The Redemption of Darius Sterne

by Carole Mortimer

  He eyed her irritably. ‘I don’t consider all of the evening to have been a disaster.’

  Andy pretended to give the idea some thought, hoping that in the dimly lit interior of the car Darius couldn’t see the blush in her cheeks that revealed that she knew exactly which part of the evening he was referring to. ‘Well, no,’ she finally conceded. ‘For instance, I very much enjoyed finally meeting your brother.’

  Darius scowled. ‘I’m not sure I didn’t prefer you before you discovered your sense of humour.’

  The past four years had been a bit grim, Andy acknowledged ruefully, so maybe she had lost her sense of humour along the way too?

  If that was the case she had certainly rediscovered it this evening. Necessarily so. It was either laugh or curl up in a ball and feel sorry for herself, and she had no intentions of doing that; her days of self-pity had been over long ago.

  ‘Oh, that remark had nothing to do with humour, Darius; Xander is extremely handsome, and he was very charming after dinner.’

  ‘As opposed to...?’

  ‘Xander is extremely handsome and charming,’ she repeated dryly.

  He scowled. ‘Xander was far from in a charming mood when he arrived at the hotel this evening.’

  ‘Something had obviously upset him, but he got over it.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  Andy shrugged. ‘The mood was unusual rather than the norm.’

  ‘Unlike some people you could mention?’

  She gave him an innocent glance. ‘I repeat, I found him extremely handsome and charming.’

  Darius felt his lips twitch as he tried to control the smile threatening and failed utterly. ‘You really are determined to shatter my ego.’ He chuckled.

  ‘I believe a little humility to be a great leveller,’ she added pertly.

  Darius felt his admiration and liking for this woman grow. Miranda was only twenty-three, and she had already been through so much. She had lost both her parents at only eighteen, and then suffered through the worst disappointment of her life, when her career in ballet came to such a tragic and abrupt end just months later.

  But Miranda had survived. She was a survivor, carving out another career for herself, and now he also learnt that she could laugh at herself, and him, even in the midst of the type of adversity she had suffered through this evening.

  ‘Have lunch with me tomorrow?’ he asked without giving himself time to consider the wisdom of the invitation.

  He had no doubts that Miranda was slowly but surely burrowing not just beneath his natural reserve, but also past the barrier he had kept about his emotions for so many years. Tonight he had realised that he not only felt desire for Miranda, but also protectiveness. He didn’t want to see Miranda hurt by the actions of others, like Tia Bellamy who’d slighted her deliberately, his mother less so, but she had still upset her nonetheless. And Darius hadn’t liked seeing Miranda unhappy. At all.

  The smile slowly fading from her lips and the warmth from her eyes, she looked across at him searchingly, the interior of the car illuminated from the street lamp outside. ‘Why?’ she finally enquired warily.

  There was no hesitation in Darius’s laughter this time as he chuckled throatily. ‘Maybe I would just like to take you out to lunch.’

  ‘But it’s Sunday.’

  ‘And?’

  She shrugged. ‘Sunday is a day to spend with family, eating roast lunch, before lounging around watching an old movie together on TV in the afternoon, stuff like that.’

  ‘Is that what you’re doing tomorrow?’

  ‘Well, no,’ she answered slowly. ‘But that’s only because it’s Kim and Colin’s turn to spend the day with Colin’s parents.’

  Darius nodded. ‘It all sounds idyllic, but to my knowledge my own mother has never cooked a Sunday roast for her family in her life, nor have we ever all lounged around watching an old movie on the television together on a Sunday afternoon.’

  Before her parents died, and when her school and ballet schedule had allowed, Andy had always gone home on a Sunday to spend time with her family. And when she had it had usually involved helping her mother to cook the family meal, before they all overate and then watched a really old film on the television together.

