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Unbuttoned by Her Maverick Boss
Natalie Anderson
Office gossip… It’s well known that rugged tycoon Lorenzo Hall comes from the wrong side of the tracks, and that opposites attract… Apparently one glimpse of his pristine new assistant Sophy Braithwaite had Lorenzo itching to undress her – we wonder if she’s as prim and proper as she looks!Of course, to Sophy, her smouldering boss should be off-limits, but it’s easy to see how Lorenzo’s criminally hot body and the dangerous twinkle in his eyes could tempt her to break all the rules… Hot Under the Collar Naughty nights with the boss…


Praise for Natalie Anderson:
‘Natalie Anderson is one of the most exciting voices in steamy romantic fiction writing today. Sassy, witty and emotional, her Modern Heat
are in a class of their own…an extraordinary new talent who can blend passion, drama, humour and emotion in one unforgettable read!’
—www.cataromance.com
‘MISTRESS UNDER CONTRACT is a fantastic contemporary romance full of intense emotions, funny moments, blazing sexual tension and moving romance; don’t miss it!’
—Pink Heart Society
‘Natalie Anderson’s HIS MISTRESS BY ARRANGEMENT is a charming romance of childhood friends reconnecting. It’s both fun and flirty, and conveys the wonderful feeling of finding someone you can truly be yourself with.’
—RT Book Reviews
Sparks seemed to be coming from Lorenzo’s eyes. ‘I don’t think I’m the one who needs to prove anything. I think that’s for you to do.’
‘What exactly do you think I need to prove? That you don’t bother me?’ Altitude sickness on the second floor—that was Sophy’s problem. She must be the world’s first case, but she’d swear the air was thinner here because she could hardly get her words higher than a whisper.
His brows flickered. ‘Don’t I?’

The first book in this Hot Under the Collar duet by Natalie Anderson was published last month.
CAUGHT ON CAMERA WITH THE CEO is still available to buy at millsandboon.co.uk

Unbuttoned By Her Maverick Boss
By

Natalie Anderson


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Possibly the only librarian who got told off herself for talking too much, NATALIE ANDERSON decided writing books might be more fun than shelving them—and, boy, is it that! Especially writing romance—it’s the realisation of a lifetime dream kick-started by many an afternoon spent devouring Grandma’s Mills & Boon
…
She lives in New Zealand, with her husband and four gorgeous-but-exhausting children. Swing by her website any time—she’d love to hear from you: www.natalie-anderson.com

Recent titles by the same author:
CAUGHT ON CAMERA WITH THE CEO
(#litres_trial_promo)
TO LOVE, HONOUR AND DISOBEY
HOT BOSS, BOARDROOM MISTRESS
BETWEEN THE ITALIAN’S SHEETS
RUTHLESS BOSS, ROYAL MISTRESS
(#litres_trial_promo)
PLEASURED IN THE PLAYBOY’S PENTHOUSE
Kathleen Anderson, Kath Hadfield, Grandma.
Twenty years have passed since you left us,
but you know I still have your library of M&B—
and I’m adding my own to it now. Wish you were here
so I could show you. But I know you know,
and you know you live on in our hearts. Always will.
Thank you for giving me the belief in everlasting love.

