‘Actually no. We’re confident it’ll do the business. I just thought you might like to see it.’ He leaned his frame against the door. ‘It’s a nice little place, intimate. You can cuddle on a sofa in the corner.’ Would she be the type to cuddle in public? Somehow he didn’t think so—she had that aloof thing going. ‘Or you can work up a sweat on the dance floor. Oh…’ he paused deliberately ‘…you’ll be on the sofa, then, won’t you?’
‘I like to dance.’
His muscles tightened at the unexpected tinge of boldness in her tone, he looked harder at her.
‘But I already have plans for tonight.’ Oh, she was ultra cool—it made him suspect she was even hotter beneath.
‘With your boy friend?’ Yeah, again, real subtle. But he really needed to know. Now.
Sophy gave up pretending to look at the file in front of her. ‘No,’ she said as calmly as she could—tricky given the anger zooming round and round her veins, searching for a way out. ‘I don’t have a boy friend.’
‘No?’ Annoyingly he didn’t sound that surprised. Worse, he looked pleased about it.
‘I don’t want one.’ Damn, she’d tacked that on too quickly, sounded too vehement. And they both knew it.
His brows lifted. ‘Why’s that?’ He put the mail on her desk, the action bringing him even closer to her. ‘Did some twerp break your heart?’
She took a moment to draw breath—so she could answer with icy precision. ‘What makes you think I have a heart?’ She bit the words out with the experience of seven years’ elocution lessons behind her. ‘We frigid girl scouts don’t bother with them. We find machinery to be more efficient.’
Slowly, deliberately, she lifted her gaze—it clashed with his for a long, long time. His own eyes revealed nothing, yet seemed to penetrate her façade—delving into her secrets. She felt the blush rising—stupidly—when he was the one who’d been so rude. He’d said it. She’d only over heard it by mistake. So why was she the one feeling so uncomfortable now?
‘Struck a nerve, did I?’ Without breaking the stare he walked around her desk. ‘I only said you look like that, not that you actually are.’
‘Same difference.’ All her nerves were prick ling now.
His smile sharpened. ‘But I already know you’re quite capable of feeling something.’
She just stared at him, fighting to slow her pulse.
‘Anger.’ He grabbed her arms and pulled her out of the chair. ‘Are you very angry with me, Sophy?’
He was in appropriately close—again—holding her tight, yet she didn’t fight to step back. She refused to let him intimidate her, or to play with her.
‘Do you want me to make it better?’ His arms looped around her, hands warm and firm on her waist.
‘How are you planning to do that?’ She took a quick breath, shaking inside, but stabbed him with some sarcasm. ‘With a kiss?’
‘Isn’t that how it works?’ He leaned closer, spearing her with his dark, unreadable eyes. ‘Isn’t that what you want?’
‘No.’ Now she was even more angry. Because he was right. It was what she wanted. What she’d been wanting since she first laid eyes on him, and especially since she’d been in his apartment and touched him. But she didn’t want it like this. ‘I don’t think it would make it better.’
‘No?’
‘I think it would make it worse.’ She flashed at him. ‘Don’t patronise me, Lorenzo. You think you’re better than me? You think I’m some robot? Some spoilt, bored socialite? Spending all my time doing this and that for everyone else? You think I don’t have ambition of my own? Dreams of my own? Desires of my own?’
She shut up, suddenly aware she was verbally vomiting an ancient bitterness that she’d never wanted to talk about to anyone, certainly not to him.
His hold on her tightened. ‘I don’t think that. But obviously you think some people do.’
Yeah, a little bubbling mass of resentment, that was her.
‘Why didn’t you say no to working here, if you had other things you wanted to do?’ He made it sound so simple.
But she never said no—not to that kind of request. And she did have some time to help. She liked to help. It make her feel useful, needed. Except now it felt as if Lorenzo had been laughing at her willingness and her diligence. Were they all laughing at her? Was she valued at all or were her efforts just taken for granted?
