contrary opinions when she knew how he felt about something. He had been woefully unprepared for her to dig her heels in and make a stance, ending her diatribe, which had taken him completely by surprise by asking tartly, ‘Why don’t you want her to come to Devon, Damien? Is there something going on that I should know about?’

Deprived of any answering argument, he had recovered quickly and warmly assured his mother that there was nothing Violet would love more than to see the estate and get to know Dominic.

‘You will need a more extensive wardrobe than the one you have,’ he informed her because, as far as he was concerned, there was nothing further to be said on the matter. ‘You need wellies. Fleeces. Some sort of waterproof coat. I’m taking it that you don’t have any of those? Thought not. In that case, you’re going to go to Harrods and use the account I’ve already talked to you about.’

‘Do you know something? I can’t wait for all of this to be over! I can’t wait for when I no longer have to listen to you bossing me about and reminding me that I’m in no position to argue!’ Over the past few days she had been lulled into a false sense of security, of thinking that he wasn’t quite as bad as she had originally thought. She had watched him interacting with his mother, had listened as he had soothed the same concerns on a daily basis without ever showing a hint of impatience. She had foolishly started feeling a weird connection with him.

‘Is that how you treat everyone?’ she blurted, angry with herself for harbouring idiotic illusions. ‘Is that how you’ve treated all the women you’ve been out with? Is that how you treated Annalise?’ It was out before she had a chance to rein it in and his eyes narrowed into chips of glacial ice.

‘Was that another topic under discussion with my mother?’

‘No, of course not! And it’s none of my business. I just feel...frustrated that my whole world has been turned upside down...’

‘Excuse me if I don’t feel unduly sympathetic to your cause,’ Damien inserted flatly. ‘We both know what was at stake here. As for Annalise, that’s a subject best left unexplored.’ Without taking his eyes from her face, he signalled for the bill.

‘You can’t expect me to spend a week in your mother’s company and not have an inkling of anything to do with your past.’ She inhaled deeply and ploughed on. ‘What do you expect me to say when she talks about you? It’s going to be different in Devon. We’ll have a great deal more time together. Your mother’s already mentioned her once. She’s sure to mention her again. What am I supposed to say? That we don’t discuss personal details like that? What sort of relationship are we supposed to have if we never talk about anything personal?’

She stared at him with mounting frustration and the longer the silence stretched, the angrier she became. He might be the puppet-master but there were limits as to how tightly he could jerk the strings! She foresaw long, cosy conversations with his mother when her only response to any questions asked, aside from the most basic, would be a rictus smile while she frantically tried to think of a way out. She would be condemned to yet more lying just because he was too arrogant to throw her a few titbits about his past.

‘I don’t care what happened between the two of you. I just want to be able to look as though I know what your mother’s on about if she brings the name up in conversation. Why are you so...so...secretive?’

Damien was outraged that she had the nerve to launch an attack on him. Naturally there was a part of him that fully understood the logic of what she was saying. Undiluted time spent with his mother in front of an open fire in the snug would be quite different from more or less supervised snatches of time spent next to a hospital bed during permitted visiting hours. Women talked and it was unlikely that he could be a stifling physical presence every waking minute of the day. That said, the implicit criticism ringing in her voice touched a nerve.

Bill paid, he stood up and waited until she had scrambled to her feet.

‘Are you going to say anything?’ She reached out and stayed him with her hand. ‘Okay, so you’ve had loads of girlfriends. That’s fine.’

‘I was going to marry her,’ Damien gritted.

Violet’s hand dropped and she looked at him in stupefied silence. She couldn’t imagine him ever getting close enough to any woman to ask for her hand in marriage. He just seemed too much of a loner. No...it was more than that. There was something watchful and remote about him that didn’t sit with the notion of him being in love. And yet he had been. In love. Violet didn’t know why she was so shocked and yet she was.

‘What happened?’ They were outside now, heading back towards the hospital. Her concerns about going to Devon had been temporarily displaced by Damien’s startling revelation.

‘What happened,’ he drawled, stopping to look down at her, ‘was that it didn’t work out. I didn’t share the details with my mother. I don’t intend to share them with you. Any other vital pieces of information you feel you need to equip yourself with before you’re thrown headlong into my mother’s company?’

‘What was she like?’ Violet couldn’t resist asking. In her head, she imagined yet another supermodel, although it was unlikely that she could be as stunning as the one on the cover of the magazine.

‘A brilliant lawyer who has since become a circuit judge.’

Well, that said it all, Violet thought. It also explained a whole host of things. Such as why a highly intelligent male should choose to go out with women who weren’t intellectually challenging. Why his interest in the opposite sex began and ended in bed. Why he had never allowed himself to have a committed relationship again. He had been dumped and he still carried the scars. She felt a twinge of envy for the woman who had had such power over him. Was he still in touch with her? Did he still love her?

‘And do you bump into her? London’s small.’

‘Question time over, Violet. You now have enough information on the subject to run with it.’ Damien’s lips thinned as he thought of Annalise. Still hovering in the wings, still imagining that she was the love of his life. Did he care? Hardly. Did he bump into her? Over the years, with tedious and suspicious regularity. There she would be, at some social function for the great and the good, always making sure to seek him out so that she could check out his latest date and update him on her career. He never avoided her because it paid to be reminded of his mistake. She was a learning curve that would never be forgotten.

Violet saw the grim set of his features and drew her own, inevitable conclusions. He had been in love with a highly intelligent woman, someone well matched for him, and his marriage proposal had been rejected. For someone like Damien, it would be a rejection never forgotten. He had found his perfect woman and, when that hadn’t worked out, he had stopped trying to find another.

What they had might be a business arrangement, but everything he had ever had with every woman after Annalise had been an arrangement. Arrangements were all he could do.

‘I’ll get some appropriate clothes,’ Violet conceded. ‘And you can text me with the travel info. But, at the end of the week, it’s over for me. I can’t keep deceiving your mother.’

‘By the end of the week, I think you will have played your part and I will officially guarantee that your sister is off the hook.’

‘I can’t wait,’ Violet breathed with heartfelt sincerity.

CHAPTER FIVE

THE HOUSE THAT greeted Violet the following evening was very much like something out of a fairy tale. Arrangements for Eleanor’s transfer had been made at speed. Her circumstances were special, as she was the principal carer for Dominic, and Damien, with his vast financial resources, had made sure that once the decision to transfer was made, it all happened smoothly and efficiently.

In the car, Violet had alternated between bursts of conversation about nothing in particular to break the silence and long periods of sober reflection that the task she had undertaken seemed to be spinning out of control.

She was travelling with a stranger to an unknown destination, removed from everything she knew and was familiar with, and would have to spend the next few days pretending to be someone she wasn’t. If she had known what this so-called arrangement would have entailed, would she have embarked on it in the first place? Regrettably, yes, but knowing that didn’t stop her feeling like a sacrificial lamb as the powerful car roared down the motorway, eating up the miles and removing her further and further from her comfort zone.

While Phillipa was taking time out in Ibiza, doing very little in a tapas restaurant and no doubt enjoying the attention of all the locals as she wafted around in sarongs and summer dresses, here she was, sinking deeper and deeper into a situation that felt like quicksand, all so that her sister could carry on enjoying life without having to pay for the mistakes she had made.

‘Maybe she should have had her stint in prison,’ Violet said, apropos of nothing, and Damien shot her a sideways glance.

Locked in to doing exactly what he required of her, he could sense the strain in the rigid tension of her body. She would rather be anywhere else on earth than sitting here in this car with him. Naturally, he could understand that. More or less. After all, who wanted to be held hostage to a situation they hadn’t courted, paying for a crime they hadn’t committed? Yet was his company so loathsome that she literally found it impossible to make the best of a bad job? She was pressed so tightly against the passenger door that he feared she might fall out were it not for the fact that the doors were locked and she was wearing a seat belt.

There had been times over the past week and a half when some of her resentment had fallen away and she had chatted normally to him. There had also been times when, in the presence of his mother, he had touched her and his keenly attuned antenna had picked up something—something as fleeting as a shadow and yet as substantial as jolt of electricity. Something that had communicated itself to him, travelling down unseen pathways, announcing a response in her that she might not even have been aware of.

‘You don’t mean that,’ he said calmly.

‘Don’t tell me what I mean! If it weren’t for Phillipa I wouldn’t be here now.’

‘But you are and there’s no point dwelling on what ifs. And stop acting as though you’re being escorted to a torture chamber. You’re not. You’ll find my mother’s estate a very relaxing place to spend a few days.’

‘It’s hardly going to be a relaxing situation, is it? I don’t feel relaxed when I’m around you.’ When she thought about seeing him for hours on end, having meals in his company, being submerged in his presence without any respite except when she went to bed, she got a panicky, fluttery feeling in the depths of her stomach.

Without warning, Damien swerved his powerful car off the small road. They were only a matter of half an hour away from the house and the roads had become more deserted the closer they had approached the estate.

‘What are you doing?’ Violet asked warily as he killed the engine and proceeded to lean back at an angle so that he was looking directly at her. In the semi-darkness of the car, with night rapidly settling in around them, she felt the breath catch painfully in her throat. Apprehension jostled with something else—something dark and scary, the same dark, scary thing that had been nibbling away at the edges of her self-control ever since he had told her about Devon.

‘So you don’t feel relaxed around me. Tell me why. Get it off your chest before we reach the house. Okay, you’re not here of your own free will, but there’s no point lamenting that and covering old ground. It is as it is. Have you never been in a position where you had to grit your teeth and get through it?’

‘Of course I have!’

‘Then tell me what the difference is between then and now.’

‘You’re scary, Damien. You’re not like other people. You don’t feel. You’re so...so...cold...’

‘Funny. Cold is not a word that any woman has ever used to describe me...’

Violet felt her heart begin to race and her mouth went dry. ‘I’m not talking about...what you’re like in bed with women...’

‘Would you like to?’

‘No!’

‘Then how would you like me to try and relax you?’

Violet couldn’t detect anything in his voice and yet those words, innocuous as they were, sent a shiver of awareness rippling up and down her spine. She had a vivid, graphic image of him relaxing her, touching her, making her whole body melt until she was nothing more than a rag doll. Was this the real reason why she was so apprehensive? Terrified even? At the back of her mind, was she more scared of just being alone with him than she was of playing a game and acting out a part in a place with which she was unfamiliar? Did her own responses to him, which she constantly tried to squash, frighten her more than he did?

