The British Bachelors Collection

What would it be like to be the mother of this enigmatic man’s child? she wondered. Would he adore his son or daughter as much as Layla undoubtedly knew she would? There was still so much about Drake that she didn’t know—places that he’d warned her to stay away from … It had crossed her mind more than once today that the nightmare he’d had last night probably involved some disturbing memories from his past. What were they? He’d told her yesterday that he hadn’t known much joy in the house where he’d grown up, only sorrow. If only she could persuade him to share some of the experiences that haunted him it might help dispel the hold they had on him.

Stopping in front of a jolting ‘warts and all’ self-portrait of the artist whose work they were viewing, Layla stared back into bottomless blue eyes that seemed so full of pain and regret and desires left unfulfilled and expelled a helpless sigh of commiseration.

Turning his head to study her, Drake was immediately concerned. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘He looks like such a tormented soul, bless him.’

‘By all accounts he was. A latter-day Van Gogh who was plagued by depression and eventually took his own life. But at least while he lived he did what he loved.’

‘I suppose we should thank God for small mercies. Do you still love what you do, Drake?’

‘Of course.’

There was no hesitation in his answer, and Layla was pleased that at least there was one area of his life where unhappiness and a sense of isolation didn’t dog him as she was beginning to guess it often did. ‘Did you ever do any drawing or painting as a child?’ she asked conversationally.

A shadow immediately stole across his face. ‘Only when I was at school.’

‘And did you enjoy it?’

A corner of his mouth quirked, nudging an engaging dimple in the side of his cheek and dispelling the shadow she’d glimpsed. ‘I did. Turns out that I had a bit of a talent for it … I guess it was the precursor of my love of designing houses—which is why I chose architecture as a career. I suppose, as well, I always believed that our homes should be beautiful, and if I designed them I could make them as beautiful as I wanted.’

‘That’s a lovely intention. You never drew or dabbled with paints at home?’

‘No.’

It was a flat no, without any suggestion or possibility of further elucidation, Layla realised.

‘Didn’t you want to?’ she ventured.

Her companion stayed worryingly silent.

‘Clearly this must be another one of those places that I’m not supposed to go, then?’ She couldn’t prevent the note of exasperation that crept into her voice.

He lifted a dark eyebrow and lightly shook his head. ‘My home-life was hardly conducive to having the freedom to draw or experiment with paint or colour. That’s all I’ll tell you for the time being. Perhaps we can talk about this later? Right now I think we should just enjoy the art, don’t you? After all, it’s what we came for.’

Although Drake’s response might not be as warm as she could wish, it did stir a faint hope in her that at last he was coming round to the idea of discussing his past with her.

For some reason all of a sudden she couldn’t abide the thought of the all-important pill burning a hole in her pocket. What was she thinking of, delaying taking it? She wasn’t an immature teenager, for goodness’ sake! She was a fully-grown woman and the situation called for her to be sensible and realistic.

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

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.

‘They’re far too flimsy,’ she protested, dark eyes widening. ‘They look more like lingerie.’

‘Then they’re just what we’re looking for,’ he taunted gently.

‘They are?’

‘Trust me—you’re going to have the most appreciative audience you can imagine when you wear them.’

The smooth skin between Layla’s elegant dark brows creased a little. ‘I only need one blouse, Drake, not two.’ Leaning towards him, she lowered her voice to a near whisper. ‘Have you seen the prices on these?’ Turning the labels that were so prettily attached to the garments with slim pink and blue ribbons towards him, she seemed intent on his noting them.

He didn’t even trouble to spare them a glance. Instead he chuckled, then tenderly cupped her delicate jaw in the palm of his hand. ‘That’s the last thing you need to worry about, angel … And I’m not about to apologise for having money just because it makes you uncomfortable either.’

Her lips curved in a conciliatory smile. ‘Okay, I’ll go and try them on. Seeing as you’ve picked them out, it would be rude not to. Besides, it’s very hard to refuse you anything when you look at me like that,’ she breathed.

