was right, of course—and her reference to relationships didn’t go unnoticed, either.
‘There’s no man in your life?’ he asked suddenly.
Lara stared at him. ‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘That’s a very personal question,’ she protested, feeling her cheeks grow pink beneath the piercing scrutiny of his stare.
‘You think you have the monopoly on personal questions, do you, Lara?’
‘Of course I don’t—and the reason there’s no man in my life is simply because there isn’t.’ She threw him a challenging look. ‘I don’t need a partner to define me!’
‘How very refreshing,’ he murmured.
Lara’s fork chased a piece of rocket round the plate. ‘So, where were you born?’ she questioned casually.
‘London.’
‘Big place.’
‘Nowhere you’ve probably ever visited.’ He named one of the city’s most run-down areas and watched carefully for her response, noting the instinctive little frown which pleated her forehead. ‘You’re surprised,’ he observed.
‘Well…’ For once in her life she was lost for words. ‘I guess I am, a little.’
‘Because it’s reputed to be the birthplace of gangsters?’ His words were dipped in caustic irony. ‘Or maybe you think that if someone’s born in a place like that then they stay there—is that it?’
She shook her head a little. ‘No…no, that’s not what I meant at all. It’s just difficult to imagine you being…poor, that’s all.’
‘Is it?’ The dark lashes came down to shutter his eyes. He looked like a lion, Lara thought. The way a lion looked when you thought that it was asleep, only to discover that it was garnering all its energy to pounce. Lots of men tried to pounce on her, and usually it made her recoil, but Darian Wildman was a different propositon entirely. The lashes parted again and the golden light from his eyes washed over her.
‘For a woman who eats whatever is put in front of her, you aren’t managing very well tonight,’ he mused.
‘I’m not very hungry,’ she confessed, wondering if this deliberate change of subject meant that she should now withhold her line of questioning. But somehow the questions no longer seemed important—not when he was looking at her like that.
‘Me neither.’ He wondered if her lack of appetite was rooted in the same reason as his own. He held her gaze, saw the way her lips parted, and knew that she didn’t want to be here any more than he did. He felt another short stab of desire. ‘Which makes ordering pudding a complete waste of time, don’t you think?’
She nodded, but a feeling of disappointment threatened to well up and spill over. Was he bored and wanting out? Had she overstepped the mark with her intrusive line of questioning? And where did she go from here?
The golden eyes glittered and his dark, lean body was very still. ‘Are you tired?’
Lara stared at him as something in his voice told her that the evening was not yet over. Yet the implication behind his question made her tense just as surely as it made her body begin a slow, irresistible flower into life.
This is dangerous, she heard a voice inside her head warning her, but she ignored it. ‘Not really,’ she said, as though she couldn’t care less one way or the other.
‘Then why don’t we continue this fascinating discussion back at my place? You can enjoy one of the finest views over London while I give you…’ He paused, his voice lingering deliberately. ‘Coffee.’ The golden eyes glittered, and dazzled her with their precious fire. ‘What do you say, Lara?’
It was what they called a loaded question, and the unmistakable air of sensuality he exuded warned her that a wise woman would thank him politely and say no. If lion he was, then why be foolish enough to walk meekly into his den?
But she might not get this chance again, and here he was offering opportunity on a plate. She reassured herself that he was far too sophisticated to do something as crass as leaping on her if she didn’t want him to. The only thing she had to fear was the fact that she did want him to.
Miraculously, she kept the excited tremor from her voice. ‘Sounds good,’ she said carefully.
‘Then I’ll get the bill,’ he said, equally carefully, and his eyes narrowed.
For once, he hadn’t expected it to be quite so easy.
CHAPTER SIX
‘OH, IT’S beautiful,’ said Lara softly. She leaned over the balcony and gazed out. The mist of earlier had cleared, and now the lights of the city sparkled like precious gems against the navy velvet of the night sky. ‘Just beautiful.’
Darian eased the cork from a bottle of wine and watched the way the breeze ruffled her dark silken hair, so that it fluttered behind her like a banner. ‘Yes,’ he agreed slowly.
For once he had been wrong—imagining it would take more than a little persuasion to get her to come back here with him tonight. The prickle of anticipation he had felt—that here was a woman who might make him fight a little—had been replaced by the much more familiar feeling of slightly jaded anticipation, but not jaded enough to stem the rising tide of desire.
‘Some wine?’ he drawled.
Lara turned round. He had removed his jacket and he looked relaxed, almost domesticated. Behind him, the brightly illuminated room looked like the stage-set of a play, with he the hero of the piece.
Or the villain.
Her heart thudded. ‘I thought you promised me coffee?’
‘I did. But how about a little wine first? You hardly drank a thing in the restaurant.’
A faintly bored note came into his voice, as if her inference that he was trying to push alcohol on her was offensive.
‘But I’ll go and make coffee if you’d prefer.’
‘No. Actually, I’d love some wine,’ she said truthfully. Perhaps wine might make her stop feeling like a woman who had never been invited into a man’s home before. She wasn’t such an innocent! She crossed her arms over her chest and rubbed them up and down her bare arms. ‘Brrrr! It’s freezing.’
‘Go inside. Make yourself at home.’
She felt his eyes on her as she made her way back into a sitting room which was a byword for luxury. This was crazy, she thought. She had spent her life being watched, sometimes on stage and sometimes by the camera, and usually she managed it with aplomb—easily becoming the person the director wanted her to be.
And maybe that was the problem here—that she was being herself. Only she was discovering an unwelcome and unfamilar nervousness in the company of a man who intrigued and attracted and disturbed her, compounded by what she had read in the letter.
Darian followed her into the room, tipping just a tiny amount of the rich red wine into two crystal glasses while she sat down primly on one of the giant leather sofas.
He noticed the way she pressed her knees tightly together as he handed her the glass. Did she always do this? he wondered. Send out such beguiling and conflicting messages? She had agreed very quickly—too quickly—to come home with him, and there was a not-so-subtle subtext to deals like that. If you didn’t want a man to make a pass at you, then you did not go back to his apartment late at night on a first date.
Darian was used to knowing the score. To women quickly and blatantly letting him know that they wanted him. It happened so frequently that it was just par for the course, as natural as breathing for him—he had never had to fight for a woman in his life, though sometimes he had idly wondered what it might be