Rebel with a Cause (3 page)

Only he was so damn helpless.

That one last part of his body refused to acknowledge the sickness. He raised his knees, lifting the rug to hide the evidence, and mentally berated himself. So in appropriate. It must be the fever putting these kinds of thoughts into his head.

He looked at her, she was speaking briskly into her phone again. Some other poor soul was at the mercy of her efficiency. He was beyond even trying to listen. All he wanted was to rip the gadget from her and press his mouth to hers—just to shut her up. Just to slake the lust.
So damn irresistible. So damn impossible. For one thing he was harbouring a million nasty bugs in his throat, for another she just wasn't his type. Not at all. Not when he was on form.

But he felt an almost feral need to touch her—had done since the second he'd first seen her looking so snippy out the back of the warehouse. He wanted to muss her up so bad he wanted to growl.

Sick. He really was sick.

‘Okay, that's everything settled, then.'

‘You're going?' Oh, man. He grimaced. Where had that sound of disappointment come from?

She paused. ‘You didn't think I was going to stay, did you? I've got other things to do. And you said it yourself, Lorenzo—you don't need a mother, or any kind of sympathy.'

‘So you're going to leave me here at the mercy of some stranger?' He opted to try to wheedle. Thinking on it, he'd rather have her here than some nurse—even if she was a little too efficient for his liking. Did she never stop and slow down? She should slow down—he'd make her. Give it to her really, really slow. Bend her back and lick all the way up her gorgeous length until she…
Hell
, his eyes were probably glazing over. He shut them tight. It made the fantasy worse. It made the aching in his gut worse.

On seconds thoughts, the sooner Sophy left, the better.

‘She's very well qualified and has great references,' Sophy said—oblivious to the base nature of his thoughts. ‘She'll get you right again.'

‘I do not need a damn nursemaid.' What was she going to do all day? He'd had the pills, now he just needed to sleep until it was time to take more. The last thing he wanted was some woman poking round his apartment. He never
let women poke around. He liked his privacy—the peace in isolation.

‘Your temperature is sky-high. Until it's down and the antibiotics have kicked in, then you are not being left alone. We're talking twenty-four hours or less, Lorenzo. Get over it.'

He opened his mouth. Shut it again. He hadn't been given orders quite like that in
years
.

‘Now you need to rest. The nurse will be here in twenty. She's bringing more medicine with her.'

Enough was enough. He wasn't putting up with this for a moment longer. He put his feet on the ground and hauled himself up.

 

‘Lorenzo.' Sophy's heart lurched. She moved fast.

His eyes were closed and the frown on his face was heightened by his extreme pallor. His whole body was covered in a film of sweat but he shivered again. She wrapped her arm around him—felt every single muscle in his body go tense. Sophy bit her lip. The sooner the nurse got here, the better.

‘I'm fine.' The anger surged in his voice. Directed at both her and himself. He was furious with his weakness.

‘And I'm the Queen of Atlantis.'

‘This is ridiculous. I'm hardly at death's door. It's a sore throat.' But he sat back down all the same, put his feet up this time and scrunched more into the sofa, lying shivering beneath the rug. His teeth were tightly clenched—to stop them chattering or because he was so mad? Probably both.

Sophy was definitely staying 'til the nurse arrived now. She sat in the chair across from the sofa. Keeping a wary eye on him and sneaking interested glances round his apartment. The space was gorgeous—huge and light.
The kitchen was modern—had all the lovely stainless steel appliances a gourmet home cook could ever want. There was a massive shelving system on one wall—filled with books, CDs, DVDs. She leaned close to look at the titles, even though she knew she was being nosy.

She glanced at her watch. Shouldn't be long now 'til the nurse arrived. He'd gone very quiet. Was he asleep? Quietly she moved back to the sofa, bent so she could see his face.

