British Bachelors: Rich and Powerful: What His Money Can't Hide / His Temporary Mistress / Trouble on Her Doorstep. Maggie Cox
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off. He even gave her an affectionate hug when she confessed she was going up to London to see Drake.
‘I like him. He’s a very astute businessman,’ he said, smiling. ‘He told me I shouldn’t be in a hurry to throw in the towel and sell the café just because the takings are down. At any rate it isn’t a good time to sell, and I’d only get peanuts for it. He explained that the whole point of regenerating the area was not just to encourage new residents to move here, but to encourage more successful and appealing retail outlets to inhabit the high street and sell their goods. The influx of new customers would help small businesses like the café become more thriving concerns. “Give it a couple of years at least to see if things work out,” he advised. So that’s what I’m going to do. I can’t tell you how much better I feel at having some direction at last. Say thanks again for me when you see him, won’t you?’
The fact that Marc was more than happy at the advice Drake had given him went a long way to firming Layla’s decision to pay him an impromptu visit. In any case, after that smouldering encounter with him yesterday at the building site she knew it was pointless to pretend she wasn’t aching to see him again. And she’d dearly love to find out a bit more about his background and childhood if she could. Sometimes he had a near haunted expression in his eyes—a faraway look that suggested he was tormented by some unspoken grief. Did his painful reflections dwell on memories of a troubled past? she wondered.
When the taxi dropped her off outside the stunning hexagonal building Drake had designed, she almost wished she had a stiff drink at hand to give her some Dutch courage. What if he didn’t welcome this spontaneous visit of hers and was mad at her for turning up unannounced? Should she at least have rung him to let him know she was coming? Then it wouldn’t have been a surprise.
Layla softly murmured that thought out loud.
A few minutes later, travelling in the swish modern lift up to Drake’s floor, she stole a glance in the mirrored interior to check her appearance. She’d left her shoulder-length dark hair loose today, and it helped cover the small pink abrasion that Drake had so passionately gifted her with. Carefully pushing aside some silken strands, she let her fingers tenderly examine it. Then, feeling somehow guilty, she let her hair fall back into place to hide it.
In a bid to appear a little more relaxed than she had been when Drake had taken her out to dinner, she’d opted to wear light blue denims and a plain white shirt with a lined fawn-coloured trench-coat for her spontaneous visit. But when her gaze honed in on the softly scarlet bloom that highlighted her cheeks, she stopped focusing on her appearance and looked away with a frown.
It had been her hope to present an image of relaxed composure when she saw him, but now there was no chance of that. Why, oh, why could she never seem to prevent her feelings from showing on her face like some people could? Forget composure. Her big-eyed ‘caught in the headlamps’ expression made her resemble a frightened rabbit rather than a determined young woman intent on taking a potentially volatile situation firmly into her own hands …
‘Do you have an appointment with Mr Ashton?’
Drake’s efficient, intimidating blonde secretary was like a sentry at the gates of Rome, suddenly alerted to an impending invasion. As she stood behind the desk with her arms folded her diamond chip blue eyes sternly raked over Layla’s appearance, as if silently warning her that it was going to take a minor miracle to get past her to see Drake.
‘No, I don’t.’ Swallowing hard, Layla knew her smile was uncertain and strained. ‘I thought—I thought I’d surprise him.’
The sound of Drake’s deep voice suddenly bellowing at someone behind the closed glass door that she knew led into his office made her start. The secretary’s coral painted lips stretched briefly in an ironic smile.
‘Somehow I don’t think my boss is remotely in the mood for surprises, Miss …?’
‘Jerome.’
‘Yes, of course. You were here the other evening, weren’t you? Except he was expecting you then.’
‘Yes. He was. Look, I’ve come a long way to see him today. Can you at least tell him that I’m here?’
‘I know you must be a friend of his, but I’m afraid I can’t. His diary is full for the whole afternoon. Why don’t you leave your phone number? Or you can write a message if you’d prefer? I’ll make sure that he gets it.’
The other woman perfunctorily pushed a lined pad and a pen across the contemporary glass desk that right then seemed to symbolise an insurmountable barrier Layla couldn’t cross. Frozen by indecision, her teeth worrying at her lip, she numbly picked up the pen, then stared down at the writing paper feeling wretched. It had obviously not been one of her better decisions to turn up at Drake’s office unannounced. Perhaps she could find a café somewhere nearby and try to reach him on his mobile?
Just as she leant over the pad to write a message his office door opened and he stepped out. Wearing a sky-blue fitted sweater that hugged his hard-muscled lean frame, and dark blue jeans that highlighted his strong long-boned thighs, he too was dressed much more informally today. But she barely had time to realise much else, because he came to an immediate standstill and stared at her as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. His piercing silvery gaze made her insides flutter wildly. Behind him, a well-built man dressed in a grey pinstriped suit, carrying what looked like some rolled-up technical drawings, stole the chance to slip away discreetly before his boss noticed that he was gone.
‘Layla. To what do I owe the honour?’ Drake’s almost languorous drawl was tinged with the faintest mockery.
Lying the pen back down on the pad, Layla quelled the flurry of nerves that seized her and straightened up to face him. ‘I thought I’d surprise you,’ she told him.
‘Well, you’ve certainly accomplished that.’
‘I missed your call last night.’
‘Yes, you did. Still … you’re here now. Do you want some coffee?’
Before Layla had the chance to reply he turned to his secretary and said, ‘Monica? Can you get me and my visitor some coffee, please?’
‘Have you forgotten that you’ve got an appointment with Sir Edwin Dodd in twenty minutes, Mr Ashton?’
‘Ring him and put him off, will you? Tell him something important has come up.’
The efficient Monica couldn’t hide her dismay, or the fact that she was suddenly quite flustered. Layla almost felt sorry for her.
‘This is a longstanding appointment … don’t you remember? He’s probably already on his way, and I don’t think he’ll take too kindly to being put off at the last minute.’
As he folded his arms her boss’s glance was formidably steely. ‘Am I labouring under the misconception that I’m the one in charge round here?’
‘Of course not. I apologise if I was a little too blunt. I’ll ring Sir Edwin straight away and make your apologies. Then I’ll get your coffee.’
‘Thank you.’ He directed his gaze back to Layla, and the faintest enigmatic smile touched Drake’s lips. ‘Why don’t you come into my office?’
Following her into the stunning room, with its panoramic view of rooftops and a gloriously cloudless blue sky, he quietly shut the door behind them. ‘It’s good to see you—if a little unexpected. Let me take your coat and bag.’
As soon as Layla had unbuttoned the fawn trench-coat she sensed Drake move behind her to help remove it from her shoulders. The potent mix of warm virile man, sexy cologne and the electrifying brush of his hands through the layers of her clothing made her feel quite faint with desire. It was extremely difficult to think straight above such a shockingly imperative need.
In contrast, Drake appeared almost to want to taunt her by moving deliberately slowly, his air definitely preoccupied. But after carefully folding her coat over the arm of a nearby chair, and depositing her shoulder-bag