Say it with Diamonds...this Christmas (Mills & Boon M&B) (Mills & Boon Special Releases)

by Miranda Lee

  It was time for a dash of cold reality in the face. This was not a dream come true; this was her worst nightmare. Where would she take refuge from Lorenzo’s scorn now? She would be on duty every minute of the day and night. ‘How long did you say you would be staying?’

  ‘I didn’t.’ He turned back to his search.

  ‘Weeks?’

  ‘Dio! No!’

  He sounded about as excited by that prospect as she felt. ‘Oh, well, that’s a relief.’

  ‘Because my being here is your worst nightmare, I presume?’ He turned slowly to look at her, erasing all sensible thought from her mind. ‘Don’t look so worried,’ he murmured, turning back to his search. ‘I’ll only be staying here until they repair the pipes and restore all the damage done to my apartment.’

  His apartment … Images of leopard skin rugs dressed with naked women sprang unbidden into Carly’s mind. All the women would be slim and beautiful, of course. How long would that take to organise?

  Unfortunately, she didn’t get a chance to progress this thought as a series of shrieks erupted from Louisa’s bedroom.

  ‘Where is Louisa, by the way?’ Lorenzo said, frowning as the shrieks continued unabated.

  ‘Asleep in bed,’ Carly said hurriedly. ‘She must be having a nightmare.’

  ‘It sounds like a good one to me,’ Lorenzo murmured. Taking a step towards the kitchen door, he turned. ‘Do you think she’s all right, or should I intervene?’

  ‘I’m sure she’s fine.’ Carly wasn’t sure whether to be more horrified by the screams or by her restraining hand on Lorenzo’s arm. She removed it smartly before telling him, ‘I think we’d better leave her to sleep now, don’t you?’

  ‘All right,’ he agreed, clearly enjoying every moment of her discomfort.

  ‘Why don’t you and I have a drink?’ she suggested, keen to keep Lorenzo occupied in the kitchen until things calmed down a bit along the hall. ‘Coffee, water, or something stronger …?’

  ‘In the absence of decent coffee, water, please,’ he said.

  She added ice to the glass of water before handing it to him.

  Lounging back against the counter-top, he tipped his glass towards her in an ironic salute. ‘Goodnight, Carly …’

  Yes, why exactly was she hanging around?

  ‘I wouldn’t advise you to be late for my class twice in one week …’

  He let out a breath of relief as the kitchen door shut behind her. Five minutes in Carly’s company had left him in torment, real physical pain. This was the craziest situation, and he only had himself to blame. Had he really thought it would be easy to be under the same roof as Carly just because his palate was so jaded?

  Jaded?

  Not tonight!

  She was different and he wanted her. It was that simple and that complicated. This was torture. He’d be close to her night and day and couldn’t touch. He’d award himself a medal when this was over.

  Tossing and turning on her bed, Carly tried telling herself what a relief it was Lorenzo didn’t want her ‘that way’. But as Louisa’s sexual marathon continued she knew she didn’t want to be a dumpling with freckles; she wanted to be a fully formed sex kitten with the power to bring Lorenzo to his knees. But Lorenzo was glamorous and rich, while she was not. He was at the top of the greasy career pole, while she was at the bottom—and would never climb any higher if she went on like this.

  Stifling the alarm clock with a well-aimed pillow, Carly concluded that the only way to impress Lorenzo was in the professional arena. She would win the scholarship, and she would arrange the best Christmas party in the history of Christmas parties. How, she hadn’t a clue, but that was a minor detail right now. Stumbling out of bed, she blundered blindly into the hallway where fortunately Lorenzo was there to catch her when she fell over a shoe.

  ‘Don’t be late,’ he said, steadying her back on her feet.

  Was she imagining it, or had he snatched his hands off her body as he might from a live electric cable? She’d got quite a charge herself, but in her case she wouldn’t have minded waiting around until her hair sizzled.

  For the sake of her career she decided prudence must be her watchword. ‘Good morning, Lorenzo. I trust you slept well?’