It didn’t seem to matter than he was cold, distant, emotionally absent. On some level, a part of her responded to him in ways that were shocking and unfamiliar.

She could feel the lazy perusal of his eyes on her and she wished she hadn’t embarked on a conversation which now seemed to be unravelling.

‘I’m just nervous,’ she muttered in a valiant struggle to regain her self-composure. ‘I’ll be fine once we get there. I guess.’

‘Try a little harder and you might start to convince me. You get along well with my mother. Is it Dominic?’ The question had to be asked. He hadn’t been in this position for a very long time. He had brought no one to Devon. He had vowed to never again put himself in the position of ever having to witness a negative reaction to his brother. However, this was an unavoidable circumstance and he felt the protective machinery of his defences seal around him like a wall of iron.

‘What are you talking about?’ Violet was genuinely puzzled.

‘Some people feel uncomfortable around the disabled. Is that why you’re so strung out?’ It had taken Annalise to wake him up to that fact, to the truth that there were people who shied away from what they didn’t know or understand, who felt that the disabled were to be laughed at or rigorously avoided. The ripple effect of those reactions were not contained, they always spread outwards to the people who cared. It was good to bring this up now.

‘No!’

‘Sure about that, Violet? Because you know me, you know my mother...the only unknown quantity in the equation is Dominic...’

‘I’m looking forward to meeting your brother, Damien. The only person who makes me feel uncomfortable is you!’ This was the first time she had come near to openly admitting the effect he had on her. She glared at him defensively, feeling at once angry and vulnerable at the admission and collided with eyes that were dark and impenetrable and sent her frayed pulses into overdrive.

All at once and on some deep, unspoken level, Damien could feel the sudden sexual tension in the air. Her words might say one thing but her breathlessness, the way her eyes were huge and fixed on him, the clenching and unclenching of her small fists...a different story.

He smiled, a slow, curving, triumphant smile. Whilst he had privately acknowledged the unexpected appeal she had for him, whilst he had been honest about the charge he got from a woman who was so different in every possible way to the type of women he had become used to, he had pretty much decided that a Hands Off stance was necessary in her case.

But they were going to be together in Devon and, like an expert predator, he could smell the aroma of her unwelcome but decidedly strong sexual attraction towards him. She was as skittish as a kitten and it wasn’t because she was nervous about spending a week in the company of his mother. Nor was she hesitant about his brother. He had detected the sincerity in her voice when he had suggested that she might be.

He took his time looking at her before turning away with a casual shrug and turning the key in the ignition. Her presence next to him for the remainder of the very short drive felt like an aphrodisiac. Potent, heady and very much not in the plan.

The drive up to the grand house was tree-lined, through wrought-iron gates which he could never remember being closed. Having not been to the estate for longer than he liked to think, Damien was struck by the sharp pull of familiarity and by the hazy feelings he always associated with his home life—the sense of responsibility which was always there like a background refrain. Having a disabled brother had meant that any freedom had always been on lease. He had always known that, sooner or later, he would one day have to take up the mantle left behind by his parents. Had he resented that? He certainly didn’t think so, although he did admit to a certain regret that he had failed to extend any input for so long.

Was it any wonder that his mother had been so distraught when she had been diagnosed, that she might leave behind her a family unit that was broken at the seams? He had a lot of ground to cover if he were to convince her otherwise.

‘What an amazing place,’ Violet murmured as the true extent of the sprawling mansion, gloriously lit against the darkness, revealed itself. ‘What was it like growing up here?’

‘My parents only moved in when my grandfather died, and I was a teenager. Before that, we lived in the original cottage my parents first bought together when they were married...’

‘It must have seemed enormous after a cottage...’

‘When you live in a house this size you get used to the space very quickly.’ And he had. He had lost himself in it. He had been able to escape. He wondered whether he had been so successful at escaping that a part of him had never returned. And had his mother indulged that need for escape? Until now? When escape was no longer a luxury to be enjoyed?

Not given to introspection, Damien frowned as he pulled up in the large circular courtyard. The house was lit up like a Christmas tree in the gathering darkness and they had hardly emerged from the car with their cases when the front door was flung open and Anne, the housekeeper who had been with the family since time immemorial, was standing there, waving them inside.

Violet wondered what her role here was to be. Exactly. Sitting by a hospital bed, she had known what to do and the impersonal surroundings had relieved her of the necessity of trying to act the star-struck lover. A few passing touches, delivered by Damien rather than her—more would have seemed inappropriate in a hospital room, where they were subject to unexpected appearances from hospital staff.

But here she was floundering in a place without guidelines as they were ushered into the grandest hall she had ever seen.

The vaulted ceiling seemed as high and as impressive as the ceiling of a cathedral. The fine silk Persian rug in the hall bore the rich sheen of its age. The staircase leading up before splitting in opposite directions was dark and highly polished. It was a country house on a grand scale.

The housekeeper was chatting animatedly as they were led from the hall through a perplexing series of rooms and corridors.

‘Your mother is resting. She’ll be down with Dominic for dinner. Served at seven promptly, with drinks before in the Long Room. You’ve been put in the Blue Room, Mr Damien. George will bring the bags up.’

Looking sideways, Violet was fascinated at Damien’s indifference to his surroundings. He barely looked around him. How on earth could he have said that a person could become accustomed to a house of this size? She had initially been introduced to Anne as his girlfriend and now, as though suddenly remembering that she was trotting along obediently next to him, he slung one arm over her shoulder as the housekeeper headed away from them through one of the multitude of doors, before disappearing into some other part of the vast family mansion.

‘An old retainer,’ he said, dropping his arm and moving towards a side staircase that Violet had failed to notice.

‘It’s a beautiful house.’

‘It’s far too big for just my mother and Dominic, especially considering that the land is no longer farmed.’ He was striding ahead of her, his mind still uncomfortably dwelling on the unexpected train of thought that had assailed him in the car, the unpleasant notion that the grand house through which he was now confidently leading the way had been his excuse to pull away from his brother. He had never given a great deal of thought to his relationship with Dominic. Was he now on some kind of weird guilt trip because of the circumstances? Had he shielded himself from the pain Annalise had inflicted on him when she had rejected his brother by pulling ever further away from Dominic? He should have been far more of a presence here on the estate, especially with his mother getting older.

‘It would be a shame to sell it. I bet it’s been in your family for generations...’ She was barely aware of the bedroom until the door was thrown open and the first thing that accosted her was the sight of a massive four-poster bed on which their suitcases had been neatly placed. While he strode in with assurance, moving to stand and look distractedly through the windows, she hovered uncertainly in the background.

‘Well?’ Damien harnessed his wandering mind and focused narrowly on her.

‘Why are both our suitcases in this room?’ Violet asked bluntly. She already knew the answer to that one, yet she shied away from facing it. She hadn’t given much thought to the details of their stay. In a vague, generalised way, she had imagined awkward one-to-one conversations with Damien and embarrassing economising of the truth with his mother, along with stilted meals where she would be under scrutiny, forced to gaily smile her way through gritted teeth. She hadn’t gone any further when it came to scenarios. She hadn’t given any thought to the possibility that the loving couple might be put in the same bedroom. She had blithely assumed that such an eventuality would not occur because surely Eleanor belonged to that generation which abhorred the thought of cohabitation under their roof. Eleanor was a traditionalist, a widow who still proudly wore her wedding ring and tut tutted about the youth of today.

‘Because this is where we’ll be sleeping,’ Damien replied with equal bluntness. His unaccountably introspective and dark frame of mind had not put him in the best of moods. Having questioned his devotion as a son and on-hand supportive presence as a brother, the last thing he needed was to witness his so-called girlfriend’s evident horror at being trapped in the same bedroom as him.

‘I can’t sleep in the same room as you! I didn’t think that this would be the format.’

‘Tough. You haven’t got a choice.’ He began unbuttoning his shirt, a prelude to having a shower, and Violet’s eyes were drawn to the sliver of brown chest being exposed inch by relentless inch. She hurriedly looked away but, even though she was staring fixedly at his face, she could still see the gradual unbuttoning of his shirt until it was completely open, at which point she cleared her throat and gazed at the door behind him.

‘There must be another room I can stay in. This place is enormous.’

‘Oh, there are hundreds of other rooms,’ Damien asserted nonchalantly. ‘However, you won’t be in any of them. It’s a few days and my mother has put us together. Somehow I don’t think she’s going to buy the line that we’re keeping ourselves virtuous for the big day.’ He pulled off his shirt and headed towards his case on the bed, flipping it open without looking at her. ‘We have roughly an hour before we need to be downstairs for drinks. My mother enjoys the formal approach when it comes to dining. It’s one of her idiosyncrasies. So do you want to have the bathroom first or shall I?’

Violet hated his tone of voice. It was one which implied that he couldn’t even be bothered to take her concerns into account. He was accustomed to sharing beds with women, she thought with a burst of impotent anger. In his adult life, he had probably slept with a woman next to him a lot more often than he had slept alone. It wasn’t the same for her. Did he imagine that she would be able to lie next to him and pretend that she was on her own? The bed was king-sized but the thought of moving in the night and accidentally colliding with his sleeping form was enough to make her feel like fainting.

‘I hate this,’ she whispered, filled with self-pity that the last vestige of her dignity was being stripped away from her. ‘You’ll have to sleep on the sofa.’

Damien glanced at the chaise longue by the window and wondered whether she was being serious. ‘I’m six foot four. What would you suggest I do with my feet?’ He raised his eyebrows and watched as she struggled in silence to come up with a suitable response. ‘I’ve spent hours driving. I’m going to have a shower. Don’t even think of trawling the house for another bedroom.’

With that, he vanished into the adjoining bathroom, leaving Violet to fight off the waves of panic as she stared at her lonesome suitcase on the bed. Everything about the bedroom seemed designed to encourage a fainting fit, from the grandeur of a bed that would have been better suited to the lovers they most certainly were not, to the thick, heavy curtains which she imagined would cut out all daylight so that the intimacy of the surroundings became palpable.

Wrapped up in a series of images, she almost forgot that he was in the shower until she heard the sound of water being switched off, at which point she raced to her suitcase, extracted an armful of clothes and then stood to attention by the window, with her back pointedly turned to the bathroom door.

