Jealousy was not an emotion that Darian was used to feeling, and he was not enjoying it. With an effort, he glanced around the room, reluctantly acknowledging its style and taste. ‘Pretty nice place he’s got!’
It was with indignation that Lara opened her mouth to demand how he dared jump to that conclusion—even though it was the obvious one to reach. But to do that would be to tell him that the apartment belonged, in fact, to her—and then she would also feel duty-bound to explain why, and risk arousing his curiosity.
He seemed such a judgemental man that he would probably conclude that she was running an escort agency—or something equally wicked!
‘Yes, it’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ she agreed conversationally, because this really was straying into dangerous waters.
The apartment had been given to her by Khalim, after his wedding to Rose. He had been concerned for Lara’s welfare, unwilling to see her living in a crummy little place after he whisked her best friend and flatmate off to live in Maraban.
He had handed her a ribbon-tied envelope before he and Rose had flown off for their honeymoon and Lara had waited until they had gone before she opened it.
She’d only ever been a bridesmaid once before, and then she had been given a sweet gold St Christopher to hang around her neck. She had almost fainted with shock to find inside the envelope a set of deeds which showed her to be the owner of the most gorgeous flat she had ever seen!
‘I consider myself very lucky,’ she said truthfully as she gestured to the high ceilings and the elegant dimensions of the room.
Darian watched her, unable to deny that his interest in her had increased, due as much to her modesty as anything else. Most women would have boasted of their connection to such a high-profile star, not played it down. It was the last thing he had expected, and surprise was such a rare commodity that it would have set his pulses racing.
If they hadn’t been racing already.
‘Shall we go?’ he said evenly. ‘My car’s outside.’
‘Okay.’ Only now her voice didn’t sound so calm. Could he hear that she was almost breathless with anticipation and apprehension at the thought that they were now to leave the safety net of her home, with Jake lurking comfortably in the background?
Soon she’d be alone with this handsome, exotic stranger in his car, nursing a secret she didn’t know how she dared tell him.
CHAPTER FIVE
DARIAN’S car was predictably powerful, Lara reflected as she climbed into the low seat with an agility which made her grateful she had done all those ballet classes when she was younger. And suddenly she felt as unsure of herself as that young girl had briefly been—out of her depth and scared.
‘Where are we going?’
In the semi-darkness Darian gave a grim little half-smile, realising that Lara was not a woman who would be impressed by status for status’s sake. Why, Jake Haddon had probably taken her to every single famous restaurant in London!
‘It’s a surprise,’ he murmured softly.
‘Oh, good. I like surprises,’ she said—because what else could she have said? That being alone in a confined space with him was making her aware of all the wrong things? Like his powerful, brooding presence and long, long legs, which were affecting her on a purely personal level, and being personal was not supposed to be on the agenda. This was not an expedition to discover their compatibility or to acknowledge the bone-melting effect he had on her, but to find out more about him. She half turned in her seat, looking as a passing streetlight flickered golden highlights across the hard, sculpted profile. ‘So where do you live, Darian?’
He opened his mouth to answer immediately, and this, too, was a new sensation. Normally he played down his home because of its unmistakable luxury, but for once he realised that he didn’t have to! ‘I have an apartment overlooking the river.’
‘Let me guess—big and stark and minimalistic, with huge windows which look out all over London!’
He shot her a sideways glance. ‘Are you a
mind-reader, or something?’
‘You mean I’m right?’
‘Yes,’ he growled suspiciously. Frighteningly and accurately right. ‘How did you know?’
‘Because I’m an actress and we’re very perceptive, or at least we’re supposed to be—it goes with the job!’
‘So it was a guess?’
‘An informed guess,’ she corrected. ‘I could tell the kind of place you definitely wouldn’t live in.’
‘Oh?’ He changed down a gear as he cut through a backstreet. ‘Enlighten me.’
This bit was easy. ‘You wouldn’t live in a cosy family house,’ she said confidently.