by Miranda Lee
Absolutely amazing.
While she looked a fright, Carly realised, feeling her spirit drain away as she caught sight of herself in a mirror. She had really outdone herself today. She was wearing the usual thrift-shop suit, and now she saw she’d spilled something down it. And she’d gone into the interview looking like that? She grimaced. It was so humiliating. Nothing, nothing could be worse than this—
‘I got the scholarship,’ Madeline announced. ‘Did you hear?’
‘You …’ Pressing her lips together, Carly made her head move up and down. ‘That’s such great news. I’m really pleased for you.’ And she was, strangely, but her nose was stinging, really hurting, in the way noses did when tears were threatening.
She took the opportunity to escape when Madeline turned around to call Lorenzo from the kitchen. She didn’t need anyone to explain to her what was happening here, though as she fled she heard Lorenzo say something she didn’t catch. She did hear Madeline’s reply.
‘Oh, it was nothing important, and they’ve gone now …’
Make that no one important, and Madeline had got it right, Carly thought, clutching the cold stone handrail on the bridge. The river Thames was moving slowly to the sea, a dull, grey dish-rag of a river, reflecting a sullen sky. It perfectly mirrored her mood. She was transfixed by the rolling water, and by the tears dripping off the end of her nose into it. She could see now that she had been too complacent about everything; too naïve, too fat—
‘Carly?’
‘Lorenzo!’ She bridled and backed away. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Is this your private bridge?’
She glared at him.
‘What are you doing here, Carly? Not planning a swim, I hope?’
Emotions churned inside her as she looked at him. She wanted to kill him. She wanted to launch herself into his arms … And kill him.
‘I saw you from the window. I couldn’t believe it was you. Where on earth have you been?’
‘Where have I been?’ Anger ripped through her, made all the more intense by the realisation that she had gone to pieces right under his balcony—she couldn’t even get that right.
‘You’re coming with me,’ he said. ‘You look frozen.’
He was right about one thing: she was ice inside, and not about to thaw any time soon. ‘I’m not coming back with you.’ Not while Madeline was there!
‘Did I say you had a choice?’
And have Madeline stare at her pityingly the whole time? It just wasn’t going to happen. ‘Lorenzo! Let go of me.’
‘I have a sauce on the go, and woe betide you if it burns.’
She struggled furiously, and then stopped. If she went with him she could have her say, and, Madeline or no Madeline, she was going to let him have it with both barrels.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
STANDING WITH HIS pleasure-giving hands planted on his ecstasy-dealing hips, Lorenzo glanced round his new apartment with pride. ‘Well,’ he said to Carly. ‘What do you think?’
What did she think? She could smell Madeline’s perfume! Still tender from his incredible love-making, she was still stinging from his vanishing act, and on the edge of rage. What threw her a little was the warmth and enthusiasm in Lorenzo’s eyes where she failed to detect the slightest hint of guilt. She glanced round suspiciously. The apartment was even more magnificent than she had imagined, with stripped pine floors, cream walls, and splashes of colour provided by well-chosen modern art. There was a state-of-the-art sound system in one corner, and all the other technical gizmos she might have expected a man like Lorenzo to own. All in all it was fabulous: light, airy, and mostly open plan—so little chance for anyone to hide.
‘What?’ Lorenzo said, watching her.
‘Where’s your friend?’ Carly tipped her chin at an aggressive angle.
‘My friend?’ Lorenzo paused for a moment and then enlightenment struck him. ‘You mean Madeline?’
‘This isn’t funny, Lorenzo,’ Carly snapped, seeing the suspicion of a smile hovering round his mouth. ‘Where is she? In your bed?’
This was answered with a quizzical look. Refusing to be deterred, she set off on her hunt. Flinging open the first door, she peered inside. The bedroom was immaculate, and looked as if it had been put together by an interior designer. She couldn’t imagine Lorenzo arranging the fabulous buttermilk suede cushions with such precision. Behind the next door she found a broom cupboard. Slamming it, she wheeled around.