  Darius was a billionaire, could buy whatever he wanted, no doubt employed a housekeeper or cook to take care of him—or both!—and he could also eat in the most expensive restaurants all over the world, but he had never enjoyed anything so simple as a Sunday lunch cooked and eaten at home with his family, before spending the day together?

  ‘I really don’t want to go out to lunch, but if you would care to come round to my apartment at about twelve-thirty tomorrow, then you’ll be in time to join me for lunch. No blackmail involved in the invitation,’ she added dryly.

  And then berated herself for having made the invitation at all. Okay, so this evening had been awful enough to be considered funny, but there was no escaping the fact that Darius had also kissed and touched and caressed her, more intimately than any other man had ever done.

  Or that by inviting him to her apartment tomorrow, for any reason, she was simply asking for a repeat of the same. Literally inviting a repeat of the same.

  ‘Your brother-in-law’s job is safe, Miranda,’ Darius answered her abruptly. ‘Turns out he’s the best IT guy Midas Enterprises employs anywhere.’

  She eyed him derisively. ‘The invitation to Sunday lunch still stands.’

  Darius looked irritated. ‘You aren’t my mother, Miranda!’

  Her eyes widened at the ludicrousness of that statement, given the circumstances. ‘I think we’re both only too well aware of that,’ she answered tartly.

  ‘And I assure you, I don’t feel in the least deprived because my mother has never cooked me a roast meal for Sunday lunch.’

  Of course he didn’t. He was Darius Sterne, billionaire businessman and successful entrepreneur. A man who owned homes in several capital cities around the world. A man who owned his own private jet. The same man who had paid thousands of pounds for two tickets so that they could attend a charity dinner this evening. What had Andy been thinking of, inviting him to her apartment, for a home-cooked Sunday lunch?

  She sighed. ‘Fine, I was only being polite anyway, by returning your own invitation.’

  ‘But without the blackmail,’ he reminded her dryly.

  ‘Just forget I asked.’

  ‘Now I’ve offended you.’

  ‘I don’t offend that easily.’

  ‘Lunch at your apartment sounds...’

  ‘Boring. Mundane.’ She nodded. ‘As I said, just forget I asked.’

  ‘No, actually it sounds...’ Darius paused with a frown, uncertain how to proceed.

  Going to Miranda’s apartment, eating a lunch that she had cooked and prepared, actually sounded rather nice. And very intimate. In a way that Darius usually avoided where women were concerned. Not that any of the models or society heiresses he had briefly dated in the past had ever suggested cooking a meal for him, but even so.

  ‘It sounds good. Thank you,’ he added abruptly. ‘I’ll bring the wine, shall I?’

  Andy eyed him ruefully, seriously wondering if Darius had ever eaten a meal cooked in a woman’s apartment by her, for him, let alone made the polite offer to bring the wine to accompany that meal.

  And, no, she accepted that couldn’t be described as deprived, exactly, but it was more normal behaviour, surely, than eating meals either cooked by your own personal cook or housekeeper, or out in exclusive restaurants or hotels?

  Maybe being a billionaire had its drawbacks, after all?

  Oh, she didn’t doubt that it must be wonderful not to have any money worries, ever, but what about missing out on some of the simple things in life? Such as family meals and time together? Walks in the
bluebell woods? Or just sitting in companionable silence with someone reading a book? Surely all that money put Darius above enjoying such everyday things?

  Or maybe it was just a case of what you’d never had you’d never think to miss? In the same way that Andy had never had money, so didn’t miss it, Darius had been born into a wealthy family, old money, and he and his brother had only increased that wealth a thousandfold, and so ensuring that he never lived any other way.

  In which case, lunch in her rustic and open loft apartment was going to be a novel experience for him.

  ‘A bottle of red will be great,’ she accepted, having just decided that she would cook roast beef with all the trimmings; if she was going to do this, then she might as well do it properly. ‘And it’s informal,’ she added firmly.

