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

‘Layla?’

‘Yes?’

‘This is Drake Ashton. I got your number from your brother Marc.’

In the midst of a leisurely stroll in the park, through the sea of burnished gold leaves that scattered the concrete path, Layla changed direction and strode across the grass to sit down on a nearby bench and take the call, her phone positioned firmly against her ear. Marc had despatched her to eat her packed lunch and get some fresh air after a surprising flurry of lunchtime trade, but any sense of feeling free to enjoy a precious hour in the autumnal sunshine had immediately vanished at the sound of the famed architect’s magnetically velvet smoky voice.

‘He told me you’d asked him for my number,’ she answered, already desperately rehearsing her carefully worded refusal of what she suspected would be another invitation to meet him for a drink.

Inexplicably, and against every impulse to act sensibly, she’d hardly been able to stop thinking about the man since he’d visited the café yesterday, and that was definitely a cause for concern. Just hearing his voice ignited an almost terrifying compulsion to see him again. The ethereal grey eyes that sometimes seemed almost colourless, the high cheekbones and cut-glass jaw seemed to be imprinted on her memory with pin-sharp clarity.

‘Then you’ll no doubt have guessed that I’m ringing to ask you out?’ There was a smile in his extraordinarily hypnotic voice. ‘I know you were reluctant to let me have your number, but I’d very much like to see you again. I’d really like the chance to get to know you a little, Layla. What do you say?’

‘If I’m honest, I’m not entirely comfortable with the idea, Mr Ashton.’

‘Drake,’ he inserted smoothly.

The tension in Layla’s stomach made her feel as if a band of steel was encircling it and tightening by the second. She drew the canvas bag that contained her sandwiches more closely to her side almost subconsciously, as if for protection. ‘I don’t mean to offend you, but I’m not interested in seeing anyone at the moment.’

‘You don’t like dating?’

‘I can take it or leave it, to tell you the truth. I’m certainly not a person who needs to have someone special in my life to make me feel whole or worthwhile.’

‘Good for you. But is that the real reason you’re hesitating to meet me, or is it perhaps because your last boyfriend let you down in some way or treated you badly?’

‘That’s none of your business.’

‘Maybe not. I’m just trying to find out why you don’t want to have a date with me.’

Layla expelled a heavy, resigned sigh. ‘The man who let me down wasn’t a boyfriend … at least not at first. But he was someone I’d put my trust in—completely wrongly, as it turned out. I was very badly deceived by him. Anyway, I—’

‘You’d rather not risk seeing me in case I do the same thing to you?’ Drake finished for her.

‘No, I’d rather not,’ she confessed reluctantly, feeling strangely as though she’d manoeuvred herself into a narrow dead-end she couldn’t easily reverse out of.

‘Not all men are bastards, Layla.’

‘I know that. I’d trust my brother Marc with my life.’

‘Speaking of your family—I knew your father, you know?’

Her heartbeat quickened in surprise. ‘Really?’

‘Jerome’s was my local newsagent. That’s where I knew him from.’

‘It’s a small world.’

‘I used to go there as a kid. We’d chat about football together. We supported the same team, and he used to tell me about all the matches he’d seen when he was young.’

‘He was crazy about football. And he loved having the opportunity to talk to another fan about the game—also about how his team were doing. My dad always had time for the children who visited the shop. He had the kindest heart.’ Suddenly besieged by memories of the father she had adored, as well as by a great longing for his physical presence, Layla couldn’t help the tears that suddenly surged into her eyes.

‘Presumably he’s not around any more? What happened, if you don’t mind my asking?’

‘He died just three months after a diagnosis of cancer of the throat.’

‘I’m sorry. That must have been a very hard cross to bear for you and your brother.’

‘It was.’

‘And your mother? Is she still around?’

‘She died when I was nine. Look, Mr Ashton, I—’

‘I’d really like it if you called me Drake.’