Chapter One
TIME stood still for no man. And Sophy Braithwaite didn’t stand still either.
She tapped her toes on the concrete floor. Slowly at first, just releasing a smidge of the energy pushing under her skin, but after a while the small rapping sound sped up.
The receptionist had directed her straight up the stairs to the office—the sign on the door ensured she’d found the one the woman meant. So she was in the right place at the right time.
Waiting.
She turned and studied the pictures on the wall beside her. Picturesque scenes of Italian countryside—she figured they were Cara’s choice. Her assessment and appreciation took less than a minute. Then she looked again at the monstrosity masquerading as the desk. Good thing she wasn’t into corporate espionage or fraud. She’d had ample time to rifle through files for sensitive info. Mind you, given the mess it was in, she wouldn’t even find anything as useful as a pen in there. The papers were piled high in dangerously unstable towers. The unopened mail had long since filled the in-tray and now cascaded across the computer keyboard. Cara hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d said she’d left it in a mess. If anything she’d been understating the case.
‘I’ve just not had my head there and it all got away from me. I feel so terrible now with this happening,’ she’d said.
‘This’ was the early arrival of her baby. Six weeks premature, the tiny sweetie was still in hospital and Cara was hollow-eyed and anxious. The last thing she needed was to be worrying about the part-time admin job she did for a local charity.
Sophy’s irritation with the situation spiked. Where was he, then? This Lorenzo Hall—supposed hotshot of the wine industry and darling of the fundraising divas—the CEO of this chaos?
‘Lorenzo’s so busy at the moment. With Alex and Dani away he’s dealing with everything on his own.’ Cara had sounded so concerned for him when Sophy’s sister, Victoria, had handed the phone to her. ‘It would be just brilliant if you could go in there and stop him worrying about the Whistle Fund at least.’
Well, Sophy wasn’t here to stop Lorenzo Hall from worrying, she was here to stop Cara worrying.
She realised she’d been subconsciously tapping in time to a rhythmic thunking sound coming from a distance. As if someone were using a hammer or something but speeding up, then stopping, then starting again. She shook her head free of the annoyance and looked around at the chaos again. It would take a bit of time to sort through. She wished she could say no. But then, she never said no. Not when someone asked for help like this. And didn’t they all know it. She’d arrived back in New Zealand less than a month ago, yet her family had managed to fill her schedule to bursting already. But she’d let them, passively agreeing to it all. So much for becoming more assertive and ring fencing even just some time for her own work.
She knew they saw no change, and wasn’t she acting as if there weren’t—with her ‘yes, of course’ here and ‘sure’ there? Tacitly acknowledging she had nothing better to do. Or, at least, nothing as important as what they were asking.
But she did.
While she loved to help them out, there was something else she loved to do. Her heart beat faster as she thought of it as ‘work’. She badly wanted to prove it could be just that. But to make a go of it, she needed time.
So she really didn’t want to be standing here waiting for anybody—certainly not some guy who couldn’t even seem to organise his own temp. The same boss who had Cara calling her from her hospital bed asking if she could help out. If her help really was needed, then okay, but she wasn’t going to wait here for another twenty minutes. She glanced at her watch again. Ordinarily looking at it brought a tingle of pleasure—fine little vintage piece that it was. She’d found it in a flea market in South London one day. With a new old strap she’d found at another market and a trip to the watch doctor, it worked beautifully. It was definitely not running fast.
The thudding impinged into her brain again, stirring a dormant memory from school days.
No. Surely not?
She stood, walked across the office and right round behind the desk to the window. Looked straight down to the asphalt yard at the back of the warehouse. She inhaled some much-needed cool air into her lungs.
But yes. Basketball.
Lorenzo Hall—she just knew it was him—out there having himself some fun. If he’d been playing with even one other person she might have understood it—that he’d wanted to finish the game before seeing her. But there was no opponent to beat. He was playing alone—while she was waiting for a scheduled meeting with him. Long minutes up in his office—and it was for his benefit.
The irritation rose to a rolling boil. How come no one realised her time was precious too? She walked out of the office, her high heels clipping quickly down the stairs. She passed the receptionist, who was running in the other direction with the cord of her phone headset trailing after her.
‘Will Mr Hall be long, do you think?’ Sophy asked with extreme politeness.
The receptionist stopped, but looked harassed. ‘He’s not up there?’
Sophy gave the woman a cool stare. She didn’t know? Wasn’t she his receptionist? Where was the efficiency in this place—off on a holiday to Mars? She inhaled and crisped up even more. ‘Obviously not.’
The frown on the receptionist’s face deepened. ‘I’m sure I saw him earlier. You could look and see if he’s up on the third floor or try out the back.’ With that she was gone, hurrying to do whatever it was that was so urgent.
Sophy continued down the stairs and went through the doorway behind Reception. This was a meeting that had been arranged two days ago. He might be the newly crowned king of the wine exporters, but for the life of her she couldn’t figure out how he’d managed it. Not when he couldn’t even make it to a meeting on time. She found what had to be the door leading out to the yard. She paused for a second, squared her shoulders and then turned the handle, pulling the heavy wood back.
From what she’d seen at the window upstairs she’d known what she was about to face—but she hadn’t accounted for the effect it would have on her up close. She swallowed, momentarily speechless.
He had his back to her—a mightily broad back it was too, and very bronzed. Well, it would be from all the time he obviously spent out here—shirtless.
The fire that blazed through her was surely all due to anger.
The baseboard and basket were on a stand on the far side of the asphalt square. He had the ball in hand, feet apart, his knees slightly bent as he readied to take the shot.
Sophy waited for the exact moment. Just as his body moved to shoot the ball, she called—raising her normal volume more than a fraction, and using what her speech and drama teacher had referred to as ‘the tone’.
‘Lorenzo Hall?’
Needless to say, he didn’t make the basket. Sophy smiled. But then, in an instant, it died on her lips.
Even with the three or so metres between them she could feel the scorching heat of him. He turned his head, looked her over—a quick, slicing glance with the darkest eyes she’d ever seen. Then he turned back to the wretched basket.
That had been all he needed to sum her up? Sophy wasn’t used to being dismissed so quickly. She might not have lived up to her family’s stellar success in the legal fraternity, but she did okay in the appearance stakes. Always immaculate. Always appropriate. Presentation had been drilled into her for so long it was second nature now. So she knew she looked more than acceptable in her baby-blue linen skirt and pressed white shirt. Her lipstick was muted but smooth and her face wasn’t shiny. Her one-style-only hair would be in place—she didn’t even have to try for that to happen.
The ball had bounced a couple of times. He barely had to move to retrieve it. Once it was back in his broad hands he turned and gave her another look—even more pointed. Then he turned back to face the baseboard, took careful aim and replayed the shot—landing it this time.
Sophy would have turned and walked if she wasn’t too angry to move. So that was the way of it, huh? His little game of by-myself-basketball was more important than a meeting scheduled with her. She’d heard nothing but positives about this guy’s charitable organisation. Had heard the rumours about his own background and his meteoric rise—marvellous, wasn’t it, people said, that someone with a background like that could become such a success?
Well, Sophy wasn’t about to patronise the selfish jerk. ‘Are we meeting any time soon?’ She refused to offer to come back at another time—bit back the conciliatory words by pushing her jaws together. She wasn’t going to put herself out at all for him.
The ball had bounced back to him again. He tossed it to the side and walked towards her. His jeans sat low on his hips. He wore them with no belt and she saw a glimpse of a waistband—briefs or boxers? She shouldn’t be wondering. But she couldn’t stop looking.
There was no fat beneath his skin, just lithe muscles that rippled as he walked. She managed to force her gaze a fraction higher, skimming over the dusting of masculine hair, the dark nipples. He had straight, broad shoulders. Sleek curving muscles stretched down his arms. And all over was the sheen of sweat—burnishing the smooth, sun bronzed skin.
She found she was mirroring his slight breathlessness. His chest was rising and falling that bit quickly, that bit jerkily, and her own felt tight as she studied him. He had an amazing torso—the strength, the undeniable masculinity had her spellbound. Her gaze coasted downwards again.
He took two more steps—bringing him too close. Startled, she looked up as he loomed over her. Realised that with a narrowed, keen gaze he was watching the way she was looking him up and down.
She met his stare, matched it, refusing to let her embarrassment at being caught ogling burn her skin red. But then, when he knew he had her attention, he let his gaze strip down every inch of her body. She actually felt the way his attention lit on her neck, on the small V of exposed skin on her chest, on the curve of her breasts…
She fought harder to stop the blush and felt her anger resurge. But she probably deserved it. Hadn’t she just done this to him? But not intentionally—not provocatively. She just hadn’t realised quite how obvious she’d been or how long she’d been staring—her brain had gone AWOL while her eyes feasted.
But his was a deliberate, blatantly sexual action.
Her toes curled in the tips of her heeled pumps. The rest of her wanted to shrivel too—so she could disappear. And she used the anger to block that other message striving to move from brain to body—the desire that wanted to unfurl and scurry through her veins.
‘You must be Sophy.’ He gestured back to his mini basketball court. ‘I was thinking. Lost track of time.’
Well, that fell way too short for an apology.
‘My time is valuable to me,’ she asserted vocally for the first time in her life. ‘I don’t like it being wasted.’
Certainly not by a half naked man. Not like this anyway.
Those black, bottomless eyes met hers. The colour rose a little higher on his cheekbones. She wasn’t sure if it was from exertion, embarrassment or anger. She suspected the latter.
‘Of course,’ he said smoothly—too quietly. ‘I won’t do it again.’
Something had kindled in his eyes as he’d added that. Something she didn’t care to define. As it was she felt herself flushing—unable to stop it now—as if she were the one in the wrong. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Stole another quick glance at his torso and then aimed to concentrate on the concrete.
‘You never seen a man sweat before, Sophy?’ His soft question hit her in the gut.
The crisp spring morning suddenly got a whole lot hotter. She tried to say something. Couldn’t. The dry irony in his voice just devastated her.
He turned away from her. ‘Want to play a little one on one?’ he asked. ‘I find it helps me focus. You might find it helps you too.’
Oh, so she needed help with focus? Heaven help her she did.
‘It’s also good for burning excess energy.’
Now that was said with deliberate innuendo. He was trying to tip her balance—as if he weren’t doing it already with his sheer physicality which was on display. With considerable effort she pulled herself together. Well, she could do a little innuendo too. His few words could flame, but her cool delivery would crush. ‘I’m obviously over-dressed.’
His eyes widened fractionally, before he replied calmly, ‘Easily fixed.’ She lifted her brows very slowly, determined to stay cool. ‘You want me to strip?’
He laughed then, his whole face breaking into an absolute charmer of a smile. Sophy lifted her fingers to her mouth to stop her jaw from gaping in surprise. His whole demeanour changed—like quicksilver—from seriously brooding to sparkling good humour. The flash was utterly intriguing and devastatingly attractive.
‘It would be fair, don’t you think?’ he said. ‘I mean, you have me at a disadvantage.’
‘You put yourself at a disadvantage.’ She was even more breathless now. And privately she thought his semi-nudity a huge benefit to him—how to fuzzle the minds of your business opponents in one easy step. She angled away from him—trying to recover her equilibrium. She got a clear view of the fence and saw one section was covered with a huge bit of graffiti. The colours leapt out, almost 3D, in bold blocks. An image of a man—like an ancient statue—with vibrant shades of blue leaping out from behind and an indecipherable word shooting up from one side. She’d never have expected it; the reception area she’d walked through had been incredibly slick—it was only the office upstairs that had been a total mess. Now there was this—what many people would consider an eyesore.
He walked in front of her line of vision and picked up the ball again, spinning it in his hands. ‘We can talk through the details at the same time.’
He was still smiling but there was an edge back now—a deliberate challenge. But it was one she just had to turn down. No way was she playing ball with him. This wouldn’t be like some Hollywood movie where she scored a hoop first shot. She’d miss it by a mile and totally embarrass herself. She hadn’t played in years—to land baskets you needed to practise. She had no hope of relying on muscle memory now.
‘Perhaps it would be best if we reschedule this meeting,’ she ducked it.
The smile tugged harder on one corner of his mouth.
‘You might want to take a shower now,’ she added coldly.
His brows lifted then. ‘You really don’t like sweat?’ He laughed as he looked over her pale blue suit. ‘No. You wouldn’t, would you?’
She went silent—refusing to rise to that one. Truth was, she was feeling utterly human right now and starting to sweat herself just from looking at him. Cara hadn’t mentioned that her boss was completely gorgeous.
She looked at the graffiti again, eyes narrowed as she tried to work out one of the letters in that word.
‘Damn kids.’ He’d followed the direction of her gaze.
‘It could be worse,’ she said. Not wanting to find anything to agree on with him.
‘You think?’
‘Yeah, it could just be a tag—you know, initials, a name or something. But that’s actually quite a cool picture.’
He coughed. It started as a clear-your-throat kind of cough, but rapidly turned into a hacking one that sounded as if he were in danger of losing a lung. Anyone else and she’d ask if he was okay. But she wasn’t going anywhere nearer the personal with him. As it was they’d crossed some polite lines already and she was finding it way too unsettling.
‘It must have taken a while.’ She commented more on the graffiti just to cover the moment until he breathed freely at last. There actually was a lot of depth to the design. It couldn’t possibly be a three-minute spray and run number. ‘But it’s bad to do it to someone else’s property.’
‘You’re so right.’
She gave him a quick look. Was that a touch of laughter in his voice? His expression was back to brooding, even so, she suspected him.
‘So you’re desperate for an administrator, is that right?’ Finally she snapped back on track.
‘For the Whistle Fund, yes.’ He too suddenly went professional. ‘Kat, my receptionist here, has been too busy to be able to help much since Cara left. We’ve got a lot on right now so I need someone who can stay on board for at least a month. I need the mess sorted and then help with training a new recruit. I haven’t even got to advertise yet. Can you commit to it?’ He looked serious. ‘You’ll be paid of course. I wouldn’t expect anyone to take on this level of work voluntarily.’
‘I don’t need to be paid. I like to work voluntarily.’
‘You’ll be paid,’ he clipped. ‘You can donate it back to the charity if you like, but you’ll be paid.’
So he didn’t want to be beholden to her? But she didn’t need the money, the income from her trust fund was more than enough for her to get by. She’d always needed something to give her a sense of dignity—had never sat around doing nothing but shopping and socialising. It wasn’t the way she’d been raised. Yes, they had money, but they still had to do something worthwhile with their time. Only she hadn’t managed to follow in the family footsteps and pursue a law based career. Her mother, brother and sister were all super successful lawyers. All the true save-the-oppressed kind, not corporate massive-fee-billing sharks. Worse was her father, who was a retired judge. He still worked—publishing research, heading reviews of the system. Sophy’s surname was synonymous with excellence in the field. Not one of them had failed or even deviated from that path.
Only Sophy.
So she’d tried to gain her credibility by being the yes-person. Doing all the voluntary stuff, being the consummate organiser of everything they asked for—mainly their own lives. She might not have their legal brains, but she was practical. Yet in trying to keep up with them she’d made one stupid, massive mistake—she’d mistaken her personal value. So she’d gone away. While overseas she’d finally found her own passion, her own calling. And as soon as she got the time she was going to build her business and prove her skill to the family.
‘Cara’s office is in the building here.’ He seemed to take her silence for acquiescence. ‘It’s all yours. I thought we could cover her okay but with her baby coming so soon and with Dani away with Alex, I need someone who can concentrate wholly on it.’
‘Full time?’ Sophy’s heart was sinking. She just wasn’t going to be able to say no.
‘Maybe for the first week to catch up.’ His grin was touchingly rueful. ‘After that just the mornings should be enough. And I’d need you to be present at whatever evening meetings there are and the functions. Actually, you need to finalise the details for the next one.’
Yes. The Whistle Fund was famous for its functions—fabulous evenings of entertainment that drew the rich and famous out, and got them to open their wallets too. The presence of the ‘stars’ meant the presence of Joe Public was huge too—everybody liked to be a VIP for a night.
‘You can’t find anyone else?’ Sophy tried one last avenue. ‘Maybe from a temp agency?’
‘Cara wanted to be sure the office was in good hands. She doesn’t trust that a stranger will be able to come in and fix it. I don’t want to stress her any more than she already is. And she told me you’re the only one who can get this job done. I promised her I’d give you a shot.’
Sophy’s ears pricked at the slight hint of sarcasm—did he think she couldn’t get it done? Her spine stiffened—why, she could sort that lot upstairs in her sleep.
Cara had pleaded for her to come. Because Sophy’s sister, Victoria, was one of Cara’s best friends. And Victoria had talked to Cara—assured her Sophy was the one to do it: she was available, she was capable. Now it seemed she was all Cara could accept.
Sophy might as well have never gone away. Since landing back she’d stepped straight back into the overcommitted, overscheduled life she’d left two years before. No one had stopped to think she might have other things she wanted to do. And why should they? Hadn’t she been saying yes—as she always had?
So she should say no now. Say sorry, but that she had other priorities and couldn’t give him that much time. She looked at him, tried really hard not to let her gaze slip down his body again. There was a hard look in his eyes—as if he didn’t really believe what Cara had told him about her, and that he expected her to say no. That he’d just as soon phone for some anonymous temp and be done with it. Suddenly she sensed that he didn’t like having to ask her at all. That made her stand up even straighter.
And there was Cara herself, wasn’t there? Hovering over her tiny daughter in the incubator—with enough on her mind without needlessly worrying about her boss being so stressed out. What a crock. If Cara had seen him today, she’d have known she had no cause for concern—he was so relaxed he was out wasting time playing ball. But Sophy couldn’t let her sister’s friend down—just as she’d never let her sister down.
‘I’ll be back tomorrow to start,’ she said briskly.
‘I’ll be here to show you the ropes.’
‘Nine a.m.’ She let her gaze rake him one last time. ‘Sharp.’
She turned and walked. His words came just as the door closed behind her. Whether she was meant to hear the low suggestively spoken reply she didn’t know, but she did—and it almost incinerated her.
‘Yes, ma’am.’

