by Trish Morey; Day Leclaire; Natalie Anderson; Brenda Jackson; Ann Voss Peterson
‘Don’t play games.’ His glare blistered. So he was still brooding.
‘You’d better come in.’
He crossed the threshold into the hall, stopped as he saw the black-clad sylph standing at the other end of the hall.
‘Lorenzo, you met Rosanna the other night. Rosanna, this is Lorenzo, my boss.’
His frown super-sized up.
Rosanna moved swiftly down the hall, her case rolling behind her. ‘I’m off, darling. Back in a few days. Be good.’ She grinned wickedly.
‘You too,’ Sophy tried to coo, but it was a squeak.
She heard Rosanna’s chuckle.
Lorenzo was still frowning long after the door had closed behind Rosanna.
‘She’s very discreet,’ Sophy said to reassure him. ‘She won’t say anything.’
He jerked his head to the side. ‘I’m not your boss.’
Oh, was that the problem? She smiled. ‘Yes you are.’
‘Not really.’
She knew what he meant and this was different from the usual office affair. In truth she was doing him a favour working for Whistle. The balance of power wasn’t so weighted towards him—at least not in respect of that. Sophy wanted to smooth it even more. ‘Tell you what, why don’t you let me be the boss in the bedroom—that’ll even us out.’
‘Never.’ The fire in his eyes burned from ice-cold to hot.
‘But it’s my bedroom.’
He shook his head, chasing off the last of the threatening storm clouds.
‘You just see if you can stay in charge, then. Boss.’ She threw down the challenge. Knew she didn’t have a hope in winning at all—but shrieked with laughter as she turned and ran as fast as she could to her room.
He caught her before she got there and went completely caveman. And she was quite happy to be his woman of the moment.
The days couldn’t pass fast enough. He was on her doorstep before she even got home some nights. But he didn’t suggest she ride home with him and nor did she offer to take him. The boundaries might be invisible but they were there.
But as the evenings lengthened and their physical need was temporarily tamed she turned and talked to him. About nothing. About everything. But never about anything personal. She didn’t want to talk about her family, sensed he never would talk about his. But one night she got some courage and steered the conversation slightly towards him. ‘Why the Whistle Fund?’
He lifted his head off the pillow. ‘Why at all?’
‘No, why the name?’
‘Because that’s what you do when you need help. You whistle.’ He pursed his lips and gave a short whistle.
‘And you whistle so you’re not afraid—there’s a song about that.’
‘Yeah, and when you’re doing something you shouldn’t, you have a mate keeping lookout—who’ll whistle if you need to make a run for it.’
She laughed at that. ‘Did you need to make a run for it often?’
‘All the time.’ He grinned.
She laughed with him but wasn’t at all sure how much he meant it as a joke. ‘And you whistle at pretty women, right?’
‘Oh, no,’ he said mock soberly. ‘That’s not pc.’
‘You’re not pc.’ She rolled onto her tummy. ‘Have there been many women Lorenzo?’
‘Are you sure this is a conversation you want to have?’
The coolness was almost visible. Damn it, why shouldn’t they talk about their pasts? Couldn’t they have a laugh about the mistakes they’d made before? Why was he blocking her from getting to know anything more about him? She’d heard the little there was to hear. So his childhood hadn’t been a picnic, okay, she’d gathered that. But he’d gone to that great school hadn’t he? Someone had cared enough to pay for that. And he’d become amazingly successful.
‘Why not? Tell me about your first and worst, I’ll tell you about mine.’
‘Look, we’re meeting up for the occasional screw. That doesn’t mean we’re going to swap life secrets or play twenty questions.’
Sophy flinched. Every night wasn’t exactly occasional. Jerk. Her temper flared. ‘Touchy, aren’t you? What happened? Did you fall in love once? Did she reject you—did she say you weren’t good enough for her? The poor boy from the wrong side of the tracks?’ Sarcasm flavoured every mean little word.
He sat up and pushed the sheet from him. ‘Actually I rejected her.’
‘Oh,’ Sophy said. ‘Of course. Silly me. You like to do that, don’t you? And why did you? Did she want too much from you?’