His jet-black hair was just slightly too long—as if he'd missed his last appointment with the barber—and right now it was a tousled mess. It was gorgeous—just begging for fingers to tunnel into it. And his features were beautiful. His eye lashes were annoyingly long while the shadow on his angular cheek tempted her to touch. And then there was his mouth. In the heart of his chiselled jaw were the most sensual lips she'd ever seen. Full, gently curved, slightly parted as he slept. The shivering seemed to have eased. Had his temperature dropped? She put her palm on his forehead again.

His hand moved fast, clamping round her wrist as his eyes shot open. The brown so deep as to be black, filled with a fire she wasn't sure was purely fever.

She was caught, crouched half over him, unable to move.

His eyes burned into her. ‘I told you to quit it.'

But he wasn't holding her hand away from him, instead he pressed her fingers harder to his skin. Afterwards she never knew from where she'd got the audacity, but she spread her fingers, gently stroking them over his damp brow. Smoothing the frown lines, stretching higher to reach into his hair, rumpling it ever so gently.

Her fingertips felt so sensitive—never had she felt something so strong inside from just touching someone. The
strangest kind of electricity surged into her. Thrilling yet relaxing at the same time. It felt right to be touching him. It felt good. Okay, more than good. Sexual energy strummed through her, just like that. She wanted to move, to touch more, to shift her hips—tease the ache that had woken deep within.

His eyes didn't leave hers, filled with a look so full of…something. Was it anger or desire or something deeper and darker still?

The buzzing made her jump. Made him grip her even harder—so hard she winced.

‘That'll be the nurse,' she muttered.

Despite the illness he had fearsome strength when he wanted to use it.

She finally broke away from his deepening gaze, and pointedly looked at his hand. ‘You need to let me go.'

His fingers loosened and she pulled her hand free. Her heart was beating so fast she felt dizzy. Maybe it wasn't tonsillitis that he had. Maybe it was the flu and she'd caught it just like that. She felt as hot as he looked.

She caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror hanging on the wall as she hurried to the door. Yes, the colour in her cheeks was definitely more than the usual. And her eyes looked huge.

The nurse was at least fifty and looked like a total grandma with her specs and cardigan and knitting needles poking out of her bag. She talked like a grandma too—incessant, interested and caring but with an underlying thread of steel.

Sophy smothered her smile as the woman began her no nonsense fussing over Lorenzo. Definitely time to make a move. She needed some space to examine that moment again too.

‘I'll phone later,' she said to the nurse.

‘Aren't you going to talk to me?' A growl from the sofa.

‘You're going to be asleep.' Sophy went even warmer inside when she saw the put out look flash on his face.

But then he started shivering again and the nurse turned to him. ‘We need to get you into bed, don't we? I'll go and put some nice fresh sheets on it. No, don't worry, I can find them. You just lie back and relax. Medicine, some pain-killers, something nice and warm to drink. We'll have you better in no time.'

Sophy watched the woman bustle off, finding her way around the place by some kind of special nursing sixth sense. She looked back at Lorenzo; he was looking at the nurse with such loathing that Sophy had to clap her hand over her mouth to stop herself laughing. At her movement his head whipped round and he glared at her. Oh, boy, definitely time to go.

‘Sophy.'

Halfway across the room she hesitated.

‘Come here.'

Sick as he was, it was a command. And Sophy felt a scarily overwhelming urge to do as he bid. How pathetic—it wasn't as if he could do much if she refused.

‘Come here.' Softly spoken again, but it wasn't just a thread of steel in there—it was a whole core. And his magnetism wasn't something she could ignore.

She walked over to him. Even though he was the one lying down, even though she was the one who could leave, somehow the balance of power had changed. In those few minutes when she'd been crouched next to him, stroking him, something had changed completely.

She stopped a little distance away, met the deep, dark gaze a little nervously.

‘I want to thank you,' he said quietly.

‘It's not necessary.' She felt the blush rising in her cheeks.
Sorting out others was her speciality. She had a family of geniuses who could barely organise what they wanted to make for dinner every night. This was nothing.

