Rebel with a Cause (7 page)

He placed her in the middle of her bed. Stood back and whipped his tee shirt from his head. ‘I think you'd better take off your bra and skirt.'

She was too busy enjoying watching him strip to bother with that. He took a moment with his jeans, taking care with the zip.

When finally, jaw-droppingly naked, he ripped open a little pack and rolled the condom over his erection, his teeth clenched for the few seconds it took.

Then he looked up at her. Frowned. ‘Bra and skirt Sophy? I'll lose it if I do it.'

Maybe she wanted him to lose it.

‘If you want me inside you then you have to do it.'

She smiled, thrilled to see him so tense. But she knelt up on the bed and twisted her arms behind her back to undo her bra clasp.

He stood at the foot of her bed, looking like some ancient Greek athlete—no, some ancient Greek
god
.

And the look on his face made her feel like a goddess. She stood on the bed then, unzipped her skirt, and with a shimmy of her hips let it fall.

He stood stiller than a statue.

Legs apart, she put her hands on her hips, filled with a new confidence—just from the way he was watching her. ‘What are you waiting for?'

He answered slowly, through clenched teeth. ‘Some degree of control.'

She dropped to her knees and crawled to the end of the bed. Straightened up and put her hand on his chest—watching it rise and fall. Then she looked up into his searing black gaze.

His fingers tangled in her hair, twisting in her curls, and he pulled. She didn't resist, let her head fall back so her mouth was his to plunder. And he did.

But then she ran both hands through his hair, holding him to her as she let herself fall back onto the mattress. As she intended, he overbalanced and came down hard on top of her.

‘Sophy,' he grunted, automatically bracing a hand on either side of her, lifting his weight off her. ‘You okay?'

She hooked her legs around him, arched up to stop him moving too far away. ‘No. I'm tired of waiting for you.'

‘I can't wait any more.'

She smiled and rippled beneath him. ‘Good.'

He stayed braced above her for a long moment, gazing into her eyes. She lifted her hips, trying to hurry him. He just smiled—that heart-meltingly brilliant smile. Then he lowered his weight half onto her again. Her heart beat rocketed. Anticipation made breathing difficult. At last he moved, a smooth powerful stroke forward, filling her in the one hit.

She gasped, expelled an even harsher breath as she shook.

‘You okay?' He moved again.

‘Yes,' she panted. ‘Yes. Yes. Yes.' But her breathing pitched wildly, the blackness threatening again as she gasped, struggling to cope with the blissful sensations. Too much, it was too much.

‘Easy honey.' He pressed into her once more—slow,
deliberate—and held there until she steadied. The weight of him and his careful hold anchored her, but his power had the potential to pull her apart. After a wavering moment, she began to breathe more deeply, softening, increasingly able to handle the intensity.

He kissed her, a soothing kiss. ‘Stay with me,' he muttered.

She nodded, feeling his slow rhythm begin again, and she started to move with him this time. She ran her hands over his back, feeling the strength he had to offer her. She smiled as she felt it surge beneath her fingers. In her most secret fantasies she'd never imagined it would be like this.

‘Yeah.' He kissed her properly then.

She took his face in her hands and kissed him back—as deeply as she possibly could. As the feelings ratcheted she felt him grow more tense. Until he wrenched his mouth from hers and bored a burning look into her, the smile gone,
his
breathing ragged and uneven now.

He rose higher above her, working them both harder, until she started to lose it again. Then he kissed her jaw, her ears, her brow, her neck, while his hips moved in that maddening, magical way. All at once the sensations rushed at her from every direction. She was half panting, half crying, mostly screaming. And just like that, too soon, not soon enough, she shattered. Her body convulsed in ecstasy, clamping hard—forcing utter capitulation from him too.

 

The tips of his fingers touched her damp skin. ‘So you do sweat.'

‘Contrary to popular opinion, I am actually human,' she answered with her eyes closed.

‘And do you like it when I make you sweat?'

She didn't answer. He'd had enough from her already. He'd had everything.

‘Your hair is still perfect.' He ran his fingers through it. ‘What do you do to it?'

