British Bachelors: Rich and Powerful: What His Money Can't Hide / His Temporary Mistress / Trouble on Her Doorstep. Maggie Cox
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and briefly touched his arm, indicating that she wanted to extend their little discussion. ‘Drake?’
‘What is it?’
‘Last night when we—when we made love again … we didn’t use protection.’
‘I was standing here thinking about that just before you came in.’ He rubbed his hand round his chiselled jaw and grimaced. ‘I’m usually much more careful about such things, but I’m afraid that the power of events rendered my common sense obsolete.’ As if subconsciously illustrating the fact, he moved his heated glance helplessly up and down her figure. ‘I definitely wasn’t thinking straight, that’s for sure. It’s understandable that you’ve been worrying yourself sick.’
‘What happened wasn’t just down to you, Drake.’ Shrugging a rueful shoulder, Layla nonetheless made her gaze direct as she levelled it at him. ‘You weren’t the only one who wasn’t thinking straight. But I’m going to have to find the nearest chemist when we’ve finished our breakfast, so that I can buy an emergency contraceptive pill.’
Drake didn’t know why, but a deeply unsettled feeling swept through him. If he had to analyse it he’d probably describe it as a sense of indignant protest … as if something he hadn’t even known was precious was being threatened and being taken away from him.
‘Anyway, I’ll have my breakfast and then head out and find a chemist. Do you know if there’s one nearby?’
Clenching his jaw a little, he answered soberly, ‘There is. Don’t worry. I’ll take you there.’
‘Thanks.’ Lowering her glance, she wrapped her arms protectively round her chest, as though perturbed. Then she silently made her way over to the table and sat down.
Right then Drake couldn’t find the courage to ask her why she suddenly looked so sad …
The day was surprisingly fair, and they agreed to kick off their weekend break with a visit to one of the capital’s well-known art galleries. They were running separate exhibitions by two influential British artists whose work Layla and Drake both admired and were keen to view. But as they walked slowly through the lofty wooden-floored galleries with the same reverential sense of visitors to a hushed cathedral, the morning-after pill that Layla had purchased from the chemist all but burned a guilty hole in her coat pocket.
Between them they seemed to have made an unspoken agreement not to discuss the topic again, and certainly Drake hadn’t suggested she take the contraceptive straight away. It was probably utter madness, and Layla didn’t know why she should be so hesitant in swallowing the pill with the mineral water she’d purchased. Except that if she was really honest with herself she did know why. Since last night her heart had been full of a passionate romantic longing she couldn’t seem to control, and as she walked round the gallery with her hand firmly encased in her handsome companion’s it just grew stronger and stronger.
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