Burning Up

by Sarah Mayberry

  She stared at him, aware that a dangerous relief was surging through her veins. “Really?” Her voice was high with relieved incredulity, and she gave herself a mental slap. Dignity, girl. Have a little dignity.

  “Of course. I’m not going to leave you here on your own. And I’m not giving up the rest of my time off, either.”

  “I’ll have to stop by my apartment to grab something to wear,” she said, thinking of her good pair of black heels and her all-purpose little black dress.

  “We’ll make a day of it, and I’ll take you shopping,” he said.

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re not buying me a dress, Lucas,” she said repressively, although a little part of her quite liked the idea. Too many viewings of Pretty Woman, obviously.

  “Fine. But I still want to take you shopping,” he said. “Donatella says I have a good eye.”

  She stared at him, pretty sure that the Donatella he was talking about usually came accessorized with a Versace after her name. Every now and then she forgot who he was and what he did. He’d become so human to her, so normal and flawed like everyone else in the world.

  “I’m not wearing anything with safety pins holding it together,” she warned him.

  “We’ll see.”

  He snatched the crossword puzzle back, giving her a dark look when he saw how much she’d done without him.

  “What can I say? I have a good vocabulary,” she said.

  “You have a dirty vocabulary,” he corrected her.

  He bent his head to the page, and she studied him covertly from beneath her lashes. She was going to Sydney with Lucas. They were going to a flashy event, and she was going to be his date. More importantly, they were taking their relationship beyond the confines of this house and the Blue Mountains. After their single foray into the nearby mountain town of Faulconbridge that first week, they’d stuck to the estate. They had everything they needed shipped in—food arrived on a weekly basis, and a discreet, virtually invisible cleaner whisked through the house magically every other day. There was no need for anything else, since they’d been so wrapped up in enjoying each other.

  Now the bubble was about to burst. Not quite permanently—not yet. But soon, it would all be over.

  Probably that was a good thing, given how dismayed she’d felt when she’d heard Lucas committing to attending Adele’s opening. The wash of regret and hurt that had swept over her had been far stronger than anything she’d anticipated. Maybe she was a lot more foolish that she had been prepared to admit to herself, after all. Maybe—

  “Idiot,” she muttered under her breath, and Lucas glanced up from the crossword. He cocked an eyebrow at her in query, and she waved a hand back toward the newspaper.

  “Come on, what’s the next clue?” she asked.

  It was too late to pull out now. The damage was already done. She might as well enjoy her time left in the sun.

  LUCAS PRESSED the accelerator to the floor and shifted down a gear. Beside him, Sophie turned her face into the wind, her short, bright hair a ruffled mess, her face all but swallowed up by her Jackie O sunglasses.

  “You look like a mad squirrel in those sunglasses,” he said.

  “Funny, I was just thinking that you look like a racing ferret in yours,” she said, eyeing his sleek, modern frames disparagingly. He laughed, and realized that he hadn’t looked forward to a public event as much in a long time. Usually he turned up, smiled, chatted to whoever was important or beautiful, then got the hell out as quickly as possible—usually to find somewhere noisier where people were wearing less clothing and drinking stronger drinks.

  “I forgot to say, Derek’s made an appointment for me at the hospital this afternoon,” he said. “They want to check on everything.”

  Sophie looked at him, a worried frown appearing between her eyebrows.

  “You haven’t exactly been resting your knee,” she said, clearly thinking of some of their more recent bedroom activities. “I hope it’s all right.”

  “It’ll be fine, don’t worry,” he said, amused by her concern. “All that exercise has been good for it, I’m sure.”

  They bantered and teased one another the rest of the way into the city, and nearly a full hour and a half after their departure they were pulling up outside his Double Bay harborside home.

  “Every time I catch a ferry across the harbor I look at these houses and wonder who is lucky enough to live here,” she said as he drove his car through the automatic garage door.

  “Now you know,” he said. “Nicole Kidman is around the point a bit. And Russell Crowe has a pad on the end of the Woolloomooloo pier.”