He swung his legs off the bed, turned his back to her. This time she had it right. The anger rippled through his muscles.
‘Poor Lorenzo, someone actually wanting emotional commitment? Support, honesty, love?’
‘Nothing so devastating,’ he denied. ‘She no longer turned me on.’
Sophy blinked. Ouch. There was a warning. She got out of bed too, pulled a shirt over her cold arms. She didn’t want him to be with her all night now. Not tonight.
‘You know, I have lots of work to do.’ She let her gaze slide over her desk—it was covered with designs and half-finished pieces that she’d decided weren’t going to go in the show. But he didn’t know that.
He looked at the table, then at her. ‘You want me to leave?’
Sophy forced a shrug. ‘Rosanna’s back in town, she’ll probably be home soon.’
‘And you don’t want her to know how loud I can make you come.’
She coloured. She supposed she deserved it. She was being rude chucking him out. ‘I wouldn’t be able to come with anyone right next door.’
‘Really.’ His sarcasm practically splashed on the floor. He pulled on his tee shirt and jeans.
He was angry—the way he moved totally gave it away. Well, so was she.
He didn’t kiss her goodbye. Just strode out. She didn’t speak—just slipped into the lounge and watched from the window as he jogged down to his car. But to her surprise he didn’t get into it and drive off. Instead he kept on jogging, his pace picking up to a hard-out run. In the darkened room she kept an eye on the street. It was a good forty minutes later before he returned. His tee shirt sweat darkened in patches. He didn’t look at the house, stayed too focused on his car for it to be natural as he unlocked and slid into it. The engine roared. He was at the speed limit in a second.
Sophy usually spent an hour each morning working with Jemma making sure the girl had a good grasp of the processes. She did—she certainly wasn’t clueless. Then Sophy left and went into her mini workshop. Her heart sank as she saw the volume of work she still had to do. Her confidence had dipped—none of it was good enough to go on display. She was totally fooling herself. She was going to embarrass herself completely. Her mobile went and she answered right away—glad of the excuse to turn her back on the mess. She listened. ‘Sure, I’ll come right away.’
She met him on the stairs on the way out.
‘Where are you going?’ His super-size frown was back.
‘I’ve promised my mother I’d meet her to help with something at lunch.’
‘But you’re supposed to be making your jewellery. You’ve still got several pieces unfinished.’ He climbed to the stair just below hers.
‘I know,’ she said, pausing for a second to wonder how he knew—had he been poking around in her room up there? ‘But I promised.’
He looked angrier than he had when he’d left last night. He stretched his hands out to the rails either side of the stairs so he made a wall she somehow had to get past. ‘But you’ve only got a week ‘til the show.’
She knew that too. ‘I’ll work on them later.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘You don’t want to do it, do you? The exhibition.’
‘What? Of course I do.’
‘If you did you’d be prioritising it.’
She stiffened at the implied criticism. ‘Things other than work have priority in my life, Lorenzo. People have priority.’ Which was more than could be said for him. As far
as she could tell he lived for work and work alone. People—relationships—didn’t feature in the equation at all. ‘My mother has asked for help. I’m pleased to be able to.’
‘No, she could get someone else. It’s just that you can’t say no when someone asks you. It wouldn’t matter if it was her or anyone.’
‘And that’s a bad thing?’ She glared at him.
‘It is when it stops you from achieving your own dreams.’
‘Like I said, people come first for me, Lorenzo. Always.’
‘Aren’t you a person? Isn’t what you want just as valid as what others want? Surely if you explained how busy you were, she’d find someone else to do whatever it is. A paid assistant, perhaps?’
She stiffened—but not because of the little jibe.
His eyes narrowed. ‘She doesn’t know, does she?’ With scary precision he zoomed in on the problem.
No, and Sophy didn’t want her to—didn’t want any of them to. ‘The sooner I go and do this, the sooner I can get back upstairs.’
‘But you were out yesterday afternoon too. For three hours.’
What was he, her timesheet? She wasn’t accountable to him. Not on this.
‘You can’t let this opportunity go, Sophy. Your work is too good.’
