swallowed hard and cleared his throat, ‘You’re wearing my shirt again,’ he observed, helplessly aroused at the sight of her long bare legs and the provocative outline of her panties, tantalisingly visible through the pristine white cotton.
‘Do you mind?’ Chewing down on her lip, she smoothed her still damp hair away from her face. ‘I just grabbed something to put on after my shower so I could come downstairs and make us some coffee.’
‘You can wear whatever you like that belongs to me.’ Moving towards her, he grinned. ‘Although I’d prefer it if you wore nothing at all.’
‘That’s not a terribly good idea when I’m boiling water.’
‘Are you always so cautious?’ Sliding his hands round her waist, Drake let his hungry gaze drink her in as if she was the finest wine he’d ever sampled. But even the most full-bodied Cabernet Sauvignon or French Bordeaux didn’t have the power to heat his blood like Layla did.
‘Sometimes not cautious enough,’ she murmured, flattening her palms against his chest as if to stop him from getting any closer.
‘Why? Don’t you trust me?’
She lifted an amused dark eyebrow. ‘Not when you come down to the kitchen looking like you’ve got lascivious intentions in mind rather than wanting to enjoy a cup of my expertly made coffee.’
‘Can’t I have lascivious intentions and enjoy your expertly made coffee as well?’
‘I’m sure you can. But my own intentions are to make some toast, because I’m at my hungriest in the morning. By the way, did you sleep all right last night? You certainly looked peaceful when I woke up this morning and saw you. That’s why I decided to let you sleep on for a bit.’
His mouth quirked with a wry smile, ‘I slept like I’d been pleasantly drugged. I can’t recall having even a single dream.’
‘So … there were no nightmares?’
‘None.’ Drake tenderly threaded his fingers through her long damp hair. ‘See what a positive effect you have on me, Ms Jerome?’
‘I aim to please.’
‘Do you indeed?’
A self-conscious tinge of scarlet coloured her cheeks. ‘Seriously, though, I’m so glad you slept better. I hope it becomes a regular feature … the start of a much more relaxed and enjoyable phase of your life. You deserve it, Drake. By the way—I’ve got one more question to ask you.’
‘What’s that?’ A wave of pleasure had rolled through him at her kindness, her genuinely unselfish hopes for his future, but he had a brief moment of trepidation wondering what she might be going to ask him.
‘Do you have any marmalade? It’s just that it’s my favourite thing to have on toast in the morning.’
His relief that her question wasn’t more taxing knew no bounds. With a chuckle, he affectionately pinched the end of her nose. ‘Baby I’ve got whatever your heart desires.’
Unable to resist impelling her against his chest, Drake felt the blood in his veins thrum hotly at the delicious sensory pleasure of her soft feminine curves next to his harder masculine body.
The big long-lashed dark eyes that he’d been so mesmerised by when he’d seen Layla for the very first time widened to saucers. ‘That’s a very beguiling claim, but luckily for you all I want right now is some marmalade.’
‘Is that really all you want?’ He slid his hand all the way down her slim back to rest it on her peach-shaped derrière, then pressed her against him so that she could be in no doubt about how much he wanted her. He was so aroused it was painful.
‘You don’t play fair,’ she chastised, wagging her finger schoolmistress-like at him, her voice completely devoid of sympathy. ‘As tempting as you are … as needy as you are … I’m afraid I’m going to have to exercise some of that bull-headedness you once accused me of because before I contemplate anything else I really need my breakfast.’
Before he could stop her she’d wriggled out of his arms and headed for the bread-bin atop the kitchen counter. He knew it contained the brown seeded loaf that he’d bought at the deli along with their croissants yesterday. Sighing, he realised he would manfully have to subdue his desire—at least until she’d had her breakfast. Clearly there was no stopping the woman when her mind was set on something. His feelings were a provoking mix of frustration and affection.
‘I’d be a poor host indeed if I didn’t let you eat.’ He smiled and, moving across to the large American-style fridge, extracted an unopened pot of marmalade. ‘Why don’t you make the coffee and let me do the toast?’ he suggested. ‘After that we’ll—’
‘Go back to bed?’ Layla’s chocolate-brown eyes met his with an unwavering amused stare that made Drake’s heart miss a beat.
‘My thoughts exactly,’ he agreed huskily.
It was hard for Layla to accept that their time together was coming to an end. Having already explained that he probably wouldn’t be able to see her this week, due to his colossal workload—not least of all their town’s pressing and much needed regeneration—Drake had definitely looked unhappy when he’d told her. Telling herself she’d just have to accept his absence and pray that the following week might yield a greater possibility of them seeing each other again, Layla fell silent as he drove them home, not trusting herself in case she broke down and confessed that she loved him.
Why did the prospect of saying goodbye to him this evening feel like a death sentence? she wondered miserably. They’d had such a wonderful day together—laughing and talking and making love till they were breathless and sated, then somehow finding the energy to go down to the kitchen and make themselves something to eat. It didn’t seem right that they should be parted for even an hour, let alone a whole week!
‘Before I drop you home I’d like to show you something.’ Drake’s handsome carved profile was disconcertingly serious as he stared out through the windscreen, making the necessary turn that would take them out of the near deserted high street.
The only occupants in evidence were a couple of local teenagers leaning against a galvanised steel grille shop-front, smoking. Compared to the wealthy and elite part of the capital she and Drake had just come from, the shabby provincial town seemed even more rundown and drab than it usually did.
‘Show me what?’ Layla asked, unable to suppress the feeling of inexplicable apprehension that coiled in the pit of her stomach.
‘The house where I grew up.’
He spared her a brief unreadable glance just as she registered that they were approaching the small shabby side-street whose abandoned terraced houses he planned to tear down and replace with modern ones. The house he drew up outside was a dismal grey terrace with all the windows shattered and broken and a large ‘Keep Out’ sign emblazoned across the dingy charcoal-grey front door. The stone steps that led to the once fashionable arched brick entrance were covered in litter and broken beer bottles, she saw. No doubt some of the population of jobless teenagers and youths hung out there, she thought.
Unsure about what to say, she laid her hand across Drake’s, not moving it even when she sensed him flinch uncomfortably.
Now
