The Desert Prince's Mistress (5 page)

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.

D
ARIAN’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.

‘Because?’

‘Because you haven’t got a family.’

‘How do you know that?’

Lara turned her head back to glare straight ahead into the darkness, her heart leaping with something which felt very like fear. That was a factor which hadn’t even entered her head. She hadn’t considered that he was a married man, and she didn’t want to question why the thought of that should upset her quite so much. ‘Well, if you
do
have a family, then you shouldn’t be in the habit of taking women who might jump to the wrong conclusion out to dinner!’ she said crossly.

‘And what conclusion would that be?’ he murmured.

That this was a date. Lara suddenly realised that she
wanted
it to be a date. Oh,
why
did he have to have a damned connection to Maraban—and when was she going to get around to broaching the subject?

Not yet, she told herself.

Not yet.

‘And where else wouldn’t I live?’ he asked softly, changing the subject back because she seemed to have lapsed into a thoughtful kind of silence.

Lara settled back in her seat, relieved to discover that, like all men, he wanted to talk about himself. And wasn’t that good, in the circumstances? ‘Nowhere there are lots of houses all the same,’ she said firmly. ‘And nowhere that’s fussy or predictable—the kind of place where people always do the same thing, day in, day out—you know, like catching the train at the same time every morning and washing their car before lunch on Sundays!’

Unseen, he narrowed his eyes. It was uncanny. Disturbing. How had she managed to echo the very thoughts he had had the other day?

Any minute now she would be telling him what colour boxer shorts he was wearing—Darian regretted that thought instantly, as it was met with an answering jerk of desire.

With a small sigh of something like relief, he drew into the parking lot of the restaurant and Lara peered through the window, interested to see where he had chosen. She had been so wrapped up in him that she had barely noticed where they were going, and this was an area of London she realised she didn’t know at all. Had she been half expecting him to opt for some glitzy place right in the centre of the city?

Because this was the very opposite. It was a small, unpretentious building with fairy lights strung outside, making tiny blurry rainbows through the misty autumn air, and as she opened the car door she heard the sound of music. It conjured up memories of days when money had been tight, days when people were happy to eat simply because they were hungry, and not because a restaurant was
the
place to be seen. A little sigh escaped from her lips. Nostalgia could be very powerful.

‘Where’s this?’

In the circumstances, Darian didn’t think it pertinent to tell her that it was a small, noisy, family-run Italian restaurant that he had stumbled on by chance years ago. And that, apart from the food, one of its main attributes was that he was never recognised in there by anyone remotely connected to his business life.

Jake Haddon probably took her to places where
he
wouldn’t be recognised all the time, he thought, again with that infuriating shaft of something very like jealousy.

The owner and his wife greeted him warmly, and that, too, took Lara by surprise. Had she thought that he would be aloof—one of those men who swanned into places as if they owned them? They were shown to a table in an alcove—private, yet managing to provide a good view of the rest of the restaurant. It was as if they had been saving the nicest table just for him, and that
didn’t
surprise her at all.

As they settled into their seats Lara thought that perhaps this was the best way of all of finding out what the real man was. A one-to-one dinner where she could discover as much about him as possible. It would be like taking an inventory.

‘You were miles away.’

His voice was a velvet murmur which nudged into her thoughts, and Lara blinked to find the gold eyes trained on her, piercing through her as if the light which shone from them was the precious metal itself. And for a moment she felt uncomfortable, as if what she was doing was somehow furtive. Well, when she stopped to think about it—it
was
. ‘W-was I?’

He gave a wry smile. He didn’t usually send women off into a trance! ‘Drink?’

Lara nodded. ‘Please.’

‘What?’

‘Whatever you’re having.’

He raised his eyebrows fractionally and ordered wine. ‘Shall I choose what you’re eating, too?’ he questioned sardonically.

Lara nodded, enjoying the confounded look on his face. ‘Please.’ She smiled. ‘You’ve obviously eaten here plenty of times before—I’m happy to take your recommendations.’

‘Are you always so delightfully acquiescent?’ he questioned, in a voice of silky provocation.

Lara didn’t react to the not-so-subtle implication. ‘Only in matters concerning my stomach,’ she said. ‘I’ll eat whatever is put in front of me.’

‘You don’t survive on cigarettes and black coffee, then?’

Lara shuddered. ‘You’re joking!’

He studied her. A small moonstone necklace gleamed against her pale skin, and it took a supreme effort not to be completely distracted by the soft shadows of her cleavage. She wasn’t all skin and bones, like a lot of actresses and models.

‘How come you stay so slim?’ he questioned.

‘I only eat when I’m hungry, and I walk wherever possible.’

‘Even in London?’

‘Especially in London—it’s the best way to avoid the traffic and to see the city properly!’

He ordered, waited until red wine had been poured for them, then sat back in his seat, his fingers caressing the deep bowl of the glass.

‘So.’

Lara took a mouthful of wine, needing something to help her relax, to take her mind off the fact that his mouth
had softened and she was wondering what it would be like to kiss it.

She smiled. ‘So.’

