What His Money Can’t Hide

by Maggie Cox

  For the first time in years he’d discovered the true value of confiding in someone he trusted. But the most important thing that he’d learned from their heart-rending conversation was that the belief he’d had about having to deserve love was completely wrong. As a child, it had been his fundamental right to be taken care of, Layla had told him. He hadn’t been denied love because he was ‘bad’. It was just that his parents had been incapable of taking proper care of him, and how could that be his fault?

  Talking about what had happened was already alleviating some of the fearful beliefs that had crippled him for too long. Consequently, with his ravishing dark-haired lover warmly enfolded in his arms, for the first time ever Drake slept the deep dreamless sleep of a man whose resentment and fear of the past was blessedly absent.

  That night no dark or agonising dreams came to haunt him, and he felt like the most privileged and blessed man in the world when he woke to the joyful sound of birds singing the next morning and witnessed the sun beaming through the windows to herald a bright new day. If he didn’t pride himself on being an innately logical man he might have said it was a very good omen. An omen that meant psychologically he’d turned an important corner.

  Logical or not, he had the strongest urge to share his reflections with Layla. A jolt of panic knifed through him when he saw she wasn’t there. Sitting bolt upright, Drake touched the sheet where her body had lain in sleep. It was still beguilingly warm. Where was she? Taking a shower?

  He leapt out of bed and threw open the en-suite bathroom door to check. The moist shampoo-scented air in the marbled bathroom told him that she had indeed taken a shower, but had clearly moved on somewhere else. Returning to the bedroom, he pulled on a pair of clean silk boxers and dragged on his jeans. Barefoot and bare-chested, he hurried downstairs to the kitchen, calling out her name as he went.

  ‘I’m in here,’ she called back, and when Drake planted himself in the kitchen doorway she turned to him with a smile so beautiful and beguiling that he clean forgot what he’d been going to say to her.

  He swallowed hard and cleared his throat, ‘You’re wearing my shirt again,’ he observed, helplessly aroused at the sight of her long bare legs and the provocative outline of her panties, tantalisingly visible through the pristine white cotton.

  ‘Do you mind?’ Chewing down on her lip, she smoothed her still damp hair away from her face. ‘I just grabbed something to put on after my shower so I could come downstairs and make us some coffee.’

  ‘You can wear whatever you like that belongs to me.’ Moving towards her, he grinned. ‘Although I’d prefer it if you wore nothing at all.’

  ‘That’s not a terribly good idea when I’m boiling water.’

  ‘Are you always so cautious?’ Sliding his hands round her waist, Drake let his hungry gaze drink her in as if she was the finest wine he’d ever sampled. But even the most full-bodied Cabernet Sauvignon or French Bordeaux didn’t have the power to heat his blood like Layla did.

  ‘Sometimes not cautious enough,’ she murmured, flattening her palms against his chest as if to stop him from getting any closer.

  ‘Why? Don’t you trust me?’

  She lifted an amused dark eyebrow. ‘Not when you come down to the kitchen looking like you’ve got lascivious intentions in mind rather than wanting to enjoy a cup of my expertly made coffee.’

  ‘Can’t I have lascivious intentions and enjoy your expertly made coffee as well?’

  ‘I’m sure you can. But my own intentions are to make some toast, because I’m at my hungriest in the morning. By the way, did you sleep all right last night? You certainly looked peaceful when I woke up this morning and saw you. That’s why I decided to let you sleep on for a bit.’

  His mouth quirked with a wry smile, ‘I slept like I’d been pleasantly drugged. I can’t recall having even a single dream.’

  ‘So … there were no nightmares?’

  ‘None.’ Drake tenderly threaded his fingers through her long damp hair. ‘See what a positive effect you have on me, Ms Jerome?’

  ‘I aim to please.’

  ‘Do you indeed?’

