‘You look tired, Ma,’ Dare said. ‘Why don’t I take you home to rest?’
‘I’m not going home tonight. I’m staying here.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous—you need sleep, and Carly said they’re unlikely to wake him up anytime soon.’
‘That doesn’t matter. I can still talk to him. He’ll know I’m here, won’t he, Carly?’
Carly gave Dare a rueful glance before responding. ‘There is evidence to suggest that coma patients can still hear,’ she said carefully. ‘But they may not remember anything when they wake up. That being said, some appear to.’
‘Then I’m staying.’
Dare scowled at his mother. ‘I’ll stay with him. You and Carly need to rest.’
‘Huff and puff all you like, Dare. My mind is made up.’
Carly watched mother and son face off with amusement.
‘Fine.’ He turned to Carly. ‘What about you?’
Startled to have those sky-blue eyes directed at her once more, Carly swallowed hard. ‘What about me?’
‘Do you have a place to stay tonight?’
Carly hadn’t even turned her mind to where she was going to stay. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said briskly.
‘Yes or no?’ Dare growled.
‘I said—’
‘That’s a no,’ he decided. ‘So you can stay at my apartment. And I know you have to be hungry as well as tired because you didn’t eat anything earlier, so don’t argue.’
Carly blinked at him. Was he serious? There was no way she could stay in his home. She’d go to a hotel for the night. Because while she did know a couple of people who lived in London she wasn’t close enough to any of them to turn up on their doorstep at nine o’clock at night. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she reiterated firmly.
‘Dare has an amazing apartment, Carly, and plenty of room. You’ll be more than comfortable staying with him.’
As soon as Rachel weighed in on Dare’s side Carly knew this was a battle she wouldn’t win. Rachel, she had learned, was as formidable as her son.
‘My mother’s hard to resist,’ Dare murmured as he held the waiting room door open for her to precede him.
‘Let’s just say I now know where you get your hard-headedness from,’ Carly murmured ruefully.
Dare laughed. ‘Now I’m really insulted. There’s no way I’m as bad as my mother.’
Carly hid a grin and slipped into Dare’s waiting limousine. Fortunately traffic was light, either that or they had avoided the main thoroughfares, because they arrived at Dare’s Regency apartment block in no time at all.
Dare greeted the smartly dressed doorman and punched the elevator button.
‘Top floor?’ she asked, her nerves strung tight at the prospect of spending time alone with him.
‘Top two.’
‘For one person?’ Carly stared at him. ‘Or is this where you tell me you have sixteen children?’
‘I have about sixteen chickens on a small farm back home, does that count?’
‘Not quite.’
Carly’s lips quirked as she swept past him into the opulent foyer and living room beyond. ‘Oh, my,’ she murmured. The room seemed to stretch on for a mile of polished wood floors, coffee-coloured walls with white trim, floor-to-ceiling windows framed by silk curtains, and cream inlaid shelving and bookcases along each wall. ‘This is magnificent.’
Dare tossed his keys and wallet into a ceramic bowl that sat beside a vase of flowers on a circular table in the centre of the foyer.
‘It serves a purpose.’
‘Yes,’ Carly mused half to herself. ‘In some interior magazine.’ She walked through to the other room and was almost too scared to step on the cream rugs with her shoes on. The apartment almost put Rothmeyer House to shame.
‘There’s nothing out of place here. Not even a remote control on the sofa,’ she said, following him through to a beautifully appointed kitchen.
‘I have a housekeeper when I’m here,’ he said, opening the fridge.
‘Where’s home?’
‘Mostly New York. Sometimes San Francisco. Bridget has left chicken pie and salad. I know it’s late but I’m starving.’