‘Why do I get the feeling you’re not happy with me?’ Lorenzo said.
He looked so gorgeous standing there she almost relented. Almost. ‘Why do I get the feeling your sauce is burning?’
‘What?’ He whirled around and rushed to pull the pan off the cooker, shaking his hand and cursing after he did so.
‘Too hot for you, Lorenzo?’ Carly demanded pointedly.
Turning to face her, he granted her an ironic look.
Behind the next door she found the most sumptuous bathroom she had ever seen … all marble and glass with steel fittings and a bath big enough for two …
‘I’d happily show you round,’ Lorenzo offered.
She paused with her hand on the next door handle.
‘Just a thought,’ he murmured. ‘Oh, and by the way, are you staying for supper?’
‘You’ve got a nerve,’ Carly said, turning. Her throat dried. If only she’d had some mental armour to deal with the way her body responded to Lorenzo. He was standing in the open-plan kitchen with his hands on his hips, looking magnificent. His jeans moulded every inch of his impressive lower body, and with such brazen accuracy her cheeks burned. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing the muscles on his arms. He was seriously good-looking, as well as a serious distraction.
Carly dragged her thoughts back to the reason for her visit. ‘Where were you today?’ Disappointment and distress rang in her voice, but it was too late to stop now. ‘Were you too busy coaching Madeline on scholarship technique to have time for me? I bet you found time to attend her interview—’
‘Are you jealous of Madeline?’
‘Don’t be so ridiculous! And don’t you dare try to turn this round on me. You should have been there. You’re the chairman of the scholarship committee, and my pupil master—’
‘Which is a good enough reason for me to step out, don’t you think?’ Lorenzo cut in calmly.
‘No, I don’t!’ But even as she raged at him her sensible self insisted he was right. She shook her head and when she spoke again her voice was husky. ‘If you felt that our relationship affected things why didn’t you warn me sooner?’
‘Because you were incommunicado,’ Lorenzo reminded her. ‘Because no one knew where you were.’
‘But didn’t you think I’d want to see you before I went in?’ As her voice broke she turned away.
‘I’ve had enough of this,’ Lorenzo said. Crossing the room, he seized hold of her. ‘Look at me, Carly …’
He had never wanted to kiss a woman so much in his life. When Carly was aroused she was magnificent. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips were crimson, and the tip of her nose with its sprinkling of freckles had turned white in her fury. Her wild Celtic hair rose above her shoulders like an inferno painted in red and gold, and yet coppery baby fronds were pressed to her brow. It was more than humankind, or at least he, could withstand—
‘Get off me, Lorenzo, I’m warning you!’
Her slap began at her knees, and travelled like a comet to his chin, by which time her tiny hand had turned into a fist. He blessed his lightning reflexes. Catching hold of her wrist just as her hand connected with his face, he snatched her other wrist too, just to be on the safe side. But then he found it impossible to stop laughing, which on reflection was a mistake. She had taken some of his fashion advice on board, including how good she looked in stiletto heels. He cursed violently when she stamped down hard on his toe. ‘God save me from women and from redheads in particular! You don’t need a mentor, you need a keeper with a
whip—’
But their struggles were too enjoyable to come even close to anger, and as she writhed against him, making the little sounds of frustration he knew so well, he could only thank God she’d found emotion, and wasn’t afraid of showing it. He guessed she had spent her whole life listening to other people emote while she got on quietly with her work. Maybe his family went too far the other way, but at least they had never been afraid of expressing their feelings. When he let her go she said, ‘I’m sorry … I don’t know what came over me—’
‘Passion,’ he suggested. ‘Maybe that came over you. Anyway, forget it.’
Forget it while Lorenzo stood nursing his chin? She was mortified and ashamed of herself. She had never resorted to violence, and never would again. But he was right; there was a lot bottled up inside her, and she hadn’t even realised how much up to now. That was one thing Lorenzo understood about her; he knew how to free the stopper that kept all the feelings in.