‘How am I looking at you? Tell me.’

‘Like I’m the gourmet meal you’ve been anticipating enjoying all day.’

With a provocative grin that sent the blood in Drake’s veins plunging helplessly south, she spun round on her heel and politely asked the assistant to show her to the changing room.

As Drake returned to the living room and placed the two cups of coffee he’d made down on the carved Regency table positioned in front of the sofa, Layla smiled up at him, commenting, ‘Mmm … just what the doctor ordered after that great spaghetti you rustled up for dinner.’ Curling her hair round her ear, her expression pensive, she added, ‘Come and sit down.’

‘I was intending on doing exactly that.’

‘We’ve had a wonderful day together, haven’t we?’

‘We have indeed.’

She fell silent for a few moments, then said, ‘Drake?’

‘What’s on your mind?’

‘Do you think we could have that talk of ours now?’

Momentarily distracted by the very feminine ivory-silk blouse she now wore in place of his white shirt, noting as he’d done at dinner that the sheer material meant he could see right through it to the pretty lace bra she had on underneath, Drake didn’t immediately register her question. When the words finally sank in his stomach plunged to his boots. Clearly there weren’t going to be any preliminaries to this little discussion of theirs, and it was becoming worryingly clear that he wasn’t going to be able to hide the truth of his past from her any longer.

His skin prickled hotly, and for one sickeningly uncomfortable moment he felt akin to a cornered animal. Raking his fingers through his hair, he dropped down onto the pinstriped armchair at the other side of the table, resting his forearms on his jeans-clad thighs with a heavy sigh.

‘So what do you want to talk about? My favourite music? Or maybe you’d like to hear what my top ten favourite movies are?’ He was hedging for time, using humour as a shield to divert any immediately awkward or difficult questions. But when he saw the concerned frown on Layla’s beautiful face Drake felt oddly guilty for taking such a cowardly tack.

‘Whilst I’d love to know what music you like, also what your favourite movies are, right now I’d like you to tell me a bit more about yourself. Then, as I said before … you can ask me things too.’

Linking his hands, he locked his glance with hers in a deliberately challenging stare. ‘Then why don’t you ask me a direct question and I’ll endeavour to answer it?’

‘All right, then.’ She nervously licked her lips and curled her hair round her ear again. ‘I’d like you to tell me a bit about your childhood.’

‘What would you like to know, exactly?’

‘Was it hard for you, being an only child?’

‘Compared to what? Being one of a large brood? How would I know, since that wasn’t my experience?’

‘Okay, then, perhaps you’ll tell me instead what it was like for you growing up in the area?’

It was the question Drake had feared the most, but he resolved himself to answer it because he didn’t want Layla to believe even for a second that he lacked the courage to tell her.

‘What was it like? In two words … miserable and lonely.’ Moving his head from side to side, he clasped and unclasped his hands. ‘I had a mother whose mind was always on leaving, and a father who was a bully and a drunk. After she left his bullying moved up to a whole new level. You can’t imagine how creative he could be when it came to devising punishments for me. Consequently I was always dreaming of ways to escape. When my art teacher at school took a serious interest in my ability for drawing and design, and suggested I might try to become an architect, I latched onto the possibility as though it was a lifeline—which indeed it was. From that moment on I didn’t care what my father did to me, because I knew that one day I’d get away … I’d carve a whole new life for myself and escape from both him and our drab little town for good.’

‘So how did you do that? Did you get the grades to go to university?’

‘Yes. I worked damned hard and fortunately I did.’ ‘Did you see your father at all after you went?’ As she took a sip of her coffee, then carefully set the blue and white cup back in its elegant saucer, Layla’s dark-eyed glance was thoughtful.