Chapter Two
NINE a.m. came and went. Sophy sat in the office that looked as if it had been hit by a cyclone and checked her watch every thirty seconds or so. Unbelievable. No wonder this place was in such a mess. He certainly needed help. But he was so going the wrong way about getting it.
She filled in five minutes by moving some of the mail to find the keyboard. Decided to start opening and sorting it. Forty minutes later a portion of the desk was clear, the recycling bin was full of envelopes and half the letters were neatly stacked in classified piles. At that point she decided she shouldn’t go further without consulting him. She went downstairs to the receptionist.
‘Kat? I’m Sophy. Here to work on the Whistle Fund admin. Do you know where Mr Hall is?’
The receptionist blinked at her. ‘I thought he was up with you. I’ve been taking messages because he’s not picking up the phone.’
‘Well, he’s not with me.’
‘He’s not out the back?’
No. Naturally out of the window had been the first place she’d looked. Sophy heard the front doors slide open and turned expectantly. A courier driver walked in with a parcel under his arm.
‘Can you see if he’s on the third floor?’ Kat asked. ‘I need to deal with this.’
‘Of course,’ Sophy answered automatically.
The third floor—was that where Lorenzo’s office was? She climbed the stairs. Stopped at the second floor and checked the other two offices there once more—both were in a far better state than Cara’s. They actually looked as if people worked in them—several people even—but there was no one present. Further along the corridor there was a massive room that was almost totally empty. Was the place run by ghosts? The communication was appalling. Sophy swallowed the flutter of nerves as she climbed up the next flight of stairs. There was no corridor off them this time—just the one door marked ‘private’.
She knocked. No answer.
She knocked again. Still no answer.
Without thinking about it she tried the handle. The door swung open and she stepped inside.
The space was huge—and much brighter than the dimly lit stairwell. Sunlight shone through the skylight windows in the roof. She blinked rapidly and took in the scene. This wasn’t office space. This was an apartment—Lorenzo’s apartment.
And if she wasn’t mistaken, the sofa was occupied.
‘What’s wrong?’ Pure instinct drove her forward to where he was sprawled back on the wide sweep of leather.
It was hard dragging her eyes up his chest to his face but once she did she was able to focus better. Beneath the tan he was pale, but dark shadows hung under his eyes. Hell, if this was a hangover she’d be so mad with him.
‘Sore throat.’ A total croak, not the slight rasp of yesterday.
Sore throat and then some, Sophy reckoned. He looked dreadful. Actually he didn’t, he looked one shade less than magnificent. So that meant he really must be sick. She couldn’t help give him the once over again. Just impossible not to when he had the most amazing body she’d ever seen up close.
He was in boxers—nothing but boxers. Not the loose fitting pure cotton kind, but the knit type that clung to his slim hips, muscled thighs—and other intriguing bits.
So that was that question answered. And a few others too.
Sophy stopped her gaping. She needed to pull herself together and deal with him.
‘You have a temperature.’ It was obvious from his glistening skin. She marched to the kitchen area in the open-plan space. Poured a glass of water. Wished she could snatch a moment to drink one herself, but she was too concerned about how feverish he looked.
‘I’m fine.’ He coughed, totally hacking up that lung.
‘Of course you are,’ Sophy said smartly. ‘That’s why you missed our meeting.’ She held out the glass to him. His hand shook as he reached for it. She took his fingers and wrapped them round the glass herself. Only when certain he had it did she let him go.
Their eyes met when she looked up from the glass. She saw the raw anger in his—impotent anger.
‘I’m fine,’ he repeated, grinding the words through his teeth.
Yeah, right. He was shivering. He ditched the water on the coffee table in front of the sofa after only the tiniest sip. His laptop was on the table too, the faintest hum coming from it. Did he really think he was capable of work?
‘When did you last eat?’ she asked, her practical nature asserting itself.
He winced.
‘I need to take your temperature.’
‘Rot.’
She gingerly placed her palm on his forehead. Snatched it away at the same time that he jerked back.
‘Quit it,’ he said hoarsely.
She curled her tingling fingers. ‘You’re burning up. You need to see a doctor.’
‘Rubbish.’
‘Not negotiable.’ Sophy pulled her mobile from her pocket and flipped it open. ‘I can get someone to come here.’
‘Don’t you dare.’ It would have sounded good if his voice hadn’t cracked in the middle. He tried to move, evidently thought better of it and just rasped bitterly, ‘Sophy, back off. I’m fine. I have work I need to get on with.’
She ignored him, spoke to the receptionist at the clinic she’d been to all her life. Two minutes later she hung up. ‘A locum will be here in ten.’
‘Too bad. I’m not seeing him. I have to do this—’
‘Your social networking will have to wait.’ Sophy closed the laptop. Picked it up and put it far, far away on the kitchen bench.
‘Bring that back here—I was working.’
She went close and looked down at him. ‘I really wish I had one of those old-fashioned mercury thermometers. I know where I’d stick it.’
‘Don’t.’ His hand shot out and gripped her wrist—hard. ‘You’re right. I’m not feeling well. And if you keep provoking me I’ll snap.’
Really? And do what?
She stared into dark eyes, saw the tiredness, the strain, the frustration—and even deeper she saw the unhappiness. At that she relented. ‘Okay. But you have to stop fighting me too. You’re sick, you need to see a doctor and you need taking care of.’
He shifted on the sofa.
‘Look, it’s happening whether you agree or not, Lorenzo. Why not make it that bit more pleasant?’
He breathed in—she could see the effort hurting him. He closed his eyes and she knew she’d won. ‘Okay, but you’ve done your thing. You can go now. Kat can send the doctor up.’ Another tremor shook him.
But she didn’t think she could go now. She couldn’t leave anyone alone in this state. And oddly enough she felt that even more strongly about him—he’d never admit it, but he was vulnerable. He was alone.
He shook his head slightly and looked cheesed again. ‘At least bring my laptop back.’
‘What’s the point, Lorenzo?’ she said quietly. ‘Staring at the screen isn’t going to get it done. You’re better off getting some sleep and getting well. Then you’ll do the work in a quarter of the time.’
His head fell back against the sofa cushions. Round two to her.
The doctor stayed only ten minutes. Sophy waited on the top of the stairs, put her phone in action some more. Then, after exchanging a few words with the doctor on her way out, she went back in to face the grumpy patient.
‘I’m getting you a rug,’ she said, heading towards the doors at the back of the room, refusing to be embarrassed about the idea of going into his bedroom.
‘There’s one on the end of the sofa.’
She stopped. So there was. She’d not noticed it. Hard to notice anything else in the room when he was mostly naked. ‘Well—’ she tried not to stare at him as she reached down and picked it up ‘—I think perhaps you’d better put it on. You don’t want to get a chill.’
He was well enough to send her an ironic glance. But he leaned back on the sofa and pulled the rug over his waist and down his legs. ‘Happy now, nursie?’
His chest was still bare, so, no, she wasn’t. But he was obviously feeling a touch better. The doctor said she’d given him some pain relief—must be fast acting stuff.
‘So it’s tonsillitis?’ Sophy asked carefully, not wanting to intrude too much, yet unable to stop.
‘Stupid, isn’t it?’ Lorenzo said.
No. Like anyone, Sophy knew how painful a sore throat could be. ‘Did you get it as a child?’
‘A bit.’ He nodded. ‘Haven’t had it in years, though.’
‘They didn’t take them out for you?’ While it might not be a regular practice any more, she knew that for the most recurrent cases they still did tonsillectomies.
He repositioned his head on the sofa cushions again. ‘I was on the waiting list for a while. But it never happened. When I got to boarding school the episodes seemed to stop.’
Sophy poured the electrolyte drink the doctor had given her into a glass. ‘It was a good school, wasn’t it?’
‘Better than all the others I went to.’
She knew he’d been at school with Alex Carlisle—his partner in setting up the Whistle Fund. It was the school her elder brother had gone to too—years before. Private, exclusive, incredibly academic and with superior sporting results as well. It was a tough place to shine—and she just knew Lorenzo had shone. Her sister had gone to the girls’ equivalent. But by the time Sophy had come along their parents were happy for her to just go to the local—they’d said they didn’t want to send her away to board. But Sophy knew it was because she hadn’t had the off-the-charts grades her siblings had had. It wasn’t that she was below average, she just wasn’t brilliant. ‘The antibiotics will have you better in no time. Then maybe you should have a holiday.’
His brows shot up.
‘Cara says you’ve been working too hard,’ Sophy said blandly, ignoring his mounting outrage. ‘Perhaps you’ve gotten run down.’ At that she sent him a look from under her lashes—unable to resist the temptation to let a hint of flirt out.
‘Honey, I’m hardly run down.’ His muscles rippled as he stretched out his arms in an unabashed display of male preening.
Oh, he was definitely feeling better. And she just couldn’t resist teasing him some more.
‘The muscles might look good, Lorenzo,’ the devil made her whisper, ‘but you wouldn’t be up to it. You’d be spent just trying to stand.’
‘You want to move closer and we’ll test that out?’ Sick or not, he didn’t miss a beat.
She turned and paced away. Enough channelling of Rosanna—Sophy just wasn’t as practised a flirt as her best friend. ‘I’m not in the mood for more disappointments.’
‘You were disappointed I wasn’t there to meet you?’
She spun and caught his amused, satisfied look. She inhaled. ‘You should be lying down. Hurry up and finish that drink.’
‘Sophy—’ his eyes glittered ‘—I don’t need a mother.’ It was a slicing rejection of any sort of kindness.
‘No,’ she agreed curtly. ‘You need a nurse. I’ve arranged for one to come from an agency.’

