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 person!’