Under the Italian's Command (9 page)

‘Oh, very well. She’s the pretty one.’

She gave a nervous laugh, and he wanted to tell her that he wasn’t interested in pretty sisters, only
Carly
Tate. He had to dig deep if he was going to find out if she was committed to the
programme
. ‘So what drew you to law?’

‘It missed a generation.’

‘And you felt you should fill the breach?’

‘I wanted to,’ she argued passionately.

‘There are other worthwhile careers you could have pursued. Didn’t you consider any of them?’ He waited for her reply, already knowing the answer—there had only ever been one path open to her. ‘How about your hobbies,
Carly
?’

‘Hobbies?’ Her eyes went blank.

‘Yes, hobbies—sport, dancing, theatre—’

‘Oh, I read a lot,’ she interrupted.

‘Law books?’

She clammed up and blushed red. She didn’t want him grilling her on the latest hot reads. ‘Anything else?’ he pressed.

She bit her lip, drawing his attention to the other redness where his stubble had abraded her tender skin. He remembered his hackles shooting up when he’d thought the man in the bar was trying to humiliate her. He’d acted purely on instinct, but he could still remember how she’d felt beneath his hands, his mouth, and the way she’d tasted against his tongue. He wanted her now. He wanted to take her to bed right now—

‘Anything else you’d like to tell me?’ he said, needing the distraction badly. But he couldn’t look at her without recalling how fragile she’d been in his arms. And the thought of sinking deep into that warm, soft body—

‘Do I have anything else to say?’ she said, interrupting his stream of thought. She looked thoughtful. ‘I want the scholarship.’ Lowering her chin, she delivered him a level gaze. ‘It means everything to me…’

‘And to your parents too, I have no doubt…’ He glanced at the door, a signal that their interview was over. He needed space.

The rest of the day flew past, not that there was much left of it. She was free to concentrate on firming up the arrangements for the Christmas party. That and ensuring Lorenzo’s car was returned to him on time.

‘Everything going to plan?’ he said, making her heart stop when he poked his head around the door of her cubby-hole.

‘Really well. Your car should be returned to you this evening.’

‘And the party?’

‘All going to plan.’ At least something was, she thought wryly.

‘Just don’t be too proud to ask for my help if you need it. Will you,
Carly
?’ Lorenzo pressed in a way that required an answer.

‘Don’t worry—everything’s under control.’

As he pulled away from the door she spun a smile and sent it flying in his direction. She waited motionless until his footsteps had died away. It was stupid to go on feeling like this. She had to stop pining for something that was never going to happen. What she should be doing was making the hard call home—the one that told her mother she wouldn’t be back for the annual gathering of the clan, because this year she had to stay in London and
organise
the Christmas party. ‘Which, yes, Mother, includes cleaning up after it. That’s right, Mother, menial tasks.’ She was already rehearsing the conversation in her head. ‘Someone has to do them.’

The phone call began better than
Carly
could have expected. Her mother was in high spirits and even swallowed her version of the party being an
honour
she had been entrusted with, right up to the point where she mentioned tidying up afterwards.

‘Stay and clear up?’ her mother exclaimed in disapproval. ‘Have we paid for all that education in order for you to carry out menial tasks?’

Someone has to do them,
Carly
mouthed silently, and then as her mother exploded into shrill indignation she held the phone away from her ear. Her mother couldn’t be expected to know what a scholarship race entailed. How you had to grovel and study until your eyes turned bright red and popped out of your head. It was better if she never knew. How could you explain that pride had no place when you were clinging on to an opportunity by your fingertips? ‘Really, it’s considered an
honour
,’
Carly
said during of one of her mother’s rare pauses for breath.

‘An
honour
? I can’t see your sister agreeing to emptying slops—’

‘Mum, please, it’s not like that—’ But her mother was in no mood for listening.

‘You say yes too easily,
Carly
. You might be thought the clever one, but you’re not shrewd or worldly-wise like Olivia. Just be sure you’re not being taken for a mug. Here,’ she finished impatiently. ‘Speak to your father. I can’t talk any sense into you. But for his sake, if nothing else, I’m asking you to rethink.’

Her father was gentler, but she could hear the disappointment in his voice. ‘Dad, they’re hardly likely to invite me to host the chambers party when I’ve so recently been granted a pupilage.
Organising
the Christmas party is not so bad. It’s a chance to prove myself—’

‘As a cleaner?’ her mother prompted from the wings.

‘Anyway, I’ll let you know how it goes, shall I, Dad?’

Carly
waited as the silence lengthened. She was longing for a word of encouragement. She heard her mother say something in the background. ‘What did Mum say? I couldn’t hear her.’