That made her even more tense—she felt pressure enough without him making sweet comments like that. ‘I really have to go, Lorenzo.’ She looked past him down the stairs. ‘And it really isn’t any of your business.’ He wouldn’t open up to her at all, so why should he have the right to comment on her life?
‘Sophy,’ he said quietly, leaning forward and branding her lips with the heat of his. ‘At least be quick.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘SOPHY, can you come with me, please?’ Lorenzo met her as she walked into the building.
She glanced at Kat behind the reception desk, hoping the girl hadn’t picked up on the chill in his words. ‘Of course.’
Was he mad with her? She hadn’t returned to the warehouse yesterday—had got held up completely until the early evening. Her sister had come round and it had turned into a whole family gathering. She’d made excuses and gone after a while—but she needn’t have hurried. Lorenzo hadn’t come round, had left no message on her phone. It was the first night they hadn’t had sex all week. And stupidly she’d had less sleep than ever. So she really wasn’t in the mood to have a hard time from him.
He led her out the back and gestured for her to get into his car.
‘Where are we going?’ She fixed her seat belt—he already had the engine running.
‘You’ll see.’ He fiddled with the stereo and put the music up loud. What, he didn’t want conversation?
‘I had a nice night, thanks.’ She chit chatted really loudly just to annoy him. He didn’t want to talk personal? Tough. ‘Big dinner with my parents and Victoria and Ted. It’s my niece’s birthday this weekend so we were celebrating early. Rosanna sent a text. She’s in Sydney for a few days.’
He gave her a sideways look but said nothing.
Yeah, she loved having conversations by herself. So she gave up. They drove through half of Auckland and she relaxed into the comfortable seat. Suddenly she sat up. ‘Lorenzo, this is the airport.’
‘And we’re right on time.’
On time for what? ‘Where are we going?’
‘Have you ever gotten on a plane and not known the destination?’
She shook her head.
‘Now’s your chance.’
‘Lorenzo—’
‘Have you ever taken a risk? Gone with an impulse?’
‘Maybe,’ she said cautiously. Like the time she’d come on to him with the basketball.
He parked the car, crossed his arms and called her on it. ‘What are you going to do, Sophy? Play it safe or walk on the wild side? Come on an adventure.’
‘How wild an adventure?’
‘Totally legal.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Honestly, don’t make a big deal about it, you’ll end up disappointed.’
She didn’t think so. She didn’t think she’d ever be disappointed when he was offering adventure.
He got out of the car. ‘Are you coming or what?’
As if she could say no. He loaded a surprisingly heavy-looking suitcase onto a trolley and headed to the check-in. She wasn’t worried. It wasn’t as if they were going to go overseas—he didn’t have her passport, this was the domestic terminal.
‘We’re flying back tonight, right?’ She’d better check on that though.
‘No.’
‘Then when?’
‘Sunday.’
Sunday? ‘Lorenzo, I can’t. I promised my brother I’d organise the cupcakes for my niece’s party.’
‘Were you going to bake them?’
‘They’re not that hard.’ She nibbled her lower lip. ‘Oh, I can’t, Lorenzo. I can’t let him down. I can’t let her down.’ But she was disappointed for herself more than anything.
‘Do you have to be at the party?’
‘No. It’s for her little friends. I was just making the cakes. She likes the icing I do.’
‘Someone else can do icing.’
Who? Baking wasn’t something anyone else in her family did.
‘Phone a bakery and get them to deliver,’ Lorenzo said, as if he were instructing a small child. He was right, of course. It would be so easy.
‘It’s short notice.’
‘Just offer to pay double and they’ll do it.’
She laughed. ‘Is that how you get what you want? Offer to pay?’
‘No. That wouldn’t work with you. I have to come up with other alternatives.’ He grinned. ‘Like abduction.’
She chomped on her lip some more. So tempted.
‘Phone up and get it done.’ He gave her a sideways look. ‘What else did you have scheduled for the weekend?’
‘A few things.’ Sophy dug out her phone and her diary. ‘What am I going to tell them?’
‘The truth.’
‘I don’t want to.’