The invitation sounded so seductively appealing that even though she intuited that he’d used his past association with her father to break down her resistance, Layla found his skilful persuasion hard to ignore. Although her trust in men had been indisputably shattered by the dishonest behaviour of her boss, Drake’s regard for her father seemed perfectly genuine, she told herself.

Her lips edged helplessly into a smile. ‘You don’t give up easily, do you?’

‘No, I don’t. You don’t get far in the world of business if you’re not tenacious.’

‘I hear that you’ve agreed to meet with my brother and give him some advice about the café?’

‘I’m coming to see him on Thursday. After our meeting at the café I’m visiting the site where the first new builds for residential housing are going to be erected. I expect I’ll be there until quite late.’

Not knowing what to say, Layla shivered at the icy blast of wind that suddenly tore through her hair and swept the leaves on the path into a mini-cyclone.

‘Look … I really want to see you,’ he asserted, ‘but I don’t want to wait until Thursday. That’s far too long.’ He made no attempt to disguise his impatience. ‘How about throwing any caution you might be harbouring to the wind and going on just one date with me? If you come up to London I’ll take you out to dinner.’

‘When were you thinking of?’

‘Tomorrow … No, wait! Tonight … I want to see you tonight.’

‘Tonight is a bit short notice.’

Her inner guidance was already sending a loud warning to be careful pounding through her bloodstream. When her brother had confessed that he’d given Drake her number she hadn’t been able to help feeling annoyed at both men. She wasn’t some desirable commodity to be bartered over, for goodness’ sake! Neither had she expected the architect to ring her so soon. She’d like more time to mull his invitation over … time to come to her senses, more like, she thought irritably. Her ex-boss had had a way with words too, and had been a master at devising clever strategies to get what he wanted—sometimes underhand ones. She shouldn’t forget that. Although when it came to sheer charisma she didn’t doubt that Drake Ashton easily had the market cornered.

‘Have you other plans for tonight?’

‘No, but tomorrow night would suit me better.’ Hardly knowing where she’d found the nerve to tell him that, Layla grimaced.

‘I might not be able to make it tomorrow night.’

‘Never mind.’ Holding on to her determination not to be railroaded into flying off to London at the drop of a hat simply because Drake demanded it, she shook her head. ‘It will have to be Thursday after all, then.’ She deliberately kept her tone matter-of-fact. The other end of the line went ominously quiet. ‘Are you still there, Drake?’

His sharp intake of breath was followed by an equally audible sigh of frustration and her insides knotted.

‘I’m still here.’ Irritation was evident in every syllable. ‘Tomorrow night it is, then. Give me your address and I’ll send my driver to pick you up and bring you to my office. It’s close to the West End, and I’ll book us somewhere nice for dinner.’

‘You don’t have to send your driver. I can easily get the train into London.’

‘Are you always this bull-headed?’

Even though Drake was probably still irked with her for trying to thwart him, disconcertingly he chuckled, and the husky sound sent shivers cascading up and down her spine like sparks from a firework.

‘Because if you are, Layla, then I think I might have just met my match …’

CHAPTER THREE

SHE was half an hour late.

Having already been into his secretary’s office twice to see if Layla had left a message, Drake now found himself in front of the coffee machine on the landing outside his office, pressing the button for yet another cup of strong black Americano he didn’t really want.

Time had moved through the day like silt through reeds—slowly and painfully and laboriously, going nowhere fast. Whenever he thought about seeing Layla his insides were seized by alternate sensations of excitement and disagreeable anxiety. And several times that day a couple of colleagues had enquired if anything was wrong.

He hated the idea that they could see he was unsettled by something. Usually he endeavoured to keep his feelings strictly to himself—sometimes to the point of unsettling them because he expressed none of the usual emotional ‘ups and downs’ as they did. Yet he was quick to sing their praises when they did a good job for him, or worked overtime to help meet a deadline. Having built his reputation not on just designing builds to wow his clients but also by advising on and overseeing a project right up until the finish, Drake had ensured the people he employed were trustworthy and reliable team players. He might have grown up the quintessential ‘loner’ but he couldn’t do what he did without them.