  A self-conscious tinge of scarlet coloured her cheeks. ‘Seriously, though, I’m so glad you slept better. I hope it becomes a regular feature … the start of a much more relaxed and enjoyable phase of your life. You deserve it, Drake. By the way—I’ve got one more question to ask you.’

  ‘What’s that?’ A wave of pleasure had rolled through him at her kindness, her genuinely unselfish hopes for his future, but he had a brief moment of trepidation wondering what she might be going to ask him.

  ‘Do you have any marmalade? It’s just that it’s my favourite thing to have on toast in the morning.’

  His relief that her question wasn’t more taxing knew no bounds. With a chuckle, he affectionately pinched the end of her nose. ‘Baby I’ve got whatever your heart desires.’

  Unable to resist impelling her against his chest, Drake felt the blood in his veins thrum hotly at the delicious sensory pleasure of her soft feminine curves next to his harder masculine body.

  The big long-lashed dark eyes that he’d been so mesmerised by when he’d seen Layla for the very first time widened to saucers. ‘That’s a very beguiling claim, but luckily for you all I want right now is some marmalade.’

  ‘Is that really all you want?’ He slid his hand all the way down her slim back to rest it on her peach-shaped derrière, then pressed her against him so that she could be in no doubt about how much he wanted her. He was so aroused it was painful.

  ‘You don’t play fair,’ she chastised, wagging her finger schoolmistress-like at him, her voice completely devoid of sympathy. ‘As tempting as you are … as needy as you are … I’m afraid I’m going to have to exercise some of that bull-headedness you once accused me of because before I contemplate anything else I really need my breakfast.’

  Before he could stop her she’d wriggled out of his arms and headed for the bread-bin atop the kitchen counter. He knew it contained the brown seeded loaf that he’d bought at the deli along with their croissants yesterday. Sighing, he realised he would manfully have to subdue his desire—at least until she’d had her breakfast. Clearly there was no stopping the woman when her mind was set on something. His feelings were a provoking mix of frustration and affection.

  ‘I’d be a poor host indeed if I didn’t let you eat.’ He smiled and, moving across to the large American-style fridge, extracted an unopened pot of marmalade. ‘Why don’t you make the coffee and let me do the toast?’ he suggested. ‘After that we’ll—’

  ‘Go back to bed?’ Layla’s chocolate-brown eyes met his with an unwavering amused stare that made Drake’s heart miss a beat.

  ‘My thoughts exactly,’ he agreed huskily.

  It was hard for Layla to accept that their time together was coming to an end. Having already explained that he probably wouldn’t be able to see her this week, due to his colossal workload—not least of all their town’s pressing and much needed regeneration—Drake had definitely looked unhappy when he’d told her. Telling herself she’d just have to accept his absence and pray that the following week might yield a greater possibility of them seeing each other again, Layla fell silent as he drove them home, not trusting herself in case she broke down and confessed that she loved him.

  Why did the prospect of saying goodbye to him this evening feel like a death sentence? she wondered miserably. They’d had such a wonderful day together—laughing and talking and making love till they were breathless and sated, then somehow finding the energy to go down to the kitchen and make themselves something to eat. It didn’t seem right that they should be parted for even an hour, let alone a whole week!

  ‘Before I drop you home I’d like to show you something.’ Drake’s handsome carved profile was disconcertingly serious as he stared out through the windscreen, making the necessary turn that would take them out of the near deserted high street.

  The only occupants in evidence wer
e a couple of local teenagers leaning against a galvanised steel grille shop-front, smoking. Compared to the wealthy and elite part of the capital she and Drake had just come from, the shabby provincial town seemed even more rundown and drab than it usually did.

  ‘Show me what?’ Layla asked, unable to suppress the feeling of inexplicable apprehension that coiled in the pit of her stomach.

  ‘The house where I grew up.’

