Unbuttoned by the Boss: Unbuttoned by Her Maverick Boss / The Far Side of Paradise / Rub It In. Robyn Donald
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She went back into her office—found Kat had left Jemma figuring out stuff on her own.
‘It’s great you’re here.’ Sophy smiled, meaning it this time.
But Jemma’s attention wasn’t on her. She was looking out of the window.
Thud, thud, thud.
Sophy didn’t need to look to know what it was but she did anyway. He was back out there already bouncing his damn ball. Well, she wasn’t going to go running after him, not this time. She looked across and frowned at the fence. It was covered in even more graffiti now.
She didn’t see him the rest of the day, didn’t expect to see him until the next. But when her doorbell rang she wasn’t surprised.
‘Have you eaten?’ she asked as she opened it to let him in.
He was leaning against the door jamb. Dressed entirely in dark clothes—black trousers, a charcoal V-neck tee. ‘That’s not why I’m here.’
She deliberately leaned against the opposite side of the door frame. ‘No? Then why are you here?’
‘Don’t play games.’ His glare blistered. So he was still brooding.
‘You’d better come in.’
He crossed the threshold into the hall, stopped as he saw the black-clad sylph standing at the other end of the hall.
‘Lorenzo, you met Rosanna the other night. Rosanna, this is Lorenzo, my boss.’
His frown super-sized up.
Rosanna moved swiftly down the hall, her case rolling behind her. ‘I’m off, darling. Back in a few days. Be good.’ She grinned wickedly.
‘You too,’ Sophy tried to coo, but it was a squeak.
She heard Rosanna’s chuckle.
Lorenzo was still frowning long after the door had closed behind Rosanna.
‘She’s very discreet,’ Sophy said to reassure him. ‘She won’t say anything.’
He jerked his head to the side. ‘I’m not your boss.’
Oh, was that the problem? She smiled. ‘Yes you are.’
‘Not really.’
She knew what he meant and this was different from the usual office affair. In truth she was doing him a favour working for Whistle. The balance of power wasn’t so weighted towards him—at least not in respect of that. Sophy wanted to smooth it even more. ‘Tell you what, why don’t you let me be the boss in the bedroom—that’ll even us out.’
‘Never.’ The fire in his eyes burned from ice-cold to hot.
‘But it’s my bedroom.’
He shook his head, chasing off the last of the threatening storm clouds.
‘You just see if you can stay in charge, then. Boss.’ She threw down the challenge. Knew she didn’t have a hope in winning at all—but shrieked with laughter as she turned and ran as fast as she could to her room.
He caught her before she got there and went completely caveman. And she was quite happy to be his woman of the moment.
The days couldn’t pass fast enough. He was on her doorstep before she even got home some nights. But he didn’t suggest she ride home with him and nor did she offer to take him. The boundaries might be invisible but they were there.
But as the evenings lengthened and their physical need was temporarily tamed she turned and talked to him. About nothing. About everything. But never about anything personal. She didn’t want to talk about her family, sensed he never would talk about his. But one night she got some courage and steered the conversation slightly towards him. ‘Why the Whistle Fund?’
He lifted his head off the pillow. ‘Why at all?’
‘No, why the name?’
‘Because that’s what you do when you need help. You whistle.’ He pursed his lips and gave a short whistle.
‘And you whistle so you’re not afraid—there’s a song about that.’
‘Yeah, and when you’re doing something you shouldn’t, you have a mate keeping lookout—who’ll whistle if you need to make a run for it.’
She laughed at that. ‘Did you need to make a run for it often?’
‘All the time.’ He grinned.
She laughed with him but wasn’t at all sure how much he meant it as a joke. ‘And you whistle at pretty women, right?’
‘Oh, no,’ he said mock soberly. ‘That’s not pc.’
‘You’re not pc.’ She rolled onto her tummy. ‘Have there been many women Lorenzo?’
‘Are you sure this is a conversation you want to have?’
The coolness was almost visible. Damn it, why shouldn’t they talk about their pasts? Couldn’t they have a laugh about the mistakes they’d made before? Why was he blocking her from getting to know anything more about him? She’d heard the little there was to hear. So his childhood hadn’t been a picnic, okay, she’d gathered that. But he’d gone to that great school hadn’t he? Someone had cared enough to pay for that. And he’d become amazingly successful.
‘Why not? Tell me about your first and worst, I’ll tell you about mine.’
‘Look, we’re meeting up for the occasional screw. That doesn’t mean we’re going to swap life secrets or play twenty questions.’
Sophy flinched. Every night wasn’t exactly occasional. Jerk. Her temper flared. ‘Touchy, aren’t you? What happened? Did you fall in love once? Did she reject you—did she say you weren’t good enough for her? The poor boy from the wrong side of the tracks?’ Sarcasm flavoured every mean little word.
He sat up and pushed the sheet from him. ‘Actually I rejected her.’
‘Oh,’ Sophy said. ‘Of course. Silly me. You like to do that, don’t you? And why did you? Did she want too much from you?’
He swung his legs off the bed, turned his back to her. This time she had it right. The anger rippled through his muscles.
‘Poor Lorenzo, someone actually wanting emotional commitment? Support, honesty, love?’
‘Nothing so devastating,’ he denied. ‘She no longer turned me on.’
Sophy blinked. Ouch. There was a warning. She got out of bed too, pulled a shirt over her cold arms. She didn’t want him to be with her all night now. Not tonight.
‘You know, I have lots of work to do.’ She let her gaze slide over her desk—it was covered with designs and half-finished pieces that she’d decided weren’t going to go in the show. But he didn’t know that.
He looked at the table, then at her. ‘You want me to leave?’
Sophy forced a shrug. ‘Rosanna’s back in town, she’ll probably be home soon.’
‘And you don’t want her to know how loud I can make you come.’
She coloured. She supposed she deserved it. She was being rude chucking him out. ‘I wouldn’t be able to come with anyone right next door.’
‘Really.’ His sarcasm practically splashed on the floor. He pulled on his tee shirt and jeans.
He was angry—the way he moved totally gave it away. Well, so was she.
He didn’t kiss her goodbye. Just strode out. She didn’t speak—just slipped into the lounge and watched from the window as he jogged down to his car. But to her surprise he didn’t get into it and drive off. Instead he kept on jogging, his pace picking up to a hard-out run. In the darkened