Sophie's Seduction. KIM LAWRENCE
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then women frequently endured painful procedures to measure up to some weird ideal of perfection. There was no such thing as perfection, though that glimpse of soft creamy skin on her thighs was actually pretty close.
He was looking at her thighs when he spoke, which just went to prove that the man didn’t have a tactful bone in his quite magnificent body. Outraged all over again at his rudeness and without stopping to think, Sophie snapped, ‘I’m happy with my body the way it is! But of course if I wasn’t all right with it, and I didn’t already know I was fat, that comment might have hurt!’
Had she just rapped his knuckles? Marco couldn’t decide; he had very little room for comparison as it had been many years since even his closest friends had admonished him.
Embarrassed by her outburst—what on earth had got into her?—Sophie screwed up her courage and plunged on. If this was a lost cause, at least she wouldn’t go quietly.
She heard herself say, ‘I’m actually very good.’
‘At what?’
At least he hadn’t laughed but Sophie, who had already been cringing at her boastful claim, felt panic…
‘I may not have a lot of experience…’ You’re telling him this…why, exactly?
‘No experience…there’s a shocker.’
‘But that’s an advantage.’
‘It is?’ Marco found he no longer had to feign fascination.
‘Well, I’m open to new ideas. I’ve not got a closed mind.’
‘Give me an example of your open mind.’
Sophie smiled; if he thought that was going to throw her he could think again. Finally, she could talk about something she knew about.
‘Well, for starters, look at this room.’ Sophie’s nose wrinkled as her sweeping gesture took in the large oblong space.
His brows lifted; he was almost enjoying himself now. This was unlike any conversation he had had with a woman before. ‘It is not to your liking?’
‘It’s all right,’ she conceded with a sniff. ‘But do you want all right for your ancestral home?’ she asked, levelling a challenging look at his face, which gave her precisely zero clues to what he felt about her tactics.
‘I don’t do all right!’ Recognising she hadn’t even felt embarrassed saying this, Sophie wondered if it was something to do with lack of sleep or possibly the fact that every time she looked at Marco Speranza she felt the prickles of antagonism trickle down her spine.
It was irrational to so dislike someone she barely knew.
Marco leaned deeper into his chair and, stretching his long legs out in front of him, crossed one ankle over the other before fixing his hooded gaze on her flushed face.
‘What do you do, Miss Balfour?’
‘I do exceptional.’ This is insane—Sophie, what are you doing?
‘Exceptional? I’m impressed.’ One corner of his mouth lifted as he smiled and rested his chin on the platform provided by his steepled fingers. ‘Well, don’t stop now…’
Now genuinely intrigued, Marco pushed his chair from the table and rose to his feet in one fluid motion. ‘I must admit, I thought I already had exceptional.’
I really wish he’d stayed sitting, Sophie thought as she watched him move across the room, looking like the human version of a jungle cat—elegant, dangerous and casually cruel—until he stood framed by the window with the breathtaking panoramic view of the Old City below.
Not that Sophie was looking at the view. Marco had what could be called presence. Unable to dispel the lithe-jungle-cat analogy, she saw herself in the role of the pathetic defenceless animal he swatted just for the hell of it, and her courage wavered.
You’re not defenceless, you’re a Balfour! Show a bit of backbone for once!
Balfours rose to the challenge and it was encouraging that he hadn’t thrown her out yet…possibly just because he enjoyed seeing her squirm, but there was a possibility, outside admittedly, that this wasn’t lost yet.
‘So how would you make this space exceptional?’
‘Well, to begin with,’ she said, banging her hand on the wall behind her, ‘this would go, as well as those windows.’ As she continued to outline the changes she would make, her nervousness receded. She knew what she was talking about and her genuine enthusiasm made it surprisingly easy to articulate her creative ideas to someone who was listening with what seemed like genuine interest. Of course, he might just be waiting to pull her legs from under her with one cutting remark, but with the adrenaline buzz humming through her veins Sophie thought it was a risk worth taking.
What do I have to lose? she asked herself. She pushed past the recognition that at one level she was actually enjoying herself—it was just too bizarre.
Marco watched her as she moved around the room, illustrating her suggestions with gestures, speaking with increasing confidence as the ideas flowed. The change in her demeanour was nothing less than spectacular.
Her entire manner, voice and body language had altered. Gone was the awkward self-conscious hunched-shoulder attitude; her voice was animated, her blue eyes sparkled with enthusiasm—an enthusiasm that was so obviously genuine that Marco found himself smiling.
Slick patter and dodgy figures left him cold but he was drawn to the thing that was, in his experience, rare—a mix of genuine enthusiasm, talent and passion.
Sophie Balfour was a revelation.
‘Well, that’s what I think anyway,’ Sophie said, finally drawing breath as she removed her hand from the wall she had just verbally demolished. ‘The glass would make the most of the marvellous light and the sleek modern lines of the furniture…’ Her voice faded as without warning her knees began to shake.
Actually, she was shaking all over.
Chapter Six
IT WAS very confusing; one moment he was propped up against the window with languid ease, and the next Marco Speranza was at her side, his hand on her shoulder as he forced her into a Phillipe Starck chair.
Actually, there was very little force involved. Her knees folded; it had been a very long day.
‘Nice chair.’ Sophie was not sure if she spoke out loud or not. ‘But not in here.’ A great piece but it just didn’t mesh with the rest of the decor.
‘Always the critic. Water.’ She had lost all colour and her intense pallor brought the vivid blue of her eyes into sharp contrast.
His lean dark features blurred before her eyes as she shook her head; even blurred he looked pretty incredible. ‘I’m not thirsty.’
‘If you drink this I will burn the damn chair.’ Marco took her fingers and folded them around the glass before guiding it to her lips and saying harshly, ‘Drink!’
Left with little choice she obeyed him.
‘Better?’ he asked, touching his thumb to a small trickle of water at the corner of her mouth.
The soft touch sent a secret shiver down her spine. ‘I’m fine,’ she said, hoping that the breathiness in her voice was down to her wobbly moment and not the light touch.
Much to Sophie’s relief his hand fell away from her face, but his disturbing hard emerald gaze lingered another few uncomfortable moments on her mouth.
‘Well, you don’t look it.’
Her chin went up. ‘I’m fine,’ she insisted, utterly mortified by this display of weakness. ‘Totally fine. I just…Don’t burn the chair—it’s very nice…’
‘But