She heard the click of the door opening and then she froze as his voice whispered into her ear, ‘You can look. I’m decently covered. Anyone would think that you were sweet sixteen and never been kissed.’

He was laughing as she unglued her eyes from his bare feet and allowed them to travel upwards to where he was decently covered in no more than a pair of boxer shorts and his shirt, which he was taking his own sweet time to button up.

If he called that decently covered then she wanted to ask him what she might expect of him when the lights were switched off.

‘I’ll meet you downstairs,’ she said coolly, at which he laughed a bit more.

‘You wouldn’t have a clue where to go,’ Damien pointed out. Her face was flushed. Her hair, which had started the journey in a sensible coil at the nape of her neck, was unravelling. He could feel his mood beginning to lift, which was a good thing because he was ill equipped for negative thoughts. ‘You’d need a map to find your way round this house. At least until you’ve become used to it. Most of the rooms aren’t used but good luck locating the ones that are.’ He reached into the cupboard where a supply of clothes, freshly laundered, were hanging, awaiting his arrival.

Once again, Violet primly averted her eyes as he slipped a pair of trousers from a hanger. She backed towards the door but he wasn’t looking at her.

Good heavens! She would have to get her act together if she was going to survive her short stay here. She couldn’t succumb to panic attacks every time they were alone together! She would need immediate counselling for post-traumatic stress disorder as soon as she returned to London if she did! He wasn’t even glancing in her direction. If he could be unaffected by her presence, then she would follow his lead and everything would be smooth sailing. Two adults sharing a room wasn’t exactly a world-changing event, she told herself once she was in the bathroom, having checked the door three times to make sure that it was locked.

She took a long time. She had bought a couple of dresses so that she didn’t have to spend the entire stay in jeans and sweaters. This dress, a navy-blue stretchy wool one with sleeves to her elbows, was fitted, although she couldn’t quite see how fitted because there was no long mirror in the bathroom. Nor could she do much with her make-up because the ornate mirror over the double sink was cloudy with condensation. Her hair, she knew, was fit for nothing except leaving loose. Her curls were out of control, a tangle of falling tendrils which she impatiently swept back from her face before taking a deep breath and opening the bathroom door.

He was sprawled on the bed, the picture of the Lord of the Manor waiting for his woman to emerge. His trousers were on, although, her inquisitive eyes made out, zipped but with the button undone. His long-sleeved jumper was dark grey and slim-fitting, so there was no escaping the lean, hard lines of his body.

One arm behind his head, Damien watched her with brooding eyes. It was the first time he had ever seen her in a dress that actually fitted. More than that, it clung. To curves that did all the right things in all the right places and lovingly outlined the sort of breasts that mightn’t work on a catwalk but sure as hell worked everywhere else. He forgot about any tension that might lie ahead. He forgot those vague, never disclosed concerns that he had turned a blind eye to his brother for too long. Hell, he forgot pretty much everything as his eyes raked over her body and he felt the pain of an erection leaping to attention. Which made him hurriedly sit up.

She was running her fingers through her hair and wincing as she tried to gently unravel some of the knots. Then, without saying a word, she flounced over to her case and excavated a pair of high-heeled shoes which she self-consciously slipped on with her back to him.

‘I’m ready.’ She smoothed nervous hands along the dress. This wasn’t the sort of thing she ever wore. She had always favoured baggy. She wondered whether her stupid brain had actually paid attention to that passing compliment he had given her about her figure and then decided that if it had, she was pathetic. But she still felt a thrill of excitement as he lazily scrutinised her before shifting off the bed, taking his time and moving at an even more leisurely pace to retrieve his watch from the dressing table.

‘I hope I look okay...’ Violet was mortified to hear herself say and she was even more mortified when, with deliberate slowness, he eyed her up and down and then up and down again for good measure.

‘You’ll do. New dress?’

‘You can have it back when this stint is over.’

‘What would I do with it?’

‘I just wouldn’t want you to think that I wanted anything from you but my sister’s freedom.’

‘I’ve always found martyrdom an annoying trait.’

Violet seethed on the way down, through another wilderness of rooms. En route, he gave her a potted history of the house and the land around it. She thawed. She was reluctantly charmed at the thought of an unknown half Italian coming to live there and passing on the mansion to his children, wrenching it away from the exclusive grasp of the landed gentry.

By the time they were finally at the sitting room where drinks were being served, she was more relaxed, and then she fully relaxed as Eleanor was helped down to make her entry, accompanied by Dominic and a young girl who tactfully left, having settled Eleanor in the chair by the fire.

She forgot about Damien. She knew that she should be making conspicuous efforts to play the adoring girlfriend but she became wrapped up in Eleanor and Dominic. She had been warned about Dominic’s disability. She hadn’t been told that although he was in a wheelchair, although his speech was often difficult to understand and although his movements were not perfectly controlled, he was smart and he was funny and shy. She sat very close to him, sipping her wine and leaning in so that she could pick up everything he said while Damien and his mother conducted a conversation, the wisps of which came floating her way. The need to think about selling the house...the difficulties of managing the various floors even if she made a full recovery...the value of having somewhere closer to civilisation where doctors and the hospital were not an unsafe car drive away if the weather was inclement.

He was the background voice of reason, the head of the family making sensible decisions, although, sliding her eyes across to him, she was aware of the frustration etched on his features at his mother’s vague, non-committal replies to his persuasive urgings.

Every family had its stories to tell and she wondered if this was his. If he was so embedded in his role as protector that he failed to recognise any form of mutiny in the ranks. He obviously didn’t think that his brother should have any input because the conversation was dropped the minute they were at the dinner table.

A carer helped Dominic with his food while Eleanor fussed and explained to her that that was normally her job.

‘I’m a pain in the ass,’ Dominic stammered.

Violet laughed and looked across to Damien, who was seated opposite her. ‘You have that in common with your brother,’ she said tartly and then flushed when he looked back at her with a slow, appreciative smile. Her heartbeat quickened. His glance lingered just that bit too long and she returned it with just a little too much dragging intensity.

After that, she was conscious of every little movement he made and tuned in to every word he said, even when her attention appeared to be elsewhere. She was aware of the quality of the food and the fact that she was being treated like a valued guest because, despite what Damien had said, Eleanor had long dispensed with formalities when it was just herself and Dominic and the wonderful girl who helped with him. Then they ate in the kitchen with dishes served by the housekeeper straight from Aga to plate.

‘My son would know that if he visited with a bit more regularity,’ Eleanor said with asperity. ‘Perhaps you could see that as your mission—to get him away from London and his never ending workload...’

Watching her, Damien was impressed at how well she fielded the awkward remark, which implied a future that wasn’t on the cards. He took in the way she communicated with Dominic. With ease, not patronising, without a hint of indulgence or condescension. Nor did she look to anyone to rescue her from what she might have felt was an uncomfortable situation.

Sipping the espresso that had been brought in for him, he mentally began to compare her natural responses to those of Annalise but it was an exercise he killed before it could take root. Such comparisons, he knew, were entirely inappropriate. That said, he murmured softly as they walked back up the stairs, Dominic and his mother having retired for the night, ‘Very good...’

‘Sorry?’ Violet wished she could have stretched the evening out for longer—for as long as she could, like a piece of elastic with no breaking point—because now she faced the prospect of the shared bedroom. He certainly wasn’t going to sleep on the chaise longue. She could try to, but chaises longues had not been designed for deep REM slumber. She might embarrass herself by falling off. Worse, she might hurt herself by falling off.

‘Your performance tonight. Very good.’

‘I wasn’t performing.’ They were now at the bedroom door and she stood back as he pushed it open and waited for her to precede him. ‘You know I like your mother and your brother’s amazing.’ He was pulling off the luxurious, ornate spread that had been thrown over the bed, dumping it in a heap in the corner of the room. Violet’s hands itched to fold it neatly, a legacy of having an untidy sister behind whom she had long become accustomed to tidying up.

He was beginning to unbutton his shirt, eyes still firmly focused on her, pinning her into a state of near paralysis.

Why couldn’t he have found somewhere else to sleep? Or found her somewhere else to sleep? Surely, in a mansion the size of a hotel, they could have had separate sleeping quarters without the whole world detecting it? Why was she being placed in this position? It felt as though every sacrifice was being made by her and she was the one who directly benefited from none of it.

Anger at her helplessness to alter the situation made her eyes sting. She clung to the anger like a drowning person clinging to a lifebelt.

‘I can see why your mother was so worried about Dominic when she was diagnosed,’ Violet imparted recklessly and she immediately regretted the outburst when he stilled.

‘Come again?’

‘Nothing,’ Violet mumbled.

‘Really?’ He was strolling towards her, lean, dark and menacing, and Violet stood her ground, stubbornly defensive. ‘If you have something to say, why don’t you come right out and say it? Only start something, Violet, if you intend to see it through to the end.’

‘Well, you don’t seem to really communicate with him. You leave it all to your mother. I heard you talking about selling the house with her and yet you didn’t say anything to Dominic about it, even though he would be affected as well...’

Damien stared at her with cold fury. Had he just heard correctly? Was she actually criticising his behaviour? Coming hard on the heels of his own unexpected guilt trip, he could feel rage coursing through his veins like a poison. Was she deliberately needling him?

‘I don’t seem to communicate with him...’ was all that managed to emerge from his incredulous lips.

‘You talk around him and above him and when you do talk directly to him, you don’t really seem to expect an answer, even though you look as if you do.’

‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this.’

‘No one ever tells you like it is, Damien.’

‘And you mistakenly think that you’re in a position to do so?’ He watched as she lowered her eyes, although her soft lips were still pinched in a stubborn line. ‘This may come as a cruel shock, but you’re over-stepping your brief...’

When had he stopped listening to what his brother had to say? Was it when they moved to the estate? When acres of space removed the need for physical proximity? And then later, in London...with trips back to the estate infrequent obligations...his mother usually amenable to taking a bit of time out in London, travelling without Dominic...had distance crept through the cracks until he had simply forgotten how to communicate? Or, worse, had he selfishly been protecting himself by unconsciously withdrawing? You couldn’t feel pain at other people’s thoughtless reactions if you just never put yourself in that position in the first place, could you?