Glancing down at his watch, it jolted him to see the time. Damn it all to hell! Why hadn’t he insisted that Layla let him send Jimmy to collect her instead of allowing her to make her own way here? He hadn’t because he’d got the feeling if he had she would have cancelled their date altogether and told him just to forget it …

‘Your visitor has arrived, Mr Ashton.’

The quiet, knowing tone of Monica, his secretary, broke into his unhappy reverie. To his dismay, he knew she’d guessed that the woman he was waiting to see was no run-of-the-mill visitor … that she was in some way special. If he quizzed her she’d call this instinct women’s intuition, and Drake couldn’t for the life of him understand why women had the gift in abundance and men didn’t. At any rate, he intensely disliked people expressing curiosity or interest in his private life—and that included unspoken interest.

Monica’s announcement that Layla had arrived had him turning towards her so fast that the scalding coffee in his polystyrene cup splashed painfully onto his hand. He uttered a furious expletive.

The secretary’s smile was replaced by an immediately concerned frown. ‘You’d better get some cold water on that straight away,’ she advised urgently, stepping towards him to relieve him of the cup.

‘Where have you put her?’ Drake barked, the sting of his scald aiding neither his temper nor his impatience.

‘In your office.’

‘Well, make sure she’s comfortable and tell her I’ll be there in a couple of minutes. I’m going to the bathroom to run some cold water over my hand.’

Staring at his reflection in the mirror over the sink, and not particularly liking what he saw, Drake scrubbed his hand over the five o’clock stubble that darkened his jaw and ignored the throb of his burn with stoic indifference. Knowing he was going out to dinner, he ought to have shaved—but it was too late now. His date would just have to take him as she found him, even though he more closely resembled a dishevelled croupier who’d been up all night rather than a successful and wealthy architect. At least he was wearing one of his hand-tailored suits, with a silk waistcoat over a white open-necked shirt. That should help him pass muster.

Muttering out loud at the agitation that rendered him nowhere near relaxed, he straightened his shirt collar and spun away from the mirror. He refused to put himself through the grinder about anything else tonight. Work was finished for the day and he was going out to dinner with a woman who had rendered him dangerously fascinated the instant his gaze had fallen into hers …

As he made his way back to his office an older colleague attempted to waylay him with a query. Drake was so intent on seeing Layla that he stared at the man as if suddenly confronted by a ghost.

‘Ask me about it tomorrow,’ he muttered distractedly. ‘I’m busy right now.’

‘Sorry if I interrupted something important.’

Looking bemused, his fellow architect exited the glass-partitioned landing and Drake continued on into the executive office suite that was his private domain. Standing outside the semi-open door, he sucked in a steadying breath before making his entry. Just before his gaze alighted on the woman he’d been waiting all day to see his senses picked up the sultry trail of her perfume, and the alluring scent made his blood pound with heat. When his eyes finally rested on the slim dark-haired figure standing by his desk, dressed in a classy cream-coloured wool coat over a black cocktail dress, he could barely hear himself think over the dizzying waves of pleasure that submerged him. His little waitress looked like a million dollars.

‘You made it,’ he said, low-voiced.

‘Yes. Though I don’t know why I came.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean that I haven’t accepted an invitation to dinner from a man in a very long time, and I’m still not sure why I accepted yours.’

‘Well, I’m glad that you did. You look very beautiful tonight, by the way.’

‘Thanks.’

His compliment had clearly discomfited her, Drake saw.

‘I don’t normally dress like this,’ she dissembled, ‘but I didn’t know where we were going so I—Anyway, are you annoyed that I’m late? The tube was delayed in a tunnel for twenty minutes … I don’t like to think why. I’m sorry if I kept you waiting.’

‘There’s no need to apologise. Although I did recommend that my driver pick you up rather than you getting the train, remember?’

‘Recommend? Is that what you did?’ Shaking her head, Layla forgot her previous awkwardness and emitted a throaty chuckle.

