Rebel with a Cause (4 page)

Sophy knew there was a heart of gold underneath the glam. It was just that Rosanna wouldn't admit to it, certainly wouldn't let anyone near it. She spent her life fencing, flirting on a superficial—if somewhat bitchy—plane. Sophy knew why; Rosanna's heart had been broken and she wasn't letting any man near it again. She was only about having light, harmless, fun and keeping any seriousness at a distance.

Sophy's heart had also been broken. Frankly she wanted some of the fun now too—and she knew who with. She
walked with Rosanna to the door, waited for the taxi to arrive and tried to absorb some of her friend's zest for life.

Rosanna did all the things Sophy was too ‘responsible' to do: she had crazy flings, she went to far flung destinations, she was impulsive and a risk-taker. She did danger—she'd do dangerous like Lorenzo Hall kind of dangerous.

But Sophy had always had more than herself to consider. She loved her parents and had never wanted to embarrass them. As she was the judge's daughter it would have made the perfect salacious storyline—if she'd gone off the rails, been a teen drinker, teen pregnant, or got into drugs. But she'd done none of those things. She'd tried to be the perfect kid—even when she knew she was a disappointment in not following them into the law. She'd even tried to find the perfect boy friend. If she couldn't live up to the family name she'd marry someone who would. She'd been so naïve—her ex had only wanted her for what he could get out of it—the connection to her family. She supposed it served her right.

She was the boring, goody two-shoes who'd been embarrassingly naïve. Now she was in the habit of playing safe. Not playing at all. Not taking risks.

She never discussed her family with anyone at all now. Privacy had been important anyway, discretion a must. People were put off just as much as they were intrigued, as if they thought she'd run to her father if they mentioned anything even slightly shady. It was as if they expected her to be a pillar of morality, never once veering from doing right.

And in truth she was.

‘Is this job full-time?' Rosanna asked. ‘Initially.'

‘You know your problem, Soph?'

‘Go on, enlighten me.'

‘You're too sweet. Why don't you ever say no to them? Why don't you ever say no to me?'

‘How can I?' Sophy argued. ‘You let me move in.' She hadn't wanted to stay with her parents. But hadn't wanted to live alone either—at least, not all the time.

Rosanna shrugged. ‘I'm hardly here. It's a selfish move on my part—you're a good house-sitter.'

‘Yes.' Sophy laughed, not in the least offended, knowing Rosanna didn't mean it.

‘But when are you going to get those pieces finished?'

Sophy bit her lip. She'd known Ro would bring it up eventually. ‘I don't know that I can.'

‘You're doing it, Sophy. This is such a great opportunity.'

‘You've just told me to learn to say no.'

‘Only to the things you don't really want. This is something you do want, isn't it? This is something to push for. Put your ambition first for once.'

‘I will.' Sophy groaned, but Rosanna was right of course. ‘When are you back?'

‘Later in the week. Another flying visit home and then off again.'

‘You don't get tired of it?'

‘No.'

And perhaps if they saw each other more they'd drive each other nuts. The taxi finally pulled up and Rosanna strutted down to get it, her ponytail swinging, her ultra-high heels tapping and her trolley rattling along the concrete path.

‘Don't say yes to anything else while I'm away,' she called as she got into the cab. ‘I mean it.' She stopped and opened the door again to holler, ‘Especially not Lorenzo Hall!'

‘Kittens have claws, you know.'

‘Not enough to make a mark on a man like him.'

Laughing, Sophy shut the front door. Rested against it for a moment, listening to the vast silence Rosanna had left behind her. She'd been right. Lorenzo was out of her league. And probably not genuinely interested anyway—he was just amusing himself by making her squirm.

Rosanna was right about something else too. Sophy needed to finish up her pieces and prepare for the exhibition. It was a fantastic opportunity and she shouldn't blow it. Inspired, she went into her room and got to work on them—kept working late into the night. Once she got into it the excitement flowed and she decided to make the most of her lunch break—she had no time to waste if she wanted to get enough made.