She looked at him. They had invoked a world of passion; an electric storm of passion. She had always believed herself to be one of the dullest people alive, but that was before she started seeing herself through Lorenzo’s eyes. Maybe there was hope for her after all …
‘Madeline’s not here,’ Lorenzo confirmed. ‘She came round to share her news, and I opened a bottle of champagne. It seemed the decent thing to do. Then she left. She was already pretty merry by the time she arrived.’
It made sense, Carly admitted to herself. Her gaze strayed, as it always did, to Lorenzo’s socks: the barometer of his mood. They were green, with angry red polka dots, which couldn’t have been more appropriate for the way she was feeling, for a change.
‘You haven’t read my letter, have you?’ he said.
‘Your letter?’ She looked up.
‘You didn’t go back and check your cubby-hole after the interview?’
She gave a shrug. ‘I didn’t exactly feel like hanging around.’
‘But you collected up your stuff.’ He glanced at the heap of things she’d brought with her from chambers.
‘Of course I did. It’s the Christmas recess. But I didn’t look at it. The clerks packed it all up for me—’
‘So you don’t know that I’ve resigned from the scholarship committee?’
‘What?’ she said softly. ‘Why would you do that?’
‘Don’t you know?’
Everything went very still. ‘No …’
‘Because you’re more important to me than any seat on a board. Don’t ask me why,’ he added dryly before she could go starry-eyed.
‘What exactly are you saying, Lorenzo?’
‘I got out before the scandal broke.’
‘What scandal?’
‘This one.’ He dragged her close. ‘I’m not so sure there would have been a scandal,’ he said, looking down at her, ‘but I wasn’t taking any chances, and it’s you I care about. You and your future, Carly Tate. I want what’s right for you—’
‘And you think you’re going to determine my future now?’ With an angry cry she pushed him away. She’d had enough of people deciding what she should do. But when Lorenzo looked at her as if to say it was her decision—her life, her career, something only she must decide—her pummelling fists softened to searching hands, and a jolt of pure longing drew a sound from her throat.
He brought her back into his arms then and held her firmly the way she liked. His lips were cunning as they prepared the way for his tongue, and the intrusion, the sudden penetration, the taste, the strength and the scent of him all combined as they always did to steal her strength away. Lucky for her he was so strong. He took her weight easily with the smallest adjustment of his powerful frame, and all the while he kept on kissing her deeply and intimately, until her nipples grew painfully tender again, and she was drowning in waves of needing him.
‘Santo Dio! I’ve missed you,’ he murmured.
Should she swim against the tide of arousal, or should she sink beneath it and drown? ‘Just don’t treat me like a child, Lorenzo. You can’t pick me up and put me down again when it suits you.’
‘Who said anything about putting you down?’
‘I needed you, Lorenzo. I needed your support—’
‘I was moving into my new apartment. I left you a letter to explain …’ He sighed. ‘And I was shopping.’
‘Shopping?’ Now she was incensed.
‘Christmas?’ he reminded her. ‘I thought you would have read about my decision regarding the committee. I thought you needed time. I guessed you would be going home to your family for Christmas.’
That clearly wasn’t on the cards, he guessed, judging by the look on her face, but as he reached out to her she thrust him away again. ‘What am I going to do with you?’ he demanded with frustration. They were facing each other like warring tigers. He hadn’t felt this way since … ever, he guessed.
‘Next time you kiss a woman, kiss her because you mean it, Lorenzo! Because you want to! Because you can’t stop yourself.’
The irony wasn’t lost on him. He had never wanted to kiss a woman more, but he blamed himself for upsetting her even though he suspected he wasn’t aware of the cause of half of it. There was so much going on inside her head he didn’t know about. ‘Why don’t you tell me what’s really upset you?’
‘You … and other things.’ She gave him a cold stare that warned of her feelings switching off.