Tired. That was her problem. Tired and frustrated and over whelmed. And he wasn’t helping—towering over her like this, tormenting her all the time. She looked straight down to the floor as tears sprang in her eyes. ‘Forget it.’
‘No.’ He took her chin in firm fingers and tilted her head back up so he could see her face. A half-swallowed growl sounded. ‘You’re really upset.’
‘My wounded pride will get over it,’ she snapped, cross with her stupid weakness. ‘I don’t care what you think. I’m here to do a job. Now I’m going to get on with it.’
‘Not until I apologise.’
‘I didn’t think you’d be the type to say sorry.’
‘And you think I’m the one making assumptions?’ His eyes glinted but the smallest of smiles appeared. ‘Okay, I don’t say it often. But when I do, I mean it.’ He stroked her jaw. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s fine.’ She shrugged, too crushed to accept it with good grace and determined not to let that smile have its usual disabling effect. ‘I don’t care what you think about me.’
His smile deepened just a touch. Okay, so she was protesting too much.
She sighed as a flicker of good humour returned to her. ‘Don’t get big-headed about it. I care too much what everyone thinks about me.’
‘What you think matters to me too.’
Okay, so now his niceness was making it worse. Embarrassed, she shifted. ‘Look, just forget it.’
‘No.’ His grip tightened. ‘I’m going to make it better. I’m going to do it anyway. It’s been on the cards for days. You know that.’
She froze, her body rendered immobile with anticipation overload. All she could do was gaze up at him—drowning in his eyes, yearning for that beautiful mouth to touch her.
And then it did.
A butterfly-light brush of lips on skin—a shade too close to her mouth to be a safe kiss on the cheek. And he lingered too long for it to be safe too.
‘Better?’ His question almost in audible, but she heard it, felt it as his lips grazed her as he asked.
‘No.’
The smallest of pauses as they stood—intent hovering. Only a couple of inches separated their bodies, only a millimetre separated their lips. She could feel his heat, and smell his fresh soapy scent. A tremor ran through her as anticipation almost broke her nerve. Suddenly he moved—that merest fraction, the littlest drop to her mouth. His lips were warm, and they clung.
Her eyes closed, her body blanking everything so it could focus only on the touch. His gentleness so unexpected, the rush of sensation pierced through her.
A moan—was it her? The softness, the slowness, the sweetness over whelmed her. She trembled again and his hands tightened. This wasn’t enough.
And then it was over.
She couldn’t breathe. She saw his eyes zooming in on her. Jet black now. Intense. Beautiful. Time and motion stopped for a moment that felt like infinity. Her every nerve was wired, waiting, wanting. Would he come back—would he kiss her again?
‘No,’ he said roughly, stepping back. His hands dropped—leaving her suddenly cold. ‘You were right. I was wrong.’ He walked out of the door. ‘I really am sorry.’
CHAPTER FOUR
SOPHY managed to stay standing ’til Lorenzo was out of sight, then collapsed into the chair. Fisting her hands over her eyes, shoulders rising—blocking all sensation. Just for a second. Just to stay sane. Her whole body tingled, as if she’d been zapped by some kind of extra-terrestrial ray-gun making all her cells jiggle.
The disappointment was devastating.
Why had he stopped? She
knew he’d felt it—she’d seen it in his eyes, heard it in his voice. But he’d practically run away.
If she was Rosanna she’d have been the one to move that second time. It would have taken nothing—the slightest tilt of her chin to resume the contact. She’d had it on a platter. Yet she hadn’t taken the chance.
Now she was mad with herself for wishing she had, even madder for having been so damn passive. Why hadn’t she had the guts to take the risk? But she’d been knocked—first by his words, second by the kiss and the emotion that had flooded through her.
And now he was sorry? Not just for what she’d overheard, but for kissing her. She under stood. But she couldn’t under stand how he could regret it. He’d felt it as she had; that kind of chemistry couldn’t be one-sided.
And she wanted more. She really wanted more. A fire had been lit in her belly and it needed feeding. Except it looked as if she was going to be left starving.
