Sophie and the Scorching Sicilian (18 page)

Sophie raised a brow and thought wistfully,
I wish.
‘Let me get this straight. I must be drunk because I don't want to marry you. God, you really do love yourself, don't you!' Feeling reckless and not nearly as defiant as she wanted to be she reached for the bottle, but he moved it away. She clenched her teeth and glared at him.

‘How dare you!'

‘It's my champagne,
cara
. I'm only thinking of your head.' Actually, he was thinking more about other parts of her delicious body. It was hard to think about much else when she was
sitting there in that dress that looked as though she had been poured into it.

A man had his limits and his libido had been wildly out of control all night, aware he had not been the only male present unable to take his eyes off her. He had been torn between the desire to pick her up and take her to bed and the strong inclination to knock the teeth of every man she had smiled at down their throats.

She had done a lot of smiling and he had totally exhausted his reserves of self-restraint. Being a modern man was exhausting.

Their combative glances locked and it was Sophie, her china-blue eyes sparkling with tears, who looked away first. She clenched her teeth, determined not to let him see her cry.

‘I'll buy my own. I'll buy a crate!' She sniffed childishly.

‘I do not find women who drink attractive.'

‘But it's fine for men to drink.' Though Marco only did so in moderation, she had never seen him do more than toy with a glass of wine over dinner and indulge in the occasional brandy. ‘You know you really are a total chauvinist!'

‘Are you going to tell me any time soon what is going on?' he asked, with a sardonic smile that left his green eyes guarded. His quiet voice brought her head up. The indentation between her feathery brows deepened as she scanned his handsome face and gave a wild laugh. ‘That's the worst part—you haven't the faintest idea.'

Marco's control slipped.

‘Will you stop being cryptic and tell me what is wrong!'

‘Do not raise your voice to me!' Actually, he had lowered his voice the way he always did when he was particularly angry.

He reached his hand toward hers as it lay on the table. ‘Sophie…'

Sophie ignored the appeal in his deep voice and snatched her hand back, pretending not to notice him flinch, because she couldn't afford to allow her resolve to weaken.

‘You don't have the right to yell at me. I don't work for you any more.'

‘I think our relationship has moved on a little from employer–employee.'

‘Employer–employee with benefits?'

Marco drummed his fingers on the table before pushing aside the chair and getting to his feet. The muscles worked in his jaw as he struggled to control his impatience.

‘That was not what I meant.'

‘I slept with you,' she said, making her voice hard as she tilted her head back to look up at him. ‘Well, we all make mistakes, but on the plus side—'

Marco's silky voice cut across her. ‘Oh, there is a plus side, then? I was beginning to wonder.'

‘Tonight was a success.'

He clicked his fingers dismissively. ‘To hell with tonight.'

Sophie turned her wrathful gaze on him. ‘I went through hell to make this night perfect for you,' she told him in a quivering voice.

‘
Perfect
,' he retorted, ‘would not have included you spending the entire night flirting with every man in the room…flaunting your body,' he added, a pulse in his neck pounding as his glittering eyes raked her body.

Sophie closed her mouth.
‘Flaunting!'
she echoed.

‘That dress someone poured you into.' His eyes lifted from the heaving contours of her breasts and rested critically on her face. ‘And that stuff on your face, it is not you.'

Not so long ago she would have been devastated by such scathing comments but though it hurt she discovered she had the confidence to lift her chin and say, ‘You said you liked my dress.'

‘I have changed my mind.'

‘Anyway, how would you know what is me?'

‘I know you better than anyone, Sophie, and I'm not just talking
in the biblical sense. And I know this is not the woman I asked to marry me, or have you forgotten that? Did it slip your mind?'

Sophie lifted her shimmering eyes to his. ‘I haven't forgotten.'

‘And…?' he prompted, looking at her with an intensity that made her glad the table hid the fact that her knees were shaking.

‘I've never been so insulted in my life.'

He paused and blinked. Twice his nostrils flared as he inhaled and pinned her with a piercing green glare. ‘Some women would not consider it an insult to be asked to marry me.'

‘Well, marry them, because I wouldn't marry you if you were the last man on earth!'

‘Can I ask why the idea fills you with so much repugnance?'

‘Because I'm
not
the
practical
woman you think I am. Just because I'm not some skinny model with legs up to her ears doesn't mean I don't have
feelings
.' Unable to repress the emotions that seethed in her chest, the declaration exploded from her. ‘But most of all, I can't marry you, Marco, because I'm in love!'

‘In love?'

‘Yes.' Too late now to retract but she could still save herself from utter humiliation.

His classic features appeared carved of stone as he shook his dark head. ‘No, you're not.'

Thrown a little by his reaction Sophie got to her feet, her actions hampered a little by her long skirts. ‘Why? Aren't I
allowed
to be in love?'

‘If you have some childish crush on a man…' he said, thinking he would track down this man and make very sure that he never took advantage of Sophie's trusting innocence.

Like you did?

‘Not childish.'

Her eyes big and wide and impossibly blue shone with the same calm conviction that was in her voice as she said, ‘And not a crush. I'll never love anyone else.' She'd never really bought into the whole soulmate thing, until she had discovered hers.

‘Well, I wish you every happiness,' he snarled, aware that if he was a man with more altruism and nobility he might mean it.

‘I won't be happy.' Which wouldn't make her unique. There was nothing special about her that entitled her to a happy-ever-after scenario. The world was full of unhappy people. She would blend in with life's other sad losers.

‘He's in love with someone else.'

Marco rocked on his heels as though he had been struck. He shook his head in utter rejection, his hands hanging loose at his sides, clenched into white-knuckled fists as he resisted the impulse to demand the identity of this imbecile.

‘No,' he said quietly. She was
his
.