He was still looking at her so in tensely she wondered what it was he was trying to read. His focus dropped, to her mouth. She swallowed—determined not to give herself away by licking her suddenly desperately dry lips. Her pulse thumped in her ears.

‘I'm kissing you. Can you feel it?'

Sophy blinked. Had she just dreamed that? Was that a fantasy moment? Had he really just said that? Like
that
—a purring whisper?

Mind sex. Was that what this was? Because she had to admit she was feeling it—and was desperate to feel more. Okay,
she
was delirious. She really was. Definitely burning up. She licked her lips, not realising she was 'til she was done and they were still tingling with the need for touch—
his
touch. His kiss.

Suddenly he was smiling—that absolutely brilliant smile that had disarmed her so completely yesterday.

She snatched in a breath—her lungs felt as if they were eating fire. ‘Get better soon.' And she ran, his low chuckle hard on her heels.

 

Every time Sophy thought of the expression on his face as she'd left she blushed bodily. And it wasn't without a few nerves that she walked up to the second floor three days later. Lorenzo was back on deck—Kat told her as soon as she arrived. And he was waiting for her in his office. She was to see him as soon as she got there.

Sophy had the feeling it was going to be interesting. He hadn't liked her seeing him so vulnerable. Certainly hadn't liked the way she'd handled it. If she'd learned anything about him from their brief meetings so far, he liked to be
the boss. Only she'd over ruled him. She suspected he was going to make her pay for that—only the burning question was
how
? In the devastatingly direct way that he'd reclaimed the power in his apartment? By using his way-too-potent sensuality? She totally shouldn't be hoping so. Lorenzo Hall had playboy commitment-phobe stamped all over him—in permanent ink. She took a breath and knocked on his door.

‘Just a moment.'

She waited, her nerves stretching tauter with every tiny tick of her watch. What was this pause about—did he want to force her to break point? Because he knew, didn't he? Was all too aware of his effect on her—and on any woman. Why, he'd used it to his advantage in his apartment—a look, a very few words and she was practically in a puddle at his feet. Then she heard him.

‘Okay, you can come in now.'

She opened the door and stopped on the thresh old. Gaped.

He was standing by the window, had turned to watch as she came in. He was in jeans. But still no shirt. From behind him the light touched his body like an aura giving it a golden glow. It didn't need the emphasis. It was blindingly gorgeous already.

It was as if she were two feet from a launch tower that had just sent a rocket into space—the heat from the blast nearly eviscerating her.

His torso was bronzed, no sheen from sweat this time, but she wanted to see it wet again. Her fingers wanted to slide through the slickness, they wanted to torment him to slickness.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Since when did she have rabid sexual fantasies about a virtual stranger? Such un
controllable, lusty urges? She blamed it on the sight of all that beautiful skin.

‘The first time was a mistake,' she muttered. ‘The second you couldn't help.' She opened her eyes and stared some more, watching as he slowly walked until he stood ten inches too far within her personal space. ‘This time—'

‘Was entirely deliberate.'

A
LL
Sophy could hear was the thud, thud, thud of her heart. ‘Deliberate?'

He smiled. Such a slow, amused smile she wondered whether the word had actually emerged from her mouth or whether it had just been some sort of scared-animal squeak.

‘You seemed to like it,' he said quietly, tiny twin lights dancing in his otherwise incredibly dark eyes.

Like it? Oh, that was the understatement of the century.

She blinked at him. He was so calm. So at ease in his gorgeous skin. So sure of his effect on her—the effect he
definitely
had on any woman—he was that confident. It was enough to slap sense back into her. ‘You're definitely feeling better, aren't you?'

‘One hundred percent.'

‘Great.' Sophy took a step back into the corridor. ‘Then perhaps you'd like to see what I've been doing with sorting out the admin in there.'

