The British Bachelors Collection

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.’