Читать книгу Desert Sheikhs Collection: Part 1 - Люси Монро, Jane Porter, Люси Монро - Страница 12

WHY was it, Lara wondered, that whenever you wanted someone to telephone you, they didn’t—and the opposite was always true?

And why had he rung at all? Had he already seen the finished photos and decided he didn’t like them?

Making up her mind that there was no point wasting time wondering what he wanted until she actually heard from him, Lara spent a frustrating morning deliberately doing much-needed chores around the flat—which would give her a legitimate excuse to stay in while not looking as though she was deliberately hanging around waiting for Darian Wildman to ring.

He didn’t.

By nine o’clock that evening she was feeling pent-up, frustrated and angry with herself, telling herself that it shouldn’t matter. Of course it shouldn’t. But Jake had gone to stay with his parents, so she couldn’t even drag him out for a pizza, and it was too late to ring anyone else. Instead she had a long, scented bath, taking care to leave the bathroom door open just in case the phone rang. And of course it did, just as she was up to her neck in jasmine-scented bubbles.

Leave it on the machine, she told herself sternly. If he really wants to speak to you he’ll ring back.

But she found herself clambering out of the bath, dripping water all over the bathroom floor, and depising herself for doing so.

‘Hello?’

‘Lara? It’s Darian.’

She knew that; he had one of those voices which, once heard, was never forgotten. Briefly she wondered whether to play the game a little and say, Darian who? but decided against it. A man like that would be used to the pointless little games that some women played, and he would like her no better for it.

‘Hello,’ she said.

‘I haven’t disturbed you?’

There were games and there were games, and half-truths were sometimes necessary—especially if you wanted to avoid looking like a fool.

‘Not really.’ She watched the water running down her bare legs to form a small puddle on the bathroom floor. ‘I was just…relaxing.’ Which didn’t have even a grain of truth to it, because she had never felt less relaxed in her life. And there seemed something slightly decadent about talking to him while she was naked, so she injected a brisk and professional note into her voice. ‘What can I do for you, Darian? Have you seen the photos yet?’

‘That’s what I’ve just been doing.’ He allowed himself a brief half-smile. It seemed that his instincts had not failed him—because Lara looked nothing short of sensational. Some of London’s most stunning backdrops emphasised her bewitching looks as she stood holding a variety of his company’s phones in her hand, a dreamy, thoughtful little smile on her face. She looked as if she was talking to her lover. Beneath each one would be printed the single shout-line: Wildman: Presses All The Right Buttons!

He had felt the unmistakable tremorings of desire as he had studied them. But, having seen them, had wondered aloud to Scott whether the final images weren’t just too sexy. Scott had shrugged and given him a knowing look.

‘Oh, come on, Darian—you don’t use a young and beautiful model to do anything but sell sex,’ he had pointed out. ‘Do you?’

Selling sex.

Put like that, it sounded off-putting, and Darian had grimaced with a slight element of distaste—but that hadn’t stopped him finding her number and ringing her, had it?

‘They’re terrific,’ he said softly.

‘Good. I’m pleased.’ She waited. She knew that she wanted to see him again, in fact she had to see him again, but she was perceptive enough to know that she was dealing with a man who would always be pursued, and natural predators did not like to be pursued.

‘I wondered if you’d like to have dinner with me?’ he asked. ‘As a kind of thank-you for turning in such a fantastic job.’

Lara very nearly asked him whether he always asked people out to dinner on the strength of their having done a good job, but she knew she couldn’t risk scaring him away.

This, after all, was precisely why she had fought to get the job in the first place. To get closer to Darian, to find out as much as she could about him before she told Khalim what she knew.

‘I’d love to,’ she murmured. ‘When?’

Human nature was a funny thing, Darian decided as a contrary feeling of disappointment washed over him. He hadn’t expected it to be quite so easy, but why on earth should it make her seem marginally less desirable because she had not played games with him?

Because women always made it this easy for him, that was why. Had he hoped that her spikiness and spirit would make him have to battle for a bit to get her to agree to have dinner with him—and hadn’t there been a part of him which had been anticipating that battle?

‘I don’t suppose you’re free tomorrow night?’

Lara heard the slight cooling of his voice and knew immediately that she had been too eager. ‘Not tomorrow night, I’m afraid.’ She paused, waiting.