Well, she was taking her lunch break today. She was working to rule and jolly well going to work on her own project. Spurred on by what she’d said to him—she did have her own ambition. And now, more than ever, she was determined to make it. She’d do this exhibition and show them all she had more to her than great organisational skills. She had dreams—and she’d make them real.
That had been a mistake. Oh, man, had that been a mistake. Lorenzo’s body hurt as he moved—every cell rebelling as he made himself walk away.
Yeah, she had emotions all right—her want for him so hot and sweet. He wanted to bury himself completely in the delectable softness she offered.
She’d stared at him. Just waiting with her eyes so huge. It was like corrupting an innocent. She really was a good girl, wasn’t she? And Lorenzo never messed with good girls. Ever. Things got too messy. And it was obvious things with Sophy would get nuclear messy. Hell, she’d been crushed by that stupid comment he’d made to Alex. Her big eyes brimming with hurt—from just a few silly words. And he felt bad for it—an absolute heel. Because she hadn’t deserved it. He didn’t like feeling guilty.
And now he knew for sure there was no way in hell she was frigid. She wasn’t just warm either. She had volcanic qualities. Like a snow-capped mountain, she was capable of blasting fire when you least expected it, able to melt granite with her heat.
That just made it fifty times worse because he ached to make her tremble again and again. Being with her, in her, would be more than explosive, it would be some kind of divine experience. But if she was hurt by just a few words, no way could she handle a short-term fling. And that was all he ever did. She was a relationship woman. Ms Monogamous.
She was far too good for him—literally. He just wasn’t crossing that line. It didn’t matter how hot he was for her, it wasn’t going to happen. Because Mr Monogamous he wasn’t. He’d tried it once when he’d been young and naïve enough to think the past wouldn’t matter. He’d been shot down and wasn’t taking a hit like that again. Sure, he liked women—lots of women—for the physical fun of sex. No more than three times with a partner—preferably in the same night. That wasn’t a kind of deal straight, sweet Sophy could handle.
But he couldn’t stay away, not all day. He told himself he couldn’t be rude and ignore her after what had happened. Somehow he had to get them back to a purely professional footing. Going to be tricky given he was the one who’d been flashing skin the whole time.
She was at the desk, her head bent as she concentrated on the stuff in front of her—piles of tiny objects. She had a bag open on the edge of the desk, small sharp-looking tools to one side while she made her decisions. It was the first time he’d seen her actually sitting still and not busily typing while filing and talking to someone on the phone all at the same time. Now she was so concentrated, so quiet, looking so intently at the stuff on the table in front of her. He leaned his shoulder against the door jamb and said nothing. Just waited for her to realise he was there, enjoying the time he had to observe.
It was several minutes until she glanced up, did a double take and squeaked.
‘Oh, sorry.’ The tempting colour rose under her skin. ‘I didn’t hear you.’
‘What are you doing?’ He’d figured it out already but didn’t want to admit just how long he’d been standing watching her like some stalker.
Her hands moved, as if to hide it from him, her serenity broken as she started packing it all away. A velvet covered board with grooves in it into which she was arranging small semi-precious stones or beads or other bits.
‘It’s okay,’ he said, wishing he hadn’t shattered her moment of calm so completely. It was as if he’d tripped the switch and now the efficient au to ma ton was back. ‘You’re allowed a lunch break.’ Except lunch had been hours ago. Had the goody two-shoes abandoned her job all afternoon?
She looked guilty.
Yep, he’d caught her out. He couldn’t stop his mile wide smile. ‘What are you making?’
She blinked at him, hurriedly looked away. ‘A necklace.’
‘A hobby of yours?’ He saw her tension spike.
Then she nodded. All back to brisk. ‘Yes.’
He watched as the guilt gave her an all-over-body sweep of red.
‘Sorry,’ she muttered. ‘I lost track of time.’
She was just never going to be a cheat, was she? Never going to be someone who could do something she shouldn’t and not own up about it. He bet she’d never done anything remotely dodgy in her whole life. Jeez, they were poles apart.