She got to work early the next day to get ahead. She opened the window in the office to let the fresh spring air in. Looking down, she saw Lorenzo was out the back. Wide brush in hand, he was covering the graffiti with black paint—to match the rest of the fence. So it bothered him enough at last? Sophy thought it was a bit of a shame. But, unable to resist, she watched. His jeans hung that little bit low on his hips, an old tee was stretched across his broad shoulders. His feet were bare. He had his phone trapped between ear and shoulder and his voice carried across the still yard. As did his laughter.

She should probably close the window.

Instead she switched on her computer. She'd concentrate on the work. Not listen to every word winging through the window.

 

‘So what's the castle like?' Lorenzo asked.

Alex had taken Dani to Italy on a belated but extended
honeymoon. They were staying in some castle for a few weeks.

‘Amazing. As it should be for the price. How's Cara?'

‘Shattered but holding her own, I think.' He swirled the brush through the paint. ‘She loved the flowers. She said the baby is tiny but she's doing well.'

‘You've not been to see her yet?'

‘No.' Lorenzo winced.

‘Renz—'

‘Not my scene, Alex, you know that.' Happy families weren't him. He was concerned for Cara, of course he was, and he'd sent over a ton of presents, asked if there was anything he could do. Of course there wasn't, she and her husband and their entire extended families had it together. So he didn't have to go and feel awkward around them.

‘What about the Whistle Fund? Did you find someone to help out?' Alex moved on.

‘Yeah,' Lorenzo sighed. ‘Cara did—a friend's younger sister or something. One of those socialites who likes to be involved.' Lorenzo jabbed a fence paling with the brush. ‘She's so damn efficient. Organised. Officious. She looks like a frigid girl scout.'

Alex laughed. ‘So many adjectives, Renz—she bothering you?'

‘No.' If only he knew.

Alex laughed even harder—okay, so he knew he was lying. ‘So she's a babe?'

Lorenzo slapped some paint on even thicker. Yes, she was a babe. In more ways than one. All big blue eyes and blonde hair that begged to be ruffled. Hot-looking but with an air of innocence that Lorenzo wasn't at all sure that he should taint. ‘She's doing the job. That's all that matters.'

The job would be done—brilliantly—and he'd find a
permanent replacement very soon. Because he had too much else to do to be fixating on her all the time like this.

He ended the call to Alex, finished up the fence. Picking up the can, he swung round, glanced up to the first floor. The window to her office was open but he couldn't see anyone sitting at the desk. Kat must have opened it.

He jogged up to his apartment—scrubbed the paint off in the shower. But he had an itch that just had to be scratched. He had to go have another look, see if he could make her spark again. It was like she'd put some kind of homing device in him, drawing him near. He went down to Reception and stole the mail from Kat's tray. Then his feet just went to where she was. Irresistible.

‘You going out with your boy friend tonight?' he asked. So lame. So unsubtle.

She froze where she was bent over a pile of papers.

‘You should come to the bar. It's the opening night.'

‘You're that desperate for customers?' She looked up, all frost. Touchy this morning.

‘Actually no. We're confident it'll do the business. I just thought you might like to see it.' He leaned his frame against the door. ‘It's a nice little place, intimate. You can cuddle on a sofa in the corner.' Would she be the type to cuddle in public? Somehow he didn't think so—she had that aloof thing going. ‘Or you can work up a sweat on the dance floor. Oh…' he paused deliberately ‘…you'll be on the sofa, then, won't you?'

‘I like to dance.'

His muscles tightened at the unexpected tinge of boldness in her tone, he looked harder at her.

‘But I already have plans for tonight.' Oh, she was
ultra
cool—it made him suspect she was even hotter beneath.

‘With your boy friend?' Yeah, again, real subtle. But he really needed to know. Now.

Sophy gave up pretending to look at the file in front of her. ‘No,' she said as calmly as she could—tricky given the anger zooming round and round her veins, searching for a way out. ‘I don't have a boy friend.'

‘No?' Annoyingly he didn't sound that surprised. Worse, he looked pleased about it.

‘I don't want one.' Damn, she'd tacked that on too quickly, sounded too vehement. And they both knew it.

