by Miranda Lee
The day could only get better, Carly told herself firmly, taking a final look at herself before setting out. Somehow she had managed to shoehorn her way into The Dress unaided, but she wasn’t keen on looking too closely at the bulges of flesh fighting with an abundance of closely draped tangerine satin. The only good thing about it was that the gown seemed to answer the ‘formal’ dress stipulation on the gilt-edged invitation.
Edgily humming a song, she attempted last-minute to twirl her abundant red hair into some sort of sensible and therefore noticeably more compact style. She tried telling herself that everything was going to be all right, but that didn’t work. How could it when she felt like a galleon under sail, roped, braced and mortally constricted? It was hardly the mood of choice for a night out in the spotlight!
Did the first person she had to see the moment she stepped down gingerly from the taxi have to be Lorenzo? And looking more like a film star than ever in his dark Alpaca coat, under which Carly knew he would be wearing a similarly impeccable tailored evening suit.
She stood for a moment to watch him greeting the other guests. He was so regal, and so confident of approval. And no wonder when he drew people to him like a magnet. Everyone wanted to bask in Lorenzo Domenico’s darkly glittering glamour, no doubt hoping some of it would rub off on them …
The white silk scarf around his neck fascinated her. It was lifting in the breeze—not flying off as it would have done had she been wearing it, causing all sorts of hullabaloo, nor landing in his face and sticking on his lips, just … lifting.
Carly shut her mouth, conscious she was gawping. Her pupil master looked simply gorgeous with the wind ruffling his thick, dark hair. Where style was concerned Italians always got it right, she mused, unlike dumpy Englishwomen named Carly Tate, with her big feet and truly enormous breasts.
Lorenzo remained standing, a solitary figure, as the crowds peeled away. Staring up, he seemed transfixed by something. Following his gaze, she saw he was admiring the ancient buildings. She had forgotten how beautiful the Inns of Court were, but seeing them through Lorenzo’s eyes was like seeing them anew. They were such totems to power, and such incredible monuments to the men who had designed and built them. Verging on Gothic with a special serenity all their own, they were truly awe-inspiring …
Carly shifted guiltily when, turning, Lorenzo noticed her. ‘Carly,’ he said, coming over. ‘You’re looking very—’ The all-too-familiar ironic expression was firmly in place.
‘Colourful?’ she supplied, wanting the painful moment over with. She hadn’t failed to notice as the crowds streamed past that everyone else was dressed in black, plus she was the only woman sporting a ball gown and showing her breasts. She had been set up, and it was too late to do anything about it. She just had to smile and get on with it.
‘Are you ready for your ordeal?’ Lorenzo murmured, trying very hard not to smile.
‘You mean it hasn’t started yet?’
Her dry comment unleashed something in him and he laughed. Unfortunately for her that sexy rumble had the same effect as a low-voltage charge to her most sensitive regions, which was the last thing required if she was to keep her wits about her tonight.
‘Shall we go inside?’ he suggested, offering his arm.
Lorenzo was offering to escort her inside? Did the most lusted-after, successful lawyer in London really want to be seen with a country bumpkin dressed in an orange meringue, or was Lorenzo merely using her as a foil to make himself look better?
He hardly needed to do that, Carly concluded.
‘Well?’ he pressed, a suspicious tug appearing at one corner of his mouth. ‘Are you coming inside?’
Her exhalation of breath was noisily ragged as she considered this suggestion.
‘Carly?’ He dipped his head to look her in the eyes. She didn’t dare to breathe on him. But he wouldn’t wait for ever. Her options were obvious—she could turn tail and run, or she could brave it out.
Walking in on Lorenzo’s arm felt good. People stared. At him, of course, she knew that, but still it proved, if proof were needed, that the only accessory a girl really needed was a bed-worthy man.
Standing beneath the brilliantly lit chandeliers, Carly felt her new-found confidence draining away. Everyone else looked so elegant, while she felt like an orange marker buoy set adrift in a sea of penguins.