‘No.’ In return, Drake’s smile was helplessly bitter. ‘I only returned once after I left, and that was to go to his funeral. Needless to say I was the only mourner. Let’s put it this way: he wasn’t the most popular guy in the world.’

‘So how did he die? What happened to him?’

‘The silly fool smashed into a central reservation on the motorway whilst driving under the influence of alcohol. He was killed outright.’ Drake agitatedly tunnelled his fingers back and forth through his hair. ‘It wasn’t even his car. He’d borrowed it from some drinking crony who stupidly believed he’d return it in one piece. When I talked to the man he told me that my father was planning on driving up to the university to visit me. That’s why he’d borrowed the car. Unless he’d had some profound religious conversion and wanted to atone for his past ill-treatment of me, I very much doubt that it was true.’

‘My God, Drake!’

Layla’s expression was almost distraught, he saw. Knowing her kind heart, it wouldn’t have surprised him to learn that she was feeling compassion for his loser of a father.

‘I’m so sorry you had to face such a horrendous and sad ordeal on your own,’ she murmured, twisting her hands together in her lap. ‘It must have been hard enough for you not to have someone back at home, sending you love and support while you were away studying, but then to hear that your father had died … and possibly on his way to visit you as well …?’

‘You think it was hard for me, do you?’ he challenged, his temper rising. The old, painful wounds that he privately nursed, encrusted with bitterness and resentment, were still apt to make him feel murderous. ‘The only thing I felt when I heard the bastard had died was relief like you can’t possibly imagine!’

‘You said he was cruel. Was his cruelty the reason you don’t like sleeping without the light on?’

Sensing all the colour drain from his face, Drake shivered hard at the haunting reminder of his appalling home-life when he was a boy. ‘Every night he’d remove the lightbulbs in my bedroom and lock me in for the night in the dark. More often than not he’d go out and leave me on my own until the early hours of the morning, and even when he returned he wouldn’t knock on my door to check and see if I was all right.’

‘Why? Why did he do that?’

Drake’s lips twisted in disgust. ‘He told me it would make me a man. Personally, I think he did it simply because he could.’

‘You should have reported him … told someone at your school what he was doing. That kind of inhuman behaviour is child abuse, Drake.’

‘You make it sound so simple—but how does a frightened child tell someone his private horror story when he feels the most sickening shame about it? When he secretly believes he must have done something bad to deserve it?’

‘You did nothing wrong. You were only a little boy, for goodness’ sake! Your father was the adult in the family. He should have taken proper care of you. You aren’t supposed to “deserve” love and care. It’s the fundamental right of human children everywhere. I wish someone could have told you that so you wouldn’t have carried such shame and fear around with you all these years.’

‘Well, they didn’t, and I managed. End of story.’

‘You may have managed to get by despite your circumstances, but that’s not the end of the story, Drake … not if you’re still afraid to sleep in the dark and are plagued with nightmares.’

‘That’s not your concern. I deal with it. Shall we change the subject?’

‘I’ve one more question. Do you mind?’

Before Layla got the chance to ask it, he interjected quickly, feeling bleak. ‘I do mind, as I’m sure you know, but ask anyway. Then it’s my turn.’

‘What about your mother, Drake?’

Her luminous dark eyes were tender and her tone was infinitely gentle, respectful of the now tense atmosphere between them … like an intrepid novice explorer negotiating the walk across a frozen river for the very first time. One false move could make the ice splinter and send her plunging into the freezing waters below.

‘Did you ever see her again after she left?’

‘No, I didn’t. She obviously just wanted to put her seven years with my father behind her—start a new life somewhere else and forget about us both.’

‘Why would she want to forget about her little son? I’m sure that can’t be true, Drake. Her heart must have been breaking in two to leave you behind with a man like your father. She must have been absolutely desperate for her to carry out such an act.’

He gulped down some of his coffee, then wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. ‘Desperate or not, she presumably made a better life for herself somewhere else and decided not to risk ruining it by coming back for me.’