‘You don’t want to say you’re running off for a dirty long weekend?’
Oh, she couldn’t hesitate now. ‘We’re a secret, remember?’
She got on and made the calls. It took the whole twenty minutes they had left on the ground to rearrange everything she’d agreed to do in the weekend.
She put the phone away but her practical-oriented brain presented her with the next set of problems.
He lifted her face to his. ‘What’s wrong now?’
‘I don’t have any clothes with me.’
‘You don’t need any.’
‘Oh, we’re going to a naturist colony? Awesome.’ She aimed for sarcastic but was burning inside with the naughty promise of his words. ‘They don’t mind furry teeth either?’
He laughed. ‘There are shops where we’re going. We can get you a toothbrush, okay?’
‘Fabulous.’
The flight was only just over an hour. Christchurch. She knew the destination now, of course—the signs and the pilot’s message had given that one away. She was fine with it. Christchurch was a nice city and she hadn’t been there in ages.
But when they got into the rental car he headed straight onto the bypass and the motorway north.
‘Where are we going?’
‘I told you, you’ll see.’
After forty minutes or so she thought she had it figured. The rows and rows of vines in the fields gave it away. Waipara—part of the wine region.
‘We’re staying on a vineyard?’
‘No.’ He kept driving.
It was another hour, passing alongside a river and the weird shaped cabbage trees that looked like something Dr Seuss would have drawn. A few sheep were scattered in the fields. And then they got there—to Hanmer Springs, an Alpine spa town in the heart of a geo-thermal area. He slowed down as they drove through the main street of the village.
‘Look, swimsuit shop on the right,’ he pointed out. ‘Leopard print number in the window
gets my vote.’
Oh, please.
‘Superette on the left for toothpaste and other essentials.’ He pointed with his hand. ‘Bakery for the best pies in the country.’
She chuckled. ‘Everything one could possibly need.’
‘That’s right. Now I’m going back to Waipara for some meetings.’ Halfway up the hill he pulled up in front of a house. ‘You’re staying here.’
She got out of the car. He was leaving her? She walked up the path slowly, not caring enough to appreciate the pretty wooden chalet he’d just unlocked. When was she getting the ‘dirt’ in the weekend? Inside he’d opened the big suitcase. Carefully packed inside was all her gear—all her tools, all her unfinished work. She stared at it, then at him.
‘I’m not letting you throw away this opportunity, Sophy,’ he said softly, placing his hands on her shoulders. ‘Not even for hot sex with me.’
‘Lorenzo—’
‘Give me your phone.’ He held out his hand.
She pulled it from her purse and gave it to him.
He switched it off and put it in his pocket. ‘You have no excuses now. You have to finish them.’ His expression softened. ‘I’ve booked you into the spa at four p.m. for a massage and whatever other treatments you feel like.’
‘Really?’ Her spirits lifted a fraction.
‘Uh-huh.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘But you have to do nothing, and I mean nothing, but work until then—deal?’
‘Okay.’
‘And you’ll have to walk down to the spa because I’m taking the car.’
‘That’s okay.’ She nodded again. ‘Thanks.’
But she was disappointed. She ached for him. And he’d played on that—used it to set her up. She’d cleared her weekend to be with him, but now she had nothing to do but finish her pieces for the show.
She supposed she’d thank him one day.
He kissed her, drew away way too soon. But at least he groaned as he did. He put his hands behind his back. ‘Nothing but work. Nothing’
She managed a laugh and watched him go. As he got to the car she couldn’t stop herself calling after him through the open door. ‘You’ll be back later?’
‘Count on it.’
She turned back inside and looked at her stuff. She had all afternoon. All day Saturday and Sunday too. With no phone, no outside contact—no one calling. Suddenly she felt it—liberation. And she did as he’d bid. It only took twenty minutes to set herself up and then she worked. In the silence, alone, she got into the zone. Her enthusiasm for it returned, as did her confidence. She studied her options, assessing the work she had completed and her pages of notes for other styles. She deliberated carefully before making a decision. She wanted her work to be thematically linked, but for each piece to stand uniquely, to showcase a broad range.