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a potentially heated argument. She would simply have to accept that she had to tread carefully round Drake until she sensed he was ready for a more intimate discourse about his past. Knowing he might never be ready for such a frank discussion, she either had to make her peace with that or walk away.

      As he turned back towards the cooker she laid her hand just above his wrist, where a smattering of silken brown hair grazed the otherwise smooth flesh exposed by his rolled-up sweater sleeve. ‘Why don’t you let me cook the meal? You can pour yourself a nice glass of wine and go and relax in the living room. I’ll come and get you when the food is ready.’

      ‘As tempting as that sounds, you’re my guest, remember?’

      She couldn’t help but grin. ‘But I’m a very amiable guest, who doesn’t mind mucking in when the situation calls for it. The fact that you’re so tired definitely warrants my assistance. Go on … pour some wine and go and relax. I’ll peer into cupboards and find out where everything is.’

      Drake wrestled with her suggestion for just a couple of seconds longer, then relented. The troubled look on his face all but melted away before her eyes.

      ‘You’re the kind of guest that I could definitely get used to,’ he teased, tipping up her chin and dropping a warm, sexy kiss that was far too fleeting onto her lips.

      Layla knew if she slipped her hand behind his head to hold him there a little longer then all further discussion about food and cooking would be put on hold for quite some considerable time …

      ‘Wait until you taste my food and see if you still think that.’

      ‘Will you be okay using the cooker?’ he checked.

      ‘Good question.’ She sighed, then grimaced as she scanned the large gleaming state-of-the-art hob and oven with its myriad chrome dials and knobs. ‘I’m sure I’ll be fine. It’s an intimidating-looking beast, but surely I don’t need a degree in rocket science to fry a few shrimps and cook some rice … do I?’

      Her handsome host chuckled. ‘Let me turn on the hob for you.’ He flicked a switch, turned a dial, and the hob underneath its black glass shield glowed instantly red. ‘It’s as easy and as straightforward as that. No degree in rocket science required. Think you’ll be okay now?’

      ‘Absolutely.’

      ‘Good. I’ll leave you to it, then. Would you like a glass of wine to enjoy while you’re cooking?’

      ‘As lovely as that sounds, I’d better not. I might put too much paprika or chilli in the mix, and if I get even the slightest bit intoxicated then our stir-fry will probably be inedible!’

      ‘Warning received.’

      Helping himself to a bottle from the sculpted metal rack on the other side of the room, along with a corkscrew and a glass, Drake left Layla with an irresistible lingering smile and a promise in his eyes that—if she let it—could tempt her away from the most sublime culinary feast even if she was starving …

CHAPTER SEVEN

      HE KNEW he’d had a lucky escape. But how long could he avoid talking about his past with a woman who made the walls of self-protection he’d carved round himself paper-thin every time she smiled into his eyes, let alone when he kissed her?

      His elbows resting on his thighs, Drake stared blankly ahead of him at the glass of ruby-red wine he’d left languishing on the coffee table. He clasped his hands, unclasped them, then clasped them again. In a bid to divert his restlessness he got up and strode across the room to the music centre. When the familiar mournful voice of a male singer-songwriter filled the air he found himself honing in on the lyrics that echoed his own deep-rooted yearning for happiness and peace. Both those longed-for states had been way beyond his grasp ever-since he could remember.

      Growing up in an atmosphere of tension and rage had very effectively seen to that. Even at the tender age of six Drake had intuitively understood why his mother had walked out on his father. He’d been a bitter, jealous, angry man who would have kept her under lock and key if he could. She’d had no life with him at all. Yet what Drake didn’t understand—and probably never would—was how she could have walked out on her defenceless son, leaving him with the brute she had married.

      His hands reached up to his cheeks to scrub them roughly, as if by doing so he could delete the agonising memory from his mind and heart for ever. He couldn’t, and his anguished thoughts ran on … How much resolve, faith and sheer grit had it taken for him to overcome his broken and unsupported childhood to reach the position he found himself in now? he asked himself.

      Yes, he’d reached the heights of his profession, gained money and a laudable reputation beyond his wildest dreams, yet what good was any of it if at the end of his life he was still alone without someone to share it with? He released a slow harsh breath. With despair in her voice his ex had asked him the same question, and Drake had answered angrily.

      ‘I’m not interested in marriage or having children. That’s not for me. If you want that then you should go and find someone else.’

      Well, Kirsty had taken him at his word and broken up with him that very night. Drake had heard recently through a mutual acquaintance that she was pregnant and engaged now, and he honestly wished her well. She was a nice woman, but not the soulmate he’d always secretly craved … a soulmate who would accept him for exactly who he was and not try to mould him into some imaginary ideal that she hoped he might become. What he wanted was a woman of infinite understanding with a capacity for unconditional love beyond measuring. It was a tall order.

       Was Layla that woman?

      Groaning out loud, he shook his head. How could she be when she was already probing him with uncomfortable questions about his feelings and his past? All he wanted to do was enjoy her body and her company. He wasn’t going to speculate much more beyond that. Shutting off the music, he returned to the luxuriously upholstered couch, reaching for his glass of wine and taking a long slug of the rich burgundy before his rear even touched the seat cushions.

      Had he done the right thing leaving her to her own devices in the kitchen? he wondered.

      His ensuing smile was helplessly wry. Her cooking surely couldn’t be any worse than that of the incompetent housekeeper he’d recently let go. Layla worked in a café, for goodness’ sake. She was well used to preparing food and making it look presentable. God forgive him, but he very much liked the idea of having her cook for him. In fact—despite his vow that he wouldn’t speculate on the future—he very much liked the idea of having her around full-stop …

      The shrimp stir-fry had worked out better than Layla had hoped, and she and Drake had finished every scrap. She had to admit that watching him tuck into a meal she’d prepared with such obvious relish had given her a real sense of satisfaction and pleasure—if only because her nervousness round him hadn’t caused her to make a complete hash of it.

      Immediately after they finished, she automatically stood up to clear the table, her intention to stack the dishwasher.

      ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

      Although his grey eyes glinted with amusement, Drake’s voice had a definitely irritated undertone.

      ‘I was going to rinse the bowls and stack them in the dishwasher.’

      ‘You don’t think cooking a meal was more than enough demonstration of domesticity for one evening? Granted I need a housekeeper, but unless I’ve had a serious lapse of memory I wasn’t aware that I’d given the position to you.’

      ‘It’s no big deal to clear up.’

      ‘That’s not why I invited you home with me.’

      His rough-edged tone told her exactly why he’d invited her home, and Layla couldn’t deny the same thought had been playing on her mind from the moment she’d

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