‘Shall I take your shawl?’ Lorenzo suggested. ‘It will be quite safe with my coat in the cloakroom,’ he reassured when she hesitated.
But would she be safe? Carly wondered as he twitched the yards of fabric away. She needed something substantial to cover the acres of chest on show.
As Lorenzo strode away Carly noticed how the crowd parted for him. She would never be able to make the same sort of impact. In fact she noticed now that the space around her suggested people feared bad taste might be catching. She was so wrapped up in humiliation she gasped out loud when Lorenzo returned.
‘I didn’t mean to startle you.’
But his eyes were sparkling. No doubt he was already anticipating the fun he was about to have at her expense.
‘Which table are you sitting at? Haven’t you checked?’ he added with a frown when she didn’t answer.
Actually, no, she hadn’t checked. She had been frozen to the spot, too embarrassed to move and show herself and her terrible dress off in the sombre gathering. ‘No, I haven’t checked.’
‘There’s no need to raise your voice,’ Lorenzo pointed out smoothly. ‘Why don’t I take you now to find out where you’re sitting?’
‘Because I don’t need you to?’ It was just a shame for the sake of her defiance that her voice was trembling.
‘Clearly you do, Ms Tate,’ Lorenzo contradicted her with a raised brow.
Staying hidden in the shadows held far more appeal than making herself the subject of gossip on Lorenzo’s arm as she walked across the crowded ballroom, but what option did she have when he had taken a firm hold of her?
Just as Carly had anticipated, everyone turned to stare, but at her, this time—or, at least, at the orange meringue. ‘This is so kind of you, Lorenzo,’ she ground out through gritted teeth.
‘Don’t mention it,’ he murmured in a sardonic tone, bringing his head close to hers. ‘If I’d left you to your own devices I imagine they would have been passing the port by the time you found your table, and I don’t want you to miss your slot tonight. I’m so looking forward to it …’
Shaking her arm free, she walked ahead. Lorenzo could suck all the rational thought out of your brain with a single look, and she had no intention of being distracted by him tonight, or mocked. But, having escaped his protection, Carly became aware that she was getting even more amused looks. And no wonder when she was the only woman showing her breasts, and they were big, bouncing breasts that refused to be hidden. Right now they felt like barrage balloons beneath her rigidly corseted top. And it didn’t help her confidence any to see Madeline du Pre sailing past in a sharp Armani suit!
Reaching the table plan, she stared up. Grinding her teeth so hard they almost chipped, she forced herself to concentrate as a sound of disappointment rang out somewhere close to her left ear.
‘You’re not sitting with me.’
Lorenzo’s comment sent a buzz of awareness spinning down her spine. ‘Are you disappointed?’
‘Disappointed?’ he said. ‘Without eye protection I’ll feel much safer observing you from a distance.’
She should have known taking on Lorenzo would end in tears. But perhaps tears wouldn’t be stinging the backs of her eyes if she hadn’t felt so ridiculous. ‘You could have warned me about the black dress code.’
‘And show favouritism to my own pupil?’
She held his gaze and hardened her heart. Would any of the seniors have finer feelings? No, they were here to have fun at their pupils’ expense. Tipping her chin, she went for a forceful gesture that was meant to demonstrate her nonchalant acceptance of her fate, but which unfortunately lifted her
breasts clear of the constraining bodice. It was harder to appear defiant now while she was hastily stuffing them back in, and, to make matters worse, Lorenzo showed no intention of turning away as any gentleman should.
‘I’m impressed,’ he murmured, taking a leisurely ocular stroll down the Grand Canyon of cleavages.
‘By what?’ Carly challenged, frowning.
‘By your sang-froid,’ Lorenzo said easily with a smile. ‘Why, Carly, you’re shivering,’ he said as she shuddered with awareness. ‘Are you cold?’
All the tiny hairs on the back of her neck were standing to attention, and her nipples were about to explode, but cold? No, she wasn’t cold.