  He spared her a brief unreadable glance just as she registered that they were approaching the small shabby side-street whose abandoned terraced houses he planned to tear down and replace with modern ones. The house he drew up outside was a dismal grey terrace with all the windows shattered and broken and a large ‘Keep Out’ sign emblazoned across the dingy charcoal-grey front door. The stone steps that led to the once fashionable arched brick entrance were covered in litter and broken beer bottles, she saw. No doubt some of the population of jobless teenagers and youths hung out there, she thought.

  Unsure about what to say, she laid her hand across Drake’s, not moving it even when she sensed him flinch uncomfortably.

  Now that she knew something of his unhappy past, she hoped visiting the street wouldn’t bombard him with tormenting memories. It wasn’t hard to imagine what he must be thinking, and no doubt that was why he was so determined to demolish the houses rather than have them renovated. Did he hope that when the houses were smashed to smithereens it would likewise crush the hurtful nightmares of his past? Last night she’d been so encouraged when he’d been able to turn out the light and sleep more easily, and she didn’t doubt that trend would continue if only he could realise he wasn’t to blame for what had happened to him as a child … that he’d always deserved to be loved just as much as anyone else did.

  ‘It’s funny,’ he murmured, ‘but it looks so much smaller and insignificant than it did when I was a child. If my dad was still alive I bet he’d look smaller and insignificant too.’

  ‘If the thought helps you no longer see him as an ogre, and you can start to put your disturbing memories of him to bed, then I’m glad you think that. But I’m sure that if he could see you now and learn what a successful and wealthy man you’ve become—through all your own efforts too—he would be proud … even if he couldn’t bring himself to show it.’

  A muscle flinched in the side of Drake’s lean, carved cheekbone, conveying the undoubted tension in his body. ‘The old bastard was too mean to be proud of anyone or anything … especially his son. He was totally self-obsessed. But thanks for the thought just the same.’

  Grimacing, Layla didn’t shy away from the bitterness and sorrow she heard in his tone and lapse into silence. Instead an even stronger determination to stay as positive as possible and not collude with his misery arose inside her. ‘You know if it was renovated along with all the others in the street this house could potentially be very nice. Was it in such a sorry state as it is now when you lived here with your dad?’ she asked.

  Sighing heavily, Drake shook his head. ‘It was always rundown, but not as bad as it is now, thank God. As I got older I used to try and keep it free from litter at least. And the windows never got broken because it was my job to clean them. I didn’t dare risk kicking a football around outside and potentially ruining all my hard work. Even then I longed for my surroundings to be beautiful.’

  Helplessly picturing the small boy who’d taken on the household jobs his father should have assumed, in a bid to maintain some sort of pleasing exterior to what must have been his desperately unhappy interior life, Layla grimaced again. ‘Has it helped you coming back here to see it again?’ she asked softly.

  ‘Who knows?’ The expression in his haunting grey eyes was far away for a moment. ‘Only time will tell. The point is I didn’t want to hide anything from you—that’s why I brought you here. I wanted you to see for yourself the house and the environment I grew up in. I wanted to be truthful and show you exactly where I came from … who I really am.’

  ‘I feel privileged that you trust me enough to show me, Drake. But who you really are isn’t defined by your past, you know. You can write a new script every day … every moment, in fact. It didn’t happen overnight, but recently I’ve come to realise that myself. Thinking about how my boss ripped me off just keeps me stuck in the same miserable, unhappy story. It doesn’t help me move on and enjoy my life, and just because we’ve been hurt by someone in the past it doesn’t mean that everyone we meet in the future is going to hurt us.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right.’ Drake’s steady glance was deeply thoughtful for a moment. ‘I’ve got something I want to tell you before I take you home.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I’m not going to have the houses demolished after all. I’m going to have them renovated, as you suggested.’

  Layla was speechless. Then, as hope and elation poured through her at the same time, she smiled at Drake and said, ‘You are? What changed your mind?’

