Bestselling Authors Collection 2012(139)

‘No,’ he said roughly, stepping back. His hands dropped—leaving her suddenly cold. ‘You were right. I was wrong.’ He walked out of the door. ‘I really am sorry.’





CHAPTER FOUR


SOPHY managed to stay standing ‘til Lorenzo was out of sight, then collapsed into the chair. Fisting her hands over her eyes, shoulders rising—blocking all sensation. Just for a second. Just to stay sane. Her whole body tingled, as if she’d been zapped by some kind of extra-terrestrial ray-gun making all her cells jiggle.

The disappointment was devastating.

Why had he stopped? She knew he’d felt it—she’d seen it in his eyes, heard it in his voice. But he’d practically run away.

If she was Rosanna she’d have been the one to move that second time. It would have taken nothing—the slightest tilt of her chin to resume the contact. She’d had it on a platter. Yet she hadn’t taken the chance.

Now she was mad with herself for wishing she had, even madder for having been so damn passive. Why hadn’t she had the guts to take the risk? But she’d been knocked—first by his words, second by the kiss and the emotion that had flooded through her.

And now he was sorry? Not just for what she’d overheard, but for kissing her. She understood. But she couldn’t understand how he could regret it. He’d felt it as she had; that kind of chemistry couldn’t be one-sided.

And she wanted more. She really wanted more. A fire had been lit in her belly and it needed feeding. Except it looked as if she was going to be left starving.

Well, she was taking her lunch break today. She was working to rule and jolly well going to work on her own project. Spurred on by what she’d said to him—she did have her own ambition. And now, more than ever, she was determined to make it. She’d do this exhibition and show them all she had more to her than great organisational skills. She had dreams—and she’d make them real.

That had been a mistake. Oh, man, had that been a mistake. Lorenzo’s body hurt as he moved—every cell rebelling as he made himself walk away.

Yeah, she had emotions all right—her want for him so hot and sweet. He wanted to bury himself completely in the delectable softness she offered.

She’d stared at him. Just waiting with her eyes so huge. It was like corrupting an innocent. She really was a good girl, wasn’t she? And Lorenzo never messed with good girls. Ever. Things got too messy. And it was obvious things with Sophy would get nuclear messy. Hell, she’d been crushed by that stupid comment he’d made to Alex. Her big eyes brimming with hurt—from just a few silly words. And he felt bad for it—an absolute heel. Because she hadn’t deserved it. He didn’t like feeling guilty.

And now he knew for sure there was no way in hell she was frigid. She wasn’t just warm either. She had volcanic qualities. Like a snow-capped mountain, she was capable of blasting fire when you least expected it, able to melt granite with her heat.

That just made it fifty times worse because he ached to make her tremble again and again. Being with her, in her, would be more than explosive, it would be some kind of divine experience. But if she was hurt by just a few words, no way could she handle a short-term fling. And that was all he ever did. She was a relationship woman. Ms Monogamous.

She was far too good for him—literally. He just wasn’t crossing that line. It didn’t matter how hot he was for her, it wasn’t going to happen. Because Mr Monogamous he wasn’t. He’d tried it once when he’d been young and naïve enough to think the past wouldn’t matter. He’d been shot down and wasn’t taking a hit like that again. Sure, he liked women—lots of women—for the physical fun of sex. No more than three times with a partner—preferably in the same night. That wasn’t a kind of deal straight, sweet Sophy could handle.

But he couldn’t stay away, not all day. He told himself he couldn’t be rude and ignore her after what had happened. Somehow he had to get them back to a purely professional footing. Going to be tricky given he was the one who’d been flashing skin the whole time.

She was at the desk, her head bent as she concentrated on the stuff in front of her—piles of tiny objects. She had a bag open on the edge of the desk, small sharp-looking tools to one side while she made her decisions. It was the first time he’d seen her actually sitting still and not busily typing while filing and talking to someone on the phone all at the same time. Now she was so concentrated, so quiet, looking so intently at the stuff on the table in front of her. He leaned his shoulder against the door jamb and said nothing. Just waited for her to realise he was there, enjoying the time he had to observe.