‘I know I am!’ Violet flung at him defiantly. ‘But you can’t expect me to come here and have no opinions at all on the people I meet! And besides, what do I have to lose by telling you the truth? Once I leave here, I’ll never see you again! And maybe it’s time someone did speak their mind to you!’ She had courted an argument. It seemed safer to get into that bed with her back angrily turned away from him. But the shutter that fell over his eyes sent a jolt of unhappiness through her. She fought it off because why did it matter what he thought of her in the long run?

‘I think I’ll go downstairs and catch up on work.’ Damien turned away from her, walked towards his laptop, which he had left on the chest of drawers, and Violet was unaccountably tempted to rush into a frantic apology for having crossed the line.

‘Don’t,’ he threw over his shoulder with biting sarcasm, ‘wait up.’

CHAPTER SIX

WHEN DAMIEN HAD considered the challenge of setting his mother’s fears to rest and allaying her worry that he would not be able to cope with Dominic in her absence, he had envisaged a fairly straightforward solution.

He would take time off work to come to Devon. He would dispatch Violet after her week and, henceforth, he would assume the mantle of responsible son and dependable brother. How hard could it possibly be? He might have been a little lax in his duties over the years, but that was not for lack of devotion to his family. His work, every minute of it, was testimony to his dedication. They wanted for nothing. His brother had the very best carers money could buy. His mother enjoyed help on every front, from garden to house. She fancied roses? He had ensured that a special section of the extensive cultivated land was requisitioned for a rose garden fit to be photographed in a magazine. When she had been complaining of exhaustion only months previously, before the reason behind that exhaustion became known, he had personally seen to it that one of the finest chefs in the area was commissioned to cook exquisite meals and deliver them promptly so that she could be spared the effort of doing so herself. On the rare occasions when she ventured up to London, theatre tickets had been obtained, opera seats reserved, tables at the best restaurants booked.

Unfortunately, his clear cut route now to a successful outcome was proving elusive.

He adjusted his tie, raked his fingers through his hair and then hesitated. He knew that Violet was more than happy to meet him in the sitting room. After five days, she knew that house better than he did. How had that transpired? Because she was involving herself with his family. She and his mother appeared to have become best buddies. From his makeshift office in the downstairs library, he had a clear view of the back garden and had spotted them out there in the cold, slowly strolling and chatting. About what? He had casually asked her a couple of days ago and she had shrugged and delivered a non-answer. Was he going to push it? No. Ever since she had decided that it was her right to speak her mind, she had defied all attempts to smooth the strained atmosphere between them. In company, she was compliant and smiling. The second they were alone together, he was treated to the cold shoulder despite the fact that he had magnanimously chosen to overlook her outrageous, uninvited criticism of him.

He pulled the chair over to the window and sat down. At six-thirty in the evening, the room was infused with the ambers and golds of what had been a particularly fine and sunny day. In an hour, they would be leaving for a local restaurant. This had not been of his choosing. He would have been more than happy to have had a meal in, relaxed for ten minutes and then retired to catch up on his emails. But his mother had suggested it, to take her mind off the treatment which was due to commence at the weekend.

Or maybe, he mused darkly, Violet had suggested it...who was to say? His mind idly wandered over the events of the past few days. The clever way she had bonded with Dominic, involving him in the art preparation she was doing for her class, letting him guide her through some computer stuff for a website she wanted to set up to display the work of her more talented pupils. His mother had taken him to one side and confided that she had never seen Dominic so relaxed with anyone.

‘You know how wary he is of people he doesn’t know...’ she had murmured.

He didn’t, in actual fact. Which had only served as a reminder of what Violet had said about his communication skills.

He scowled and then looked up as the door to the adjoining bathroom slowly opened.

Immersed in her thoughts, with a towel wound turban style around her newly washed hair and another towel wrapped round her body, barely skimming her breasts and thighs, Violet was not expecting him. In fact, she didn’t register him at all sitting on the chair in the far corner of the room.

She was thinking about the past few days. Having a view on Damien and his relationship with his family seemed to have been the catalyst for the one thing she had been determined to avoid, namely involvement. She had told him what she thought about his relationship with his brother and, in so doing, she had unlocked a door and stepped inside the room. She hadn’t wanted to have opinions. She had simply wanted to do her time and then disappear back to her life. Instead, she was becoming attached and she had no idea where that was going to lead. Damien was barely on speaking terms with her. They communicated in front of an audience but once the audience was no longer around, the act was dropped and he disappeared into that office of his, only emerging long after she was fast asleep.

The bed which she had looked at with horror, which had thrown her into a state of panic because she had had visions of rolling over and bumping into him, had turned out to be as safe as a chastity belt. She was not aware of him entering the room at night because she was fast asleep and she was not aware of him leaving it in the morning because she was still sleeping.

She pulled the towel off her head and shook her hair, then she walked towards the bedroom door and locked it because you could never be too sure. Damien would already be downstairs. He would be making an effort.

Just like that, her mind leapt past her own nagging worries and zeroed in on Damien. She no longer fought the way he infiltrated her head. One small passing thought and suddenly the floodgates would be opened and she would lose herself in images of him. It was almost as if the connections to her brain were determined to disobey the orders given and merrily abandon themselves to reformatting her thoughts so that he played the starring role.

Without even looking in his direction, she was still keenly aware of everything he did and everything he said. There was no need to look at him because in her mind’s eye she could picture the way he looked, his expressions, the way he had of tilting his head to one side so that you had the illusion that whatever you were saying was vitally important.

He had stopped trying to corner his mother into making a decision about the house and whether it should be sold.

He had begun asking her about small things, like books she might have read and committees she belonged to in the village.

His conversation with Dominic was no longer a few words, some polite murmurings, a hearty pat on the shoulder and then attention focused somewhere else. Over dinner the evening before, she had heard him telling his brother about one of his deals which had run into unexpected problems with the locals because a vital factory had been denied planning permission, and the trouble they had taken to accommodate their concern.

Violet would rather not have noticed any of these details. She would rather he remained the one-dimensional baddy who barely had two words to say to her the second they were alone. She didn’t want to leave this house only to find herself wondering how the rest of their lives all turned out. She wanted to be able to put them all out of her mind and yet, the more absorbed she became in their dramas, the more difficult she knew that was going to be.

Still frowning, she dropped the towel to the floor and stepped towards the wardrobe. Her hair felt damp against her back and she lifted the heavy mass with one hand and, at that very moment, she saw him.

For a few seconds Violet thought her eyes might be playing tricks on her. She froze, her arm still raised holding her hair away from her body. Her brain refused to accommodate the realisation that he wasn’t safely downstairs but was, in fact, watching her as she stood in front of him, completely and utterly naked. When it did, she gave a squeak of absolute horror and reached for the discarded towel, which she wrapped tightly around her body. She was shaking like a leaf.

‘What are you doing here?’ She backed towards the bathroom door but, before she could make it to the relative safety of the bathroom, he was standing in front of her, barring her path.

For the first time in his life, Damien was lost for words. What was he doing there? Did it make any difference that it was his bedroom?

The thirty-second glimpse of her body had sent his libido into orbit. He was in physical pain and he fought to bring his senses back down to Planet Earth. The fluffy white towel was back in place, secured very firmly by tightly clenched fists, but in his mind’s eye he was still seeing the voluptuous curves of her body. He had caught himself idly wondering what she looked like under the dresses and the jeans and the jumpers. Whenever he had entered the bedroom to find her asleep, the covers had been pulled tightly up to her neck as though, even in slumber, she was determined to make sure that she kept him out. The first time he had seen her in jeans, his imagination had been up and running and her deliberate attempts to keep him at arm’s length had only served to increase its pace.

But nothing had prepared him for the mind-blowing sexiness of her curves. Her breasts, unrestrained by a bra, were far more than a generous handful. Her nipples were big pink discs that pouted provocatively and her stomach was flat as it planed downwards to the thatch of dark blonde hair between her thighs. All thoughts of self-denial were shattered in an instant. Every ounce of common sense that warned him against getting involved with a woman whose departure date from his life was any minute now, vanished like a puff of smoke.

‘You have to go,’ Violet said shakily. ‘I want to get dressed.’ She just couldn’t look him in the face. Her body was burning at the thought of his eyes on it. Even with the towel secured around her, she still felt as though her nudity was on parade.

‘I wanted to talk to you.’

‘We can talk...later...your mother and Dominic...’

‘Will be fine if they have to wait for us for a few minutes.’

He stood in front of her, as implacable as a solid wall of granite. Having made a concerted effort in the past few days to try and give her body as little option as humanly possible to feel any of that unnerving, unwelcome sexual awareness that seemed to ambush her at every turn, she was horribly aware of her racing pulses and the liquid heat pooling inside her. The silence stretched and stretched. She desperately wanted to get dressed and yet shied away from drawing attention to her nakedness under the towel.

‘I need to get dressed,’ she finally breathed and Damien stood aside.

Now that he had dropped all pretence of keeping life simple by not yielding to an attraction that seemed to have a will of its own, he could feel the stirrings of a dark, pervasive excitement coursing through him. Anticipation was a powerful aphrodisiac.

‘Of course,’ he murmured, stepping back further. ‘We can talk later.’ And they would.

Violet only realised that she had been holding her breath when she sagged against the closed bathroom door. Her breathing was thick and uneven. After days of standoff, she had felt those lazy eyes on her naked body and nearly collapsed. What did he want to talk to her about? She had heard the slam of the bedroom door, but she gave it a little while before poking her head out and establishing that the bedroom was empty.

She wanted to put that recollection of him sitting in that chair, looking at her as she blithely discarded the towel, to the back of her mind. Actually, she wanted to eradicate it completely, but it kept recurring as she got dressed and met the assembled party in the Long Room.

What had he thought of her? Had the reality of a body that wasn’t stick-thin repulsed him? She had returned to her uniform of baggy clothes, a shapeless dress over which she had thrown a thick cardigan. The thought of drawing any more attention to herself made her feel sick. At least there would be more than just the four of them for the meal out. Eleanor had invited some of her friends. Damien’s attention would be blessedly diluted. But, even amidst the upbeat conversation and the laughter, she was keenly aware of his eyes sliding over to her every so often. The conversation finally turned to Eleanor’s treatment, which was due to start the following day.

