British Bachelors: Rich and Powerful: What His Money Can't Hide / His Temporary Mistress / Trouble on Her Doorstep

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 (#ulink_5fce8624-37a9-55b9-8f09-b408ed54f564)

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.