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