  ‘You did, Layla. You made me see things differently. I’ve begun to wonder if this regeneration of the town isn’t a good opportunity for me to bury the ghosts of the past and start over. I have the means and the know how to help others who live here have a better and more beautiful environment that might inspire them to do something good with their lives instead of feeling hopeless, and that’s exactly what I plan to do. I’m also going to turn my old house into that youth club you suggested the town needs.’

  ‘You mean it?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘I can hardly believe it,’ Sighing, Layla slowly shook her head in wonder. ‘I’m so proud of you, Drake … so proud. I don’t doubt that given time you’re going to make a huge difference to people’s lives with all you plan to do here.’

  ‘Talking of time—I ought to get you home.’

  Lifting her hand in a gentlemanly gesture that might have come straight out of a Regency novel, he brushed his lips against her fingers with almost polite restraint. Even then Layla realised the heat between them was but a mere breath away, and could be ignited by one unguarded glance, let alone a touch. Breathing out slowly, she somehow found a smile—no easy task when she knew they would soon have to say goodbye to each other. She honestly wondered how she would survive the next few days without seeing him.

  As if the same realisation had suddenly occurred to him, Drake clenched his jaw and gunned the engine. But as the car sped along the dark shabby streets Layla believed that he would indeed put the ghosts of his troubled past behind him and truly start afresh. He’d told her she had helped him see things differently. Did that include her assertion that he could write a new script for his life? Whether the idea would help him reflect on the possibility of a brighter future with her, she could only hope and pray …

  ‘It’s the house on the right-hand side.’

  ‘You mean the large Victorian?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  Driving through the well-kept streets on the much more affluent side of town, Drake felt the pit of his stomach churn helplessly. From her description of where she lived, he’d already guessed that Layla’s upbringing had been a million miles away from his own. Without even hearing her address he only had to remember the kindness of her father who’d run the newsagents to know that she’d been well taken care of. There was also the brother who adored her … the brother who was determined to make a currently unprofitable coffee house a roaring success, and had given her a job when her sleazebag employer had swindled her out of her savings. Who wouldn’t be envious of having a sibling like that to rely on?

  After spending such an unbelievably joyous weekend with Layla, he hated the insecurity that suddenly seized him. The prospect of not seeing her again for an entire week didn’t help. Following her out of the car, Drake struggled hard to win back his equilibrium.

  ‘Will you come in and have a coffee with me before you head back to London?’ she asked him, her tone hinting at her uncertainty that he might not.

  ‘That would be great.’ D
eterminedly finding a reassuring smile, he reached for her hand. Didn’t she know that the prospect of spending a little more time with her made him feel as wildly happy as a prisoner on death row who’d been given an unbelievable last minute reprieve?

  As they climbed the steps to the impressive porch of the house the scarlet front door opened from the inside and Marc, Layla’s tousle-headed brother, appeared to greet them.

  ‘The wanderer returns.’ He immediately stepped forward to envelop his sister in a hard warm hug, and Drake had no choice but to let go of her hand. The cold stab of jealousy that slashed through his insides at being forced to relinquish her even for a moment almost made him feel physically sick it was so strong.

  ‘Are you okay?’ The other man wore a frown as he held Layla at arm’s length to examine her. ‘I tried God only knows how many times over the weekend to reach you, but you’d obviously turned off your phone.’ He glanced warily at Drake over her shoulder. ‘I tried your mobile as well, but that was turned off too. Anyone would think the two of you had disappeared off the planet!’

  Drake’s gaze tumbled helplessly into Layla’s and their eyes exchanged a very private signal of mutual understanding. ‘We stayed on the planet, but I don’t deny we shut out the world for a couple of days,’ he drawled, low-voiced.

  ‘I was perfectly fine, Marc,’ Layla cut in quickly. ‘You know I’m quite capable of taking care of myself, so there was absolutely no need for you to worry. Now, I’m going upstairs to my flat to make Drake and me a cup of coffee. Do you want to join us?’