She made herself answer this time—keep the conversation on this light level. Even though she felt as if she were on shakier ground than if she were standing on the rim of an active volcano. Really she didn't want to talk at all. She just wanted to absorb herself again. Right now she felt all that was precious in her was hanging up in the air, able to be seen—and shot down. She wanted to suck it back up. ‘Nothing. It's just the way it is.' She knew he didn't believe her. But it was true—she could only have the one style. Boring as anything.

‘I don't think I've ever seen you so still.'

She turned her head and looked at him. ‘What do you mean?'

He lay on his side, facing her, watching her with an impudent grin. ‘You're usually doing a million things, ever so efficiently, never stopping.'

‘I only work fast because I want to get the job done. There are other things I want to be doing.'

He levered up higher on his arm, glanced around her room. At the table. ‘Making the neck laces?'

She was such an open book, wasn't she? ‘Yes. And other pieces.' She watched him closely. If he dared laugh she'd brain him one. She'd hidden it from her parents. Her brother and sister had teased her one too many times about never getting over the toddler threading beads phase. She was just the child who'd been unable to live up to their achievements, was only useful as the errand girl.

And the silly thing was she
was
like a child—eager for their acceptance. But she couldn't help that craving. She'd never been one to disrespect her parents, always had been
dutiful. But she wanted more than that; she wanted to make them proud. She wanted them to value her contribution to the world as much as they valued her brother and sister's and their own. Trouble was, she was hardly off saving people as they were.

He'd hopped off the bed and was looking at the pieces on the desk. ‘They're pretty good.'

‘And you're an expert?'

He whirled, looked all wolf. ‘I've seen a few neck laces in my time.'

Of course he had. He'd seen a few necks, hadn't he? And he knew how to make love to a woman's neck, that was for sure. The niggle she felt about that was shamefully fleeting. She just wanted him to do it again.

He looked at the tray of beads and glass and trinkets. ‘They're different.'

‘Thank you.'

‘You've got a few done.'

Sophy hesitated. Then the small burst of pride beat over her usual reticence. She wanted to impress him—just a little. ‘I'm putting them in a show.'

As soon as she'd said it she regretted it. The nerves flared—what if no one liked them? What if she sold none? ‘What show?'

‘There's a film festival coming up at the academy. My jewellery is going to be show cased in the foyer.'

‘Cool.' He nodded. ‘That'll be great.'

Sophy's bubble of excitement popped. ‘I just have to finish enough to mount a decent display.'

He looked at the table. ‘This is where you work?'

‘Sometimes I use the dining table, but it's easier in here.' Less mess for Rosanna.

His brows flickered, but then he looked at her. She knew
the subject had gone from his mind and something else was in its place. It was obvious—his body gave him away.

 

Lorenzo hadn't snuck out of a girl's room in years. Usually he could manage break fast. He'd mastered the art of a sweet departure—a kiss, a smile, some lush words. But final. Always final.

But he didn't want to touch Sophy again. If he did, he knew he wouldn't be able to stop. And he refused to mess with her any more—although the reality was, she'd messed with
him
. He'd known it would be wild, but he hadn't thought he'd be filled with such awe. Be so moved by her. In truth, she scared him. How she made him feel scared him. She was so soft, so abandoned, so delicious.

She made him want more.

He carefully eased from her bed. She was lying in a sweet curve, her blonde curls spilling over the pillow. He resisted the urge to kiss her goodbye. He was hard again anyway. He didn't need to make it worse.

It was more nerve-racking then when he'd been trying to sneak out of the school dormitory with Alex crashing round behind him. It was all right for Alex—if he'd been caught it would have been a figurative rap on the knuckles. For Lorenzo it would have meant expulsion. He was always on that last chance. But then, as now, he made it.

He stood on the footpath outside her house and stretched, feeling the adrenalin surge through his muscles as he thought of their night together. He watched the dark sky start to lighten. Oh, yeah, as fantastic as it had been, he shouldn't have done it. Never, ever should have done it. And he sure as hell wasn't doing it again.