Lorenzo was so shocked he couldn’t speak for a full minute. He repeated her words in his head several times. Still didn’t believe it. ‘You’ve what?’
‘I’ve got a nurse coming. I’ve got work to get on with, so does Kat, and you can’t be left alone.’
Can’t be left alone? What did she think he’d been all his life? ‘You can tell your nurse she’s not necessary.’
‘No. Too late for that.’ She moved back to the table and took away the empty glass. ‘She’s on her way.’
Oh, she thought she was so damn competent, didn’t she? ‘She’ll have a mobile. Call it.’ Wasn’t getting a doctor around enough for this woman? Another tremor shook him from the bones out. Blow the fever—he was boiling mad.
‘Don’t bother trying, Lorenzo,’ she said coolly, cutting him off before he’d even got started. ‘She’s on her way and she’s staying.’
He gritted his teeth and glared at her. He’d never felt this frustration—hadn’t felt this useless since he was a kid being shunted from place to place with no say in it.
He closed his eyes as a wave of utter weariness hit him. Okay, he had been working hard—even harder than usual recently. He didn’t know when his hunger for success would be filled. Always he was chased by the feeling that it could be whisked away from him, that he’d wake up one day and find himself with nothing. So he worked, worked, worked—building the base bigger. He could never have enough of the security he needed.
But investing in Vance’s bar idea might have been one project too many. He’d sent all his staff and resources there for the last week. Helping him get ready for the big opening night—which Lorenzo was going to miss at this rate. As a result his own offices had been sadly neglected. The Whistle Fund in particular. It wouldn’t take too much to get it right again, but it needed time that he simply didn’t have right now. He’d been working twenty-hour days in the last fortnight as it was. So Cara’s office was a mess. It was stupid, but there was a big part of him that hated this woman seeing it like that.
Sophy—the supremely interfering piece of efficiency.
And how could he be finding her remotely attractive? She was so damn quick and proper and right it was nauseating. Had she ever made a mistake in her life? He so didn’t think so. And if she had, he bet she’d never admit to it.
Utterly perfect, wasn’t she?
He shifted under the rug. She was perfect—like a porcelain doll. Creamy skin and a blonde bob that sprang into neat curls at the ends—how long did it take her to get it to sit just so? Then there was that little nose and the lips that had a sweet cupid’s bow that begged to be kissed. And big blue eyes that went even bigger when she looked at him—a blend of intense interest and reserve. She looked as if she wanted but was wary. She half teased and then withdrew again. It made him want to pounce all the more. He saw her gaze flick over him again. Damn the weakness in his bones. Because that look in her eyes made him want to strip her bare—inch by beautiful inch—and find out whether the hint of the fire he could see really was just the glow from an inferno beneath. He sure as hell was fantasising it was.
Only he was so damn helpless.
That one last part of his body refused to acknowledge the sickness. He raised his knees, lifting the rug to hide the evidence, and mentally berated himself. So inappropriate. It must be the fever putting these kinds of thoughts into his head.
He looked at her, she was speaking briskly into her phone again. Some other poor soul was at the mercy of her efficiency. He was beyond even trying to listen. All he wanted was to rip the gadget from her and press his mouth to hers—just to shut her up. Just to slake the lust. So damn irresistible. So damn impossible. For one thing he was harbouring a million nasty bugs in his throat, for another she just wasn’t his type. Not at all. Not when he was on form.
But he felt an almost feral need to touch her—had done since the second he’d first seen her looking so snippy out the back of the warehouse. He wanted to muss her up so bad he wanted to growl.
Sick. He really was sick.
‘Okay, that’s everything settled, then.’
‘You’re going?’ Oh, man. He grimaced. Where had that sound of disappointment come from?
She paused. ‘You didn’t think I was going to stay, did you? I’ve got other things to do. And you said it yourself, Lorenzo—you don’t need a mother, or any kind of sympathy.’
‘So you’re going to leave me here at the mercy of some stranger?’ He opted to try to wheedle. Thinking on it, he’d rather have her here than some nurse—even if she was a little too efficient for his liking. Did she never stop and slow down? She should slow down—he’d make her. Give it to her really, really slow. Bend her back and lick all the way up her gorgeous length until she…Hell, his eyes were probably glazing over. He shut them tight. It made the fantasy worse. It made the aching in his gut worse.
On seconds thoughts, the sooner Sophy left, the better.
‘She’s very well qualified and has great references,’ Sophy said—oblivious to the base nature of his thoughts. ‘She’ll get you right again.’
‘I do not need a damn nursemaid.’ What was she going to do all day? He’d had the pills, now he just needed to sleep until it was time to take more. The last thing he wanted was some woman poking round his apartment. He never let women poke around. He liked his privacy—the peace in isolation.
‘Your temperature is sky-high. Until it’s down and the antibiotics have kicked in, then you are not being left alone. We’re talking twenty-four hours or less, Lorenzo. Get over it.’
He opened his mouth. Shut it again. He hadn’t been given orders quite like that in years.
‘Now you need to rest. The nurse will be here in twenty. She’s bringing more medicine with her.’
Enough was enough. He wasn’t putting up with this for a moment longer. He put his feet on the ground and hauled himself up.