‘I've seen it. It's looking good. It's very easy to understand the system you're setting up.'

‘Oh.' She was deflated—he'd stolen the ball back just like that.

‘But we do need to talk about the function coming up.'
He walked out to the corridor after her. ‘And I need to show you some of the stuff to update the website. I under stand Kat's been helping you a bit when she can?'

‘Yes, she's been great.' Sophy tried really hard to keep her concentration on the conversation but it kept sliding down to where his flat abs hit his jeans.
Unbelievable
—both his body and her reaction to it.

‘The rest of the team will be back in later today. They've been helping on another project.'

‘The bar.' Kat had told her about it. Lorenzo was the backer behind some guy opening up a new bar in the heart of cooldom. And she could totally be professional in the face of this provocation. Sure she could.

‘Yes.' He was sounding all serious but his eyes were dancing. ‘Shall we go into your office and get on with it?'

She stopped only three paces along. Nope. She couldn't be professional—not like this. ‘Do you possibly think that you could put a shirt on?'

A deep, totally pure sound of amusement rumbled out of him. ‘It really bothers you.'

‘It's in appropriate.' Sophy felt her temperature rising. She wasn't a prude—really she wasn't. But this was just before nine a.m. and they were at
work
. Hell, yes, it bothered her.

‘No more in appropriate than you bursting into my apartment and ordering a nurse for me.'

Sophy smiled, feeling a sense of power return. ‘Now
that
really bothered
you
, didn't it? Me seeing you like that—in such a weakened state. Did it wound your male pride? Is that why you're showing your muscles again now? Proving your masculine strength?'

‘You really think I was weak?' He turned, his big frame took up half the space in the corridor. And then he moved.
Instinctively she retreated—backing up against the wall. But he followed, totally hemming her in. She stuck her chin in the air trying not to feel anxious—or, worse, the lick of anticipation.

Sparks seemed to be coming from his eyes. ‘I don't think I'm the one who needs to prove anything. I think that's for you to do.'

‘What exactly do you think I need to prove? That you don't bother me?' Altitude sickness on the second floor—that was her problem. She must be the world's first case but she'd swear the air was thinner here because she could hardly get her words higher than a whisper.

His brows flickered. ‘Don't I?'

‘Of course you do.'

His brows shot higher. What, he hadn't expected honesty?

‘You're half naked.
All
the time,' she explained the obvious. ‘But it's the in appropriateness that bothers me. Not your actual body.' Oh, great, now she sounded prissy. And not at all honest.

His smile was back showing off his even white teeth. And he was playing with her the way a cat did a mouse. She needed to talk to Rosanna—really badly. She needed advice from a pro. Because there was no way she was letting Lorenzo Hall win this with such one-sided ease. She wasn't going to roll over and be the latest in what she was certain was a very long line—at least not without scoring some points of her own. For nor was she going to cut off her nose to spite her face. She wasn't going to deny herself a moment of pure pleasure should the opportunity arise. Yes, he bothered her—like that. Yes, she wanted him.

But she'd make like Rosanna and have him on her terms. For once in her life she was going to turn her back on re
sponsibility; she'd take a risk and go for something she wanted. She just had to figure out how.

 

Lorenzo knew he was being naughty. But there was that bit in him that had always derived pleasure from taking risks. From doing exactly what society said he shouldn't—stretching the boundaries as far as he could and stopping only just before they broke.

He had matured—his transgressions were nothing near the edge he'd veered towards all those years ago. He stayed on the right side of the law now. But this oh-so-perfect Miss made him push it. Even just this little bit, to risqué, to rude, when really he wanted to ravish—really, really badly.

The look on her face had been worth the dodgy removal of his shirt. So worth it—even if he was struggling to contain his wayward hormones now. He just wanted to reach out and pull her against him—hard. His skin was on fire—had been since she'd touched him in his apartment the other day. Her small, cool hand hadn't soothed him at all—had only stirred the desire he'd already been battling to control. In those first twenty-four hours when the sickness was at its worst, he'd done nothing but dream of her. He was still dreaming of her and where he wanted that hand.