S
OPHY
opened her eyes when she heard the front door shut. She lay still a few moments longer just in case. Lorenzo had wanted to escape, she hadn't wanted to stop him. She figured he didn't want the awkward morning after either.

Had he even left a note? She rolled over, closing her mind to the slight tenderness of her body. No note—not on the pillow anyway. She lay on her back and looked up at the ceiling. Waited until she was sure he'd have driven away, then got up and walked into the lounge. The food was still on the table—all untouched. The only thing they'd eaten last night was each other. He'd had to come back out to the lounge at one point in the wee small hours to find the last couple of condoms that were hiding on the floor. And she was no girl scout—she
hadn't
been prepared for him. And she certainly wasn't prepared for this now. No regrets, but a nasty case of uncertainty.

She scraped the food into the bin, looked about as she worked. But there was no note anywhere else either.

And she had to face him at work in four hours' time.

She didn't bother going back to bed to try to get any more sleep. Instead she found her favourite navy trouser suit and made sure the shirt to wear beneath was pressed. She refused to let him ruffle her—not any more. But her heart thudded.

So they'd had their one night. And while she felt as if she'd died and gone to heaven, he obviously hadn't. He couldn't wait to get away—and hadn't wanted to deal with her. Okay, she'd get over that.

She really wished Rosanna were home. It wasn't her advice on how to get it that Sophy had needed. It was her advice on how to achieve a painless after math now. How did Rosanna keep on such good terms with all her old flames? And, even more importantly, how did she keep them all burning for her? Sophy shook her head—no, she didn't have either the secret or the skill for that.

Well, at the very least she'd try to borrow some Rosanna cool. She handled the boys with charm and smiles, right? Just made it easy for everyone. She winced. Sophy had made it easy for him all right. But he'd wanted her too, hadn't he? It hadn't been totally one-sided. She'd felt him shaking when he'd moved in her, she'd heard him growl with pleasure.

The balm from that reflection didn't last anywhere near long enough.

He just liked sex. It was obvious. It wasn't her he'd wanted, just the physical pleasure that she'd offered on a plate. What had she been thinking?

Okay, so the regrets were coming now—and the hurt that he hadn't felt anything special when she so totally had.

 

He wasn't in when she got there. Kat the receptionist said he'd be out most of the morning. Sophy was sure it was on purpose.

Fine.

She sat at the desk and did what she was famed for—getting on with the job. Organising everything. Victoria phoned, asking her to pick up some supplies from the deli
for the dinner at their parents' place, and she had some meals to drop to Cara's house too—could Sophy do it?

Of course she could.

And in the end her nervous energy was wasted—he didn't show up at all. Sophy decided to leave early too. She'd cleared the backlog—there was no reason for her to be working full time hours any more. She'd stick with what she was good at. She did the errands for Victoria, then went to her parents' place for the catch-up. While there she did more, making herself feel useful—wanted by someone for something.

When she got to work the next day he was out again. Sophy bristled inside—really, wasn't he taking it a bit far? What was he afraid of? That she'd throw herself at him—
again
?

She winced. She
had
thrown herself at him. Not making that mistake again. Not ever. Hours later she hung up from her millionth call and looked up at a small sound.

He stood in the doorway, his face half in shadow. ‘Everything okay?'

‘Yes.' Sophy smiled. ‘Of course.' She looked at the piles of paper in front of her. ‘It's been a busy morning but I think I've got just about everything sorted now. Including all the details for the fundraising gig at the bar tomorrow night.'

‘Great.' He hesitated.

She waited.

But he said nothing. So it was true that men never did want to talk about it. Well, she didn't want to either. What was the point? It was done. It was finished. She wasn't going to go all cold and wounded on him. But not flirty and desperate either. She'd aim for friendly professional. She flashed him a smile—just the right touch of warmth
but not overly so. ‘I'm off in a minute. I'll drop to part-time hours as we discussed now the backlog is cleared.'

He annoyed her completely by walking further into her office instead of hoofing off to his own as she'd hoped. She looked out of the window so she didn't have to look at him.