‘No one can tell me exactly how I’ll be affected,’ she confessed to one of her friends who had undergone a similar situation and was full of upbeat advice. ‘Apparently, everyone reacts differently...but it’ll be wonderful knowing that I’ll have Dominic and Damien by my side...’ She looked steadily at Damien. ‘You will be staying on for a short while, won’t you, darling?’

Damien smiled and gave an elegant, rueful and playfully resigned shrug. ‘My office is up and running. It’ll make a nice change looking through the window and not being treated to a splendid London view of office blocks...’

He did it so well, Violet thought, returning to her food. He was charm personified. Everyone was chuckling. There was general laughter when he launched into a wry anecdote about some of the urban myths surrounding a couple of the office blocks in the square mile.

When the laughter had died down, Eleanor turned to Violet. ‘You must hate me for keeping Damien all the way down here in this part of the world...’ she murmured.

Violet flushed. She hated those instances when she had felt horribly as though she was doing more than just play acting for a good reason, when she felt corralled into a corner from which she had no choice but to baldly lie.

‘Oh, I shall be busy...you know...the new term starts soon and it’s always hectic...’ she offered vaguely.

‘But you will come down on the weekends, won’t you, my dear? You’ve been such a source of strength...’

‘Well...sure, although...er...Damien mentioned something about having office stuff to do in London...in the coming weekends...’

‘Did I?’ Damien looked at her with a perplexed expression. ‘I’ve been known to go to the office occasionally on a weekend, but...’ he raised both hands in a gesture of amused surrender while keeping his eyes firmly pinned to Violet’s flushed face ‘...even a diehard workaholic like myself knows when to draw the line...so I’ll be down here unless something exceptional happens in London that requires my presence...’

‘So that means that you’ll be with us this weekend, my dear?’ Eleanor was looking keenly at Violet’s flushed face. ‘I shall probably need some help around the house and it’s so much nicer having someone around who knows us all rather than getting staff in. I do know you’ll be busy at school...so please say if you’d rather not come...perfectly understandable...’

Violet felt the weight of expectation from everyone around the table and she sneaked a pleading glance at Damien, who returned her stare with an infuriatingly bland expression. ‘I...’ she stammered. ‘I’m sure I should be able to...get away for the weekend...given the circumstances...’ She smiled weakly. Even to her own ears, it was hardly the sound of excited enthusiasm but Eleanor was smiling broadly and reached over to pat her on her hand.

‘Perfect! I shall probably be in a horizontal position most of the time but it should give you and Damien a really terrific opportunity to explore the village and the surroundings. I mean, you’ve hardly been out on your own since you got here and I may be an old lady but I’m not so old that I can’t remember what it’s like to be a couple of love birds...!’

Everyone laughed. Dominic said something salacious. Violet cringed.

She barely registered the remainder of the evening. She drank slightly more than was usual for her. By the time they eventually made it back to the house, it was after ten-thirty and her few glasses of wine had gone to her head.

‘You need water,’ Damien said, leading her towards the kitchen once Eleanor and Dominic had disappeared. ‘And paracetamol...you drank too much.’

‘Don’t you dare lecture me on how much I drank, Damien!’ She yanked her arm free of his supportive hand, stumbled, straightened and stopped to glare at him. ‘How could you?’

Damien wondered whether she was aware that she was slurring her words. Ever so slightly. She had also, somewhere along the line, hurriedly done up her cardigan but misaligned the buttons and her hair was all over the place as she had insisted on opening her car window for a spot of fresh air.

‘You’re going to have to sit down if you’re going to accuse me of something.’ He led her towards a kitchen chair, sat her down and fetched her a glass of water and some tablets. ‘Now...’ he positioned his chair squarely to face her and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs and staring at her with earnest concentration ‘...you were about to start an argument...’

Violet was mesmerised by his eyes. He hadn’t shaved for the day and there was a dark shadow that promised stubble in the morning. She wanted to reach out and touch it. The temptation was so strong that she had to sit on her hand to suppress it.

‘So tell me what I’m guilty of,’ Damien prompted, ‘but only when you’ve finished looking at me. I wouldn’t want to rush that...’

Violet reddened and immediately looked away. ‘So now I’m going to be coming here at the weekend,’ she said in a rush. The feel of his eyes on her and the faint woody smell of his aftershave were doing disastrous things to her equilibrium, cutting a swathe straight through the cool detachment she had managed to maintain over the course of the past few days. After his reciprocal coldness, this sudden attention was as dramatic on her nerves as an open flame next to dry tinder.

‘I do recall you agreeing to something of the sort.’ Damien was enjoying her attention. Enjoying the way her eyes skittered away from his face but then were compulsively drawn back to stare at him. He realised how much he had disliked her coolness towards him. They might have found themselves sharing the same space for very dubious reasons, but proximity and their need to pretend had invested a certain edge to what they had. A little wine had now made her lower her defences and he liked that. A lot. He leaned a little closer, as though he didn’t want to miss a single word of what she was saying.

‘Are you telling me that you didn’t mean it?’ he asked in a vaguely startled voice, as though this angle had only now popped into his head. ‘Perhaps I misconstrued the relationship you have with my mother. You two seemed to be getting along like a house on fire...’

‘That doesn’t have anything...to do with...anything...’ Violet said incoherently. ‘I like your mother very much. That’s why I...why it’s such a mistake...’

‘Honestly not following you at all...’

‘I was only supposed to be here until the end of the week...’

‘You were. And you’re free to go once your week here is over.’ He sat back, angling his body to one side so that he could extend his legs. He linked his hands behind his head. ‘You have a life happening back in London. Of course, I know that I could keep you hanging on, doing what I ask of you, because you would do pretty much anything to save your sister’s skin, but...’ He stood up and walked, loose-limbed, to fetch himself a bottle of water, which he drank in one go while he continued to stare at her.

‘But?’ Violet was still having trouble peeling her eyes away from him.

‘But that could prove a never-ending situation. So once we’re back in London, feel free to jump ship. I’ll sign a guarantee that your sister won’t be prosecuted. She will be free as a bird to roam the Spanish coastline doing whatever takes her fancy. And you can return to your life.’

‘And what would you tell your mother?’ Faced with the prospect of returning to her life, Violet was now assailed by a host of treacherous misgivings that this much-prized life, the one she had insisted was there, waiting to be lived, was not quite the glittering treasure she had fondly described. She didn’t quite get it, but there had been a strange excitement to being in Damien’s company. When she was around him, even when, as had been the case over the past few days, she was keeping her distance, she was still always so aware of him. It was as if her waking moments had been injected with some sort of life-enhancing serum.

‘That’s not your problem. You can leave that one to me.’

‘I’d quite like to know,’ Violet persisted. She should be grabbing at this lifeline. She knew that. ‘I’m really fond of your mother, Damien. I wouldn’t want to think...I wouldn’t want her to...’

‘Be unduly hurt? Become stressed out? Think badly of you? All of the above? Funny, but I wasn’t getting the impression that you were overly bothered. After all, five seconds ago you were accusing me of deliberately blindsiding you by not announcing on the spot that you wouldn’t be back here for weekends...’

‘I thought you would want to start bracing your mother for...you know...the inevitable...’

‘The day before she begins what could be gruelling treatment?’

‘Well...’

‘Dominic has become attached to you.’

‘Yes...’ Just something else to think about, just another link in the chain she would have to melt down when she walked away from his family.

‘When my mother begins her treatment she’ll probably be too weak to help with my brother...’

‘He doesn’t need help as such. I mean, he has his carers for the physical stuff...’

‘But has always relied on my mother for everything else. If she’s in bed, she won’t be able to provide all of that.’

‘Which could be where you step in,’ Violet urged him.

Damien flushed darkly. This conversation wasn’t meant to be about him. Her bright eyes were positively glowing with sincerity.

‘I can’t be on call twenty-four seven. I still have a business to run, even if it’s from a distance.’

‘You wouldn’t have to be on call twenty-four seven. Dominic’s perfectly happy doing his own thing. He’s really got into that website I asked him to try and design... Besides, I’ve noticed...’

‘What? What have you noticed?’

‘You didn’t like it the last time I spoke my mind.’

‘Maybe I’ve realised that it’s about time I stop trying to think of your mind as anything but a runaway train,’ Damien mused under his breath.

‘I don’t think that’s very fair.’ All signs of tipsiness had evaporated. She felt as sober as a judge. Her hands were clammy as she rested them on her knees to strain forward.

‘You speak your mind. Maybe I find that a refreshing change. So don’t spoil the habit of a lifetime now by going coy on me.’

‘Okay. Well, I’ve noticed that you’re making a bigger effort with Dominic. I mean, when we got here, you were hardly on speaking terms with him.’

Considering he had asked her to speak her mind, Damien made a concerted effort to control his reaction to that observation. ‘Go on,’ he muttered tightly, through gritted teeth.

‘You never really directly talked to him. You talked at him, then you turned your attention to someone else or something else. And yet,’ she mused thoughtfully, ‘your mother says you two used to be so close when you were growing up...’

So that was what they talked about, Damien thought tensely. They discussed him. He angrily swept aside the sudden undercurrent of guilt that had been his unwelcome companion over the past few days and rose to his feet.

‘It’s late. We should be heading up,’ he said smoothly.

‘We? Aren’t you going to work?’

‘I’ll see you up to the bedroom first. My mother would be horrified if you missed your footing on the stairs because you had a little too much to drink and I wasn’t there to do the gentlemanly thing and catch you as you fell...’

‘You’re annoyed with me because of what I’ve said...’

‘You’re entitled to have your opinions.’

‘I never wanted to.’ She rose a little clumsily to her feet and turned in the direction of the kitchen door.

‘Never wanted to what...?’

His breath fanned her cheek as he leaned down to hear what she was saying.

‘Have opinions. I never wanted to have opinions about you.’ She felt giddy and breathless as he shadowed her out of the kitchen and into the series of corridors and halls that eventually led to the staircase up to the wing of the house in which they had been placed.

‘I’m finding that so hard to believe, Violet,’ he murmured in a voice that warmed every part of her. ‘You always have opinions. When you first walked into my office, I took you for someone who had scrambled all her courage together to confront me but who, under normal circumstances, wouldn’t have said boo to a goose. My mistake.’