‘Don’t worry about it.’ He didn’t care. She’d done an amazing job clearing up the mess that was the Whistle Fund office. Everything was running on schedule again. Even the opening of the bar looked as if it was going to go off okay. The chaos of the last couple of weeks seemed to be at an end. In no small part thanks to Sophy. She was allowed an afternoon to slack off. ‘Just go home early. You’ve done heaps already.’
She lifted her head, the cool look back. ‘Okay. Thanks.’
He lingered for a half second too long, tempted to say or do something more. Finally he made himself turn and walk along to his own office. It had just been a kiss. Nothing more than that. He could forget it. He could ignore the tantalising prospect of seducing her. Sure he could.
At least try to do the right thing, Lorenzo—for once in your life.
Sophy hadn’t had any sleep. She’d sat up late again, working on her pieces. Unhappy with the necklace she’d made the night before. Her jewellery had to be something really special—couldn’t be something anyone could make in their own home if they had the time and the inclination. It was all about the eye, the detail and the little spark of difference. She had the resources—had been collecting vintage bits and bobs for years. Had gathered a lot while in Europe and had got invaluable experience when she’d worked on the floor of a jewellery shop in France. She’d spent her lunch breaks sitting in the workshop with the jewellers learning some of the finer points. She’d done a few courses too, so she had a reasonably solid technique now. But she didn’t have so much time to make the amount she needed for the show. And she wasn’t sure she had them exactly how she wanted them.
But on top of everything she was distracted. Wished Rosanna were on hand to help her out—with Vamp 101 classes.
She didn’t see Lorenzo all morning. But early afternoon, as the sun was hitting its zenith, she heard that familiar sound. She looked out of the open window. He was on his make shift basketball court, wearing jeans of course. But his torso was covered this time—with a loose NBA style singlet.
He glanced up to the window, saw she was watching. She pulled her head back in but she saw his grin. He bounced the ball a few times. Executed some fancy run up to the board and jumped high—landing the shot.
He glanced back up to her. Yeah, okay, she was still watching and he knew it. Too slowly he lifted the hem of his singlet, used it to wipe the sweat from his brow—revealing his abs in the process. Deliberately. Provocatively.
He lifted his head and looked up at her.
He wanted a reaction? Impossible—she couldn’t move, just stared at him.
His smile appeared and both his hands moved to the hem of his singlet. In a flash he’d whipped it over his head—tossing it to the side.
Oh God, she just couldn’t take it any more. She slammed her window shut. Heard his laugh anyway. That tore it. She stood and marched down stairs, opened the back door, let it slam behind her. He turned, she saw his surprise. So he was just winding her up? He’d pay.
She walked past him and went to where the ball was rolling towards the fence, scooped it up. It was bigger than the netball she used to play with. She prayed to the sporting gods for some kind of benevolence. It had been years since she last played netball, but she had been Goal Attack—responsible for shooting through the hoops. She rolled the ball against her palms, pulling it in tight to her chest, getting the feel for it. She was too steamed to care much anyway. Really she felt like throwing the thing at his head rather than the hoop.
She turned. He was too close behind her. She gave him a pointed look and he took a step to the side. Neither said anything. She looked up at the basket. So damn high. Still, she had energy in her muscles that needed to be expended.
She aimed and threw. The net swished as the ball slid through. Confidence from her success swamped her and she turned to stare hotly at him.
‘Been keeping secrets?’ His voice was low. ‘You want to play with me, Sophy?’
‘I want to beat you.’
His whole body tensed. She saw the electricity surge in him.
‘No one beats me.’
‘Not afraid, are you, Lorenzo?’
The briefest pause and then that smile curled. ‘What are we playing for?’ He quietly walked closer.
Yeah, she’d hoped she could bring out his wicked side. She just hadn’t realised quite how easy it would be. ‘What do you want to play for?’
Was this her? Leaning provocatively close to him, practically purring?
His amusement deepened but it didn’t bother her, for she saw the fire too. ‘You’re the one suggesting the game; you come up with the prize.’
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