His brows lifted. ‘Why's that?' He put the mail on her desk, the action bringing him even closer to her. ‘Did some twerp break your heart?'

She took a moment to draw breath—so she could answer with icy precision. ‘What makes you think I have a heart?' She bit the words out with the experience of seven years' elocution lessons behind her. ‘We frigid girl scouts don't bother with them. We find machinery to be more efficient.'

Slowly, deliberately, she lifted her gaze—it clashed with his for a long, long time. His own eyes revealed nothing, yet seemed to penetrate her façade—delving into her secrets. She felt the blush rising—stupidly—when he was the one who'd been so rude. He'd said it. She'd only over heard it by mistake. So why was she the one feeling so uncomfortable now?

‘Struck a nerve, did I?' Without breaking the stare he walked around her desk. ‘I only said you look like that, not that you actually are.'

‘Same difference.' All her nerves were prick ling now.

His smile sharpened. ‘But I already know you're quite capable of feeling something.'

She just stared at him, fighting to slow her pulse.

‘Anger.' He grabbed her arms and pulled her out of the chair. ‘Are you very angry with me, Sophy?'

He was in appropriately close—again—holding her tight, yet she didn't fight to step back. She refused to let him intimidate her, or to play with her.

‘Do you want me to make it better?' His arms looped around her, hands warm and firm on her waist.

‘How are you planning to do that?' She took a quick breath, shaking inside, but stabbed him with some sarcasm. ‘With a kiss?'

‘Isn't that how it works?' He leaned closer, spearing her with his dark, unreadable eyes. ‘Isn't that what you want?'

‘No.' Now she was even more angry. Because he was right. It was what she wanted. What she'd been wanting since she first laid eyes on him, and especially since she'd been in his apartment and touched him. But she didn't want it like this. ‘I don't think it would make it better.'

‘No?'

‘I think it would make it worse.' She flashed at him. ‘Don't
patronise
me, Lorenzo. You think you're better than me? You think I'm some robot? Some spoilt, bored socialite? Spending all my time doing this and that for everyone else? You think I don't have ambition of my own? Dreams of my own? Desires of my own?'

She shut up, suddenly aware she was verbally vomiting an ancient bitterness that she'd never wanted to talk about to anyone, certainly not to him.

His hold on her tightened. ‘I don't think that. But obviously you think some people do.'

Yeah, a little bubbling mass of resentment, that was her.

‘Why didn't you say no to working here, if you had other things you wanted to do?' He made it sound so simple.

But she never said no—not to that kind of request. And she did have some time to help. She
liked
to help. It make her feel useful, needed. Except now it felt as if Lorenzo had been laughing at her willingness and her diligence. Were they all laughing at her? Was she valued at all or were her efforts just taken for granted?

Tired. That was her problem. Tired and frustrated and over whelmed. And he wasn't helping—towering over her like this, tormenting her all the time. She looked straight down to the floor as tears sprang in her eyes. ‘Forget it.'

‘No.' He took her chin in firm fingers and tilted her head back up so he could see her face. A half-swallowed growl sounded. ‘You're really upset.'

‘My wounded pride will get over it,' she snapped, cross with her stupid weakness. ‘I don't care what you think. I'm here to do a job. Now I'm going to get on with it.'

‘Not until I apologise.'

‘I didn't think you'd be the type to say sorry.'

‘And you think I'm the one making assumptions?' His eyes glinted but the smallest of smiles appeared. ‘Okay, I don't say it often. But when I do, I mean it.' He stroked her jaw. ‘I'm sorry.'

‘It's fine.' She shrugged, too crushed to accept it with good grace and determined not to let that smile have its usual disabling effect. ‘I don't care what you think about me.'

His smile deepened just a touch. Okay, so she was protesting too much.

She sighed as a flicker of good humour returned to her. ‘Don't get big-headed about it. I care too much what everyone thinks about me.'

‘What you think matters to me too.'

Okay, so now his niceness was making it worse. Embarrassed, she shifted. ‘Look, just forget it.'