  “Cozy. I suppose you have Trivial Pursuit nights and whatnot?” she asked, poker-faced.

  “All the time. And key-swapping parties.”

  She gave him a dry look at that.

  “What? It’s true, I swear. Keith Urban is a tiger in the sack,” he said.

  She punched him for that one, and he ruffled her hair in retaliation. That led to a heated, heavy petting session in the dark quiet of his garage. He had her in his lap and his hands under her tank top when someone cleared his throat loudly.

  Sophie stiffened and blushed furiously as the overhead light came on.

  “Lucas. Great to see you,” Derek said, but his eyes were on Sophie as she slithered from Lucas’s lap to her own side of the car, furtively rearranging her clothes all the while.

  Lucas frowned. As usual, Derek’s timing sucked large.

  “Derek,” he said.

  “I don’t think we’ve met before,” Derek said pointedly to Sophie.

  It was Derek’s business to mind Lucas’s business, but he bristled at the speculation in the other man’s gaze.

  “This is Sophie,” he said. Derek didn’t need to know any more than that. Certainly he didn’t need to know that Sophie was the chef that Julie Jenkins had hired. Somehow he knew Derek would find that piece of information highly amusing.

  “Hi,” Sophie said, looking up properly for the first time and giving a tight, embarrassed little wave.

  Derek frowned, and Lucas knew exactly what he was thinking, the same thing that he’d thought when he first met Sophie: that she was nothing special.

  How wrong could one man be? Thank God he’d had a chance to look twice, past the expectations created by too many years surrounded by silicone, BOTOX and the latest fad workout.

  “Come on, Soph. I’ll show you around,” he said, getting out of the car and pulling his crutches from the space behind the driver’s seat.

  “I’ve got some papers for you to sign,” Derek said, falling in behind them as they entered the house. “And Steven Spielberg wants to do a phone conference on the Scott Frank script at eleven.”

  “No can do. I’m taking Sophie shopping,” Lucas said as he led Sophie into the living room.

  He watched as she took in the stark white walls, modern art and sleek leather furniture. She glanced into the next room, spotting the vast glass-topped dining table, more white walls and more modern art. She didn’t say a word, or frown, or even purse her lips. Still, he knew she hated it. And, looking at it all with new eyes, he could see why a warm, vibrant person like Sophie might find his house a little…sterile. Maybe even cold and unwelcoming.

  Derek was making impatient noises behind them, and Lucas swung around to face him.

  “Look, I’m still on a break until next week. You shouldn’t have made any commitments without asking me first. Just tell Steven I’ll call him next week. He’ll be cool.”

  “I can go shopping on my own. I don’t mind,” Sophie said, looking back and forth between the two of them.

  “See? Sophie’s fine with it,” Derek said.

  “But I’m not. Reschedule,” Lucas said. He wasn’t about to dump Sophie like a hot potato because Hollywood beckoned.

  Derek shot Sophie a frustrated look as he headed for the door. “Fine. I’ll see you this afternoon at the hospital,” he said.

  Sophie pulled a face on
ce they heard the front door close.

  “He’s not happy,” she said.

  “Tough. He’ll own me again next week. This week is mine,” he said.

  Reaching for her, he pulled her close. “You hate my house, don’t you?” he asked as he nuzzled her neck.

  “Why do you say that?” she said. As a stalling tactic it was masterful, but he was on to her.

  “I can tell.” He nipped at her earlobe.

  “The view is fantastic. Awesome,” she said, her hands curving into his butt to pull him closer.

  “Very diplomatic.”

  “Do you like it?” she asked. “Surely that’s the most important thing.”

  Lucas lifted his face from her neck and glanced around again. “Not really. But I guess I don’t spend enough time here to care.”

  “So you’re based mostly in L.A., then?” she asked.

  “I’m based wherever the next film is being shot. Actor’s curse.” He shrugged.

