It was several minutes until she glanced up, did a double take and squeaked.
‘Oh, sorry.’ The tempting colour rose under her skin. ‘I didn’t hear you.’
‘What are you doing?’ He’d figured it out already but didn’t want to admit just how long he’d been standing watching her like some stalker.
Her hands moved, as if to hide it from him, her serenity broken as she started packing it all away. A velvet covered board with grooves in it into which she was arranging small semi-precious stones or beads or other bits.
‘It’s okay,’ he said, wishing he hadn’t shattered her moment of calm so completely. It was as if he’d tripped the switch and now the efficient automaton was back. ‘You’re allowed a lunch break.’ Except lunch had been hours ago. Had the goody two-shoes abandoned her job all afternoon?
She looked guilty.
Yep, he’d caught her out. He couldn’t stop his mile wide smile. ‘What are you making?’
She blinked at him, hurriedly looked away. ‘A necklace.’
‘A hobby of yours?’ He saw her tension spike.
Then she nodded. All back to brisk. ‘Yes.’
He watched as the guilt gave her an all-over-body sweep of red.
‘Sorry,’ she muttered. ‘I lost track of time.’
She was just never going to be a cheat, was she? Never going to be someone who could do something she shouldn’t and not own up about it. He bet she’d never done anything remotely dodgy in her whole life. Jeez, they were poles apart.
‘Don’t worry about it.’ He didn’t care. She’d done an amazing job clearing up the mess that was the Whistle Fund office. Everything was running on schedule again. Even the opening of the bar looked as if it was going to go off okay. The chaos of the last couple of weeks seemed to be at an end. In no small part thanks to Sophy. She was allowed an afternoon to slack off. ‘Just go home early. You’ve done heaps already.’
She lifted her head, the cool look back. ‘Okay. Thanks.’
He lingered for a half second too long, tempted to say or do something more. Finally he made himself turn and walk along to his own office. It had just been a kiss. Nothing more than that. He could forget it. He could ignore the tantalising prospect of seducing her. Sure he could.
At least try to do the right thing, Lorenzo—for once in your life.
Sophy hadn’t had any sleep. She’d sat up late again, working on her pieces. Unhappy with the necklace she’d made the night before. Her jewellery had to be something really special—couldn’t be something anyone could make in their own home if they had the time and the inclination. It was all about the eye, the detail and the little spark of difference. She had the resources—had been collecting vintage bits and bobs for years. Had gathered a lot while in Europe and had got invaluable experience when she’d worked on the floor of a jewellery shop in France. She’d spent her lunch breaks sitting in the workshop with the jewellers learning some of the finer points. She’d done a few courses too, so she had a reasonably solid technique now. But she didn’t have so much time to make the amount she needed for the show. And she wasn’t sure she had them exactly how she wanted them.
But on top of everything she was distracted. Wished Rosanna were on hand to help her out—with Vamp 101 classes.
She didn’t see Lorenzo all morning. But early afternoon, as the sun was hitting its zenith, she heard that familiar sound. She looked out of the open window. He was on his makeshift basketball court, wearing jeans of course. But his torso was covered this time—with a loose NBA style singlet.
He glanced up to the window, saw she was watching. She pulled her head back in but she saw his grin. He bounced the ball a few times. Executed some fancy run up to the board and jumped high—landing the shot.
He glanced back up to her. Yeah, okay, she was still watching and he knew it. Too slowly he lifted the hem of his singlet, used it to wipe the sweat from his brow—revealing his abs in the process. Deliberately. Provocatively.
He lifted his head and looked up at her. He wanted a reaction? Impossible—she couldn’t move, just stared at him.
His smile appeared and both his hands moved to the hem of his singlet. In a flash he’d whipped it over his head—tossing it to the side.
Oh God, she just couldn’t take it any more. She slammed her window shut. Heard his laugh anyway. That tore it. She stood and marched downstairs, opened the back door, let it slam behind her. He turned, she saw his surprise. So he was just winding her up? He’d pay.
She walked past him and went to where the ball was rolling towards the fence, scooped it up. It was bigger than the netball she used to play with. She prayed to the sporting gods for some kind of benevolence. It had been years since she last played netball, but she had been Goal Attack—responsible for shooting through the hoops. She rolled the ball against her palms, pulling it in tight to her chest, getting the feel for it. She was too steamed to care much anyway. Really she felt like throwing the thing at his head rather than the hoop.