At The Italian's Command. Cathy Williams
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this straight. That poor old man, who has probably spent his whole life working for his family business, is going to have the lot demolished by a greedy tycoon who wants to make a quick buck by building lots of unsightly shops!’
Rafe’s lips thinned with outrage. ‘No one speaks to me like that!’ His voice was like the crack of a whip, which Sophie steadfastly ignored. As she ignored, too, the forbidding expression on his face.
‘Is making money the only thing that motivates you?’
‘It’s the only thing that motivates the vast majority of the human race,’ Rafe growled, flushing darkly. ‘Deny it if you can.’
‘It’s not the only thing that motivates. There are other things in life as well! Having fun, for one!’
‘What did you do last night?’
‘Last night?’ Distracted, Sophie frowned. ‘Nothing, why?’
‘Night before?’
‘I think I watched some telly.’
‘What are you doing tonight?’
‘I get where you’re heading, Rafe! But at least my whole life doesn’t revolve around work!’
‘Nor does mine. In fact, it’s purely about fun. Dinner with friends at Romano’s in Fulham tomorrow night. Why don’t you join us? After all, you do want to get the complete picture, don’t you? Unless you’re busy? Unless someone important in your life you’re currently having fun with is taking you out?’
Sophie scowled at him and he shot her a glance of lazy amusement.
‘Well? Prepared to take up the challenge? In your quest to find out all about me, which is the point of the exercise…?’
‘Just tell me what time!’
CHAPTER THREE
PROVOKED into agreeing to join Rafe and friends for dinner, Sophie had found herself the following lunchtime taking time out to do something she very rarely did, namely clothes shopping.
Having grown up with a mother who had drummed into her from an early age that a fancy dress did not ‘maketh’ the girl, Sophie had spent her teenage years good-naturedly following her friends into shops, watching as they had tried on various outfits, which they had generally had little intention of buying, and resisting their persuasions to go down the same route.
‘I don’t honestly see the point,’ she had said on several occasions. ‘I’m comfortable in what I wear.’ It had become a mantra so deeply ingrained that she had never felt as though she stood out in her teenage crowd, even though she had. Now, older, she still refused to give in to the passing trends, some of which were ridiculous and uncomfortable, but she was very much aware that, in so doing, she set herself apart from the mainstream crowd of young twenty-somethings who flaunted as much as they could get away with just so long as they attracted attention.
Attracting attention had never been high on her agenda of must-do’s.
She had never had too much trouble making friends and having boyfriends and she had proudly told herself that her unwillingness to go with the fashion flow was a mark of her strength of character.
Until now.
Rafe’s jibe at her lack of social life was all wrapped up with the way he looked at her, the way his eyes skirted over her, dismissing her as a woman. Of course, that in itself didn’t matter, but still…it rankled.
Bad motive for clothes shopping, she thought now, gazing down at what she had impulsively bought five hours previously.
Turquoise was a very daring colour, especially considering they were in the depths of winter, although at the time Sophie had been persuaded by the salesgirl into thinking that it was vibrant. The description had appealed because it was the one word she would never have used to describe herself and the one thing she wanted to convey to Rafael Loro, arrogant, patronising bastard that he was.
So here I am now, she thought glumly, the proud possessor of a skin-tight turquoise dress in suspicious stretch material. She held it up by the tips of two fingers and glanced into the shoebox where a pair of high-heeled shoes were waiting to put in their appearance. Her fantasies of wiping that smug smile off Rafe’s face now seemed absurd. Who cared if he spent every second of the remainder of her assignment smiling smugly?
Before she had left the office, he had given her precise directions to the restaurant, as if he somehow didn’t trust her to have sufficient wit to communicate her destination to a cab driver. He had also, as an afterthought, informed her that she could bring along a companion if she liked. She would have to have been blind not to have seen the shadow of a snigger that had accompanied his apparently well-intentioned remark.
She decided to wear the overpriced turquoise nonsense she had bought, and very nearly managed to convince herself that she would feel good in it.
An hour and a half later she stared back at her reflection with a sinking heart.
She was no longer looking at Sophie Frey. Sophie Frey, of the comfortable, baggy clothes and no make-up, had gone into hiding. Here was someone else. Red hair tumbled down in riotous curls, mascara and eye liner emphasised huge blue eyes, and a figure normally scrupulously hidden away now flaunted curves that Sophie was only dimly aware of possessing. The shoes made her legs look longer and thinner than they possibly could be.
She decided that it was a blessing that she would not be having to conduct any sensible, work-oriented conversations because she certainly didn’t feel very sensible in what she was wearing.
Her parents had been wrong, she thought as she sat in the back seat of the taxi, clutching her impractical black purse. There was a lot to be said for uncomfortable clothes. They made no sense on an everyday basis, but, as a one-off, they certainly did some weird personality-altering things. She felt sexy!
The restaurant, where she was eventually deposited fifteen minutes late, was tucked away and cleverly pretending to be a house. Only a discreet sign heralded that it was a restaurant at all.
Sophie felt a slight flutter of panic as she entered. Then the manager removed her coat and scarf, and sexy Sophie was back in place, smiling confidently as she was shown to Rafe’s table.
She could not remember a time when conversation had stopped for her. At school, she had always been the girl next door, never a threat to any of her girlfriends, never one of those girls sought after by the boys because they promised things with their eyes and the way they moved. She had never minded. In fact, she had come to see that, as spectator sports went, watching the world go by was a pretty good one. Later, out of her teens, she had had boyfriends and they had been nice guys, the sort you could always introduce to the parents and know that they would like him as much as you did.
As she approached the full table she now felt like one of those girls and it was crazy, but she enjoyed the feeling.
Not knowing anyone there, she inadvertently sought out Rafe. Her heart thudded for the space of a couple of seconds as his green, shuttered eyes caught hers, then the silence was broken with a series of introductions.
‘You’re late,’ Rafe said as soon as she was seated next to him. ‘I thought you were one of those women who always ran to time…’
‘Blame the taxi driver,’ Sophie lied, lifting her wineglass to her lips and not quite meeting his eyes. In the daze of introductions, she had not only noticed how magnificent he looked, but had also taken in the cool blonde seated on the other side of him. Angela Street had not been introduced as a girlfriend, but she certainly fitted the description. Long, blonde, blue-eyed and leaning possessively into him, arm touching arm, her low silk top gaping just enough to provide him with a teasing promise of what lay in store for later that night.
‘Maybe he was in temporary shock at seeing you in that very…what is the word I’m looking for?…racy little number…’ Rafe allowed his eyes to drift downwards in purely masculine appreciation. When she had walked in,