‘Lorenzo.’ Sophy’s heart lurched. She moved fast.
His eyes were closed and the frown on his face was heightened by his extreme pallor. His whole body was covered in a film of sweat but he shivered again. She wrapped her arm around him—felt every single muscle in his body go tense. Sophy bit her lip. The sooner the nurse got here, the better.
‘I’m fine.’ The anger surged in his voice. Directed at both her and himself. He was furious with his weakness.
‘And I’m the Queen of Atlantis.’
‘This is ridiculous. I’m hardly at death’s door. It’s a sore throat.’ But he sat back down all the same, put his feet up this time and scrunched more into the sofa, lying shivering beneath the rug. His teeth were tightly clenched—to stop them chattering or because he was so mad? Probably both.
Sophy was definitely staying ’til the nurse arrived now. She sat in the chair across from the sofa. Keeping a wary eye on him and sneaking interested glances round his apartment. The space was gorgeous—huge and light. The kitchen was modern—had all the lovely stainless steel appliances a gourmet home cook could ever want. There was a massive shelving system on one wall—filled with books, CDs, DVDs. She leaned close to look at the titles, even though she knew she was being nosy.
She glanced at her watch. Shouldn’t be long now ’til the nurse arrived. He’d gone very quiet. Was he asleep? Quietly she moved back to the sofa, bent so she could see his face.
His jet-black hair was just slightly too long—as if he’d missed his last appointment with the barber—and right now it was a tousled mess. It was gorgeous—just begging for fingers to tunnel into it. And his features were beautiful. His eyelashes were annoyingly long while the shadow on his angular cheek tempted her to touch. And then there was his mouth. In the heart of his chiselled jaw were the most sensual lips she’d ever seen. Full, gently curved, slightly parted as he slept. The shivering seemed to have eased. Had his temperature dropped? She put her palm on his forehead again.
His hand moved fast, clamping round her wrist as his eyes shot open. The brown so deep as to be black, filled with a fire she wasn’t sure was purely fever.
She was caught, crouched half over him, unable to move.
His eyes burned into her. ‘I told you to quit it.’
But he wasn’t holding her hand away from him, instead he pressed her fingers harder to his skin. Afterwards she never knew from where she’d got the audacity, but she spread her fingers, gently stroking them over his damp brow. Smoothing the frown lines, stretching higher to reach into his hair, rumpling it ever so gently.
Her fingertips felt so sensitive—never had she felt something so strong inside from just touching someone. The strangest kind of electricity surged into her. Thrilling yet relaxing at the same time. It felt right to be touching him. It felt good. Okay, more than good. Sexual energy strummed through her, just like that. She wanted to move, to touch more, to shift her hips—tease the ache that had woken deep within.
His eyes didn’t leave hers, filled with a look so full of…something. Was it anger or desire or something deeper and darker still?
The buzzing made her jump. Made him grip her even harder—so hard she winced.
‘That’ll be the nurse,’ she muttered.
Despite the illness he had fearsome strength when he wanted to use it.
She finally broke away from his deepening gaze, and pointedly looked at his hand. ‘You need to let me go.’
His fingers loosened and she pulled her hand free. Her heart was beating so fast she felt dizzy. Maybe it wasn’t tonsillitis that he had. Maybe it was the flu and she’d caught it just like that. She felt as hot as he looked.
She caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror hanging on the wall as she hurried to the door. Yes, the colour in her cheeks was definitely more than the usual. And her eyes looked huge.
The nurse was at least fifty and looked like a total grandma with her specs and cardigan and knitting needles poking out of her bag. She talked like a grandma too—incessant, interested and caring but with an underlying thread of steel.
Sophy smothered her smile as the woman began her no nonsense fussing over Lorenzo. Definitely time to make a move. She needed some space to examine that moment again too.
‘I’ll phone later,’ she said to the nurse.
‘Aren’t you going to talk to me?’ A growl from the sofa.
‘You’re going to be asleep.’ Sophy went even warmer inside when she saw the put out look flash on his face.
But then he started shivering again and the nurse turned to him. ‘We need to get you into bed, don’t we? I’ll go and put some nice fresh sheets on it. No, don’t worry, I can find them. You just lie back and relax. Medicine, some painkillers, something nice and warm to drink. We’ll have you better in no time.’
Sophy watched the woman bustle off, finding her way around the place by some kind of special nursing sixth sense. She looked back at Lorenzo; he was looking at the nurse with such loathing that Sophy had to clap her hand over her mouth to stop herself laughing. At her movement his head whipped round and he glared at her. Oh, boy, definitely time to go.
‘Sophy.’
Halfway across the room she hesitated.
‘Come here.’
Sick as he was, it was a command. And Sophy felt a scarily overwhelming urge to do as he bid. How pathetic—it wasn’t as if he could do much if she refused.
‘Come here.’ Softly spoken again, but it wasn’t just a thread of steel in there—it was a whole core. And his magnetism wasn’t something she could ignore.
She walked over to him. Even though he was the one lying down, even though she was the one who could leave, somehow the balance of power had changed. In those few minutes when she’d been crouched next to him, stroking him, something had changed completely.
She stopped a little distance away, met the deep, dark gaze a little nervously.
‘I want to thank you,’ he said quietly.
‘It’s not necessary.’ She felt the blush rising in her cheeks. Sorting out others was her speciality. She had a family of geniuses who could barely organise what they wanted to make for dinner every night. This was nothing.
He was still looking at her so intensely she wondered what it was he was trying to read. His focus dropped, to her mouth. She swallowed—determined not to give herself away by licking her suddenly desperately dry lips. Her pulse thumped in her ears.
‘I’m kissing you. Can you feel it?’
Sophy blinked. Had she just dreamed that? Was that a fantasy moment? Had he really just said that? Like that—a purring whisper?
Mind sex. Was that what this was? Because she had to admit she was feeling it—and was desperate to feel more. Okay, she was delirious. She really was. Definitely burning up. She licked her lips, not realising she was ’til she was done and they were still tingling with the need for touch—his touch. His kiss.
Suddenly he was smiling—that absolutely brilliant smile that had disarmed her so completely yesterday.
She snatched in a breath—her lungs felt as if they were eating fire. ‘Get better soon.’ And she ran, his low chuckle hard on her heels.

