British Bachelors: Rich and Powerful: What His Money Can't Hide / His Temporary Mistress / Trouble on Her Doorstep. Maggie CoxЧитать онлайн книгу.
him than the past could ever do.
‘Mr Ashton? There’s a man called Marc Jerome on the phone. He says you gave your business card to his sister so that he could call you.’
Drake’s secretary Monica appeared in the doorway to his office. She was a pencil-slim blonde whose efficiency and dedication to her job belied her delicate appearance. The woman could be a veritable tiger when it came to sifting out and diverting unwanted callers—whether on the phone or if they turned up unannounced. But the knowledge that it was Layla Jerome’s brother who was ringing made Drake immediately anxious to take the call. The beautiful woman had been almost constantly on his mind ever since he’d seen her, and if nothing else he wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to try and get her phone number again.
‘Put him through, Monica. I’ll take it.’
At the end of the call Drake pushed to his feet and moved restlessly across to the tall plate-glass panels directly behind his desk. Staring out at the parked cars on the street below, he could barely suppress the gratifying sense of satisfaction that throbbed through him. He had listened to Marc Jerome’s views on the needs of his local community, and when the younger man had asked for some business tips he had agreed to meet up with him so that they could discuss it more fully.
When that topic was safely out of the way Drake hadn’t been slow to seize the opportunity to ask directly if his sister was currently dating anyone. He had all but held his breath as he’d waited for the answer.
‘No, she’s not,’ Marc had replied carefully, definitely sounding protective. ‘As far as I know, she’s quite happy being free and single right now.’
Drake had allowed himself the briefest smile. ‘I’d really like to ask her about that myself, if you don’t mind?’ he’d returned immediately. There was a fine line between being bold enough to state your aim clearly and being pushy, but when it came to something he wanted as badly as this, he definitely wasn’t a man to let the grass grow under his feet—and neither was he overly concerned if he offended anyone. ‘It’s probably best if I talk to her outside of work. Maybe even on the day that you and I have our meeting?’
‘You’d better ring her first and check and see if that’s okay,’ had been the distinctly wary-sounding reply.
‘Of course.’
And now Layla’s mobile phone number was writ large across his notepad.
He made a vow to ring her after lunch, just in case the café was busy, and, breathing out a relieved sigh, stopped gazing out the window and returned to his desk, bringing his focus determinedly back to his work …
‘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.