  Her eyes were solemn as she looked at him. “That must get lonely. Never having a place that’s all your own.”

  He could see what she was thinking, the connections she was making, and he pulled away from her.

  “I’ll show you the bedroom,” he said, leering at her comically. “Then we can hit the shops.”

  She eyed him seriously for a long beat before nodding. “It’s your show, lead on.”

  13

  SHOPPING BAGS IN HAND, Sophie let herself into her apartment later that afternoon. Lucas had dropped her off before heading over to the hospital, promising to collect her later for dinner before the gallery opening.

  The apartment was stuffy after so many weeks of being shut up, and she opened windows and doors before moving into the bedroom and dropping her shopping bags onto the bed. It was strange to be home. Looking around the bedroom she used to share with Brandon, she felt as though she was looking at another person’s life. For three weeks, she’d been living in the lap of luxury with one of the world’s most charismatic men. But this was her life—this apartment, her day-to-day existence as a chef, her tight-knit circle of family and friends. It was probably timely for her to remember that since she’d just spent a sinful amount of money on a dress that Lucas had helped her choose. Sophie Gallagher was an off-the-rack girl, not a designer original. Today, the past few weeks were the exception, not the rule.

  She was putting the kettle on to make coffee when she heard a key in the door and Brandon appeared in the kitchen. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw her.

  “Sophie.”

  “Brandon.”

  “I’ve been collecting the mail,” he said, displaying a handful of envelopes.

  “Oh. Okay, thanks,” she said. It was strange seeing him again. Her whole world had changed since they last saw each other.

  “You’re very tanned,” Brandon said.

  “I guess.” Sophie held out an arm and considered it. She was brown. She had no tan lines, either, thanks to all the skinny-dipping she and Lucas had been indulging in.

  “So, how is the job?” Brandon asked. “We’ve missed you at the restaurant.”

  “I’ve missed you guys, too,” Sophie said, although she felt a little like a fraud. She’d been so immersed in Lucas and her new recipes, she really hadn’t thought about much from her old life.

  “Monty’s been doing a good job as head chef, but I think he’ll be pretty happy to see you back,” Brandon said. There was a question in his tone and the look he shot her.

  She took a deep breath. “I won’t be coming back, Brandon.”

  Brandon’s shoulders sagged. “I suspected you’d say that. Mom and Dad will be disappointed. But to be honest, I’m happy for you,” he said.

  She must have looked as surprised as she felt, because he quickly explained himself.

  “You were always better than us, Soph. We were lucky to keep you for as long as we did. You wait—you’re going to make a big splash somewhere.”

  She blinked. “Thanks,” she finally said.

  The kettle had well and truly boiled, and she automatically grabbed two coffee mugs.

  “You’ll stay?” she asked.

  He nodded. Then all of a sudden she realized she had missed him, even if she hadn’t been conscious of it. He’d been her friend and lover for nearly half her life, and there would always be a place for him in her heart. She’d been angry with him for pulling the rug out from beneath her, but he’d done the right thing. For both of them.

  They sat at the kitchen table and talked, Brandon filling her in on restaurant scuttlebutt, catching her up on family stuff. It was nice. Comfortable. She could almost understand why she’d taken refuge in it for so long. But in no way was she tempted to go back.

  Finally he stood to leave.

  “You look great, Soph. Happy,” he said. He seemed worried for her, and because it felt right, Sophie stepped forward and put her arms around him.

  “Yes,” she said. They held each other long and tight. “Thank you for having the courage to do what I couldn’t,” she whispered. “It’s been scary, but you were right.”

  He squeezed her one last time, and when he pulled back from her she saw his eyes were filled with tears.

  “I’ll always love you, Soph,” he said.

  “You, too.”

  They smiled at each other, then he left.

  Sophie stood in the middle of their apartment for a few beats, marveling at how far her feelings had shifted in the space of only a few weeks.

  Then she shook off her moment of introspection. Lucas would be there in an hour, and she had a lot of work to do if she was going to be rubbing shoulders with Sydney’s elite.