Violet eyed the landing ahead of her. Bedroom to the right. She thought she had recovered from that momentary tipsiness induced by a little too much wine with dinner but now she felt dizzy and flustered and wondered if she had overestimated her sobriety after all.

She glanced down and her eyes flitted over his lean brown hand on the banister just behind her.

Her heart was beating wildly as they made it to the bedroom door.

‘All teachers have opinions,’ she managed in a strangled voice. She took a step back as he reached around her to push open the bedroom door.

‘There’s a difference between having opinions and being opinionated. You’re opinionated.’ His arm brushed her and, all at once, he felt himself harden at the passing contact. That forbidden excitement coursed through him, reminding him of what she had looked like standing in front of him, naked and unaware. He hadn’t had a woman for over three months. His last relationship, short-lived though it had been, had crumbled under the combined weight of his unreliability and her need to find out where they were heading. Not even her stupendous good looks, her unwavering availability whatever the time of day or night, or the very inventive sex, could provide sufficient glue to keep them going for a little longer.

He firmly closed the door behind him and switched on a side light so that the bedroom was suddenly infused in a mellow, romantic glow.

‘You’re going downstairs to work now, aren’t you?’ Violet asked nervously and he gave her a rueful smile.

‘I’m trying to kick back a little...I think it would reassure my mother that I’m capable of involving myself in family life and leaving the emails alone now and again... You do approve, don’t you?’

Violet found herself in the unenviable position of having to agree with him, especially when she had stuck her head above the parapet to voice her positive opinions on just that point.

‘So...if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go have a shower...’ He began unbuttoning his shirt and was amused when she primly diverted her eyes. This was the very situation most women would have loved. Up close and personal with him in a bedroom. He caught the distinctly erotic aroma of inexperience and her shyness was doing amazing things for his already rampant libido.

He made sure not to lock the door but he took his time, washing his hair and emerging twenty minutes later to find her with all her accoutrements in her hands.

‘Sure you don’t need a suitcase to carry all that stuff through?’ he enquired and Violet blushed.

‘I wouldn’t want to disturb you when I come out. Just in case you’re sleeping.’

‘Very thoughtful.’

Violet backed away, eyes pinned to his face, anywhere but his muscled body, which was completely naked but for the tiny towel he had slung around his waist and which was dipping down in a very precarious fashion.

Did he sleep in pyjamas? How would she know when he had spent the past few nights retiring to bed at after one in the morning and getting up before six to start his day? She certainly hadn’t seen any lying about and she found that her mind was entirely focused on that one small technicality as she lingered in the bathroom for as long as she possibly could.

And for a while after she emerged into a pitch-black room, she actually breathed a sigh of relief that he was asleep. He was nothing more than a dark shadow on the bed. On the very big bed.

Barely daring to breathe, she slipped under the duvet and turned on her side away from him with movements that were exaggeratedly slow. Just in case.

‘You never actually told me whether you’d decided to come next weekend or not. Our conversation must have become waylaid...’

Violet gave a squeak of horror that he was not only awake but, from the sound of his voice, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. She heard him adjust his position on the bed and when he next spoke she knew that he was now facing her.

‘I think we lost track of the point when you decided to congratulate me on my sterling efforts with my brother...’ He reached out to place a cool hand on her shoulder and Violet’s blood pressure soared into the stratosphere. ‘I hate talking to someone’s back.’

Violet froze. She felt trapped between a rock and a hard place. She was in this bed with this man and she either turned round to face him, thereby instantly diminishing the generous proportions of the bed, or else she remained as she was, with her back to him like a petrified object, desperately hoping that hand would go away and not do something more exploratory to urge her over onto her other side. She reluctantly shifted her position and was screamingly aware of the rustle of the duvet and the soft deflation of the pillow as her body shifted.

Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness in the bedroom and her mouth went dry when she realised that he was bare-chested. Propping himself up on one elbow, the duvet was down to his waist, allowing her an eyeful of his perfectly muscled, sinewy chest with its flat brown nipples and just the right amount of dark hair to make her breath catch painfully in her throat.

‘That’s better,’ Damien said with satisfaction. ‘Now I can actually see your face. So what’s your decision to be?’

‘Can’t we discuss this in the morning?’

‘I’m a great believer in not putting off for tomorrow what can be done today and that includes decisions.’

‘I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to come down next weekend,’ Violet mumbled. Underneath the prim fleecy pyjamas, she could feel the heavy weight of her unconstrained breasts, which in turn made her remember that very moment when she had realised he had been watching her as she had emerged completely naked from the bathroom. Those twin attacks on her crumbling composure sent a wave of heat licking through her.

‘My mother and Dominic will both be pleased.’ Damien’s voice was low and unbearably sexy. ‘As,’ he continued, ‘will I...’

‘You will? You don’t mean that. You’ve barely spoken to me all week.’

‘I might say the same for you. But we’re talking now...’

‘Yes...’

‘Feels good, doesn’t it?’

Violet could hear the rapid rush of her own breathing. His low, husky words were a backdrop to something else. She felt it with an instinct she wasn’t even aware she possessed. He wasn’t touching her but it felt as though he might be and, although she knew that he couldn’t read her expression any more accurately than she could read his in the darkness, there was still a crackle of high voltage electricity between them that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

Was he going to make a move on her? Surely not! And yet...now was the time to briskly bring the conversation to an end by turning away. Sleep might be difficult to court with him lying right there next to her on the bed, but he would get the message that she had nothing more to say to him when she coldly turned away. And if she couldn’t see him, then this weirdly unsettling awareness that was making her pulses race would be extinguished at source. He would probably be gone, as usual, before she woke up in the morning and they would be back to keeping a healthy distance from each other, only breaking it in front of his family.

Violet knew exactly what she should do and how she should react and instead, to her horror, she found herself reaching out to touch that hard, broad chest. Just one touch. Where on earth had that dangerous thought come from? How had it managed to slip through all the walls and barriers of common sense and self-protection she was frantically erecting?

And where had that soft gasping sound come from as her fingers rested briefly on his chest?

Damien felt a kick of supreme satisfaction. Never had a woman’s touch felt so good. It was hesitant, timid, a barely-there sort of touch, and it ignited his blood, which was burning hot in his veins as he pulled her towards him...

CHAPTER SEVEN

HIS LIPS MET hers and Violet was lost. While a part of her knew that this shouldn’t be happening, the rest of her clung to him with shameful abandon. She couldn’t get enough of touching him. She wanted to explore every inch of his body and then begin all over again. The urge was nothing like anything she had felt before in her life. For her, love-making always seemed a calm, pleasant business, but then her one and only lover had started life as a friend. Damien was certainly no friend and this was not calm. She feverishly traced the muscled contours of his shoulders and she could feel him smiling against her mouth.

She ran her foot along his calf and shivered as her knee came into contact with the rigidity of his erection. When he flipped her onto him, she arched and threw her head back as he undid the buttons of her top, to reveal breasts that dangled tantalisingly by his mouth. She straightened to fling the constricting fleece off her.

She looked down at him, breathing hard, her hair tumbling past her shoulders. His skin was golden-brown, a natural bronze that contrasted dramatically against her own paleness. She reached out and flattened the palm of her hand against him and felt the ripple of muscle under her fingers.

He pulled her into him and half groaned as her breasts squashed against his chest. This time, his kiss was long, lingering and never-ending. It was a kiss that was designed to get lost in. It was a kiss that allowed no room for thought.

The warm fleece of her pyjama bottoms felt itchy and uncomfortable. Her underwear was damp with spreading moisture. She parted her legs and, through the fleece, she felt the hard jut of his erection.

‘We shouldn’t,’ she moaned, instantly negating that passing thought by moving sinuously against him.

‘Why? We both want it...’

‘Because you want something doesn’t mean that you should just go right ahead and have it...’

‘Are you telling me that you want to stop?’ She could no more do that than he could. Damien was aware of this with every fibre of his being. He pulled her back down against him, stifling any protest she might have come up with, and Violet ran her fingers through his hair. She loved the feel of its silky thickness. Touching him like this...it felt decadent, taboo, weirdly wicked. Even though she was supposed to be his girlfriend...

She felt like a Victorian maiden on the verge of swooning when he eased her up and hooked his fingers into the waistband of the pyjamas. Her breasts were tempting and luscious, but first...

He tugged the bottoms and watched with satisfaction as she quickly slipped them off. When she reached to do the same with her panties, he stayed her hand. He could see the dampness darkening the crotch as she straddled him and he placed his palm against the spot and moved it until he could feel the wetness seeping through to his hand.

‘Enjoying yourself?’ Anticipation was running through his veins. Making his blood boil. He intended to take things slowly, but it was hard. All he could think of was her settling on him, feeling her softness sheathing him and her tightness as she moved on him. ‘Touch me.’

Violet quivered. The underwear had to come off. She was going crazy. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and kicked it free, then turned back to see him watching her with a little smile as he touched himself. He was huge. A massive rock-hard rod of steel nestled in whorls of dark hair. She was mesmerised by the sight of his hand lightly circling himself, moving lazily, biding his time until she could pleasure him.

‘I’d rather you were doing this...’

Violet made her way over to him so that she was within touching distance...within licking distance...

Damien groaned and flung his head back, eyes closed, enjoying her tongue and mouth on him. He curled his hands into her hair, cupping her head. He had to steel himself against a powerful urge to let go, to release himself. He was in the process of physically losing control and he almost failed to recognise that fact because it was not something with which he was familiar. For him, making love had always been a finely tuned art form, where mutual pleasure rose along a predictable, albeit pleasurable, incline.

With a shudder, he reluctantly pulled her away from him and took a few seconds to gather himself.

Violet experienced a heady feeling of power. That this beautiful, desirable alpha male had to steady himself because of her...

She revelled in the unusual situation of really and truly, for the first time in her life, letting herself go. She felt as though she had had years of always having to be the one in control. Even in her one and only relationship, she had remained that person—the person who always thought before acting, the person who was always responsible. In giving Phillipa permission to be exactly the person she wanted to be, Violet, without knowing it, had tailored her own responses, had become the one who held back because someone had to, in the absence of parents.

Now...

She licked his rigid shaft once again and felt the roughness of veins against her tongue, a contrast to the silky smoothness at the top.

She had a moment’s hesitation as her ever present common sense cranked into gear.