Already entranced by her beauty and presence, Drake was all but undone by the sound.

‘As I recall,’ she continued with a wry smile, ‘it sounded more like a royal command. But then I expect you’re used to telling people what to do and having it done?’

He kept quiet, because what she said was perfectly true. Yet he didn’t want her to gain the impression he was insufferably overbearing and demanding and not give him a chance to display some of the less ‘insufferable’ sides to his nature … For the first time ever he was suddenly unsure of his ground with a woman. The percentages that afforded him command of any relationship were usually stacked in his favour—sixty-forty at least …

‘Anyway, I still can’t believe I’m standing here in your office.’ Sighing softly, Layla smoothed her hand down over her hair. ‘I guessed it would be impressive, but even my imagination didn’t stretch as far as a hexagonal glass building that looks like something out of a futuristic sci-fi film. How on earth do you make something like this?’

‘A hexagonal building is definitely harder to construct than a square-cornered one, but apart from its unique exterior it makes for a far more interesting interior to live and work in. I’m all for enhancing domestic and business spaces, and hopefully getting people to enjoy spending time in them. Do you like it?’

‘All this glass …’ She glanced to her right and then to her left, and then up above her at the ceiling and its breathtaking view of the twilit sky. ‘It must be so light in here during the day. I definitely like the idea of that.’

‘That’s why I had the roof made out of glass. Sometimes I work in here at night, and if the moon is full and the stars are out I switch off the lamps for a while because they’re not needed. The illumination from the sky is so bright that it’s like a shroud of magical light blanketing everything.’

His companion’s big brown eyes were so transfixed by what he said that this time it was Drake who was discomfited. He’d never admitted to anyone that he did such a thing before, and certainly not to any of his colleagues. What on earth had possessed him to be so candid?

In a bid to divert Layla from the too personal confession he smiled and said, ‘Want me to give you a tour?’

Her smooth cheeks flushed a little. ‘Maybe some other time … Aren’t we supposed to be going out to dinner?’

‘Are you telling me that you’re hungry?’

‘I am, actually. But the truth is I don’t feel at my best in offices—even one as beautiful as this. My experience of being a personal assistant robbed me of all desire to ever work in one again. The world of “shocks and scares”—as my brother Marc calls it—was like a bear pit, and to work in an atmosphere where there’s such a high level of drama and tension every day is apt to make a person permanently on edge. It’s a lot more peaceful working in the café.’

Intrigued, Drake walked behind his desk and slipped on the tailored black jacket that he’d hung almost thoughtlessly over the back of his chair. It barely registered these days that the cost of his clothing far exceeded most ordinary people’s annual salaries. But then if you wanted the best, you had to pay for the best. He’d come a long way from the boy whose father had dressed him in charity shop finds.

Frowning at the bewitching girl who stood in front of his desk, he asked, ‘Can you tell me what your boss the broker was like?’

‘I’d rather not. At least not right now. Perhaps when I get to know you a bit better?’

His heart slammed against his ribs. ‘Can I take it, then, that you’re planning on us having more than one date?’

‘I’m not planning anything … it’s a policy of mine to always try and live in the moment.’

‘Mine too.’

‘Besides … it’s not just up to me, is it? Who knows? By the end of the evening you might be glad to see the back of me.’

‘Somehow that’s not how I envisage the evening ending.’ Quirking a droll eyebrow, Drake gestured that they should move towards the door. ‘Let’s go to dinner, shall we? I’ve booked us a table at a nice French restaurant I know.’

They had been escorted by an ultra-polite maître d’ to what Layla imagined must be the best table in the house. The ‘nice’ French restaurant Drake had mentioned turned out to be one of the most acclaimed eateries in Europe … let alone London. It had two Michelin stars and was populated tonight by an extremely classy-looking clientele who clearly weren’t short of a penny or two. Their table was situated in a discreet far corner of the room, and the candlelit setting was quite simply beautiful. Everything from the polished silverware to the gleaming candelabrum and the white linen tablecloth that was hung with frightening precision was arranged to exemplify the most exquisite good taste, and the genteel ambience was further emphasised by some softly playing classical music.