Every time Sophy thought of the expression on his face as she’d left she blushed bodily. And it wasn’t without a few nerves that she walked up to the second floor three days later. Lorenzo was back on deck—Kat told her as soon as she arrived. And he was waiting for her in his office. She was to see him as soon as she got there.
Sophy had the feeling it was going to be interesting. He hadn’t liked her seeing him so vulnerable. Certainly hadn’t liked the way she’d handled it. If she’d learned anything about him from their brief meetings so far, he liked to be the boss. Only she’d overruled him. She suspected he was going to make her pay for that—only the burning question was how? In the devastatingly direct way that he’d reclaimed the power in his apartment? By using his way-too-potent sensuality? She totally shouldn’t be hoping so. Lorenzo Hall had playboy commitment-phobe stamped all over him—in permanent ink. She took a breath and knocked on his door.
‘Just a moment.’
She waited, her nerves stretching tauter with every tiny tick of her watch. What was this pause about—did he want to force her to break point? Because he knew, didn’t he? Was all too aware of his effect on her—and on any woman. Why, he’d used it to his advantage in his apartment—a look, a very few words and she was practically in a puddle at his feet. Then she heard him.
‘Okay, you can come in now.’
She opened the door and stopped on the threshold. Gaped.
He was standing by the window, had turned to watch as she came in. He was in jeans. But still no shirt. From behind him the light touched his body like an aura giving it a golden glow. It didn’t need the emphasis. It was blindingly gorgeous already.
It was as if she were two feet from a launch tower that had just sent a rocket into space—the heat from the blast nearly eviscerating her.
His torso was bronzed, no sheen from sweat this time, but she wanted to see it wet again. Her fingers wanted to slide through the slickness, they wanted to torment him to slickness.
She squeezed her eyes shut. Since when did she have rabid sexual fantasies about a virtual stranger? Such uncontrollable, lusty urges? She blamed it on the sight of all that beautiful skin.
‘The first time was a mistake,’ she muttered. ‘The second you couldn’t help.’ She opened her eyes and stared some more, watching as he slowly walked until he stood ten inches too far within her personal space. ‘This time—’
‘Was entirely deliberate.’

