At the Italian's Command

by Cathy Williams

  He looked at his watch and, catching the direction of his gaze, Sophie said, with amusement still in her voice, ‘I’m sorry. You must be getting back to the office. I know you normally have meetings lined up every afternoon.’

  ‘I had a cancellation. Raymond Slater’s off with some bug or other.’

  ‘How inconsiderate of him,’ Sophie teased and he responded with a wry smile.

  ‘Exactly what I was thinking.’

  ‘Can you tell me what the outcome was of your meeting with Bob Beardsman? I know I won’t be around to see the outcome of that meeting, but I would be interested in knowing. Has he decided to sell to you?’

  ‘We’re both still sitting on it.’

  ‘Well, you’ll have to fill me in some time…not that our paths will cross in the near future…’ Her voice dwindled off and she felt an inexplicable chill race through her, which was silly, of course. ‘You meant to have a chat with me. Do you have time? Would you rather leave it until Monday?’

  ‘I’m away on Monday.’ Where the hell had the time gone?

  ‘And is it that important?’

  Rafe thought of her and her innocence, her romantic notions. Damned important.

  ‘Yes,’ he said bluntly. Their coffees were finished and the bill had been brought to the table, but instead of paying he ordered two more coffees and a slab of chocolate cake with cream. He had expected her to shake her head and refuse but, after a moment of surprise, she seemed happy enough to plough her way through some dessert. In fact, her eyes positively lit up when it was placed in front of her, and, despite the little chat that he knew he now had to accomplish in record time, he couldn’t resist asking her how it was that she had managed to avoid the irritating female complaint of being on a perpetual diet.

  ‘Not vain enough, I guess,’ Sophie said, shrugging and enjoying every mouthful of sinful, calorie-laden heaven. ‘That’s another advantage of wearing comfortable, baggy clothes, you see. They can hide a multitude of sins.’

  Not that there were any on view last night, Rafe thought, remembering how that dress had clung to every inch of her slender body. He realised that she was looking at him curiously and also realised that he had lapsed into silence, contemplating her, her dress and his removal of it.

  He shook himself out of his unexpected reverie.

  ‘I don’t quite know how to broach this subject,’ he began slowly and Sophie paused, forkful of cake en route to her mouth, which was parted slightly in anticipation of savouring it. Her heart sank. Lunch had been so much better than she had expected. She might have known that the temporary camaraderie had been just a lull before the storm because Rafael Loro was not a man who baulked at broaching any subject. Suddenly the cake no longer tasted as exquisite as it had done seconds before, although she made herself finish the lot, pushing the plate away from her and wiping her mouth with her napkin.

  ‘I wouldn’t normally be giving this speech if…’ he frowned and looked at her thoughtfully ‘…if we didn’t go back a long way.’

  Well, there was no response to that, was there? Sophie looked at him, bewildered and already miserably planning what she would say to her boss about her failed enterprise.

  And what it would feel like to walk into another office, one that wasn’t filled with his dynamic presence… She was gripped suddenly by a cold feeling of dread.

  ‘Look, I’ll just spit it out. I watched you last night…and you haven’t got a clue, have you?’

  ‘A clue about what?’ Her eyes widened as she tried to puzzle out what he was trying to tell her.

  ‘A clue about what London is really like. It’s a jungle and you’re no jungle animal. I saw that firsthand last night. You were dressed in clothes that would attract a blind man, you had too much to drink and you were provocative.’

  Sophie’s mouth dropped open and a slow flush crawled into her cheeks as she began to decipher where he was going.

  ‘I—I wasn’t…provocative…’ she stammered.

  ‘Adrian Walsh was all over you, Sophie. I don’t normally put myself in a position of feeling responsible for other people’s behaviour, but, like I said, I’ve known you since you were a kid—’

  ‘And I’m not one now!’ The delicate flush had become two angry, concentrated red patches on her cheeks. ‘I can look after myself, Rafe! There’s no need for you to feel responsible for me!’

