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

‘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 (#ulink_ee254a61-cfb5-5a94-abb1-543af1f3fe1f)

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.’