The Redemption of Darius Sterne (12 page)

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.

Next he wanted to remove her T-shirt and bra and taste her breasts again...

Before unfastening and then peeling her figure-hugging jeans down the long length of her legs. Then he longed to remove her panties so that he could kiss and taste the lushness between her thighs. More than anything else he wanted to finish what they had started the evening before, to kiss Miranda, caress and stroke her with his hands, lips and tongue, and refuse to release her until she cried out her pleasure.

None of which fell in with the plan Darius had had when he'd arrived, which was to eat lunch, thank Miranda very politely, before getting the hell out of here.

What
was
it about this woman, in particular, that totally robbed him of the reserve and control that had never once been shaken before?

She wasn't even his type, and she was definitely too innocent and inexperienced for him. Miranda would probably run away screaming if she knew some of the things he had imagined doing to and with her as he lay awake in bed last night, unable to sleep!

‘Darius?'

He gave a slightly dazed shake of his head as he stepped abruptly back and away from her. ‘I'm fine leaving you to carve the meat.'

Andy gave a shrug as Darius turned and walked away; her father had always carved the meat at the table, and Colin now carried on that tradition, but it was probably a little too domesticated for the sophisticated billionaire Darius Sterne.

Probably?

This man was about as domesticated as a jungle cat—and just as lethal!

He moved like one too, Andy noted a little breathlessly as she once again found herself unable to stop watching Darius as he crossed the room with stealthy grace before studying the prints on her walls, the muscles moving tautly in his back and the delicious outline of his hard and muscled backside, outlined so perfectly in those fitted jeans.

‘Everything okay?' He turned to look at her, eyebrows raised questioningly.

Andy gave a start as she realised she was still staring at Darius's edible backside rather than serving the lunch, as she'd said she was going to do.

‘Fine.' She nodded abruptly before forcing herself to turn away from that probing gaze and instead busying herself carving the meat and placing the food into the serving dishes.