  He made a humming sound as he looked her up and down, reminding her to hide her fat rolls beneath a robe in future. As the door slammed behind him she found herself waiting for a thunderclap, but of course there was only silence and a great big empty hole. Lorenzo didn’t so much as glance behind him; any erotic thoughts floating about were confined to her own head.

  Deflated, Carly trundled towards the kitchen, where a double-sized bowl of honey-sweet-quadruple-the-calories pops awaited her.

  Flat share with Lorenzo was shaping up to be about as appealing as eating her way through a case of stewed prunes. Shelving the scholarship plan suddenly seemed like a very good idea, but nothing would disappoint her parents more. They had sacrificed everything for her, and she owed them this last and most prestigious scholarship, which in turn meant she couldn’t afford to fall foul of Lorenzo because her pupilage hung by a thread he could cut.

  Pupilage, the system whereby a practising barrister monitored the training of a graduate law student, was like gold dust. If you lost your pupilage for any reason your career at the bar was as good as over. Failure wasn’t an option, especially not to a Tate. The law had bypassed a generation in the family, and Carly had always known her destiny as the plain sister. She had to uphold the family tradition. Some grizzled ancestor had probably dipped a nib in their own blood to sign the Magna Carta.

  At least she wasn’t late for her appointment with Lorenzo. Knocking on his door and entering the room, she found him lounging back in his chair.

  ‘Progress report, Christmas party,’ he instructed with a wave of his hand like some maestro bringing in the soloist.

  Carly’s mind blanked as she looked at his socks. They were pink today. And not just pink—fuchsia-pink!

  Did it matter if his socks were pink? This was a man who could wear a dress and look virile, which he almost did in court, come to think of it, in his wig and gown—

  ‘Ms Tate, are you still with me?’

  The voice was impatient.

  ‘The list?’

  The hand signal unmistakable.

  ‘Of course.’ Tilting her chin at a businesslike angle, she offered him the sheet of paper listing everything she had prepared. ‘It doesn’t include all the details yet.’

  ‘I don’t like guessing games.’

  ‘And this won’t be one.’ She sincerely hoped.

  Scanning the page, he made no comment. He was beginning to make her feel nervous. Why was life so unjust? Why did Lorenzo look as if he was ready for a photo shoot for the world’s most desirable man, while she felt as usual like the dumpling on parade? She forced herself to meet the icy gaze unflinching as he glanced up.

  ‘Not bad, but it would be better if you work to a theme.’

  Praise indeed! What a shame she wasn’t ready to reveal that in fact she was working to a theme, if not the sort of theme she guessed Lorenzo would be expecting.

  ‘What I need now,’ he said, ‘are specifics. Detail, Ms Tate.’

  Resisting the urge to salute, she stared past him out through the panoramic windows overlooking the city. Somewhere out there were all the answers to her problems. At least, those connected to the party. ‘I need a little more time. You’ll just have to trust me.’

  ‘Trust you?’ One ebony brow shot up, showing Lorenzo’s opinion of that suggestion. ‘I thought I’d explained to you that the only thing I’m interested in is fact?’

  But this wasn’t a court case, and she wasn’t on trial. She held her ground, staring straight into his incredible eyes. ‘I don’t want to spoil the surprise.’ This was a phrase she had often heard trip off her mother’s tongue. It was only as she grew to be older that she realised her mother employed it to cover a bottomless pit of panic.

  Lorenzo wa
sn’t even slightly fooled. ‘Arranging the Christmas party isn’t a leisure activity, Ms Tate; it’s part of your brief as my junior. It’s also an opportunity to show everyone what you’re capable of.’

  Exactly, Carly thought uncomfortably.

  ‘I want a detailed summary of everything you’ve arranged up to now. Come,’ he said, offering her a pen, ‘write them down for me now.’ Ripping a clean sheet of paper from his pad, he handed it to her and sat back.

  It was a very large sheet of paper for what was destined to be a very short list. ‘Why don’t I take it with me so I don’t disturb you?’

  ‘Sit down,’ he rapped.

  They stared at each other unblinking for a moment, but then an image of her parents’ anxious faces swam into Carly’s mind and she folded. ‘Okay …’

  ‘And while you’re writing your list I’d like you to start thinking about guidelines for some of the younger members of chambers. There will be a number of senior judges attending this year, some of whom wear ermine and sit in the House of Lords. I don’t expect anyone here to let the side down.’

