Under the Italian's Command (5 page)

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
bedworthy
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.

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.

She 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?

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.