Chapter Three
ALL Sophy could hear was the thud, thud, thud of her heart. ‘Deliberate?’
He smiled. Such a slow, amused smile she wondered whether the word had actually emerged from her mouth or whether it had just been some sort of scared-animal squeak.
‘You seemed to like it,’ he said quietly, tiny twin lights dancing in his otherwise incredibly dark eyes.
Like it? Oh, that was the understatement of the century.
She blinked at him. He was so calm. So at ease in his gorgeous skin. So sure of his effect on her—the effect he definitely had on any woman—he was that confident. It was enough to slap sense back into her. ‘You’re definitely feeling better, aren’t you?’
‘One hundred per cent.’
‘Great.’ Sophy took a step back into the corridor. ‘Then perhaps you’d like to see what I’ve been doing with sorting out the admin in there.’
‘I’ve seen it. It’s looking good. It’s very easy to understand the system you’re setting up.’
‘Oh.’ She was deflated—he’d stolen the ball back just like that.
‘But we do need to talk about the function coming up.’
He walked out to the corridor after her. ‘And I need to show you some of the stuff to update the website. I understand Kat’s been helping you a bit when she can?’
‘Yes, she’s been great.’ Sophy tried really hard to keep her concentration on the conversation but it kept sliding down to where his flat abs hit his jeans. Unbelievable—both his body and her reaction to it.
‘The rest of the team will be back in later today. They’ve been helping on another project.’
‘The bar.’ Kat had told her about it. Lorenzo was the backer behind some guy opening up a new bar in the heart of cooldom. And she could totally be professional in the face of this provocation. Sure she could.
‘Yes.’ He was sounding all serious but his eyes were dancing. ‘Shall we go into your office and get on with it?’
She stopped only three paces along. Nope. She couldn’t be professional—not like this. ‘Do you possibly think that you could put a shirt on?’
A deep, totally pure sound of amusement rumbled out of him. ‘It really bothers you.’
‘It’s inappropriate.’ Sophy felt her temperature rising. She wasn’t a prude—really she wasn’t. But this was just before nine a.m. and they were at work. Hell, yes, it bothered her.
‘No more inappropriate than you bursting into my apartment and ordering a nurse for me.’
Sophy smiled, feeling a sense of power return. ‘Now that really bothered you, didn’t it? Me seeing you like that—in such a weakened state. Did it wound your male pride? Is that why you’re showing your muscles again now? Proving your masculine strength?’
‘You really think I was weak?’ He turned, his big frame took up half the space in the corridor. And then he moved. Instinctively she retreated—backing up against the wall. But he followed, totally hemming her in. She stuck her chin in the air trying not to feel anxious—or, worse, the lick of anticipation.
Sparks seemed to be coming from his eyes. ‘I don’t think I’m the one who needs to prove anything. I think that’s for you to do.’
‘What exactly do you think I need to prove? That you don’t bother me?’ Altitude sickness on the second floor—that was her problem. She must be the world’s first case but she’d swear the air was thinner here because she could hardly get her words higher than a whisper.
His brows flickered. ‘Don’t I?’
‘Of course you do.’
His brows shot higher. What, he hadn’t expected honesty?
‘You’re half naked. All the time,’ she explained the obvious. ‘But it’s the inappropriateness that bothers me. Not your actual body.’ Oh, great, now she sounded prissy. And not at all honest.
His smile was back showing off his even white teeth. And he was playing with her the way a cat did a mouse. She needed to talk to Rosanna—really badly. She needed advice from a pro. Because there was no way she was letting Lorenzo Hall win this with such one-sided ease. She wasn’t going to roll over and be the latest in what she was certain was a very long line—at least not without scoring some points of her own. For nor was she going to cut off her nose to spite her face. She wasn’t going to deny herself a moment of pure pleasure should the opportunity arise. Yes, he bothered her—like that. Yes, she wanted him.
But she’d make like Rosanna and have him on her terms. For once in her life she was going to turn her back on responsibility; she’d take a risk and go for something she wanted. She just had to figure out how.

Lorenzo knew he was being naughty. But there was that bit in him that had always derived pleasure from taking risks. From doing exactly what society said he shouldn’t—stretching the boundaries as far as he could and stopping only just before they broke.
He had matured—his transgressions were nothing near the edge he’d veered towards all those years ago. He stayed on the right side of the law now. But this oh-so-perfect Miss made him push it. Even just this little bit, to risqué, to rude, when really he wanted to ravish—really, really badly.
The look on her face had been worth the dodgy removal of his shirt. So worth it—even if he was struggling to contain his wayward hormones now. He just wanted to reach out and pull her against him—hard. His skin was on fire—had been since she’d touched him in his apartment the other day. Her small, cool hand hadn’t soothed him at all—had only stirred the desire he’d already been battling to control. In those first twenty-four hours when the sickness was at its worst, he’d done nothing but dream of her. He was still dreaming of her and where he wanted that hand.
He’d been working too hard, round the clock with no room for fun. But it should ease up soon. Once the bar was open he’d be able to take a step back. And have some fun. Then again, there was no reason why he couldn’t have some fun right now.
Her eyes had narrowed. He could just about see the cogs turning and whirring in her brain. The vixen-with-training-wheels looked as if she was plotting.
A phone rang—hers. Her hand went to her bag. He was disappointed to see her move. But he didn’t move away. Took too much pleasure in watching her shrink back an awkward inch as she answered. But felt the pleasure turn to ash when he heard the male tones. He listened as she organised.
‘Yes, don’t worry, Ted. I’m picking it up on my way home. I’ll drop it round before six.’
Who the hell was Ted? Lorenzo waited ’til she said goodbye. Then let the power of silence work its magic.
‘That was my brother. Sorry,’ she finally said.
He took the phone from her hand and switched it off. ‘When you’re with me, all your attention is with me.’
Her eyes widened. He watched her swallow.
‘On work,’ he added, way too late.
He held out her phone for her to take back. Smiling inside as he saw her jerky movements. Yeah, he liked the way he could bother her. Because she really bothered him. He took a careful step away—right now they both needed a minute. ‘I’ll go get my shirt and then we’ll go through the stuff for Whistle, right?’

