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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.’
‘And men don’t?’
‘Not really. Men are more interested in the here and now—women like to discover how we got to it.’
‘Because?’
Now she spoke from the heart. ‘Because our history is what defines us all and makes us who we are.’
Darian’s senses would usually have been put on alert at the turn the conversation had taken, but he was lulled by the sudden passion in her voice, by the blue fire which sparked from those long-lashed eyes. She was thoughtful and insightful, not what he had been expecting at all, and the unexpectedness coupled with the novelty made his habitual guard slip a little.
‘My history isn’t a particularly exciting one.’
She heard the brittle note which edged his voice, and part of her wanted to back off. But she couldn’t. This wasn’t just some prurient interest, some woman on the make, chipping away at the formidable exterior to find out what had made the man beneath. This was serious stuff.
‘Isn’t that subjective?’ she queried. ‘Everyone else’s past always seems more interesting than your own—just like other people’s relationships always seem to be made in heaven. When you’re looking from the outside you don’t see all the imperfections; you just get an idea of the bigger picture.’
She was right, of course—and her reference to relationships didn’t go unnoticed, either.
‘There’s no man in your life?’ he asked suddenly.
Lara stared at him. ‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘That’s a very personal question,’ she protested, feeling her cheeks grow pink beneath the piercing scrutiny of his stare.
‘You think you have the monopoly on personal questions, do you, Lara?’
‘Of course I don’t—and the reason there’s no man in my life is simply because there isn’t.’ She threw him a challenging look. ‘I don’t need a partner to define me!’
‘How very refreshing,’ he murmured.
Lara’s fork chased a piece of rocket round the plate. ‘So, where were you born?’ she questioned casually.
‘London.’
‘Big place.’
‘Nowhere you’ve probably ever visited.’ He named one of the city’s most run-down areas and watched carefully for her response, noting the instinctive little frown which pleated her forehead. ‘You’re surprised,’ he observed.
‘Well…’ For once in her life she was lost for words. ‘I guess I am, a little.’
‘Because it’s reputed to be the birthplace of gangsters?’ His words were dipped in caustic irony. ‘Or maybe you think that if someone’s born in a place like that then they stay there—is that it?’
She shook her head a little. ‘No…no, that’s not what I meant at all. It’s just difficult to imagine you being…poor, that’s all.’
‘Is it?’ The dark lashes came down to shutter his eyes. He looked like a lion, Lara thought. The way a lion looked when you thought that it was asleep, only to discover that it was garnering all its energy to pounce. Lots of men tried to pounce on her, and usually it made her recoil, but Darian Wildman was a different propositon entirely. The lashes parted again and the golden light from his eyes washed over her.
