What His Money Can't Hide

What His Money Can't Hide
Maggie Cox

The man with the golden touchDrake Ashton has defied his under-privileged, unloved upbringing to become a world-famous architect. With a house in Mayfair and a platinum card to buy anything he wants, his past is well and truly behind him. Until he’s called back home to revitalise his family’s ailing fortunes…Layla Jerome has been duped by the trappings of wealth before – a man with money isn’t enough to impress her! So when Drake strides into her small town like Midas himself she’s determined not to be branded by his touch. But when she’s faced with the sheer force of Drake, that’s more easily said than done…‘I love reading Maggie Cox. Always oozing with emotion and sexual tension!’ – Victoria, Retired, Belfast

‘What if I tell you that I’ve decided that after today 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.

‘Look, I’m not interested in having some meaningless fling with you that will burn out in a few days or even a few weeks. 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.’

‘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 detected evidence of the war that raged behind his haunting grey eyes. Tension momentarily made her breathing shallow.

‘So your previous relationships with women have usually been based on satisfying sexual desire and nothing more? Is that what you’re telling me?’

About the Author

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.

Recent titles by the same author:

DISTRACTED BY HER VIRTUE

A DEVILISHLY DARK DEAL

THE LOST WIFE THE

BROODING STRANGER

Did you know these are also available as eBooks?Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

What His Money

Can’t Hide

Maggie Cox

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

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.’