  He watched her face carefully. Sometimes he surprised himself with the ingenuity of his tests. This one was particularly harsh, because it put her in the firing line in front of her colleagues. Could she rise above that and act professionally? Could she swallow her misgivings? Or was this the moment when she told him to go to hell and walked out? He decided to find out.

  ‘You will need two lists,’ he told her as if she were in infant class. ‘One will have the heading “Christmas Party”, and the second will have the heading “Christmas Party Guidelines for Junior Members of Chambers”.’

  That should win her a few friends! Was there a way out? If there was she couldn’t think of one. For now she would have to be satisfied with some fiendish revenge sequences reeling through her mind involving Lorenzo naked and a pair of stiletto heels. But later, when she got back to her cubby-hole, she would have to work something out that didn’t risk the scholarship, or her easy working relationship with her younger colleagues …

  ‘What?’ Lorenzo said, glancing up.

  Had he felt the sparks flying his way? Carly wondered, composing her face into its customary bland mask. Composing a cautionary note for her fellow pupils as Lorenzo had instructed was nothing short of an insult to them, and to her …

  ‘What is it, Ms Tate?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she said innocently, but an idea was forming; an idea that involved two lists for Lorenzo as he had requested, and a third, somewhat less reverential, list for her friends.

  ‘Well, if that’s all?’ Lorenzo said, turning back to his notes. ‘Get on with it.’

  He was right. There was no point in prolonging this. She was a realist, if nothing else, and as Lorenzo was all male, while she was undeniably female, there was no common ground.

  ‘Write,’ he insisted, staring hard at her sheet of paper.

  She tried. She sucked the tip of her pen and tried really hard. She had the ideas—too many of them! The problem was assembling them in front of him. Lorenzo made it so hard to concentrate. She was drowning in waves of testosterone, and then there was his distinctive scent, warm, clean, male and spicy. She could close her eyes and inhale that all day quite Happily … Except at the same time she would have to wriggle now and then to give the type of sensations he provoked chance to express themselves. Come to think of it, she hadn’t been so obsessed by sex for years—not since she had lost her virginity to a spotty youth on the back seat of his car; a skirmish that had hardly prepared her for encountering Lorenzo. She’d had no idea she had been so repressed—

  ‘Okay, leave now and take your work with you,’ he snapped impatiently. ‘I can see you’re not concentrating, and you’re distracting me.’

  He watched her leap away as if she were attached to a spring. Was he such an ogre? Or had that wriggle signalled more than a desire to get away? ‘Before you go …’

  ‘Yes?’

  Her face had reddened guiltily. What had she been dreaming about—his demise, perhaps?

  Okay, so maybe he was being hard on her, but he expected the best of his students, and Carly was the best of the best. Organising the Christmas party was a thankless task; the list of guidelines he had proposed she draw up a mockery. He could imagine the reaction of her colleagues to any suggestions she might make! But lawyers had to keep a cool head under fire. Would she? He decided to push a little harder and find out. ‘I’m meeting a friend tonight.’

  A muscle jumped in her jaw though her face remained carefully expressionless. This ability to hide her thoughts was yet one more reason she currently headed up the list of potential Unicorn scholarship candidates. ‘I’m going to bring my guest back to the flat, and I thought you might like to make yourself useful …’

  If her face grew any tighter she would implode. He pressed on. ‘Make sure the wine is chilled, prepare a few canapés, that sort of thing?’

  He could see her feminist principles raging against her lust to win the scholarship. He could also see her wanting to take him by the throat and choke him. And throughout all this they continued to stare at each other impassively.

  Easing her neck, Carly fought to stay calm. ‘Canapés?’ She could only comfort herself with the thought that the reports of her numerous culinary disasters hadn’t reached Lorenzo’s ears yet.

  The successful candidate for the Unicorn scholarship will be both resourceful and creative …

  ‘Of course, no problem,’ she replied.

  ‘That’s good,’ he said, relaxing. ‘You might want to sit in when my guest arrives as we’ll be discussing the possibility of extending the reach of the scholarship. It’s such a great opportunity.’