He'd been working too hard, round the clock with no room for fun. But it should ease up soon. Once the bar was open he'd be able to take a step back. And have some fun. Then again, there was no reason why he couldn't have some fun right now.

Her eyes had narrowed. He could just about see the cogs turning and whirring in her brain. The vixen-with-training-wheels looked as if she was plotting.

A phone rang—hers. Her hand went to her bag. He was disappointed to see her move. But he didn't move away. Took too much pleasure in watching her shrink back an
awkward inch as she answered. But felt the pleasure turn to ash when he heard the male tones. He listened as she organised.

‘Yes, don't worry, Ted. I'm picking it up on my way home. I'll drop it round before six.'

Who the hell was Ted? Lorenzo waited 'til she said goodbye. Then let the power of silence work its magic.

‘That was my brother. Sorry,' she finally said.

He took the phone from her hand and switched it off. ‘When you're with me, all your attention is with me.'

Her eyes widened. He watched her swallow.

‘On work,' he added, way too late.

He held out her phone for her to take back. Smiling inside as he saw her jerky movements. Yeah, he liked the way he could bother her. Because she really bothered him. He took a careful step away—right now they both needed a minute. ‘I'll go get my shirt and then we'll go through the stuff for Whistle, right?'

 

Sophy poured the entire contents of the ice tray into her glass—not caring that half the blocks fell out onto the bench and skidded onto the floor. She was unbearably hot—Lorenzo putting his shirt on had made no difference. For over an hour she'd suffered—sitting at the desk while he hovered beside her, behind her. Filling in the holes that had appeared in the days when she'd been working without the information only he or Cara could provide. She'd had the rest of the day to recover—but she hadn't succeeded. She gulped down half the glass of water, sagged against the bench, she was so out of her depth.

‘Where have you been? I'm only home for half a day and I wanted us to go for a pedicure and—'

Sophy turned, dropping the glass in the sink. ‘You're
back!' Thrilled, she ran across the room and hugged her elusive flatmate.

‘Okay, you've missed me too.' Rosanna's arms came round her and tightened. Then pushed her away. ‘Shirts, doll, we can't crush our shirts.'

Sophy laughed. In the sentence of life, Sophy figured she was like a verb—the action, the one who got things done. Not very exciting perhaps, but necessary. Rosanna, however, was the exclamation mark. The rare beauty that could fill a whole paragraph—a whole room—with excitement. She even looked like one. Always dressed in black, she was a thin streak of long limbs, her glossy dark hair swept in a high ponytail that swung halfway down her back. She was full of vitality, and sheer outrageousness.

‘Now where have you been? I landed hours ago and have been lonely ever since and now the taxi to take me back to the airport will be here in ten. What's up with your mobile?'

Sophy walked back to the bench to find and refill her glass. How was she going to explain this one? Rosanna was not going to be impressed. ‘I'm doing some admin work.'

Rosanna frowned. ‘You've got a job?'

‘Only for a few weeks. Their usual administrator's baby arrived sooner than expected.'

‘Baby okay?'

‘Baby's fine.'

‘So why couldn't they get a temp? Why did it have to be you?' Rosanna rolled her eyes. ‘Who asked you?'

‘Cara, the new mother, is a good friend of Victoria's.'

‘Of course she is. Of course you couldn't say no.' Rosanna gave a theatrical sigh as she went to the pantry and pulled out a bottle of wine. ‘So where's the job?'

‘You heard of the Whistle Fund?'

Rosanna wolf-whistled as she unscrewed the cap of the bottle. ‘Alex Carlisle and Lorenzo Hall. Who hasn't heard of them? Alex got married recently and Lorenzo's someone you don't forget. Ever.'