What was going on here? So yes, he was an intensely attractive man. It was perfectly understandable that she might be attracted to him. Attraction and lust had nothing to do with love and affection. She knew that now. But why on earth did he find her attractive? He was a man used to supermodels. She had seen pictures of them and, on his own admission, his first impressions of her had hardly been positive. So was he here now because a certain amount of boredom had met a similar amount of curiosity and the two, in this strangely charged situation, had combined to produce desire? Had the charade of playing their respective parts spilled over into reality?

For whatever reason, this man wanted her and for even more nebulous reasons, and against her better judgement, she wanted him. She knew what she should do. But suddenly she thought of her sister, flitting around in Ibiza, doing exactly what she wanted to do while she, Violet, remained behind to pick up the pieces. She thought of herself, always travelling in the slow lane, always taking care, while the fast-paced rush of the unexpected and the novel flew past her, leaving her in its wake.

Why, she wondered with a spurt of rebellion, shouldn’t she jump on the roller coaster for once in her life? Why should she hold back at this eleventh hour? Would it be fair to herself? It certainly wouldn’t be fair to him.

So what they had wouldn’t last but what did she stand to lose? Damien meant nothing to her emotionally. He turned her on but she would always be able to walk away from lust because, sooner or later, her common sense would once again kick in, telling her that it was time to move on. When that time came, she would get back out there and jump back into the dating game, find herself a nice guy. She would never look back and have regrets that she had had her one window to be reckless and she had chosen to primly shut it and walk away.

She raised her head to meet his eyes and read the naked desire there.

‘You’re fabulous,’ he said roughly, and Violet smiled and blushed because she couldn’t think of a time when anyone had called her that.

‘You’re just saying that...’

‘Don’t tell me you haven’t driven your fair share of men crazy before...’ He raised himself, pulled her towards him and kissed her with driving urgency, stifling any confirmation. He didn’t want to think of her with any other man. It was an unsettling and momentary pull of possessiveness that was completely alien to him.

His mouth never left hers as he found one breast and massaged its plumpness, finding the erect peak of her nipple to tease it until she was squirming.

In shocking detail, his voice rough and uneven, he told her exactly what he wanted to do with her, where he wanted to touch her, what he wanted her to feel.

Violet’s skin burned hotly with the thrill of what he was saying. True, her experience when it came to the opposite sex was limited to one guy, but even so nothing could quite have prepared her for this sensory overload. His husky sex talk was doing all sorts of things in her mind while his hand, which had moved from her breast to caress the fluffy downy hair between her legs, was having a similar effect on her body.

She writhed and moaned softly, lowering herself to rake her teeth along his shoulder. He flipped her over so that he was now on top of her and she watched the progress of his dark head as he trailed a blazing path with his mouth along her shoulders to clamp on her nipple. Her nails dug into his shoulder blades then moved to tangle into his hair so that she could urge his mouth harder on her sensitised nipple.

He told her to tell him what she liked. Violet blushed furiously and thought that that was something she would never be able to do in a million years.

‘So...’ Damien was inordinately thrilled at her shyness. On so many levels he had been spot on when he had told her that she made a refreshing change. He had raised himself up now, his powerful body over hers, his hardness pressed against her, which made her desperate to open her legs and guide him inside. He laughed when she tried and told her that he was having none of that. Yet.

‘You don’t talk during sex...’ He slipped two fingers inside her, felt her wetness and began teasing her, rubbing the throbbing little bud of her clitoris until she was gasping, only to move his attention elsewhere so that she didn’t peak.

‘Damien...’

‘How do you expect me to know what turns you on if you don’t tell me...?’

‘You know what turns me on... You’re...you’re...’

‘Doing it right now?’

‘Please...’

‘I like it that you’re begging me...do you enjoy it when I talk...?’ He whispered a few more things in her ear and Violet groaned. ‘Well...?’ His exploring fingers drove deeper inside her and she tightened her legs.

‘Yes,’ Violet whispered, then she shot him a devilish smile, ‘although right now...there’s other stuff I’d like you to do...’

‘Tell me...’

‘I...I can’t...’ She felt as green as a virgin.

‘Of course you can,’ Damien coaxed. It was taking a massive amount of willpower to maintain this leisurely pace. Her body pressed against his was beyond a turn-on and the slippery wetness between her legs was something he could barely think about because, if he did, he knew that he would lose control.

‘I like it when you...suck my nipples...they’re very sensitive...’ Violet could feel her skin burning as though she was on fire. She felt forward and wanton and thoroughly debauched and she wondered how it was that she had never, ever been tempted to let go like this before. For a second she panicked at the notion that a man with whom she had nothing in common had been the one to rouse her to these heights.

‘Your wish is my command...and I have other things in store for you...’

Violet decided not to think. She immersed herself in sensation after sensation as he suckled on her nipples, his tongue darting and rubbing and licking and then she gasped, shocked, as his wandering mouth travelled southwards. When she stammered that she had never...he couldn’t possibly mean to...he laughed, deep-throated and amused, and proceeded to precisely what she had never...

His head between her legs made her want to cry out loud. Of their own volition, they parted to accommodate his ministrations and he was very thorough. He teased her with his tongue until she knew that she couldn’t stand it any longer, then he angled his big body so that she could pleasure him just as he was pleasuring her.

Her legs were spread wide as he continued to feast on her. His tongue probed every bit of her and she did likewise to him, taking his bigness into her mouth, tasting it in every way possible. Only when she knew that they were both about to tip over the edge did he raise himself up, pulling apart only to ask her if she was protected. He was breathing heavily.

Why on earth would she be? Violet wanted to ask. But she knew that, for Damien, his relationships would always have been with women who travelled prepared. She was certain that had they fallen into bed in his house or flat or apartment, or wherever it was he lived, there would be ample supplies of condoms in a bedside cabinet. She shook her head. She searched his face for signs of impatience and frustration but there were none. Instead, he rubbed himself against her and murmured that full intercourse would have to wait.

‘There are other ways to keep busy...’

Violet was lost for words at his generosity. She wasn’t completely naive. She knew that a lot of men would have been angry, enraged even, to have had their pleasure curtailed, even if it wasn’t the woman’s fault. A lot of men were selfish. Contrary to first impressions, Damien clearly was not one of those men.

Something shifted inside her but it was something she didn’t stop to analyse. Just at that moment, her brain wasn’t up to doing anything analytical. Not when he was touching her once again, burying his head between her thighs, relentlessly teasing her throbbing clitoris with his tongue.

Their bodies seemed to fuse into one and when, finally, she climaxed, thrusting up against his greedy mouth, she felt utterly spent. She blindly reached for him, felt his hardness and curved her languorous body so that her mouth met it, so that she could take him to the same heights to which he had taken her.

Their bodies were slick with perspiration and the room filled with the miasma of sex. He tugged her off him before he came and she felt his ejection on her face and body. It mirrored her own wetness that glistened on his face. When they kissed as he returned to Planet Earth, it was the most sensuous thing she had ever done. She felt giddy from such complete loss of her self-control.

‘I think tomorrow we might pay a visit to the chemist...’ Damien was on top of the world. What was it about this woman? They hadn’t even indulged in full intercourse and why kid himself, no amount of inventive touching could compare to the unique sensation of penetration. Yet he was infused with a feeling of absolute well-being. On a high. He wanted to start all over again, touching, tracing her body with his hands, tasting...

He pulled her against him and relished the softness of her full breasts squashed against his chest.

‘I don’t know how this happened...’

‘Are you saying you wish it hadn’t?’

‘No,’ Violet admitted truthfully, ‘but I’m not the kind of girl who falls into bed with men...’

‘Not even with the boyfriend you happen to be deeply in love with?’

It took a couple of seconds for it to register that he was teasing her. ‘Ha, ha, very funny...’ she said weakly. But what happens next? she wanted to ask. Except the question seemed strangely inappropriate.

‘This complicates things...’ she said instead.

It was precisely why he had made such a big effort not to go there. Even when he had acknowledged that he was attracted to her, even though he was a man who had never missed a step between attraction and possession, it was precisely why Damien had stepped back. Because he had acknowledged that to sleep with her would be to complicate an already complicated situation.

Now, with her sexy, luscious body pressed against his, there was no room in his head for thoughts of complications.

‘That’s one way of looking at it. On the other hand, you could say that it makes the situation much more interesting.’

‘I’m not an interesting person.’

‘Leave the character assessment to me...’ He smoothed his hand over her thigh, slipped it underneath, sandwiching it between her legs, his own personal hand warmer.

Violet knew exactly what sort of character assessment he was talking about. It had nothing to do with her personality.

‘So we’re here...and we’re sleeping together. You might say it adds a great deal more veracity to the situation. No need to pretend...’

Except, Violet thought, they were still pretending. Pretending an emotional connection that was absent, even though there was now a physical one.

‘You’re still frowning.’

‘I can’t help it.’

‘Live for the present.’

‘I’ve never been good at doing that. When our parents died, I was left in charge of Phillipa and the last thing I could afford to do was live for the present.’

‘I get that,’ Damien murmured. He wasn’t one for soul-searching conversations but he was feeling incredibly relaxed. ‘With a sister like her, you had to carry worries about the future for both of you.’ He gently parted her legs and slipped his finger along the crease that protected her femininity like the petals of a flower.

‘I can’t...talk when you’re doing that...’

‘Fine by me. Touching and talking don’t go hand in hand. At least...not unless the talking’s dirty...which I’ve discovered turns you on...’

‘But we have to talk...’

‘Wouldn’t you rather...’

‘Damien!’ She could feel her body tensing and building up to a climax. His caressing hand was doing all sorts of things to her and yet there was stuff that needed to be said.

‘I know. Irresistible, isn’t it? And you can feel how much it’s turning me on as well...’

Violet wondered how it would be were they to make love fully, properly... Her imagination soared as the rubbing movements against the pulsating bud of her clitoris got faster and faster and when she came it was an explosion that left her drained.

She curled against him. ‘What happens now...?’ She hadn’t wanted to pose the question but it was one that needed to be asked.

Damien stilled. Questions of that nature always left him cold. However, in a strange way, this was a far more straightforward situation. ‘You come up next weekend. As agreed. But I won’t be working till one in the morning and leaving the bedroom by six. It has to be said that the prospect of sojourns in the countryside has taken on a distinctly upbeat tempo.’