‘The vandals have been back.' She'd noticed it this morning. The graffiti was huge—stunning, if Sophy dared offer her opinion, which she didn't because now he had that really brooding look on his face. ‘You didn't hear them?' It had to have been more than one kid to spray a piece that big in a short time.

‘I'm a deep sleeper,' he said dryly.

She shifted a letter unnecessarily. That was dangerous territory. ‘What a pain for you to have to paint over it again.'

He shrugged. ‘I'll leave it for a bit.'

‘Fair enough.' She was quite pleased. She liked the colours, the whole fence looked on fire with the crimson reds and burnt gold coils.

She logged off the computer, gathered a couple of items to put back in the cabinet. It only took a moment. Then she reached for her favourite shiny handbag. Definitely time to make her exit.

 

Lorenzo leaned against the window frame and watched. Wow, she really was efficient, wasn't she? Had filed him away as if he were one of those pieces of paper. Checked him off her list and moved on. Forgotten about him.

And he shouldn't give a damn.

And he didn't—it was just his cock making things complicated. Leaping to attention when he merely walked the corridor—before he'd even seen her, let alone caught her fresh scent on the gentle breeze. The desire gnawed at
him—had ruined his sleep last night. He'd lain awake, the noise of the city at night loud in his ears. So often it had soothed him. He'd spent so many nights listening to the traffic, imagining he was in one of those cars and just driving, driving, driving away.

And the restlessness had driven him outside—to the cover of darkness where he could create. Despite it being his property, it still thrilled him—helped release the anger that had burned in him since he could remember. Making his mark—he was there and they couldn't get rid of him, no matter how much they wanted to.

Alex had had a bit of bitterness with the mess his parents had made. Lorenzo was filled with it.

He'd chuckled as he worked on the fence. What would the do-good miss say if she knew it was him? He'd spent hours on it—switched all the lights in the warehouse on to cast a glow out to the yard. But in the end it hadn't done its job. Nor had the five-mile run he'd taken after. He was still angry. He was still frustrated.

He still burned inside.

But he'd discovered something that offered the softest respite from the old torment.

Sophy.

Unfortunately she was also the cause of half his trouble. Somehow just being around her—and her perfect looks, her proper manner—brought those old feelings back.

‘You are coming to the fund raiser tomorrow night, aren't you?' he struggled to ask casually.

‘You really need me to?'

‘Yes.' Hell, yes. ‘It would be good to have you on hand to make sure the information side of things goes smoothly.' He totally made it up. There was no information side of things.

‘Then I'll be there.' She paused by the door on her way
out, turned back to look at him, an irritatingly benign smile on her face. ‘I assume it's all right to bring a date?'

Every muscle locked onto red alert. A date? He had to force his jaw apart to answer. ‘Of course.'

 

Rosanna flew back late Saturday afternoon. Sophy gave her an hour to relax in the bath then asked her as she lay on the sofa flicking through a magazine. ‘You have to come out with me tonight.'

‘And you're so desperate for my presence because?'

‘I need your support.'

Rosanna tossed the magazine to the floor. ‘What's happened?'

‘Nothing. But I don't feel like walking into a crowded bar all by myself.'

‘What bar?'

‘Wildfire. Only opened this week. There's a fund raiser tonight for the Whistle Fund there. I have to go. But I don't want to go alone.'

‘How is our favourite shark?'

Sophy shrugged. ‘I hardly see him. He's very busy. He's the money behind this bar.'

‘I'll text the boys. Spread the word. It should be fun. And it's for a good cause.' Rosanna leapt up into action. ‘Well, we'd better find our selves something suitable to wear, then, huh?'

Sophy grinned. Yeah, there was no holding Rosanna back from a party—or an excuse to get dressed to the nines. But two hours later she stared at her reflection in horror. ‘I'm not wearing this.'

‘Why not? You look hot.'

She looked like a wannabe catwoman, in Rosanna's favourite black—skin-tight satin pants and a sleek, sheer top. It smacked of trying too hard, too out of character—as if
she were going out of her way to draw his attention. Which she wasn't. Not again. ‘It's more you than me.'