‘What shall we drink to?’ He raised his glass, his eyes questioning. ‘The new face of Wildman?’

‘Why not?’ Her heart was beating very fast as their glasses touched.

‘Soon to be emblazoned on posters all over the country,’ he mused. ‘How does that feel—knowing that your face will be everywhere?’

‘I’m not sure,’ she said slowly. ‘I’ve never done a poster campaign before.’

‘But you’ve done other kinds of advertising—television, magazines.’

‘A bit.’

‘And does it feed the ego?’

It was a mocking challenge. A faintly hostile question. ‘Not really. Actors are notoriously insecure,’ she said, taking another sip of wine. ‘Didn’t you know that?’

He shrugged. ‘That’s the theory, but if that’s the case, then it strikes me as an odd type of profession to choose.’

‘Maybe the two are inseparable. Maybe it’s
because
they’re insecure and don’t feel comfortable in their own skins that they’re able to inhabit someone else’s so easily.’

The curve of her breasts gleamed softly beneath the cream silk. ‘I can’t imagine that
you
feel uncomfortable in your own skin,’ he observed quietly. ‘When you’re so very lovely.’

Lara quickly put her glass down before he could see that her hand was shaking. The compliment warmed and yet alarmed her. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. Her body was not supposed to be tingling and glowing and basking in his approbation as a cat would contentedly lap up the warm rays of the sun. This was not a date, this was a fact-finding mission, pure and simple.

If she wasn’t careful then they would spend the whole time talking about her, or, even worse, his wretched company, and then, before she knew it, the evening would be gone and she might never have this opportunity again.

The waiter came over, and she waited until he had deposited two dishes of steaming prawns before them.

She speared one uninterestedly. ‘Anyway,’ she said brightly. ‘You know something about me, but I know absolutely nothing about you.’ Other than that your contained and watchful silence makes me feel as jumpy as a cat on a hot tin roof.

‘But I thought that all actresses were self-centred and like nothing better than to talk about themselves?’

‘It’s very insulting to continue making those sweeping statements.’ Lara narrowed her eyes. ‘Though I suspect that’s why you said it—to try and stop me asking you questions about yourself.’

The golden eyes bored into hers. ‘You’re very persistent,’ he observed.

‘I think persistence is an undervalued quality.’

His voice was cool. ‘What do you want to know?’

‘Where you were born.’ She chewed a mouthful of bread, as if she was just thinking the questions up as she went along. ‘Where you grew up.’

Darian went very still, his antennae on alert. ‘How very curious,’ he murmured. ‘Why?’

And Lara realised that she wanted to know in spite of everything, that even if she hadn’t opened that letter and needed to find out then she still would have
wanted
to find out more about Darian Wildman. He fascinated her; he was an intriguing man. But he was also a perceptive and intelligent man, and doubtless one who was used to women clamouring to know all about him. And if in the process of finding out about him she appeared like one of many,
then that was just too bad. ‘I’m interested,’ she said. ‘That’s all.’

He twirled the stem of the wine glass between his long fingers. ‘Why do women always want a history?’

‘Because we like to know what makes people tick.’

‘And men don’t?’

‘Not really. Men are more interested in the here and now—women like to discover how we got to it.’

‘Because?’

Now she spoke from the heart. ‘Because our history is what defines us all and makes us who we are.’

Darian’s senses would usually have been put on alert at the turn the conversation had taken, but he was lulled by the sudden passion in her voice, by the blue fire which sparked from those long-lashed eyes. She was thoughtful and insightful, not what he had been expecting at all, and the unexpectedness coupled with the novelty made his habitual guard slip a little.

‘My history isn’t a particularly exciting one.’

She heard the brittle note which edged his voice, and part of her wanted to back off. But she couldn’t. This wasn’t just some prurient interest, some woman on the make, chipping away at the formidable exterior to find out what had made the man beneath. This was serious stuff.

‘Isn’t that subjective?’ she queried. ‘Everyone else’s past always seems more interesting than your own—just like other people’s relationships always seem to be made in heaven. When you’re looking from the outside you don’t see all the imperfections; you just get an idea of the bigger picture.’

She was right, of course—and her reference to relationships didn’t go unnoticed, either.

‘There’s no man in your life?’ he asked suddenly.

Lara stared at him. ‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘That’s a very personal question,’ she protested, feeling her cheeks grow pink beneath the piercing scrutiny of his stare.

‘You think you have the monopoly on personal questions, do you, Lara?’

‘Of course I don’t—and the reason there’s no man in my life is simply because there isn’t.’ She threw him a challenging look. ‘I don’t need a partner to define me!’

‘How very refreshing,’ he murmured.

Lara’s fork chased a piece of rocket round the plate. ‘So, where were you born?’ she questioned casually.

‘London.’

‘Big place.’

‘Nowhere you’ve probably ever visited.’ He named one of the city’s most run-down areas and watched carefully for her response, noting the instinctive little frown which pleated her forehead. ‘You’re surprised,’ he observed.

‘Well…’ For once in her life she was lost for words. ‘I guess I am, a little.’