  To make canapés? Carly thought, staring back without expression.

  ‘As I’m sure you’ll agree?’ Lorenzo challenged, searching her gaze for the slightest hint of insubordination. ‘Canapés at eight, then?’

  Why not? She had no intention of being tripped up by a cocktail sausage now.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CARLY GAZED AT the work she had completed with satisfaction. It felt good to be properly organised, almost like the old times before Lorenzo had exploded onto the scene. She had compiled three lists, two of which, being dry and sensible, were the ones for Lorenzo.

  The Christmas Party list would show him how bookings for various services were working out as well as the ordering system she was using—everything except food was either on a short-term hire agreement, or a sale and return basis, so he could find no room for concern there. The Christmas Party Guidelines for her colleagues would appear equally sensible—because, of course, Lorenzo wouldn’t be seeing the copy she’d actually send to her colleagues, or, indeed, her own copy, upon which she had added some rather graphic doodles.

  In addition to this she had stuck a Post-It note to the desk on which she had scrawled, ‘Canapés at eight!’ To date she had made no entries to suggest what form these canapés might take. But there was plenty of time to worry about that. Canapés were tiny, which suggested they were easy to prepare. It was more important to concentrate on her doodles, which in Carly’s modest opinion were starting to rival the illustrations in the Kama Sutra. Well, a girl could dream, couldn’t she? And with Lorenzo tied up in court she had hours in which to indulge every flight of erotic fancy she’d ever had …

  By noon Carly’s Christmas Party list had a pleasing line of ticks down the side of the page. Father Christmas had been booked, along with a couple of elves, and even on such a slim budget she had managed to organise good, wholesome food, that could best be described as interesting. Or, at least, she hoped it would prove so to the sophisticated palate of those attending. Anyway, she liked it, and it was in line with the theme she had chosen, so Lorenzo could hardly complain.

  When it came to the advisory notes for her colleagues she had thought long and hard before deciding on something they could stomach. She knew Lorenzo had set her up for a fall and she had every intenti
on of staying upright.

  With this intention in mind she kept the tone light, listing the warnings beneath a picture of Lorenzo looking suitably stern and yet rather stunning in his wig and gown. Her fellow pupils would get the joke. Especially after she’d added some doodles to their list—the one Lorenzo wouldn’t be seeing—the list she would compile after this one to illustrate the form any rebellion might take. But meanwhile Lorenzo’s list was complete:

  GUIDELINES CHRISTMAS PARTY REMEMBER …

  MERRY NIGHTS MAKE SAD MORNINGS!

  And here are a few handy tips to help you avoid the pitfalls …

  1. Arrive early and make a point of speaking to your immediate superior!

  2. Above all, please remember that first impressions count!

  3. You must remain visible at all times and maintain a pleasant and interested smile on your face.

  4. You must try to engage every judge in light-hearted chitchat, and maintain an air of quiet confidence as you do so.

  5. Absolutely NO dancing drunkenly on tables!

  6. In the unlikely event that you begin to feel the effects of too much alcohol you must take yourself outside the building IMMEDIATELY!

  7. The importance of thanking your host at the end of the night cannot be overstated.

  Lorenzo should be pleased with that. Folding the sheet of paper neatly, she placed it safely inside an envelope.

  And now for the list her colleagues would receive, which would be basically the same, but with certain additions. Her intention was to make it recognisably the same, so they wouldn’t be caught out if questioned, and yet, so very, very different …

  Beneath the legend ‘GUIDELINES CHRISTMAS PARTY’ the banner heading still read ‘MERRY NIGHTS MAKE SAD MORNINGS!’ But now there was a smaller sub-heading, which advised,

  Expert Schmoozing, Without Resorting To Being A Creep, Helps You Move UP The Ladder!

  Below this she had written another list of bullet points.

  Arrive early and make a point of speaking to your immediate superior!

  Carly frowned, reading the point through again. The chance of engaging Lorenzo in a conversation that didn’t involve her saluting and him instructing seemed remote. And weren’t parties supposed to be fun? She added fangs and horns to his picture before printing out a dozen for distribution.