The Desert Prince's Mistress

by Sharon Kendrick

  ‘Drink?’ asked Jake.

  ‘I’m driving.’

  ‘Something soft, then?’

  Darian forced himself to be pleasant, though he most decidedly did not feel it. In fact, he was feeling at a distinct disadvantage—a situation which was both novel and unwelcome.

  ‘No, thanks. I’ll just wait for Lara,’ he said, and summoned up a brusque smile from somewhere.

  ‘I’d better go and hurry her up, then.’

  Darian nodded and watched the actor as he disappeared out of the room with a familiar loping stride. Funny, he thought, how celluloid could make you feel you knew someone—the way they walked and the way they spoke.

  There was a tap on the bedroom door. ‘Lara?’

  Lara looked up. ‘Oh, Jake! Come in! Do I look okay?’

  ‘You look gorgeous, darling—but why go to so much trouble to date a man with a face like thunder?’

  ‘Is he cross?’ she asked, and flicked a glance at her watch. ‘I don’t see why—I’m only a couple of minutes late!’

  Jake shrugged. ‘It might be me—you know the effect I have on boyfriends.’

  This was true. ‘He isn’t a boyfriend,’ she protested unconvincingly, and then stared at herself in the mirror. She had chosen a cream silk dress with hundreds of tiny little buttons down the front, worn with black knee-length boots. ‘Do I look as though I’ve gone to a lot of trouble?’ she moaned.

  ‘As if you’ve tried on a hundred dresses and then a hundred more? Stop frowning, darling—I’m only teasing—and run along and greet him. I think I’ll go and hide in my room in case he decides to take a pop at me!’

  Lara’s fingers were trembling as she picked up her bag, and her heart was crashing against her chest as she walked into the sitting room to see Darian Wildman studying all her books in the manner of a detective on the lookout for pornographic literature!

  He must have heard her, for he turned round as she walked in and she couldn’t mistake the inky dilation of his eyes as he saw her. She wondered whether her eyes were doing exactly the same thing, because the sight of him made her knees go weak.

  He looked all predator again—the cool and uncluttered clothes doing absolutely nothing to detract from his potent masculinity. His tawny skin gleamed as though it was lit from within and the golden eyes seemed to look at her too long and too hard. Too everything, really, because when he stared at her like that it was difficult to remember that this was not a normal man and this was not a normal evening.

  ‘Hello, Darian,’ she said, in a voice which sounded surprisingly calm.

  Darian sucked in a breath because she looked utterly…not quite beautiful, because the term implied a set of criteria which needed to be filled and her looks were much too distinctive for that. But she had a definite head-turning quality which was difficult to define. Gorgeous, yes. And sexy, too—in a simple little cream dress which fitted her much too well and high-heeled black boots that made his gaze want to linger on her legs for ever.

  Distracted, he broke a lifetime’s rule and spoke without thinking of the consequences. ‘You didn’t tell me you lived with Jake Haddon!’ he accused silkily.

  And a very good evening to you, too! thought Lara. ‘Why on earth should I have done? And, anyway, I don’t live with him—I share a flat with him!’

  Darian had been unaware that he was holding his breath until it was expelled in a long, low rush. Well, that told him something! When a woman said she shared a flat, it usually meant that she wasn’t sharing a bed. He looked around the room and then back into her eyes. ‘Lucky you,’ he said softly.

  ‘Or lucky him?’ she countered sweetly.

  ‘I should think that ninety-nine per cent of the female population would give anything to trade places with you.’

  ‘Which presumably is why I’m sharing a flat with him—since I’m in that incomprehensible one per cent to whom it doesn’t really matter that he’s a handsome film star—just that he’s a very nice person!’

  Jealousy was not an emotion that Darian was used to feeling, and he was not enjoying it. With an effort, he glanced around the room, reluctantly acknowledging its style and taste. ‘Pretty nice place he’s got!’

  It was with indignation that Lara opened her mouth to demand how he dared jump to that conclusion—even though it was the obvious one to reach. But to do that would be to tell him that the apartment belonged, in fact, to her—and then she would also feel duty-bound to explain why, and risk arousing his curiosity.

  He seemed such a judgemental man that he would probably conclude that she was running an escort agency—or something equally wicked!

  ‘Yes, it’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ she agreed conversationally, because this really was straying into dangerous waters.

  The apartment had been given to her by Khalim, after his wedding to Rose. He had been concerned for Lara’s welfare, unwilling to see her living in a crummy little place after he whisked her best friend and flatmate off to live in Maraban.

  He had handed her a ribbon-tied envelope before he and Rose had flown off for their honeymoon and Lara had waited until they had gone before she opened it.

  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.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  DARIAN’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.’