The British Bachelors Collection

‘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.