  ‘Are you trying to convince me that you’re so capable of looking after yourself that I had to drop you home and get you to bed? Do you have any idea what kind of position you put yourself into?’

  ‘I was perfectly capable of getting home by myself!’

  ‘Rubbish. You could hardly walk a straight line.’

  Had everyone else seen her in the same way? As a country bumpkin who had somehow bungled her way into their élite, private party and proceeded to make a fool of herself? She went hot all over just thinking about it.

  ‘I got home to a message on my answer machine. Adrian wanting your telephone number. What exactly did you say to him?’

  ‘I didn’t say anything to him! I chatted! It’s hardly my fault if he got the wrong idea! And you can’t blame my clothes,’ she added, with a flash of brilliance. ‘Angela wasn’t exactly bundled up! Do you feel responsible for her as well? In fact, do you feel responsible for every woman you see wearing a short skirt and having a bit to drink?’

  ‘Don’t be bloody ridiculous.’

  ‘I’m not being ridiculous, Rafe! I’m just trying to make you see that there’s no need for you to feel responsible for me.’ She could have added that it was a downright insult. ‘You keep calling me sensible. Now you’re treating me like a kid. Make your mind up! Either I’m a sensible adult or I’m an irresponsible kid!’

  Rafe shook his head impatiently and then fixed his brooding eyes on her. ‘What would have happened if Adrian had escorted you back to your flat instead of me?’

  She knew exactly where he was going with that silky soft question and it made her skin burn. She frantically tried to think of something biting to say, and he filled the intervening silence.

  ‘Adrian is a predator and predators don’t normally have much in the way of the gentlemanly instinct.’

  ‘Birds of a feather…’ she mumbled, and Rafe leaned forward, his mouth thinning.

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Nothing.’ She dropped her eyes, avoiding his, but she could still feel his glass-green stare burning into her. It took huge effort, but she managed to control all the emotions flooding her and think about what she was being paid by her company to do—her extremely optimistic, trusting and new company. ‘Thank you for your consideration,’ she managed to choke out, ‘and for your advice. I’ll make sure I remember it in future.’ Every time I want to feel really small and insecure, she added silently to herself.

  ‘No way.’

  ‘No way what?’ Sophie looked at him and received the full blast of his intensity.

  ‘No way are you going to make a remark like that about me without qualifying it, and don’t even pretend that you don’t know what I’m talking about. You spoke of me in the same breath as Adrian. Are you implying that I am a predator as well?’

  ‘If the cap fits…’ Sophie met that stare head-on.

  ‘Then I would be sure to wear it.’ He leaned towards her and the slight shift in his body posture seemed to bring him dangerously close. ‘But it doesn’t and I want you to tell me why you think it does.’

  Sophie shrugged. ‘I guess you both see women as fair game and not as potential partners. At least, that’s what it sounds like from what you have said about Adrian. I don’t remember having an opinion one way or another.’

  ‘Adrian would not have undressed you and then left your apartment,’ Rafe said bluntly. ‘Trust me.’

  ‘Why do you socialise with him if your opinion of him is so low?’

  ‘I did some business with him a while back. He’s a web designer, and, believe it or not, he has a good sense of humour. Invaluable
asset when your working days are generally devoid of humour. That, however, does not mean that I am like him in any way.’ For some reason it was irritating to find himself lumped in the same category as someone who was an amusing but inveterate player. And yet again he had digressed from the whole point of the exercise, which was to deliver, very gently of course, one or two home truths on looking after herself in the big, bad world.

  He couldn’t imagine Grace being anything but worried sick about her daughter living in London.

  She had always been a very protective mother, for goodness’ sake! What had she been thinking, sending her Sophie to the city on her own? Didn’t she know that that youthful innocence could appeal to any number of womanisers or perverts?

  ‘Okay,’ Sophie agreed readily. ‘Shall we go now? I know you must have your diary blocked out for the rest of the afternoon. I thought, actually, that I might use what’s left of the day to edit what I’ve written so far. Would I be able to use that vacant office again?’