‘But I’m not your real girlfriend...’

‘Where are you going with this?’

‘Do we communicate during the week?’ She worried her lower lip as she tried to get her head round a relationship that wasn’t a relationship. ‘Or do we just become involved when we’re here? I mean,’ she added, just in case he got it into his head she would spend Monday to Friday pining for his company and putting her life on hold, ‘what if I meet someone...? I have quite a busy social life. Teachers like going out after school. Most of us feel we need a drink after a day in the company of high energy kids.’

‘Meet someone?’ He shifted so that he could look down at her.

‘I’ve been thinking about getting back into the dating scene. For some reason, it’s always been difficult with Phillipa around. I guess she just took up so much of my energy. I spent so much time worrying about what she was getting up to and listening to her personal sagas that there never seemed to be much time left over for myself. With Phillipa in Ibiza now...’

Damien’s brain had come to a screeching halt at the words getting back into the dating scene. They had just made love! He was outraged. How could she even be contemplating the prospect of some other guy when she was lying next to him, her body still hot and flushed after her climax that he had given her?

‘Sorry, but that’s not going to happen.’ He flung himself back and stared up at the ceiling with its ornate mouldings which he could hardly make out in the darkness. He felt her shift next to him so that she, likewise, was staring up at the ceiling.

‘I’m not following you...’

‘Explain to me how, on the one hand, you say that you don’t climb into bed with random men whilst on the other telling me that you want to start going to nightclubs and sleeping with whoever takes your fancy at the time...’

‘That’s not at all what I said!’

‘No? It sounded very much like that to me. And I am very much offended that you would even think of raising a subject of this nature after we’ve spent the past hour and a half making love. In fact, you shouldn’t even be thinking about other men. Right now, I should be the only man on your mind.’

‘The game’s changed,’ Violet said calmly on a deep breath, ‘and now there are different rules.’

‘Enlighten me.’

‘Why do you have to be so arrogant?’

‘It’s one of the more endearing aspects of my personality. You were going to tell me about these new rules.’

‘I... For some weird reason I find I’m attracted to you.’ She took a deep breath. ‘You’ve told me that I should live in the present and I guess this is my one-off opportunity to do that. I never expected it to happen, but there you go.’

‘So...other guys...out of the question. Nightclubs and sex after two drinks...likewise out of the question.’

‘In which case, the same rules apply to you.’

Damien rolled to his side and looked at her. In accordance with a serious conversation, she had tucked the duvet right up to her neck.

‘Gladly.’ He pulled the duvet down, exposing her breasts and he gently nuzzled a rosy tip until it stiffened against his tongue. ‘Gladly?’ Violet tugged him up so that he was looking at her, although her body was aching for him to carry on doing what it had been doing so well.

‘I’m a one woman kind of man...’

Violet wondered whether that was because he happened to be temporarily stuck far away from the action but then she conceded that, however arrogant and infuriating he could be, his ground rules would be fair.

‘And besides...’ he nibbled her lower lip, tugging it gently between his teeth ‘...this works...’

‘You said you first thought that getting involved like this...’

‘Falling into bed together and making love until we’re too exhausted to move...’

‘...would complicate things.’ Violet didn’t know what she wanted him to say. She had knowingly thrown caution to the winds and yet she still felt confused. She had never felt so physically satisfied—never ever—and yet the road ahead still seemed opaque and clouded with uncertainty. He might not want to put a label to what they now had, but effectively they were an item. For real. And yet why didn’t it feel that way? And did she really expect him to set those niggling anxieties to rest?

‘I wasn’t thinking out of the box. I’ve found that women seem to associate fun in bed with meeting the parents and eventually shopping for a wedding ring. You...’ seemingly of its own volition, his hand caressed her breast; he couldn’t get enough of her ‘...fall into a different category. You know how the ground lies. I’m not looking for any kind of commitment. Been there, done that, won’t be revisiting that particular holiday hotspot in the foreseeable future. But what’s going on right now...mind-blowing...and I’m not one to throw around superlatives lightly...’ He shot her a smouldering smile that made her toes curl. ‘I won’t be casting my net anywhere else and, if it makes you happy, you can communicate with me all you want to during the week. In fact, you’ll need to be updated on my mother’s progress. I’m sure she’ll also get in touch. It would be abnormal for you to be ignorant of how she is doing. So I’m guessing all your questions have been sorted...’

They were having fun. Plus it was convenient. But he was trusting her not to get emotionally wrapped up. When he said that they would communicate during the week, she knew that their conversations would be about Eleanor, that there would be a specific reason for them to happen in the first place. They wouldn’t be passing the time chatting about nothing much in particular. Violet decided that she was fine with that. She had never been the sort of person who kept the various sections of her life neatly boxed away and separated. This was how it was done. Of course, it would take a little getting used to but she would do it because, like it or not, she was greedy for the physical exhilaration he had introduced into her life, which, on that level, now seemed bland and nondescript in comparison.

She parted her legs and felt his hardness rub against her. No penetration but the sensation produced was still powerful and she moved in time to increase the pressure.

‘And when things fizzle out between us...’ she volunteered breathlessly.

‘It’s called the natural course of events.’

She could hardly imagine him being so deeply in love with a woman that he would want to take it to the very limit, that he would propose marriage. She couldn’t get her head around the notion of him offering commitment rather than talking about the natural course of events. For a man as intensely proud and intensely passionate, she could understand how he could have been permanently damaged by the most significant relationship in his life going belly up. Eleanor had never broached the subject of Annalise again and neither had she. Damien’s past was none of her business. This was the here and now. Everything he said made sense. This was her one opportunity to ditch her comfort zone and there was no point having a mental debate on the pros and cons of the clauses attached.

‘We’ll go our separate ways but as long as we’re lovers you’ll find, my darling, that I am exceedingly generous...’

‘Your money doesn’t mean anything to me.’ She tried not to feel hurt at the implication that she could be shoved into the predictable mould of one of his women, eager to take whatever gifts were on offer. ‘That’s not why...I don’t care if you own the Bank of England. I don’t want anything from you.’

Damien thought that whilst she might say that now, her tune would change the second he presented her with her very first diamond-encrusted bracelet or top-of-the-range sports car.

‘Frankly, my mother would expect it.’

‘She already knows that I’m not the materialistic kind.’

‘More confidences exchanged during one of your cosy tête-à-têtes?’ But he liked her protestations of wholesomeness. What guy in his position wouldn’t? Even if, sooner or later, the moral high ground took a bit of a beating? Greed and avarice were frequent visitors to his life. It was nice not to have them knocking on the door just yet.

‘We don’t just talk about you!’

‘I’m hurt. I thought I was never far from your thoughts...’ He moved fractionally against her and she squirmed and her eyes fluttered. To stop herself from losing control altogether once again, she reached down and firmly held him in her hand. The steel thickness of his girth made her shudder with wicked pleasure.

‘You’re not in my thoughts,’ Violet denied vigorously. Having someone in your thoughts implied a connection. Even jokingly, she didn’t want to go there, didn’t want to let him think that he might be anything more to her than she was to him. ‘You crop up in conversation with your mother because you’re the person we have in common and, under normal circumstances, a girlfriend would be really happy to hear her stories about the guy in her life from his mother. It’s natural that your mother would want to talk about you. Now, though, we talk about other things. Art, the garden, life in a small community, the treatment and what it might involve...and I don’t just have conversations with your mother. I talk a lot to Dominic as well. He has a lot to say. You just have to be patient. He gets frustrated because he can’t communicate as fluently as he’d like, but he’s smart.’

Damien gently removed her hand from him. Reluctantly. Of course, warning bells shouldn’t be ringing. They were, after all, singing from the same song sheet but still...just in case...

‘Don’t get too wrapped up, Violet.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean...we might become more involved with one another than either of us anticipated or probably even wanted, and your role might have been extended beyond what I envisaged, but don’t start nurturing ideas of permanence.’

‘I wouldn’t do that!’ She pulled away from him. ‘And you don’t have to warn me! You’ve already made the parameters of what we have perfectly clear. I understand, Damien. It suits me! I’m not an idiot.’

‘But you’re forming links with my family,’ Damien said drily.

‘I’m having conversations!’ But she could detect the coolness in his voice. This wasn’t a gentle caution. This was a warning shot across the bows, a blunt reminder that she was not to go beyond the Keep Out signs he had erected around himself. If she did, and the message was clear though unspoken, she would be ditched. He would enjoy her but that was as far as things would go. In short, don’t start getting any ideas...

‘I’m a big girl. I know how to take care of myself. And because the women you’ve dated in the past might have wanted more from you than you were prepared to give, that’s not the case with me. I’ve always been careful. I’m just having a go at what it feels like not to be careful for once in my life. And do you always have a list prepared of dos and don’ts when you start a...something? With a woman? Or is this specially for me because I happen to have met your family?’

Violet knew that she shouldn’t be pursuing this. This wasn’t part of her decision to be daring for once in her life.

‘I’m always upfront when it comes to women. I let them know that I’m not in it for the long-term.’

‘Because you’ve been hurt once doesn’t mean that you have to spend the rest of your life keeping your distance.’

‘Come again?’ Damien said coldly.

‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.’ But had he laid down loads of rules and regulations for Annalise? No. She wasn’t in the same category—of course she wasn’t—but neither did she need to be subjected to a hundred and one boundary lines because he thought she was too gullible or too stupid to know how the land lay.

‘Let’s move on from this conversation, Violet. My past is not fertile ground for discussion.’ And he was willing to let it go. His magnanimity surprised him because he categorically did not invite anyone’s opinions on certain aspects of his life. Naturally, he didn’t want to engineer an argument. He hadn’t enjoyed the past few days of awkwardness. And also, for once, he was thinking with that part of his body which he always had under control. Never had elemental desire been so important a factor in his response.

‘As I said, I understand the parameters and it suits me.’

‘You’re using me, in other words.’ His voice was light and amused.

‘No more than you’re using me.’

Not quite the response he had expected. He gave a low laugh. Fair’s fair, he thought. Wasn’t it? He’d never had any woman admit to using him before. So what if the feeling didn’t sit quite right? He wanted her. She wanted him. Trim away the excess and that was all that mattered.

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