‘She says don’t eat too much at the party,’ her dad reported. ‘You can’t afford to put on any more weight…’

‘THANKS, DAD…’
Carly
stared at the dead receiver in her hand. Her father had been bustled off the phone because her mother wanted to make a call. She remained very still for a moment, and then emotion welled inside her. She needed air…now.

‘Hey…’

Lorenzo had to move fast to avoid a collision. In her flight across Reception she’d been blind to everything, including him.

‘Didn’t you see me?’ His lips curved up in the half smile that could turn her legs to jelly, but on this occasion seemed like one more mocking jibe.

‘I saw you,’
Carly
lied, standing tall. She made a point of strolling to the door as if she had all the time in the world, but inside she felt like a washing machine on its final spin, whirling mindlessly, endlessly. She was frantic for space, air, rain, anything other than the claustrophobic atmosphere inside her tiny cubby-hole because that was drenched in reproach and disappointment. All she wanted was to make her parents proud, and she could never seem to do so.

Lorenzo reached across and opened the outer doors for her. ‘I’m leaving too,’ he said. ‘Why don’t we walk back together?’

She could think of a thousand reasons why she shouldn’t do that, and did her best to put him off. ‘Oh, that’s okay,’ she said. ‘I might do some shopping first.’

But he slipped into stride beside her. ‘I’ll worry if I leave you wandering the streets alone looking for men to kiss.’

‘Last night was a one-off.’

‘Okay, so if you don’t want me to join you—’

‘What, on my hunt for kissable men?’

Lorenzo refused to take offence. ‘Kissing men has never been my style,’ he said dryly.

She felt so miserable she snapped back, ‘Well, I don’t make a habit of it either.’

‘In that case I’m glad you made an exception last night.’

Right. Lorenzo had only been trying to save her from embarrassment. He would have done the same for any of his female students. Lorenzo gave kisses easily, because kisses came easily to him; they had rarity value where she was concerned.

‘Stop frowning,’ he instructed, slanting a glance her way. ‘Your face might stick that way. We’re off duty, and even lawyers can’t take themselves seriously all the time.’

Says the inquisitor-in-chief! ‘So where are you heading?’

‘Back to the flat. I’m going to make some supper. You can have some too. You have to eat, don’t you?’ he said, responding to her surprised look.

‘I didn’t think you could cook.’

‘How many Italians do you know who don’t cook?’

‘I don’t know many Italians.’

‘Then you don’t know what you’re missing.’

Her cheeks blazed red on cue.

When they arrived, he suggested she take off her suit and relax. It was exactly what he planned to do. It was just unfortunate as he said it that the bits of lace she kept stored in her bedroom flew into his mind. He quickly prescribed an outfit: ‘Jeans and a top—something you don’t mind spilling food down.’ He wanted to take her to bed and it should have been straightforward, but, as he’d told his inner self before, nothing was straightforward with
Carly
Tate. ‘My food is messy,’ he said when she looked at him.

Someone had hurt her; he could see it in her eyes. So much for seduction! How could he when that same someone was putting roadblocks in his way? But the anger that surged inside him came from longing to bring her detractor to account.

‘I won’t be long,’ she said, walking off.

Who the hell had done that to her? His work made him acutely aware of body language and she couldn’t hide the strain on her face.

He went to his bedroom and took his clothes off. Hanging up his suit, he made for the bathroom. He needed a shower to clean away everything he’d seen and heard that day. Working as a criminal lawyer was all he’d ever wanted to do, but the cases he handled were real-life dramas and he could never relax until he’d washed the day away.

He felt refreshed by the time he reached the kitchen. Women loved it when he cooked. It always threw them—usually in the direction of his bed. He was a perfectionist in cooking, advocacy and sex, and knew better than most that practice made perfect. But this wasn’t a cynical exercise. He was right to have doubts about
Carly’s
future. Confidence was a prerequisite for a successful career at the bar, and it took more than a sharp brain and dedication for a student to achieve their potential.
Carly
carried a load of expectation on her shoulders, but what did she want?

‘Hungry?’ he said, forced to break off his cogitations when she walked into the kitchen.

‘Starving,’ she admitted, but then her cheeks flamed red as if she’d said something wrong.

‘I promise not to poison you.’

‘No need to go to any trouble—I’m not that hungry.’

‘You said you were starving.’

‘Are you cross-examining me, my learned friend?’ She was only half joking.

‘If I make it, you eat it, is that understood?’ This time he was only half joking.

She blushed and looked away. To spare her the spotlight he started making a home-made salad dressing. ‘To go with the pasta,’ he explained, feeling pleased when she came a little closer to see what he was doing. ‘Food allergies?’ he queried without looking up as he added seasoning.