They were meant to be together, did she not see this? Why had he only just realised it?

‘What do you mean,
no
?'

‘I mean…' He took a step towards her and caught the soft scent of her perfume, the same perfume he smelt when he buried his face in her hair and the same perfume that he smelt on his skin after she'd spent the night in his arms. Very conscious of the empty aching feeling in his chest, he said, ‘Marry me. I'll make you forget him.'

She stared at him, seeing him through a blur of bitter tears and missing the extreme pallor on his face. ‘If you only knew how funny that was.'

‘Sophie, I…'

The sound of someone clearing his throat noisily made Marco break off and he whipped around. ‘Get out!'

Sophie's opinion of the head of security went up several notches when, instead of scuttling for the door as nine out of ten men who valued their safety would have done, he nodded apologetically towards Sophie before turning to Marco.

‘I'm sorry to disturb you, but…'

Marco, his body language not encouraging, gave the man a flat look from beneath heavy eyelids and said something harsh
sounding in rapid Italian that Sophie couldn't have followed even had her brain not been scrambled by the heated emotional interchange. The realisation of how close she had come to blurting out that she loved him filled her with total horror.

The other man winced and replied in the same language; his conciliatory manner did not lessen the ferocious scowl on Marco's face.

‘I am needed. An enterprising paparazzi has been serving canapés while snapping the guests, he would have got away with it had he not decided to help himself to some mementos on his way out.'

Marco found himself wishing that his own security had not been so thorough.

‘Apparently the police were called and they want to know if I wish to press charges.'

‘And do you?'

There was the glint of steel in his eyes as he responded. ‘I have a reputation of guarding what is mine,
cara
.'

Sophie shivered. The underlying message was not exactly covert. ‘Is that a threat?'

He smiled, revealing even white teeth and a ruthless expression. ‘It is a fact.'

The calm pronouncement made far more impression than any exaggerated boast.

‘Your problem is you've started believing your own press releases.'

‘We will continue this discussion.'

‘It's finished as far as I'm concerned.'

Eyes narrowed he took a step towards her and then stopped and threw a frustrated glance towards the exiting security chief who was speaking into an earpiece. ‘I have to sort this out. Do not,' he added, pinning her with a lazer stare, ‘move from that spot. I will be back directly.'

The autocratic delivery would normally have drawn a sar
castic retort from Sophie but she was just relieved that it did not even occur to him she would ignore it. If it had, she would not have put it past him to put her under guard.

She made herself wait a heart-thudding thirty seconds until his footsteps had died away before she picked up her skirts and ran as fast as her ridiculous heels would carry her.

And when they sank into the freshly watered grass of the lawn she took them off and ran barefoot over the grass. Though
stumbled
might have been a better, more accurate description as she was coping with such a tight-fitting dress.

She would weep later and think later but right now her actions were governed by instinct not logic and she had absolute tunnel vision. She had to escape. The how and where to were not a priority…the priority was getting away from Marco before her weakening resolve snapped.

Get away before she managed to rationalise a decision to say,
Yes, I'll marry you
. Before she convinced herself that she could make him love her. Before she decided that life with him on any terms was better than an existence without him—without hearing his voice, or seeing his face or smelling his skin.

Oh, my God, I need to get out of here!

Escape was a good thing but what she really needed was distance and a very thick door with locks—preferably several big ones—between them to stop her committing some ultimate act of criminal stupidity like saying,
You're the man I love!

This was about survival.

She headed instinctively for the main gated entrance, her feet making prints in the newly watered grass. The security, she knew, was aimed at keeping people out, not keeping them in. She would pass through without comment, though the shoeless situation might cause a few raised brows.

Stopping to catch her breath, she tried to focus her thoughts. What she needed, she decided, clasping her hands to her thighs as she leaned forward panting, is sensible shoes. No…what she
needed was transport. The question was what transport and how did she get it?

It was then she had her brain wave—how could she have been so slow? The air-conditioned garage complex was stuffed full of Marco's cars, and who was going to notice if one went missing?

It was not a solution that normally would have crossed her mind, but the circumstances were not normal and she was desperate.

Slipping through the trees, she passed into the courtyard where the garage was situated. Pausing to glance furtively over her shoulder she tiptoed across the cobbles. If anyone was around she'd have to think of something else…a taxi, maybe?

It was always good to have a plan B, but would a taxi come this far out at this time of night? Even if it would she doubted that it would take an IOU.

Much to her relief, nobody appeared. The courtyard area was deserted and—it got better—the folding doors of the building were half open and the lights inside were on.

There was no sound of activity so she presumed that someone had left without locking up; it was about time something went her way tonight.

The only way to find out for sure if someone was inside was to go in. Sophie took a deep breath and headed straight for the first car she saw. It happened to be a four-wheel drive and as she climbed up to the passenger seat her skirt snagged on a tool box that lay on the floor. She heard the sound of ripping fabric as she frantically pulled it free but didn't pause to look at the damage.

The key was in the ignition.

She raised her eyes and whispered a heart felt thank-you. It was as if it was meant to be.

It was destiny.

It is theft, retorted the voice in her head. The same voice asked how far she was going without money or a passport, but
Sophie ignored that too. She turned the ignition. It wasn't as if she intended to keep it, just to borrow it.

She was backing out of the driveway when in the periphery of her vision she saw a figure running down the drive towards her. Without turning her head, she knew exactly who it was. Sophie jammed her foot on the accelerator and the car shot forward in a shower of gravel.

Heart thudding, she drove at speed down the driveway, hit the bend fast, then exhaled when the lights of the palazzo vanished. She had escaped. She didn't feel any better, though. In fact, she felt worse and her head hurt from trying not to hear every stupid instinct in her body screaming
turn around and go back!