care of myself, so there was absolutely no need for you to worry. Now, I’m going upstairs to my flat to make Drake and me a cup of coffee. Do you want to join us?’
‘Thanks all the same, but I won’t. The accounts beckon, I’m afraid. By the way—I made a couple of Victoria sponges to take into the café tomorrow. Help yourself if you’d like some with your coffee. It’s nice to see you again, Drake … even if you did kidnap my beautiful sister for the weekend!’
‘It’s good to see you too,’ Drake murmured, right then feeling anything but friendly towards the other man.
He was glad to be invited upstairs to Layla’s flat so that they could have some privacy. Back at the house in Mayfair, he’d asked her if she thought his home lacked warmth. Glancing round the cosy living-room in her flat, with its sandalwood-scented air, homely feminine touches, mismatched furniture, family portraits on the walls and enough candles in the fireplace to light a cathedral, it wasn’t a question she would ever have to ask him. Her home was an irresistibly warm expression of the lovely woman who inhabited it, and Drake was suddenly unsure about the hopes he’d subconsciously been nurturing over the weekend.
What could he possibly offer a woman like Layla, apart from what his material wealth could provide? he wondered. Having come into contact with her generous heart and concern for others, he doubted whether that would even be an inducement. Why would she want to leave a home she loved with a brother who adored and looked out for her to move up to London and live with him? he mused. Especially when her experience of living and working there previously had been indelibly soured by an unscrupulous boss who had swindled her out of her life savings and seduced her. Wasn’t that why she had retreated from city life in the first place? To lick her wounds in a place of safety?
As sure as night followed day, and despite his plans to regenerate the town and improve it, Drake certainly wouldn’t contemplate returning to live with her, no matter how strong his feelings were. And even if they could agree on a mutually acceptable place of residence if they got together permanently, what if one day Layla walked out on him, just as his mother had? What if she made that soul-destroying decision because she’d reached the same conclusion his ex had made about him … that he was ‘emotionally crippled’ and—despite his wealth and success—a poor bet if he couldn’t shake his past? Could he risk such a devastating possibility and be left to live his life without her?
‘Do you fancy a slice of Victoria sponge with your coffee?’ As she returned to the living room from the kitchen Layla’s cheerful voice broke into his bleak introspection.
‘No, thanks.’ He gave an awkward shrug of the shoulders. ‘In fact, I don’t think I’ll stay and have coffee after all. I’ve had my mobile switched off since Friday night, and I’ve probably got at least fifty or sixty messages I need to reply to.’
Her lovely face was immediately crestfallen, and Drake felt like the very worst criminal.
‘Can’t you stay for just half an hour longer? Surely that won’t make a lot of difference? In any case, it won’t be late by the time you get back to London. You’ll have plenty of time to answer your messages then,’ she pointed out reasonably.
Her suggestion was more than tempting, but he had already made up his mind to go. They had spent an amazing and intense time together, but now he needed some space and time alone to get his head straight.
Without thinking he moved across the room and took her into his arms. ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart, I really am. But I’ve got a heavy week ahead of me and there are plans and drawings I need to study, as well as replying to my phone messages. We’ll see each other again very soon … I promise. I’ll ring you just as soon as I know when I can take some time off.’
Her dark eyes looked alternately sad, then resigned. That disappointed and melancholy glance made Drake feel as though someone had punched him hard in the gut.
‘If for some reason you can’t reach me on my mobile you can leave a message with Marc, either here or at the café,’ she told him, her tongue moistening her lips as if they’d suddenly turned dry.
‘Great.’ His fingers firmed possessively round her slim upper arms, the warmth of her satin skin provocatively evident in the sheer silk blouse he had bought her. Desolation settled in the pit of his stomach at the thought of sleeping in his bed tonight without her. ‘It’s been an incredible weekend and I’ve loved every minute of it being with you, Layla,’ he told her honestly, his voice low.
In answer, her pretty lips curved to form the sweetest smile. ‘I’ll never forget lying on the blanket in your office looking up at the stars through that amazing glass ceiling,’ she admitted softly.
‘We’ll do it again some time soon. That’s a promise.’
‘I’ll hold you to that.’ Reaching up on tiptoe, she pressed her lips gently against his. ‘You’d better go before I make a complete fool of myself and cry,’ she said.
Forcing himself to ignore the instinct to plunder and ravish her mouth, as he longed to do, Drake slowly nodded his head. ‘Thanks for everything,’ he murmured, reluctantly extricating himself from their embrace and walking to the door.
‘It was my pleasure,’ Layla murmured, and he turned briefly to give her a smile …
LAYLA threw herself into a frenzy of activity in a bid to try and keep her anxious thoughts about Drake at bay. When she wasn’t working at the café, serving the trickle of customers that came in throughout the day and keeping it spick and span, she was tidying and de-cluttering her flat, and driving the laden boxes of clothes and bric-a-brac she’d collected to a charity shop in support of sick children. After that, she avidly perused her cookery books to come up with new and enticing recipes that she could cook for herself and Marc.
It was only in the unguarded moments that sneaked up on her from time to time that the memory of Drake—how he looked, the sound of his voice, how it felt when he took her in his arms—had the ability to make her catch her breath and her body ache with longing.
As the interminably long week progressed she relived time and time again the frighteningly naked and poignant smile he’d left her with, wishing she’d had the courage to ask him there and then what was really on his mind. Was it that he’d decided he didn’t want to commit to a relationship with her after all now that he’d revealed so much about his wounded past? Because it made him feel far too exposed and vulnerable? Didn’t he know that she’d rather die than betray him by sharing what he’d told her with anyone else?
When the working week drew to a close without any word from him at all, Layla determinedly resisted the overwhelming urge to ring him. Instead she drove to the building site where Drake had taken her that day to explain his plans for the area’s improvement, in the no doubt unrealistic hope that he might be there. He wasn’t.
When she arrived she saw straight away that the construction workers had clearly shut up shop for the day. The muddied landscape and recently erected scaffolding looked bleak, cold and abandoned … the description could well have been applied to her.
Back in her flat, she nearly jumped out of her skin when the hallway telephone rang. Abandoning the removal of her jacket, she haphazardly shrugged it back onto her shoulders and urgently grabbed the receiver.
It was him … it had to be him.
‘Hello?’
‘Layla? It’s me—Colette.’
She’d never been so disappointed to hear the voice of a friend. It was a loyal pal she occasionally enjoyed ‘girly’ nights in with—drinking wine, putting the world to rights and giggling over the latest rom-com together.
‘Hi,’ she answered, her hand shaking from the onrush of adrenaline that had poured through her when she’d thought the caller might