Darian relaxed. There was nothing more off-putting than a woman who dropped everything because she wanted to see you—or, worse, a woman who had a social diary with great yawning gaps in it. But then he thought about her sparkling blue eyes and her perfect figure and guessed that Lara Black would not suffer from a lack of anything to do.

‘Thursday, I’m flying to Paris for the day,’ he mused. ‘And I’m back late. How about Friday?’

She paused for just long enough to sound as though she was consulting a diary—after all, he wasn’t to know that she was standing dripping in the bathroom, with her body tingling not just from the cold but from the effect of that rich, deep voice and the thought of seeing him again.

Because you need to see him, she reminded herself firmly. ‘Friday’s fine,’ she said calmly.

‘Shall I pick you up?’

To her horror, she felt her breasts tighten in response to the sudden softening of his voice, and the face which looked back at her through the blurred and misty mirror was startled. And confused. She didn’t want to be attracted to him—certainly not this attracted. So she’d spend one evening with him, she told herself. That was all. ‘Okay,’ she said slowly.

‘Good. Give me your address, and I’ll see you around eight.’

Darian parked the car, expertly edging into the tiny space available at the address she had given him, and as he switched the powerful engine off he registered that he was surprised.

So she lived in Notting Hill, did she?

Which meant that she was successful. Property in this part of West London was astronomically expensive these days, ever since it had become ‘the’ place to live, with rock stars and Hollywood actresses swooping in to buy up every graceful house available.

Except that no one had heard of Lara Black—not really. So how come all the outward trappings of success? Scott had told him that she had done a few forgettable plays and a couple of television commercials where she had either been playing a vegetable or lost in a crowd of people drinking cola. But she’d been in nothing major to date.

He climbed the elegant steps to the house and pressed the button for Flat B. She probably rented, he reasoned. Or shared with a group of other impecunious women, pooling their resources so that they could live in an area with a prestigious address.

The door opened and Darian’s eyes narrowed as he was greeted by a tall man with a lock of hair flopping into his eyes. Darian was rarely taken off-guard, but this time he was—amazed to be staring into the face of a stranger who was instantly recognisable. You would have had to have been living underground not to have recognised the star of the film which had broken all records at the international box-office last year.

What the hell was Jake Haddon doing here?

‘I’m looking for Lara Black,’ growled Darian.

Jake smiled. ‘I know you are, but she’s having one of those dress crises that women are prone to. The last thing I heard was a squeaked request from the bedroom asking me to answer the door! Come up and have a drink,’ he offered easily.

‘Thanks,’ said Darian shortly.

He followed Jake up the stairs, his mind buzzing. What had Jake said? A squeaked request from the bedroom. So what kind of bedroom was that? A shared bedroom? And if that were the case then why had she agreed to have dinner with him tonight? Unless she had thought it was business—that he wanted to discuss the shoot with her.

Darian was unprepared for the overwhelming sensation of irritation and—disappointment.

He walked into the flat, which was huge—but at least now the up-market address became understandable. Of course she could afford to live in a place like this if Jake Haddon was footing the bill!

‘Drink?’ asked Jake.

‘I’m driving.’

‘Something soft, then?’

Darian forced himself to be pleasant, though he most decidedly did not feel it. In fact, he was feeling at a distinct disadvantage—a situation which was both novel and unwelcome.

‘No, thanks. I’ll just wait for Lara,’ he said, and summoned up a brusque smile from somewhere.

‘I’d better go and hurry her up, then.’

Darian nodded and watched the actor as he disappeared out of the room with a familiar loping stride. Funny, he thought, how celluloid could make you feel you knew someone—the way they walked and the way they spoke.

There was a tap on the bedroom door. ‘Lara?’

Lara looked up. ‘Oh, Jake! Come in! Do I look okay?’

‘You look gorgeous, darling—but why go to so much trouble to date a man with a face like thunder?’

‘Is he cross?’ she asked, and flicked a glance at her watch. ‘I don’t see why—I’m only a couple of minutes late!’

Jake shrugged. ‘It might be me—you know the effect I have on boyfriends.’

This was true. ‘He isn’t a boyfriend,’ she protested unconvincingly, and then stared at herself in the mirror. She had chosen a cream silk dress with hundreds of tiny little buttons down the front, worn with black knee-length boots. ‘Do I look as though I’ve gone to a lot of trouble?’ she moaned.