Drake touched his hand lightly to her back as Layla’s seat was pulled out for her by the maître d’, and he waited until he saw she was comfortable before seating himself. Was it normal to have felt his touch as strongly as though a powerful electrical current had penetrated her layers of clothing? God knew she’d been jumpy enough at his office, but alone with him like this, in an intimate setting far away from any working environment, she feared she would display her unease and self-consciousness by talking far too much. Back at his office she’d already babbled and said more than she’d meant to say. And what on earth had possessed her to suggest she might like to get to know him better? For a woman who had vowed to steer well clear of men of Drake Ashton’s elite calibre, she was doing abysmally poorly. Now she was sure that the heat he had ignited in her body with his brief touch must easily be displayed on her burning face.

‘I’ve heard about this place—of course I have—but I never thought I’d be so lucky as to get the chance to eat here. Rumour has it that the waiting list for a table is at least a year long. Is that true, do you think?’

Her restless hands nervously folded and unfolded her linen napkin. The magnetic silver-grey eyes in front of her glinted with amusement.

‘I have no idea. I simply had my secretary ring and book me a table.’

Layla didn’t get the chance to comment straight away, because just then a waiter handed them leather-bound menus and a female sommelier appeared to make recommendations for the wine they might like to order. She didn’t miss the fact that the attractive and vivacious redhead obviously knew Drake. The woman was completely professional, but she all but lit up when she saw him, and the banter between them sounded as though it was borne of a long-standing association.

When she’d left them alone again Layla sipped at the glass of water another waiter had poured for her and wondered if the sommelier and Drake had ever enjoyed a far closer relationship. The idea bothered her far more than it had a right to.

‘The reason you have no idea how long the waiting list is for a table,’ she announced jerkily, ‘is obviously because you’re an important man whose name alone gets you an automatic foot in the door.’

‘You sound as if that perturbs you.’

Her handsome date narrowed his gaze and she felt as if she’d just voluntarily put herself under a high-powered microscope that would hunt out every flaw and discrepancy in her character and ruthlessly bring it to light.

‘Why should it bother you that I can get a table in a good restaurant without having to wait for a similar time as most people do?’

Her skin prickling hotly with embarrassment, Layla frowned, feeling not just guilty and foolish but extremely gauche. ‘I didn’t mean to suggest that it bothered me. It was really just an observation. You’ve obviously worked hard to have the privileges you enjoy and I don’t even know why I mentioned it. Forgive me. Put it down to nerves.’

‘So I make you nervous, do I?’

‘Yes, you do a little.’

‘Why is that?’

‘Maybe you mistakenly think I’m a lot more confident than I am? The truth is I’m just a girl from an ordinary suburban home, and I’m not that comfortable in the company of privileged men like yourself.’

She’d hoped her honest admission might alleviate some of the anxiety she felt around Drake, but it didn’t. Instead she was left feeling even more gauche and unsophisticated.

At that very moment the pretty sommelier returned with their wine and proceeded to pour some into Drake’s glass for him to taste and approve. When he indicated with a nod of his head that he did indeed approve, she poured some into Layla’s. This time her companion’s compelling glance didn’t remotely invite the girl to linger longer than was absolutely necessary.

‘Thank you,’ he murmured, his businesslike tone suggesting she should leave. ‘Your health and happiness,’ he toasted, smiling at Layla.

The gesture was a long way from being businesslike. His captivating eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled and his lips curved generously, displaying strong white teeth. It was a killer combination and her body tightened helplessly.

‘The same to you,’ she murmured, lightly touching her goblet-shaped wine glass to his.

‘And, by the way, I didn’t get the impression that you were especially confident. My general impression is that you’re rather defensive, and consequently quite feisty because of it. Like a protective lioness wanting to divert attention away from a predator’s interest in her cub.’

‘I wasn’t trying to protect anyone.’

‘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.’