Sophy poured the entire contents of the ice tray into her glass—not caring that half the blocks fell out onto the bench and skidded onto the floor. She was unbearably hot—Lorenzo putting his shirt on had made no difference. For over an hour she’d suffered—sitting at the desk while he hovered beside her, behind her. Filling in the holes that had appeared in the days when she’d been working without the information only he or Cara could provide. She’d had the rest of the day to recover—but she hadn’t succeeded. She gulped down half the glass of water, sagged against the bench, she was so out of her depth.
‘Where have you been? I’m only home for half a day and I wanted us to go for a pedicure and—’
Sophy turned, dropping the glass in the sink. ‘You’re back!’ Thrilled, she ran across the room and hugged her elusive flatmate.
‘Okay, you’ve missed me too.’ Rosanna’s arms came round her and tightened. Then pushed her away. ‘Shirts, doll, we can’t crush our shirts.’
Sophy laughed. In the sentence of life, Sophy figured she was like a verb—the action, the one who got things done. Not very exciting perhaps, but necessary. Rosanna, however, was the exclamation mark. The rare beauty that could fill a whole paragraph—a whole room—with excitement. She even looked like one. Always dressed in black, she was a thin streak of long limbs, her glossy dark hair swept in a high ponytail that swung halfway down her back. She was full of vitality, and sheer outrageousness.
‘Now where have you been? I landed hours ago and have been lonely ever since and now the taxi to take me back to the airport will be here in ten. What’s up with your mobile?’
Sophy walked back to the bench to find and refill her glass. How was she going to explain this one? Rosanna was not going to be impressed. ‘I’m doing some admin work.’
Rosanna frowned. ‘You’ve got a job?’
‘Only for a few weeks. Their usual administrator’s baby arrived sooner than expected.’
‘Baby okay?’
‘Baby’s fine.’
‘So why couldn’t they get a temp? Why did it have to be you?’ Rosanna rolled her eyes. ‘Who asked you?’
‘Cara, the new mother, is a good friend of Victoria’s.’
‘Of course she is. Of course you couldn’t say no.’ Rosanna gave a theatrical sigh as she went to the pantry and pulled out a bottle of wine. ‘So where’s the job?’
‘You heard of the Whistle Fund?’
Rosanna wolf-whistled as she unscrewed the cap of the bottle. ‘Alex Carlisle and Lorenzo Hall. Who hasn’t heard of them? Alex got married recently and Lorenzo’s someone you don’t forget. Ever.’
Well, that was true. His image was burned on Sophy’s brain, every inch of skin, muscle and pure man.
‘Every bit as good as he looks, apparently,’ Rosanna drawled.
‘You’ve hooked him?’ A hot flash of envy sliced through Sophy.
‘No,’ Rosanna said, pausing as she poured the crimson wine. ‘Not that I’d turn him down. But the one time our paths crossed I didn’t even score a second glance.’
‘I’m sure that’s not true.’ Sophy was able to smile again. ‘Every man gives you at least four glances.’
‘Sweetie-pie.’ Rosanna flopped into a chair, giant wine glass in hand. ‘No, I’ve heard he’s impossible to catch. Tangles in the nets now and then but always swims free.’
Sophy was quite sure he tangled and then ripped free. ‘I think he’s a shark.’
‘Do you now?’ Rosanna giggled—half choking on her wine.
‘Absolutely,’ Sophy said. ‘I think he’s far too used to seeing any fish he wants and getting the kill.’
Rosanna held her glass up to the light and with a flick of her wrist let the liquid swirl inside it. ‘At the very least you might score some wine.’
Sophy shook her head. ‘I don’t know that we’ll be getting on well enough for that.’
Rosanna tilted her head on the side and appraised Sophy, a sly smile on her lips. ‘You’re interested.’
‘No I’m not.’ Sophy lied. And then immediately started to laugh.
Rosanna laughed too. ‘Of course you are. We all are. But—’ her nose wrinkled ‘—I don’t think he’s your type.’
‘No?’ Sophy felt irrationally put out.
‘He is a shark,’ Rosanna said. ‘You need a dolphin.’
‘Oh, great. Someone with a big nose.’
‘And with a habit of rescuing rather than destroying. It’s true.’ Rosanna sat up. ‘You need a good guy, Soph, someone safe and cuddly, not some dangerous type you couldn’t handle.’
‘You don’t think I could handle him?’
‘I know you couldn’t.’
‘So you’ve no advice for me?’
Rosanna looked up sharply. ‘I’m the last person you should take advice from.’
How did she figure that? She was the one who had them all eating out of her palm.
‘You were wearing that when you saw him?’ Rosanna’s expression clouded.
‘What? What’s wrong with it?’ Had she committed some terrible fashion faux pas? She couldn’t think what.
‘Nothing. But if he has a Grace Kelly fantasy, then you’re in trouble.’
Sophy snorted. ‘Now who’s the sweetie-pie?’
‘He’d gobble a kitten like you.’ Rosanna frowned. ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Anyway, I’m grumpy, we don’t have time for a pedicure now. I’ve had to sit here all day doing nothing.’
Kitten? She thought she was a kitten? ‘Poor you.’ Now Sophy had zero sympathy. ‘It’s about time you stopped and did nothing for half a day.’
Rosanna cupped her hand round her mouth, making a pretend megaphone. ‘Pot calling kettle, come in, kettle.’ She stood. ‘At least I’m busy pushing my career. You’re just busy doing everything for everyone else.’
‘You’re going to miss your next flight. Go have a good trip.’ Rosanna was a buyer for one of the major fashion chains. Knowledgeable, chic, damn good at her job and away more nights than she was at home.
Rosanna picked up the handle of her chic trolley case. ‘I love Wellington.’
‘The boys are going to miss you.’
‘It’ll be good for them.’ Rosanna bent and flicked an invisible speck of fluff from her black trousers.
Sophy watched the studied indifference with a smile. ‘Are you ever going to make a decision?’
Rosanna appeared to think on it for a moment, then smiled shamelessly. ‘I don’t think so, no.’
Rosanna had been dating two men for the last month. They knew about each other. Hell, they all went clubbing together, the boys’ rivalry half jest, half serious. Rosanna, the black widow, liked to have as many in her web as possible to play with. And once they were caught, they were never freed. She had carcasses all over the globe. Emmet and Jay were her latest victims yet somehow she pulled it off with such charm they didn’t seem to mind—in fact they salivated over her.
Sophy knew there was a heart of gold underneath the glam. It was just that Rosanna wouldn’t admit to it, certainly wouldn’t let anyone near it. She spent her life fencing, flirting on a superficial—if somewhat bitchy—plane. Sophy knew why; Rosanna’s heart had been broken and she wasn’t letting any man near it again. She was only about having light, harmless, fun and keeping any seriousness at a distance.
Sophy’s heart had also been broken. Frankly she wanted some of the fun now too—and she knew who with. She walked with Rosanna to the door, waited for the taxi to arrive and tried to absorb some of her friend’s zest for life.
Rosanna did all the things Sophy was too ‘responsible’ to do: she had crazy flings, she went to far flung destinations, she was impulsive and a risk-taker. She did danger—she’d do dangerous like Lorenzo Hall kind of dangerous.

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