‘It’s time you made your way to your table. I trust you won’t let me down?’
‘I won’t let myself down,’ she assured him pleasantly. ‘What are you doing?’ she said with suspicion as he uncapped his pen.
‘Not taking any chances,’ he murmured.
‘Meaning?’
‘I’m changing our names around on the seating plan so I can watch your back …’
She was tempted to relent and think that, for once, Lorenzo was trying to be nice, when just at that moment Madeline Du Pre wafted past with a coterie of admirers. The sight of her main rival for the scholarship flagging up her good sense in front of Lorenzo was all it took for Carly to decide to stay and fight in her orange armour. Removing the pen from Lorenzo’s fingers, she changed their names back again, scratching his alterations out with such force she bent his nib.
There had been catcalls and wolf-whistles all night as pupils rose one by one to make their application to join the circuit. Silence fell when Carly stood. Maybe everyone was bored of the sport; her name was pretty close to the end of the alphabet. Or perhaps the seniors had simply exhausted their catalogue of jibes. Or, and this seemed the most likely explanation, the orange gown had come into its own and stunned everyone into silence.
‘My name is Carly Viola Tate, and I was called to the bar by the honourable society of …’
It took the space of a heartbeat for her mind to blank. Her lips tried to form the words she needed to speak while her mind was in freefall. Which of the ancient Inns of Court had she been called to the bar by? Her darting gaze met Lorenzo’s. She only had to take one look at that lazy, mocking stare to know she had no intention of allowing him to see her fail. He must have been through a similar ordeal at some stage of his career …
As had all the seniors here before her!
Tipping her chin, she started over.
The seniors would have to look elsewhere for their sport. Lorenzo didn’t know when he had felt so relieved … or more aroused. And that did stop him in his tracks. But as he basked in the compliments of his peers over the outstanding performance of his pupil he could only agree with them that Carly was indeed exceptional—and in so many ways. She had obliterated his addiction to all that was perfect, replacing it with new standards of her own. She was quirky and different and fresh. Or, to put it another way, her breasts were extraordinarily large and she was divinely plump in all the right places … though he had to admit that her fashion sense still left everything to be desired.
But, of course, he had to forget this moment of weakness and remember their relative positions in life. He was dominant, while she was …
No.
No!
She was not spread-eagled on his bed!
She was his young student, and the development of her career devolved on him. She was inexperienced and innocent, and it was up to him to defend her. And didn’t he excel in defending the innocent?
He curbed his smile, confining himself to a grave nod of approval as she glanced at him in triumph before sitting down to a chorus of cheers and wolf-whistles. She had been so charming, so endearing when she stumbled over her little speech, everyone had loved her for it. Even the seniors had forgotten to heckle, and the dreadful gown had been overlooked. As her pupil master, restraint was the only sensible option to him, but unfortunately that had no effect on his libido. Lucky for him he was about to be removed from temptation. The courts were about to close for the Christmas recess and when they did he would work off his excess energy on the ski slopes.
With his conscience set at ease, Lorenzo turned his attention to the man seated next to him, and was soon involved in the sort of work-based discussion lawyers thrived on. But try as he might he couldn’t keep his thoughts from wandering back to Carly. He wanted her so badly his balls ached.
CHAPTER FOUR
SHE HAD RETURNED HOME in triumph to this? Cramming a pillow over her head, Carly tried not to hear the noises coming from the next room. Her flatmate appeared to be indulging in some sort of technically advanced sex moves, which required the bed to bang against the wall in one rhythm while Louisa cried out in another. The result was a complex syncopation of which Stravinsky would have been proud.
Didn’t anyone sleep these days?
Was everyone in London, except for her, having sex?
Swinging out of bed, Carly squinted at the clock and saw that it was one o’clock in the morning. Great. Shuffling out of the room in her dinosaur-claw slippers, she fumbled for the light switch and turned it on.
‘Hello, Carly …’
‘Lorenzo! What on earth are you doing here?’