  LUCAS TOOK THE STEPS to Sophie’s apartment two at a time, just because he could. The doctor and the physiotherapist had been so pleased with his ultrasound and his range of movement that they’d both agreed the braces and crutches could go. He still had to be careful while his tendons continued to heal, but it was like being let out of prison. He wanted to dance, run, climb and kick up his heels all at once. And he wanted to do it all with Sophie.

  Rapping on the shiny red door to her apartment, he glanced at his watch. They had a dinner reservation at six, then they were going on to the gallery. Maybe later they could sneak out the back way and find someplace to dance all night.

  All thought was suspended when Sophie opened the door. She was wearing her new dress, and his mouth went dry with pure lust.

  “Wow,” he said.

  Made from a mocha-brown silk, her dress sat just off her shoulders, baring the skin of her neck and chest and showcasing her breasts. The waist was nipped in with a thick band, and the skirt flared out to end in a kicky row of ruffles at her knees. He’d seen her in it when she tried it on in the boutique and it had looked pretty great then. But now she’d made her eyes up with some kind of golden-green eye shadow, and her lips glistened wickedly with gloss. She looked hot.

  “You’re walking!” she said, her eyes widening.

  “You’re gorgeous,” he said, hands already reaching for her.

  She blushed and smoothed a hand down the skirt of the dress. “I’ll probably fall over and break my leg in these crazy shoes.” She extended a foot to display one of the dark-chocolate stilettos he’d chosen for her that afternoon.

  “If you fall, I promise to catch you,” he said, sliding his hands around her back and down onto her silk-covered butt. He frowned when he registered there was nothing but a single layer of silk beneath his hands.

  “Ms. Gallagher, are you commando beneath all those frills?”

  “It’s a thong. This fabric is a bitch for panty lines.”

  He was already hard, but he grew harder still at the thought of Sophie wearing a thong and four-inch stilettos.

  “Show me,” he demanded.

  “Don’t we have reservations for dinner?” she asked.

  “Show me,” he repeated.

  The look she shot him was pure minx as she stepped away from him. Sliding her
hands down the fabric of her skirt, she found the ruffled hem and slowly lifted it to reveal her bare, tanned thighs and a delicate triangle of cinnamon-colored lace.

  “Turn around,” he growled, his hands curling in anticipation.

  She swiveled on one heel, tossing a coy glance over her shoulder as she flipped up the back of her skirt so he could see her butt framed by twin curves of lace.

  His breath hissed out between his teeth. “Do you have any idea how hot you look right now?” he said.

  Her skirt still gathered around her waist, she cocked a knee forward, pushing her butt out more. “You like?” she asked.

  Since he’d always believed that actions spoke louder than words, he closed the distance between them, his hands cupping her bare cheeks reverently.

  “I like a lot,” he said.

  She was standing a few feet away from the wall, and she reached out and braced her hands against it, pushing into his hands more firmly. He groaned and slid his fingers along the line of her thong until he was delving into the steamy heat between her thighs. She was wet for him already, and he traced a finger over the heart of her, pressing through the delicate lace of her thong. She circled her hips, silently encouraging his exploration, and he slid a finger beneath the lace and into her.

  “Yessss,” she murmured, leaning forward more to deepen the angle of his penetration.

  He slid his other hand around her hip and down over her belly, cupping her mound with his palm as his middle finger found her clit.

  “Lucas,” she moaned, and he knew exactly what she wanted. Breaking contact with her for a beat, he unzipped his fly. She widened her stance, her butt arching high, and he slid her thong to one side as he nudged her slick inner lips with his hardness. Holding his breath, savoring the moment, he slid into her, clenching his hands on her hips as he registered how right and sweet she felt.

  “You feel so damn good,” he murmured as he slowly withdrew almost to the point of no return before once again sliding inside her to the hilt.

  “So do you,” she panted. “You feel amazing.”