With a sound of frustration he jutted out his chin. ‘Okay, if it makes you feel better, punch me. Go on,’ he urged, angling his head to make it easy for her. ‘Why hold back now?’
She stared at him tensely for a moment, and then she made a little noise—not quite a laugh, but getting there.
‘You’re impossible!’ she flung at him, shaking her head.
‘And you’re perfectly reasonable,’ he said back. ‘Now let’s get real. I’ve got a bottle of Krug open waiting for someone to take a slug out of it. Interested?’
She hesitated and then followed him as he turned to the kitchen.
Climbing up on one of the bar stools, she waited in silence while he found some glasses and poured the champagne. ‘Cheers!’ he said softly, clinking glasses with her.
‘Happy Christmas, Lorenzo …’ She wouldn’t look at him.
‘So, what plans have you made?’ he prompted.
Thanks to the revolving chairs and the way she’d angled herself he couldn’t see her face, but then he saw her shoulders shaking and swung her round. He stopped her sobbing the only way he knew, with a kiss, and with his arms binding her close so she would know how it felt to be safe. ‘You taste salty,’ he said, pulling back so he could smile against her mouth.
‘So do you,’ she said with a little laugh that made his heart swell.
‘Well, are you going to tell me what’s wrong, or not?’ He tipped her chin, giving her nowhere to look but in his eyes.
‘My mother doesn’t want me home.’ She tossed the words off as if they were of no importance to her; she even managed the approximation of a smile.
‘She doesn’t want you home?’ he repeated incredulously.
‘That’s right. She said it would be better if I left things to calm down a bit after the scholarship fiasco.’
He was raging inside. What sort of family made a child feel that it couldn’t come home unless it brought a prize? It put a price on love, and it seemed to him Carly could never meet that price however hard she worked.
‘I didn’t think it would hurt so much,’ she admitted with a frankness that brought them closer.
Lifting her face, she stared him right in the eyes as if to say she was all right now. He didn’t believe her for a minute. ‘So, what shall we do about it?’ he said.
‘We?’
‘Well, I don’t want to be on my own for Christmas.’ He had meant to make it easier for her, but the last thing he wanted happened—more tears, and this time they were tears of humiliation.
‘You don’t have to be kind to me, Lorenzo.’
‘Kind?’ He gave her one of his looks. ‘Me?’
‘Stop it. You know what I mean. I’ll be fine—’
‘I don’t have to do anything, but if I want to …’
Lorenzo would do exactly as he pleased, Carly thought, silently finishing the sentence for him. But she didn’t want to be anyone’s charity case, and she wasn’t sure how long she could keep this up, this casual pretence that sex was fun, kissing was fun, eating together was fun, when there was so much love inside her scorching a trail for him through her heart.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
‘I’VE COME TO a decision,’ Carly told Lorenzo. ‘I’d like to be alone for a few days. I need to sort out my head. I need to learn how to stand on my own two feet.’
‘You’ve been doing that all your life, as far as I can tell. You’re strong, Carly. Why can’t you see that?’
‘I’ll admit to being determined and driven, but I’ve always walked in the direction someone else has pointed me. What I want now is time to work out where I want to go.’
‘You’d consider quitting law?’ His eyes narrowed. He wasn’t going to tell her what to do, though it was so obvious, at least to him. The last thing she needed was someone else pulling her strings.
‘I haven’t made any decisions yet. I thought the scholarship was what I wanted, and that it would be an end in itself, but I was wrong, and now I need a new goal.’
‘How about personal happiness?’ he suggested. He was growing impatient with her inability to see how easy it was to throw a life away on someone else’s aspirations. ‘Your parents will get over this—’
‘You don’t know them.’
And, increasingly, he didn’t want to. ‘You’ll do lots of things to make them proud.’
‘I understand why they’re disappointed,’ she said. ‘They gave up so much for me. They’re entitled—’
‘Parents aren’t entitled to live their children’s lives for them,’ he cut across her. ‘They can only love them, and equip them for the world as best they can—’