  Rafe, still fulminating over Grace’s recklessness in letting her daughter loose in London, barely heard Sophie until she repeated herself, then he stared at her narrowly.

  ‘Of course, I will not be passing your phone number on to Adrian,’ he remarked, frowning heavily at her.

  Sophie opened her mouth to tell him that it was up to her whether she got in touch with Adrian or not, her choice to make, and then thought better of it. Why antagonise him further? Yes, it was offensive to think that he was setting himself up as some sort of counsellor for her, because she was obviously too ignorant and naïve to take care of herself, but on the other hand she could do without the attentions of a womaniser. She uneasily wondered how well she would be able to take care of herself, though she would never have admitted that in a thousand years. Rafe lecturing from the moral high ground was certainly in need of no ammunition.

  ‘That’s fine.’

  For an inoffensive answer, she was surprised at his reaction. Instead of relaxing, his expression darkened and he grated, ‘Would that be because you already have a man in tow? I have enough experience of women to know that they sometimes cover up secrets they don’t want other people to know about, and an undesirable man lurking in the background usually fits that description.’

  Sophie, enraged by the accusation, wondered whether he had finally taken leave of his senses, and her outraged expression said as much. He relaxed.

  ‘Just making sure,’ he purred, signalling for the bill while she watched him in disbelief. ‘Now, you were saying about that office and whether you could use it. Sure. Or you could use mine, of course. I won’t be in for the rest of the afternoon and, as I said, on Monday I’m away for the day. You’re more than welcome to accompany me, but you’ll find seven hours cooped up with a team of lawyers staggeringly boring.’

  Sophie wondered whether staggeringly boring came close to staggeringly arrogant.

  The man never stopped surprising her. Just when she found herself relaxing, he changed course and afforded her a brutal reminder of exactly how dislikeable he could be. She should have known from the start that their histories were too entwined for him ever to see her as anything but a kid. She needed to be viewed as an equal, and sometimes it really felt as though he was doing that, but then they came bouncing back to square one and it was infuriating.

  She watched in stony silence as he settled the bill, refusing her offer to pay her way without even bothering to look up.

  ‘Just out of interest,’ she asked coldly as they walked out towards the Jaguar, which was parked obligingly close to the restaurant, ‘what happens when my assignment here is finished and you’re no longer around to keep a beady eye on me and dish out health and safety warnings? Do you think that I might succumb to any passing pervert because I’m too simple to look out for myself?’

  ‘Not if you pay attention to my advice,’ Rafe said, opening the car door for her and waiting until they were both inside before continuing. ‘You have to learn to be careful,’ he informed her in a tone of voice that made her hackles rise still further. ‘A scantily clad, fairly inebriated, attractive young woman is a magnet for any man who wants to take advantage.’

  ‘I can’t believe you’re telling me this.’

  ‘Believe me, it is not in my nature to try and tell people how to behave—’

  ‘But you will do anyway!’

  ‘What choice do I have?’ He spread his hands magnanimously and Sophie wanted to list all the choices he had, including keeping out of her private life, but somehow she knew that protests from her would not deter him from his crusade. ‘My mother would want it. Who knows…’ He shrugged one elegant shoulder and gave her a rueful smile. ‘Maybe that is why she recommended you to me?’

  ‘That is the—most—preposterous thing I have ever heard.’

  ‘You say that, but it makes sense…’ She looked as though she might explode with rage any minute. Her cheeks were flushed and she was quivering. Rafe thought of those women he dated, the beautiful Angelas who glided elegantly through life, rarely seeming to react to the whole business of Life. Sophie was a world apart. She seemed to react to every nuance. He had never seen anything like it.

  In a minute, she would hit him. He could see it from the way she was curling her fists on her lap, as if willing herself to step back and not give in totally to her emotions.

  And what would he do if she did hit him? he wondered.

