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Had she thou
ght that he would be accompanying them to Tower Bridge and the Mall and Leadenhall Market and the other places which had been carefully chosen each to reflect a different mood of London life?
But perhaps this was best—he was a distracting man in anyone’s book.
Lara channelled all her frustration into getting exactly the poses which the photographer demanded, and tried not to think about whether she would see him again, and where she went from here if she did not.
It was dark by the time she arrived back at the apartment and Jake was at home, all dandied up in a stunning black dinner jacket, swearing softly as he attempted to subdue his bow-tie.
‘Do this for me, would you, Lara?’
She put her bag down, knotted the black silk into a neat bow, and stood back. ‘How’s that?’
‘Perfect.’ He made another small, unnecessary adjustment. ‘Someone rang for you,’ he said casually as she flopped onto the sofa with a heavy sigh.
‘Oh?’
‘A man.’
‘Oh, again,’ said Lara uninterestedly. But something about the amused curiosity in his voice made her sit up. ‘Did he leave a message?’
‘He did.’
‘Jake—stop playing games! Who was it and what did he say?’
Jake enunciated his words carefully. ‘His name is Darian Wildman and he says he’ll call you tomorrow.’
CHAPTER FOUR
WHY was it, Lara wondered, that whenever you wanted someone to telephone you, they didn’t—and the opposite was always true?
And why had he rung at all? Had he already seen the finished photos and decided he didn’t like them?
Making up her mind that there was no point wasting time wondering what he wanted until she actually heard from him, Lara spent a frustrating morning deliberately doing much-needed chores around the flat—which would give her a legitimate excuse to stay in while not looking as though she was deliberately hanging around waiting for Darian Wildman to ring.
He didn’t.
By nine o’clock that evening she was feeling pent-up, frustrated and angry with herself, telling herself that it shouldn’t matter. Of course it shouldn’t. But Jake had gone to stay with his parents, so she couldn’t even drag him out for a pizza, and it was too late to ring anyone else. Instead she had a long, scented bath, taking care to leave the bathroom door open just in case the phone rang. And of course it did, just as she was up to her neck in jasmine-scented bubbles.
Leave it on the machine, she told herself sternly. If he really wants to speak to you he’ll ring back.
But she found herself clambering out of the bath, dripping water all over the bathroom floor, and depising herself for doing so.
‘Hello?’
‘Lara? It’s Darian.’
She knew that; he had one of those voices which, once heard, was never forgotten. Briefly she wondered whether to play the game a little and say, Darian who? but decided against it. A man like that would be used to the pointless little games that some women played, and he would like her no better for it.
‘Hello,’ she said.
‘I haven’t disturbed you?’
There were games and there were games, and half-truths were sometimes necessary—especially if you wanted to avoid looking like a fool.
‘Not really.’ She watched the water running down her bare legs to form a small puddle on the bathroom floor. ‘I was just…relaxing.’ Which didn’t have even a grain of truth to it, because she had never felt less relaxed in her life. And there seemed something slightly decadent about talking to him while she was naked, so she injected a brisk and professional note into her voice. ‘What can I do for you, Darian? Have you seen the photos yet?’
‘That’s what I’ve just been doing.’ He allowed himself a brief half-smile. It seemed that his instincts had not failed him—because Lara looked nothing short of sensational. Some of London’s most stunning backdrops emphasised her bewitching looks as she stood holding a variety of his company’s phones in her hand, a dreamy, thoughtful little smile on her face. She looked as if she was talking to her lover. Beneath each one would be printed the single shout-line: Wildman: Presses All The Right Buttons!