Well, that was true. His image was burned on Sophy's brain, every inch of skin, muscle and pure man.

‘Every bit as good as he looks, apparently,' Rosanna drawled.

‘You've hooked him?' A hot flash of envy sliced through Sophy.

‘No,' Rosanna said, pausing as she poured the crimson wine. ‘Not that I'd turn him down. But the one time our paths crossed I didn't even score a second glance.'

‘I'm sure that's not true.' Sophy was able to smile again. ‘Every man gives you at least four glances.'

‘Sweetie-pie.' Rosanna flopped into a chair, giant wine glass in hand. ‘No, I've heard he's impossible to catch. Tangles in the nets now and then but always swims free.'

Sophy was quite sure he tangled and then ripped free. ‘I think he's a shark.'

‘Do you now?' Rosanna giggled—half choking on her wine.

‘Absolutely,' Sophy said. ‘I think he's far too used to seeing any fish he wants and getting the kill.'

Rosanna held her glass up to the light and with a flick of her wrist let the liquid swirl inside it. ‘At the very least you might score some wine.'

Sophy shook her head. ‘I don't know that we'll be getting on well enough for that.'

Rosanna tilted her head on the side and appraised Sophy, a sly smile on her lips. ‘You're interested.'

‘No I'm not.' Sophy lied. And then immediately started to laugh.

Rosanna laughed too. ‘Of course you are. We all are. But—' her nose wrinkled ‘—I don't think he's your type.'

‘No?' Sophy felt irrationally put out.

‘He
is
a shark,' Rosanna said. ‘You need a dolphin.'

‘Oh, great. Someone with a big nose.'

‘And with a habit of rescuing rather than destroying. It's true.' Rosanna sat up. ‘You need a good guy, Soph, someone safe and cuddly, not some dangerous type you couldn't handle.'

‘You don't think I could handle him?'

‘I know you couldn't.'

‘So you've no advice for me?'

Rosanna looked up sharply. ‘I'm the last person you should take advice from.'

How did she figure that? She was the one who had them all eating out of her palm.

‘You were wearing that when you saw him?' Rosanna's expression clouded.

‘What? What's wrong with it?' Had she committed some terrible fashion faux pas? She couldn't think what.

‘Nothing. But if he has a Grace Kelly fantasy, then you're in trouble.'

Sophy snorted. ‘Now who's the sweetie-pie?'

‘He'd gobble a kitten like you.' Rosanna frowned. ‘Don't say I didn't warn you. Anyway, I'm grumpy, we don't have time for a pedicure now. I've had to sit here all day doing nothing.'

Kitten? She thought she was a
kitten
? ‘Poor you.' Now Sophy had zero sympathy. ‘It's about time you stopped and did nothing for half a day.'

Rosanna cupped her hand round her mouth, making a pretend mega phone. ‘Pot calling kettle, come in, kettle.' She stood. ‘At least I'm busy pushing my career. You're just busy doing everything for everyone else.'

‘You're going to miss your next flight. Go have a good trip.' Rosanna was a buyer for one of the major fashion chains. Knowledgeable, chic, damn good at her job and away more nights than she was at home.

Rosanna picked up the handle of her chic trolley case. ‘I love Wellington.'

‘The boys are going to miss you.'

‘It'll be good for them.' Rosanna bent and flicked an in visible speck of fluff from her black trousers.

Sophy watched the studied in difference with a smile. ‘Are you ever going to make a decision?'

Rosanna appeared to think on it for a moment, then smiled shamelessly. ‘I don't think so, no.'

Rosanna had been dating two men for the last month. They knew about each other. Hell, they all went clubbing together, the boys' rivalry half jest, half serious. Rosanna, the black widow, liked to have as many in her web as possible to play with. And once they were caught, they were never freed. She had carcasses all over the globe. Emmet and Jay were her latest victims yet somehow she pulled it off with such charm they didn't seem to mind—in fact they salivated over her.