  It wouldn’t be the first time, he mused to himself. And every other time he had simply walked away. Hysterical women left him cold. This time, though…

  He shot her a brooding stare from under his lashes. ‘New to London. Inexperienced. My mother would have known that having me keep an eye on you for a couple of weeks would do you good.’

  He smiled at her with such patronising kindness that Sophie wanted to scream. Instead, she made an inarticulate, strangled sound.

  ‘I am not entirely inexperienced, Rafe,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘While you were climbing the ladder and adding to your millions, I wasn’t sitting at home knitting scarves and going to bed at nine!’

  Rafe’s expression changed to one of lively interest and she could have kicked herself for being provoked into reacting. He just seemed to have a knack of having that effect on her.

  ‘No?’

  ‘No.’ Sophie firmly doused his curiosity with a quelling look. ‘What were you doing?’ He shook his head and looked at her gravely. ‘You disillusion me, Sophie Frey. I never thought you were a wild child.’

  ‘I am not a wild child! Look, I don’t even know why we’re talking about this!’ With a great wave of relief, she saw that George was pulling up to the offices, where she would be dropped off before Rafe continued across London, and Rafe, following the direction of her glance, was almost disappointed to note that they had arrived.

  How many times had he cursed the London traffic and sworn that he would escape to a more civilised place as soon as he could? Now, just when a spot of traffic would have allowed him to pursue this very illuminating conversation, they had managed to clear the city in record time.

  He belatedly reminded himself that it was just as well considering he was running late.

  Her hand was already on the door handle before the car had time to pull to a complete stop. ‘We’re here!’

  ‘So I see,’ Rafe drawled dryly. ‘Try not to collapse with the sheer excitement of getting away from our conversation.’ He didn’t think he could ever remember a time when a woman had been so keen to escape his company. And the conversation had been about her!

  Sophie, with the door already open and one foot poised outside, could feel generous on the point of departure. She half turned to him and smiled. Warmly, she hoped.

  ‘Don’t be silly! I wasn’t trying to get away from you. I’m very grateful for your concern, in fact. I’ll be sure to report home what a good father-figure you’re turning out to be. And I’ll see you on Tuesday!’

  Rafe was still frowning at the insult
, fully deserved though it was, when the car door slammed, leaving him nursing the unpleasant feeling that he had just been outwitted by the last person in the world he would have expected it to come from.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE weekend was long enough for Sophie to get things into perspective. Rafe and his wretched speech had come like a bolt from the blue because he was just the last person she would have associated with the finer feelings of thoughtfulness and consideration. The last person, in fact, she would have wanted to display those qualities because, coming from him, they were an implied insult.

  But they could only undermine her if she allowed it.

  She should, she knew, accept his well-intentioned, caring advice in the spirit in which it was intended and ignore the persistent voice in her head that was sniggering madly and telling her that the leggy, beautiful, sharp-as-nails Angela would never have been subject to a fatherly protective instinct. True, she hadn’t foreseen it, but, thinking about it, it had been inevitable. He hadn’t wanted her around, was stuck in a mindset that still saw her as the gauche teenager gazing longingly at him from a distance. So, after the initial antipathy, he would naturally position himself as the older, wiser figure, the mature counsellor whose duty was to take her under his wing.

  The skin-tight blue dress, the alcohol, and the unexpected interest from Adrian hadn’t helped matters, at least not as far as her staking her independence was concerned.

  She would have to prove to him, in the remaining time she had left with him, that she was no longer that teenager. That she had never been that teenager. She had looked the part and she had had a silly crush on him once upon a time, but she had never been pathetic or helpless and she wasn’t pathetic or helpless now.

  She was waiting for his arrival on Tuesday, fortified by some good old-fashioned common sense, a mature look at the bigger picture and three days of not having him around, when Patricia, his secretary, came rushing into the temporary office where Sophie was doodling on a pad and thinking about how she could display herself in her best possible colours.