on that rather provocative little note, I think we should sit down and partake of those delicious-looking croissants you’ve bought … of course that’s as soon as you get your act together and make the coffee, Mr Ashton,’ she added mischievously.
As she extricated herself from his arms to move towards the table he caught hold of her hand and, lifting it to his lips, reverently kissed her fingers.
‘What was that for?’
‘Do I need a reason other than that I simply felt like it?’ Feeling his heart swell with the kind of addictive warmth he couldn’t ever remember feeling before, Drake kept a hold of Layla’s hand, reluctant to let it go. ‘That’s not strictly true. I just wanted to thank you for last night … for understanding.’
It was a relief to him to know that he didn’t have to say any more than that, because staring back into her compassionate brown eyes he knew no other explanation was necessary … at least for now.
‘I hated seeing you so distressed. Whatever horrors you were dreaming about, I just wanted to try and help you forget them.’
‘Trust me …’ He grinned. ‘You did.’
As he released her hand so he could return to the counter and make the coffee Layla frowned and briefly touched his arm, indicating that she wanted to extend their little discussion. ‘Drake?’
‘What is it?’
‘Last night when we—when we made love again … we didn’t use protection.’
‘I was standing here thinking about that just before you came in.’ He rubbed his hand round his chiselled jaw and grimaced. ‘I’m usually much more careful about such things, but I’m afraid that the power of events rendered my common sense obsolete.’ As if subconsciously illustrating the fact, he moved his heated glance helplessly up and down her figure. ‘I definitely wasn’t thinking straight, that’s for sure. It’s understandable that you’ve been worrying yourself sick.’
‘What happened wasn’t just down to you, Drake.’ Shrugging a rueful shoulder, Layla nonetheless made her gaze direct as she levelled it at him. ‘You weren’t the only one who wasn’t thinking straight. But I’m going to have to find the nearest chemist when we’ve finished our breakfast, so that I can buy an emergency contraceptive pill.’
Drake didn’t know why, but a deeply unsettled feeling swept through him. If he had to analyse it he’d probably describe it as a sense of indignant protest … as if something he hadn’t even known was precious was being threatened and being taken away from him.
‘Anyway, I’ll have my breakfast and then head out and find a chemist. Do you know if there’s one nearby?’
Clenching his jaw a little, he answered soberly, ‘There is. Don’t worry. I’ll take you there.’
‘Thanks.’ Lowering her glance, she wrapped her arms protectively round her chest, as though perturbed. Then she silently made her way over to the table and sat down.
Right then Drake couldn’t find the courage to ask her why she suddenly looked so sad …
The day was surprisingly fair, and they agreed to kick off their weekend break with a visit to one of the capital’s well-known art galleries. They were running separate exhibitions by two influential British artists whose work Layla and Drake both admired and were keen to view. But as they walked slowly through the lofty wooden-floored galleries with the same reverential sense of visitors to a hushed cathedral, the morning-after pill that Layla had purchased from the chemist all but burned a guilty hole in her coat pocket.
Between them they seemed to have made an unspoken agreement not to discuss the topic again, and certainly Drake hadn’t suggested she take the contraceptive straight away. It was probably utter madness, and Layla didn’t know why she should be so hesitant in swallowing the pill with the mineral water she’d purchased. Except that if she was really honest with herself she did know why. Since last night her heart had been full of a passionate romantic longing she couldn’t seem to control, and as she walked round the gallery with her hand firmly encased in her handsome companion’s it just grew stronger and stronger.
What would it be like to be the mother of this enigmatic man’s child? she wondered. Would he adore his son or daughter as much as Layla undoubtedly knew she would? There was still so much about Drake that she didn’t know—places that he’d warned her to stay away from … It had crossed her mind more than once today that the nightmare he’d had last night probably involved some disturbing memories from his past. What were they? He’d told her yesterday that he hadn’t known much joy in the house where he’d grown up, only sorrow. If only she could persuade him to share some of the experiences that haunted him it might help dispel the hold they had on him.
Stopping in front of a jolting ‘warts and all’ self-portrait of the artist whose work they were viewing, Layla stared back into bottomless blue eyes that seemed so full of pain and regret and desires left unfulfilled and expelled a helpless sigh of commiseration.
Turning his head to study her, Drake was immediately concerned. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘He looks like such a tormented soul, bless him.’
‘By all accounts he was. A latter-day Van Gogh who was plagued by depression and eventually took his own life. But at least while he lived he did what he loved.’
‘I suppose we should thank God for small mercies. Do you still love what you do, Drake?’
‘Of course.’
There was no hesitation in his answer, and Layla was pleased that at least there was one area of his life where unhappiness and a sense of isolation didn’t dog him as she was beginning to guess it often did. ‘Did you ever do any drawing or painting as a child?’ she asked conversationally.
A shadow immediately stole across his face. ‘Only when I was at school.’
‘And did you enjoy it?’
A corner of his mouth quirked, nudging an engaging dimple in the side of his cheek and dispelling the shadow she’d glimpsed. ‘I did. Turns out that I had a bit of a talent for it … I guess it was the precursor of my love of designing houses—which is why I chose architecture as a career. I suppose, as well, I always believed that our homes should be beautiful, and if I designed them I could make them as beautiful as I wanted.’
‘That’s a lovely intention. You never drew or dabbled with paints at home?’
‘No.’
It was a flat no, without any suggestion or possibility of further elucidation, Layla realised.
‘Didn’t you want to?’ she ventured.
Her companion stayed worryingly silent.
‘Clearly this must be another one of those places that I’m not supposed to go, then?’ She couldn’t prevent the note of exasperation that crept into her voice.
He lifted a dark eyebrow and lightly shook his head. ‘My home-life was hardly conducive to having the freedom to draw or experiment with paint or colour. That’s all I’ll tell you for the time being. Perhaps we can talk about this later? Right now I think we should just enjoy the art, don’t you? After all, it’s what