  So far in their acquaintance she had only ever seen Darius in formal clothes, such as tailored suits, or the tailored dinner suit he was wearing this evening. How good would he look in a pair of well-worn figure-hugging jeans, resting low down on the leanness of his hips, and a tight T-shirt moulded to his muscular shoulders and chest, the darkness of his overlong hair sexily tousled onto his brow?

  Just the thought of it was enough to cause her to quiver in anticipation.

  And those sorts of thoughts were going to get her into even more trouble where this man was concerned. More than she already was? Oh, yes.

  She straightened in her seat. ‘Could we head back to my apartment now? It’s been a long and eventful evening.’

  Darius continued to study Miranda’s face for several long seconds, noting the attractive flush to her cheeks, the brightness of those green eyes, the pouting fullness of her lips. He wanted nothing more than to kiss that fullness again, to taste Miranda, to touch her, as he had kissed and touched her earlier.

  It took every effort of will on his part to instead settle back in his seat and turn the car key in the ignition. He deliberately didn’t look at Miranda again as they drove the rest of the way to her apartment in silence.

  Still, he was completely aware of everything about her. Of the warmth of her body, so close to his own in the confines of the car. Of the perfume he was learning to associate with Miranda, something floral and slightly exotic. The way the silence between them now felt companionable rather than uncomfortable.

  Intimate.

  There was that word again.

  And this thing between himself and Miranda, whatever it was, was definitely becoming too intimate for comfort.

  His comfort.

  * * *

  It was a physical discomfort, at least, that returned the moment Darius arrived at Miranda’s apartment the following day, and she opened the door to him wearing skinny jeans, and an over-large green T-shirt that revealed the tantalising outline of her breasts. She’d tied her ash-blonde hair in a ponytail, and her face was completely bare of make-up. Her feet were bare too.

  Her completely natural and unaffected beauty left him momentarily speechless.

  The last thing Darius had wanted, after he had spent a restless night unable to sleep, and then most of the morning considering picking up the telephone and calling Miranda to cancel their lunch. The only thing that had stopped him from making that call was that he had a feeling Miranda would have seen his excuse for exactly what it was: a deliberate effort on his part to distance himself from her.

  Because she was getting too close.

  Dangerously so.

  And he wanted her to be even closer.

  He wanted Miranda close enough that he knew everything there was to know about her. What her favourite food was. Her favourite colour. Her taste in films and books. Who her friends were. What her ambitions were for her dance studio. What else she wanted for her future.

  What she looked for in a lover. He especially wanted to discover that.

  As he wanted Miranda to know those same things about him. Funny, he had never before wanted any of those things with any woman.

  But one look at Miranda now and he felt sure he should have listened to his head and cancelled this lunch.

  She tilted her head and eyed him quizzically as she opened the door wider, her ponytail falling across one shoulder. ‘It isn’t too late to change your mind.’

  Darius gave her an irritated scowl; were his mood and thoughts really so readable to this woman? Probably—he’d never been good at concealing his emotions, which was why he tried his best to avoid engaging them in the first place.

  ‘Darius?’ she asked. ‘Are you coming in or would you rather just continue to stand out there on the stairs? You may find it uncomfortable to eat your lunch, but it’s your choice.’

  It wasn’t only the challenge she presented, or the mouth-watering smell of lunch cooking coming from inside the apartment, that caused Darius to abruptly hand her the bottle of wine as he stepped inside, but also the curiosity he felt to see Miranda’s space. She’d insisted he left her at the door last night and now he wanted to see for himself what type of home she had made for herself.

  The interior was a complete open loft space the same floor size as the ballet school below, the walls were of exposed brickwork and dark wooden beams bisected the ceiling above. The space itself was divided into zones, with a rustic kitchen in one corner, a table and chairs already set for eating on the other side of the island unit. The sofa and chairs beside the fireplace were comfortable rather than modern, and the floor was covered in colourful rugs. The colours were all earth tones: terracotta, yellows, greens, with touches of russet.