‘None.’

‘And you’re not on a diet?’

Her cheeks pinked up. ‘What makes you say that? Do you think I should be?’

The tone of her voice shocked him. ‘No, I don’t. You work long hours and you need your strength.’

Like a sumo warrior?
Carly
thought, watching Lorenzo wield his wooden spoon. Truthfully, she was ravenous, and this already smelled good.

‘I’m going to put the dressing in the fridge,’ he said, moving past her, ‘and start on the tomato sauce for the pasta.’

She pressed back against the work surface. It was torture being this close to him. The jeans he’d changed into hugged his hips, and the heavy-duty belt he’d threaded through the denim loops drew her attention to things she shouldn’t be sneaking looks at. Then there was the top clinging tenaciously to his hard-muscled arms.

‘Taste?’ he said, having beaten his sauce into submission.

She did an instant calorie calculation and agreed: tomato,
chilli
and onion were safe. ‘And is this your idea of a simple pasta?’ It was simply delicious, that was for sure.

The look he gave her confirmed nothing was simple where Lorenzo was concerned. And then, looking for an indication of his mood, she glanced at his feet and saw they were bare. For some reason that gave her a sexual charge, which took her by surprise. Was she so desperate she was finding feet sexy now? But Lorenzo’s feet were sexy. Tanned, with a fabulous pedicure, her eyes reported. And his hair was still damp from the shower, which she found incredibly arousing too. In fact—

‘Try this now I’ve seasoned it again,’ he said, breaking into her thoughts.

She opened her mouth as he touched the spoon to her lips.

‘Better?’ he said.

She licked her kiss-bruised lips, and hummed approval.

‘Take a bigger mouthful. Unless you’re afraid of food, of course.’ He’d meant it as a joke. ‘You’re not, are you? Why, that’s ridiculous. While I live here you’re going to eat properly.’

Her stomach growled on cue, making them both laugh and relaxing the tension.

They sat down to eat. Lorenzo’s
ragu
was rich and perfectly seasoned, and as she slowly dropped her inhibitions
Carly
found her tension
unravelling
as fast as a piece of loosely-knit cotton. ‘Ice cream?’ she asked, after Lorenzo had cleared their plates away and returned with dessert. She felt a moment of guilt, but only a moment. ‘Oh, no, you’re spoiling me.’

‘It’s a special Zabaglione…my own recipe. Open wide…’

It was the most indescribably delicious spoonful of food she had eaten in her life.

‘The alcohol content makes the mixture soft, and so—’

She didn’t listen to the rest, because Lorenzo’s sleepy gaze was soothing, and the brush of his minty breath on her face was making her tender lips tingle.

‘And like many things it must be eaten without delay,’ he went on. ‘
Carly
? Are you still with me?’

Barely, and yet never more so, she thought as Lorenzo dipped his head to stare her in the eyes.

‘Has someone said something to upset you?’

The telephone conversation with her parents was still fresh in her mind, and the concern in Lorenzo’s voice was the last straw for her tear ducts. ‘No, of course not.’

‘Then why are there tears in your eyes?’

‘Don’t be silly, there aren’t any,’ she said, sniffing violently. She wasn’t about to reveal her weaknesses to him.

He let it go and made coffee. He put his questions down to professional interest, but it was more than that. It was new to him, this impulse to nurture. It certainly got in the way of sex for recreation. The trouble with
Carly
was she made him want things he couldn’t have, things he didn’t have time for. ‘Tell me more about yourself…’ He wanted to hear her speak; her voice soothed him, and right now he badly needed soothing.

‘What can I tell you? I’m boring,’ she said.

‘Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?’

‘Another test? I thought we were off duty?’

‘These are scholarship questions,’ he lied.

‘How am I doing?’ Her eyes fired.

He didn’t want to answer that. He wasn’t prepared to commit himself either way.
Carly
was a strong candidate. On paper, at least. Or was that being unfair to her, because he wanted her in his bed?

It was more than that, Lorenzo reflected. He doubted
Carly’s
commitment to the scholarship
programme
. She had allowed herself to believe she wanted nothing more on earth than the Unicorn scholarship, but in his view her motives were wrong. The scholarship was a prize she’d take home for her parents like an eager puppy might take a ball. He doubted she’d thought further than the winner’s name being announced. Where the Unicorn would take her was immaterial, it was where it would take her parents that obsessed
Carly
. ‘So, what’s the boyfriend situation?’ he said to distract them both. And, yes, because he wanted to know. He had an obsession too—the thought of sex with
Carly
, and right now it was driving him hard.