‘Keep the trousers, change the top.' Rosanna was working on her eyes.

Okay, that she could handle. Sophy went back to her own wardrobe and found one of her pretty silk tops—that flowed, less in your face figure-hugging. She picked up one of her neck laces.

Rosanna appeared in her doorway. ‘Can I borrow one?'

‘Absolutely.'

 

The bar was already packed when they got there. There was no formal aspect to the fund raiser. It was just that the charity was getting a percentage of the ticket sales—so, really, she didn't think she had to be there. But she couldn't not.

Yeah, the place was an instant success. Lorenzo had the Midas touch, didn't he? Knew the investments to pick, always had his finger on the new big thing.

Sophy let Rosanna lead the way to the bar, she had a way about her that parted crowds. They ordered—classic cocktails—and waited for them to be mixed. Rosanna flipped so her back was against the bar and surveyed the room. ‘Looks good.'

Sophy nodded, trying not to look anywhere. She didn't want to see him. Didn't want to have to admit she had no date.

‘Oh, my.' Rosanna sighed, fanning herself.

‘What?'

‘I just saw Lorenzo.'

‘Oh.'

Rosanna spun back and leaned into Sophy. ‘I just saw the way he was looking at you.'

‘Oh?' Sophy's skin felt as if it were about to blister.

‘Kitten you are going to be gobbled. One bite.' Rosanna laughed. ‘Lucky kitty.'

‘The jet lag is getting to you,' Sophy muttered, lifting the glass to her lips.

‘Going to introduce me to your date, Sophy?'

She gulped, the liquid burning. Oh, there he was. Right behind her. She turned. In the crush of bodies at the bar he was too close.

‘Of course.' She summoned some social skills. ‘This is my very special friend Rosanna. Rosanna, this is Lorenzo.'

‘Pleasure.' Lorenzo was purring like the cat who'd not just got the cream, but the bird too. ‘Vance wanted to meet you too. He's my co-owner and manager of the bar.'

Lorenzo moved slightly closer to Sophy so the man behind him could be seen. Sophy felt Rosanna stiffen.

‘Hi, Vance.' Sophy smiled, breaking the short silence.

But the newcomer wasn't looking at her. He was staring—hard—at Rosanna. And she was positively glaring back. They were squaring off like ancient enemies.

‘Aren't you too old to still be dressing like a skate board punk?' Rosanna was all snark.

‘Aren't you too old to still have an eating disorder?' Vance answered ten degrees too coolly.

Sophy's jaw hit the floor. Rosanna was sleek, utterly sleek and stylish. But she wasn't sick. At least, Sophy didn't
think
so. And this guy so wasn't her type—she liked them with as much style as her own. Sophisticated style, not street wear. Although Vance had his strengths, to be sure.

‘Do you two know each other already?' Sophy asked,
despite the obviousness of the answer. It wasn't normal to be trading insults so soon in an acquaintance.

Rosanna didn't even glance at her. ‘We met a few years ago.'

‘Come and dance, Sophy.' Lorenzo grabbed her hand in a death grip, took the glass from her other and ditched it on the bar, marching her away despite her protests.

‘Hey, I'd hardly had any of that.'

‘I'll get you another later.'

She pulled to slow him, twisted back to catch another glimpse of Rosanna. ‘Do you think they're okay? They look like they might kill each other.'

‘I think they'll be okay. She's all grown-up.'

Sophy really wasn't so sure. She tugged her arm again. ‘She's not as tough as she makes out.'

Lorenzo laughed, the glint in his eyes too dangerous for comfort. ‘She'll be fine. Forget about it.'

Well, she wasn't going to do that. ‘She's my friend.'

‘Just give them five minutes.' He looked at her, the darkness in him piercing now. ‘Or is it that you don't want to dance with me?'

She went cool, despite the thudding in her heart. ‘I like dancing.'

‘Right.'

The music was loud—if they were to hear each other they'd have to lean close. Sophy opted for silence. But he was too close anyway, moving closer. And she couldn't cope with the way his big body moved—with surprising grace—or the way he absorbed the beat so naturally.