What His Money Can’t Hide

What His Money Can’t Hide by Maggie Cox Page A

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Authors: Maggie Cox
then ventured over the enticing curve of her delectable derrière.
    ‘Time’s getting on,’ she murmured. ‘Shouldn’t we go and get something to eat?’
    Reluctantly freeing her lips from the sensuous, erotic glide of Drake’s gentle and surprisingly tender response to her kiss, Layla found herself staring up at him, noting the tiny bead of sweat glistening in the indentation above his carved top lip and the beginnings of five o’clock shadow already darkening his firm lower jaw. But most of all she registered the carnal hunger his mercurialgrey eyes radiated back at her, and wondered how he’d managed to keep it at bay and kiss her with such tender restraint. If the tenor of that lovely kiss had been transformed at any point into a conflagration such as they’d ignited at the building site yesterday, she didn’t doubt that her suggestion of getting something to eat wouldn’t have been the very first suggestion she made …
    Although genuinely relieved when Drake had stipulated he didn’t expect them to share a room and that she might like to get to know him a bit better before they became more intimate, she was still breathless at his invitation to stay the night. Not just one night, but two. Funny how things worked out, she mused. When she’d been readying herself to travel up to London to pay him a spontaneous visit she’d somehow found herself packing a toothbrush and a spare pair of undies into her tote …
just in case
. She hadn’t been behaving presumptuously, she told herself, just being sensibly prepared for an eventuality such as this. It was surely the practical thing to do when all Layla had to do was glance at the man for her to crave the most lascivious attentions imaginable.
    Already it seemed that her vow to be cautious and utilise her common sense around him was seriously coming under fire
.
    ‘That sounds like a good idea. How about we go back to my place and I’ll cook us something?’
    ‘You can cook?’
    His eyes flashed with humour. ‘Don’t get your hopes up. I’m a million light years away from Cordon Bleu, but I can do basic stuff like a stir fry and spaghetti bolognaise.And if you’ve got a sweet tooth I have some artisan vanilla ice cream in the fridge.’
    ‘Then lead the way, Chef. My palate is all yours!’
    Giving him a teasing grin, Layla moved across to the chair where Drake had left her black leather tote. But before she lifted it, Drake stepped up behind her and reached for her coat.
    ‘Let me help you put this on.’
    ‘Thanks.’ She breathed in the heat from his body, along with his arresting cologne, and briefly shut her eyes tight to savour the moment.
    ‘Let’s go.’ Catching her by her shoulders to spin her round, he dropped a light kiss onto her forehead and smiled.
    It was dusk by the time Drake’s chauffeur Jimmy pulled up outside the house. Stepping out onto the pavement, Layla registered that the air was surprisingly warm as opposed to the wintry feel of yesterday, when she’d visited the building site with Drake. Her heart leapt with pleasure, because it seemed like a good omen, but her attention was quickly diverted from the balmy temperature to the arresting sight of the impressive Georgian house that loomed up before her.
    It was positioned at the end of a precisely mown lawn, with an ornate stone fountain at its centre. The building itself was a perfectly proportioned five-storeyed, elegant townhouse, with large picture windows and a subtly painted green front door that had a carved sunburst pediment above it. The Regency terrace where it was situated was surely one of the best addresses in London, she mused.
    Sensing Drake come to stand silently beside her, Layla made sure her tone was perfectly innocuous when she said, ‘So this is where you live? It’s beautiful.’
    ‘Why don’t you come in and see if the inside matches that impression?’
    Before she even stepped through the door Layla knew that it would. But what she hadn’t expected

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