‘Nice to see you too …’ Sliding the silk scarf off his neck, he looked her up and down, bestowing sensation upon each one of her erogenous zones in turn.
Her cheeks fired automatically. Knuckling her eyes she tried to convince herself that this could only be a very bad dream.
‘Well?’ he said when she stood in his way. ‘Aren’t you going to invite me in?’
‘You are in,’ she pointed out.
Shrugging off his coat, Lorenzo handed it to her with the scarf. She was wearing a paper-thin nightshirt that covered nothing. Tugging hard on the hem in an attempt to cover her bottom, she exposed a breast.
Lorenzo watched without comment, and then his gaze tracked down to study her dinosaur-claw slippers.
Turning on her heel, she hung up his coat. What was she doing waiting on him? She could only excuse herself by pleading the lateness of the hour and her exhaustion after the ordeal of the Grand Court.
He had telephoned every hotel in London when his new flat flooded. Not a chance of a bed in town with Christmas looming, he’d been told. He had tried absolutely every option until bunking down in the spare room of a flat owned by an old school chum became the only option. The repairs to his own apartment would be completed within the next couple of days, but until then, this was it …
As Carly stared at him in disbelief, he asked himself if a park bench have been a better option? Did he want to take up residence with his pupil? Did he want to have temptation thrust in his face? Did he want to smell her warm, fresh, sleepy smell and see her hair in wild disarray? Her face was attractively sleep crumpled and she was half-naked …
‘What are you doing here, Lorenzo?’ she challenged him.
He was guilty of musing while Carly’s mental faculties had stormed back onto full alert. ‘I might ask you the same question,’ he returned smoothly.
‘Louisa is my friend, and this is her apartment,’ she told him, coughing noisily to cover the sounds of passion erupting from a bedroom down the hall.
‘And Louisa’s brother is my friend,’ he explained. ‘They share joint tenancy on the flat. So while some emergency repairs are being carried out on my new apartment I’ll be using the spare room here—’
‘You can’t,’ she exploded. ‘I live here.’
‘And for the time being, I do too,’ he informed her. ‘Is the coffee on?’ He strolled down the hall following the odour of old pizza and tea bags.
What did Lorenzo imagine this was? Carly raged silently. A service flat? Counting to ten, she took the opportunity to rattle her brain cells into some sort of order.
‘Do you have anything better than instant coffee?’ he called from the kitchen.
S
he found him rooting around and peering into cupboards. ‘There might be some beans in there, somewhere …’ There might be lions too, for all she knew.
‘Along with the spaghetti hoops, Pop Tarts and … What are these?’ He held up a tub and pulled a face. ‘Pot Noodles?’ He narrowed his eyes in disapproval as he looked down at her.
She responded in the usual way to Lorenzo in stern mood, and, after enjoying it for a moment or two, told him, ‘I haven’t had time to go shopping recently. I’ve been very busy at work.’
‘Really?’ he said, as if this came as a complete surprise to him. ‘Well, you still have to eat.’ He looked her up and down. ‘We wouldn’t want you shrinking away …’
We wouldn’t? Clearing her throat to muffle another of Louisa’s moans, she became obsessed by turning all the labels on the tins to the front.
‘You must keep up your strength,’ Lorenzo advised, reaching past her into the darkest part of the cupboard.
For the battles to come, she could only presume. ‘You mean I should arm myself for disappointment?’
When Lorenzo turned to look at her his arm was still outstretched and very close to her face … so close it made her cheeks tingle.
‘Disappointment?’ he queried.
She watched his lips work in fascination.
‘Why do you say that? You did well tonight. I’m proud of you …’
Lorenzo was proud of her? For a moment she just stared and inhaled his cologne—sandalwood and amber, with a hint of wild fig and cassis. And still her analytical mind refused to shut down. What was Lorenzo really up to? Why was he here? Was he serious when he said they were going to be living together? Even in the short-term that would be more fuel for her fantasies than she could safely handle.
Living together?