  There were several Degas ballet prints hanging on the exposed brickwork, with that open fireplace at one end of the massive room, and half a dozen steps led up to a smaller mezzanine level, which, Darius presumed, encompassed the sleeping area and bathroom.

  It was the complete opposite to the ultra-modern apartments he owned, in several capitals of the world, including London. His places had all been furnished and decorated by fashionably exclusive interior designers.

  In contrast to their cool sterility, Miranda’s apartment was warmly comfortable, and extremely welcoming.

  It was just the sort of space, a place of calm and tranquillity, where it would be possible to totally relax, away from the rush and bustle of the world beyond these four walls.

  Andy had absolutely no idea what thoughts were going through Darius’s mind as he looked about her apartment, his expression non-committal.

  She only hoped that her own expression was just as unreadable to him!

  Her fantasy of a dressed-down Darius didn’t do justice to the man now standing before her. His faded jeans showed off the perfection of his taut backside and the long lean length of his legs. A black short-sleeved T-shirt revealed the muscled length of his arms, and stretched over wide shoulders, muscled chest and flat stomach. The darkness of his overlong hair was deliciously tousled, as if he might have showered and washed it just before leaving home, leaving it to dry naturally on the drive over here.

  He looked completely male and completely gorgeous.

  Breathtakingly so.

  Knee-tremblingly so.

  Andy had spent several hours debating what she should wear today, almost every item of clothing she possessed having ended up discarded on the bed as she vetoed one outfit after another. She had finally settled on her usual Sunday clothes, of comfortable jeans and an over-large T-shirt, hoping the familiarity would help her to get through the next few hours in Darius’s company.

  Although, from the way Darius had looked at her when he’d arrived, she had been wasting her time, and comfort was the last thing he saw when he looked at her.

  ‘Would you like to open the bottle of wine and let it breathe for a few minutes while I put the finishing touches to lunch?’ Andy’s gaze was lowered as she placed the bottle and opener on top of the breakfast bar before turning her back as she diligently stirred
the gravy in a saucepan on top of the hob.

  This had been a bad idea, she chastised herself for what had to be the hundredth time since making the invitation the previous evening. She was totally aware of Darius standing a short distance away as he, no doubt deftly, took the cork from the bottle of wine.

  She had gone out shopping for food as soon as the shops had opened this morning, half hoping Darius would have left a message on the answer-machine when she got back, cancelling joining her for lunch. No such luck, and when it had reached midday, with still no word from him, Andy had decided to accept the inevitable: she would have to get through several hours of having Darius in her apartment today, while the two of them ate lunch together.

  But that was all they were going to do. There would be no lounging around together afterwards, no sitting cosily on the sofa and watching a film on the television, or any of that other relaxing—but with Darius, dangerous—Sunday stuff.

  ‘This is nice.’

  Andy’s hand shook slightly as she stirred the gravy, with Darius standing so close to her the warmth of his breath brushed against the back of her neck. ‘It’s home,’ she dismissed without turning.

  ‘I wasn’t referring to your apartment,’ he said softly.

  Oh, heavens.

  This really had been a bad idea.

  Probably the worst idea she had ever had in her life.

  Andy drew in a sharp breath before turning to face him, her heart pounding in her chest as she looked up and found herself instantly captivated by his eyes. As the cologne he wore—that smell of lemons with an underlying spice—wound itself insidiously about her senses.

  She swallowed before speaking, so aware that time seemed to have stopped. One of them had to break the tension of the moment. ‘Would you like to carve the beef at the table or shall I do it now and put it on the plates?’ She tried to sound normal, but her voice sounded unusually husky in the tense silence wrapping itself tightly about the two of them.

  Darius watched Miranda’s mouth as she spoke, once again mesmerised by the fullness of her lips. They were beautifully curved, completely bare of lip gloss, and he ached to kiss them until they were a full and swollen pout.