Desert Sheikhs Collection: Part 1. Jane Porter

a flush of colour was running along the high, aristocratic cheekbones. For a moment she saw the glimmerings of a hard, almost cruel contempt, and his expression filled her with trepidation even while something feminine ached at the very core of her, revelling in that cold look of mastery.

      With an effort she tore her gaze away from him, staring instead at the phtographer, giving the shot everything she had and suddenly wishing that she was a million miles away from that hard, glittering scrutiny.

      She held her arms aloft and the silk chiffon twirled and clung to her thighs. Abruptly, he turned away, and she forced herself to concentrate on the job in hand, losing herself in it because that seemed infinitely easier than losing herself in the gaze of Darian Wildman.

      But when the photographer had stopped shooting there was no sign of him.

      ‘Where’s Darian?’ she questioned casually as she pulled the wrap back round her shoulders.

      ‘Gone,’ said the assistant.

      She hadn’t even noticed him leaving, and she was surprised by a great, swamping feeling of disappointment. Gone! There were five other London locations to get through and suddenly the day seemed to stretch away endlessly in front of her.

      Had she thought 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!

      He had felt the unmistakable tremorings of desire as he had studied them. But, having seen them, had wondered aloud to Scott whether the final images weren’t just too sexy. Scott had shrugged and given him a knowing look.

      ‘Oh, come on, Darian—you don’t use a young and beautiful model to do anything but sell sex,’ he had pointed out. ‘Do you?’

      Selling sex.

      Put like that, it sounded off-putting, and Darian had grimaced with a slight element of distaste—but that hadn’t stopped him finding her number and ringing her, had it?

      ‘They’re terrific,’ he said softly.

      ‘Good. I’m pleased.’ She waited. She knew that she wanted to see him again, in fact she had to see him again, but she was perceptive enough to know that she was dealing with a man who would always be pursued, and natural predators did not like to be pursued.

      ‘I wondered if you’d like to have dinner with me?’ he asked. ‘As a kind of thank-you for turning in such a fantastic job.’

      Lara very nearly asked him whether he always asked people out to dinner on the strength of their having done a good job, but she knew she couldn’t risk scaring him away.

      This, after all, was precisely why she had fought to get the job in the first place. To get closer to Darian, to find out as much as she could about him before she told Khalim what she knew.

      ‘I’d love to,’ she murmured. ‘When?’

      Human nature was a funny thing, Darian decided as a contrary feeling of disappointment washed over him. He hadn’t expected it to be quite so easy, but why on earth should it make her seem marginally less desirable because she had not played games with him?

      Because women always made it this easy for him, that was why. Had he hoped that her spikiness and spirit would make him have to battle for a bit to get her to agree to have dinner with him—and hadn’t there been a part of him which had been anticipating that battle?

      ‘I don’t suppose you’re free tomorrow night?’

      Lara heard the slight cooling of his voice and knew immediately that she had been too