‘As if you’ve tried on a hundred dresses and then a hundred more? Stop frowning, darling—I’m only teasing—and run along and greet him. I think I’ll go and hide in my room in case he decides to take a pop at me!’

Lara’s fingers were trembling as she picked up her bag, and her heart was crashing against her chest as she walked into the sitting room to see Darian Wildman studying all her books in the manner of a detective on the lookout for pornographic literature!

He must have heard her, for he turned round as she walked in and she couldn’t mistake the inky dilation of his eyes as he saw her. She wondered whether her eyes were doing exactly the same thing, because the sight of him made her knees go weak.

He looked all predator again—the cool and uncluttered clothes doing absolutely nothing to detract from his potent masculinity. His tawny skin gleamed as though it was lit from within and the golden eyes seemed to look at her too long and too hard. Too everything, really, because when he stared at her like that it was difficult to remember that this was not a normal man and this was not a normal evening.

‘Hello, Darian,’ she said, in a voice which sounded surprisingly calm.

Darian sucked in a breath because she looked utterly…not quite beautiful, because the term implied a set of criteria which needed to be filled and her looks were much too distinctive for that. But she had a definite head-turning quality which was difficult to define. Gorgeous, yes. And sexy, too—in a simple little cream dress which fitted her much too well and high-heeled black boots that made his gaze want to linger on her legs for ever.

Distracted, he broke a lifetime’s rule and spoke without thinking of the consequences. ‘You didn’t tell me you lived with Jake Haddon!’ he accused silkily.

And a very good evening to you, too! thought Lara. ‘Why on earth should I have done? And, anyway, I don’t live with him—I share a flat with him!’

Darian had been unaware that he was holding his breath until it was expelled in a long, low rush. Well, that told him something! When a woman said she shared a flat, it usually meant that she wasn’t sharing a bed. He looked around the room and then back into her eyes. ‘Lucky you,’ he said softly.

‘Or lucky him?’ she countered sweetly.

‘I should think that ninety-nine per cent of the female population would give anything to trade places with you.’

‘Which presumably is why I’m sharing a flat with him—since I’m in that incomprehensible one per cent to whom it doesn’t really matter that he’s a handsome film star—just that he’s a very nice person!’

Jealousy was not an emotion that Darian was used to feeling, and he was not enjoying it. With an effort, he glanced around the room, reluctantly acknowledging its style and taste. ‘Pretty nice place he’s got!’

It was with indignation that Lara opened her mouth to demand how he dared jump to that conclusion—even though it was the obvious one to reach. But to do that would be to tell him that the apartment belonged, in fact, to her—and then she would also feel duty-bound to explain why, and risk arousing his curiosity.

He seemed such a judgemental man that he would probably conclude that she was running an escort agency—or something equally wicked!

‘Yes, it’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ she agreed conversationally, because this really was straying into dangerous waters.

The apartment had been given to her by Khalim, after his wedding to Rose. He had been concerned for Lara’s welfare, unwilling to see her living in a crummy little place after he whisked her best friend and flatmate off to live in Maraban.

He had handed her a ribbon-tied envelope before he and Rose had flown off for their honeymoon and Lara had waited until they had gone before she opened it.

She’d only ever been a bridesmaid once before, and then she had been given a sweet gold St Christopher to hang around her neck. She had almost fainted with shock to find inside the envelope a set of deeds which showed her to be the owner of the most gorgeous flat she had ever seen!

‘I consider myself very lucky,’ she said truthfully as she gestured to the high ceilings and the elegant dimensions of the room.

Darian watched her, unable to deny that his interest in her had increased, due as much to her modesty as anything else. Most women would have boasted of their connection to such a high-profile star, not played it down. It was the last thing he had expected, and surprise was such a rare commodity that it would have set his pulses racing.

If they hadn’t been racing already.

‘Shall we go?’ he said evenly. ‘My car’s outside.’

‘Okay.’ Only now her voice didn’t sound so calm. Could he hear that she was almost breathless with anticipation and apprehension at the thought that they were now to leave the safety net of her home, with Jake lurking comfortably in the background?

Soon she’d be alone with this handsome, exotic stranger in his car, nursing a secret she didn’t know how she dared tell him.