Unbuttoned by the Boss. Robyn Donald
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so Charlotte was his number one fan.
‘What are you talking about?’ Lorenzo turned to them.
‘You.’ Charlotte smiled at him. ‘When are you going to be satisfied, Lorenzo?’
‘I don’t want to get bored.’
Sophy smiled as the woman laughed. But her nerves stretched. Bored—as he had been with the woman who’d no longer turned him on? He was busy—always busy—and frequently moved to newer, even more challenging projects. He did that with women too, didn’t he? She had to try to remember that.
‘Did you know Jayne McIntosh is trying to sell,’ Rob said. ‘I bet her father regrets not backing you now.’
‘Would you be interested in Jayne’s property, Lorenzo?’ Charlotte asked quietly.
Was it Sophy or had he gone a bit stiff? Who was the Jayne? Was this the McIntosh he’d worked for? He reached for his wine and took a small sip. ‘No. I don’t think so. We have enough for the label and I’m diversifying elsewhere.’
‘He was stupid not to come in at the time.’ That was Rob again.
‘He was doing what he thought best.’ Lorenzo shrugged.
‘He made a mistake,’ Charlotte muttered.
‘No.’ Lorenzo’s face went blank. ‘He did me a favour. He made me want to fight even harder.’
‘You were already fighting hard enough,’ said Charlotte.
Lorenzo just laughed and put his hand on the older woman’s arm.
The rental car was roomy and sleek and, even though it was only a ten-minute drive, she was asleep by the time he parked the car. He switched the engine off and just looked at her in the dim light from the moon and stars. Her hair was amazing. He’d been with her every moment—she hadn’t nipped into a salon to have it styled in the two minutes he’d had his back turned. She hadn’t even used a hairdryer. But it was in that old Hollywood movie star style again—a straight bob at the top ending in curls at her shoulders. She’d run a comb quickly through it, made sure the part was straight and put a clip in. That was it. Utterly effortless perfection.
That was her all over. But she didn’t seem to know it. Always she strived to be more—to be and do everything for everyone. She should just chill out and believe in herself more. Because she was gorgeous—inside and out.
He went round to her side of the car, opened her door and roused her gently.
‘Oh, sorry.’ Her eyes were slumberous, deep blue.
He held her hand tightly and guided her into the lodge. She blinked as he put the lights on.
‘You have been working hard,’ he said looking at the table. It was covered. But it was the one lying on the small mirror that caught his attention. The blue was the exact colour of her eyes.
‘Put it on for me,’ he said, his voice woefully husky.
‘It’s only dress jewellery.’ She played it down as she put it on. ‘It’s hardly diamonds or pearls.’
‘It doesn’t need to be. It’s beautiful. You’re really talented.’ He’d known that. It was some of what had driven him to offer her the room, to bring her down here.
But it wasn’t the only reason. There was the totally selfish reason as well—to have her for the weekend, all to himself. With no one else making demands on her, no interruptions, no brother or sister or mother calling all the time, scheduling errands for her to run. No, she was here for when he wanted. And he wanted her all the time.
He took her on the floor then and there. With her naked other than the beautiful necklace—the blue burning into him as he moved closer, closer still. He couldn’t resist touching, couldn’t stop touching.
He went back to the vineyards early the next day but finished up hours before he ought to. It didn’t matter, much of what he needed could be done by phone. It was more just to see the team face to face. But his mind was elsewhere—and his body ached to catch up with it.
Not good. He rebelled against the unfettered need rising inside. Where was his restraint? His self-control was slipping. It was all wrong—he’d worked so long to gain mastery over his emotions. So why wasn’t the passion waning? Why was it getting worse?
‘Come for a run.’
Sophy looked up as Lorenzo stalked in. The electricity in the room surged—she wouldn’t have been surprised if all the light bulbs had suddenly blown. ‘Is exercise your answer to everything?’
‘It is if I’m stuck on a problem or angry or something—it works for me.’
And was he stuck on a problem now, or feeling something stronger? ‘You get angry a bit, Lorenzo?’
‘I used to.’
Maybe he’d had a bit to be angry about. Casually she put down the pliers. ‘Tell me about it.’
He looked at her, his eyes like burnt black holes. ‘What is there to tell, Sophy? I was my father’s punch bag. Eventually I got taken away but went from foster home to foster home. I didn’t adjust well.’
She stared, shocked at the sudden revelation, at the painful viciousness underlying the plain statement of facts. Not many people would ‘adjust’ to that.
He looked uncomfortable, twisting away from her. ‘But I’m not like him. I’ve never hit a woman, Sophy. And I’ve never hit anyone who wasn’t hitting me first.’
He didn’t need to tell her that. ‘And you don’t get angry any more?’
He relaxed a fraction. ‘I prefer to get passionate.’
Yeah, he channelled his aggression elsewhere.
‘Passionate about exercise,’ she teased softly, wanting to lighten his mood. She knew his bio in the company literature was tellingly sparse. Now she saw his work with the Whistle Fund revealed far more. Art camps, for one thing. Sports days. All the work geared to underprivileged, at risk kids. He identified with them. He’d been one. ‘Did you get into trouble?’
‘Totally.’
‘What things did you do?’
He didn’t answer.
‘How bad?’
‘A few stupid things.’ He was fudging it. ‘The school was good.’
‘What kind of stupid things?’ Sophy leaned towards him. ‘Graffiti?’
His grin flashed. ‘You figured it out?’
‘You have that place totally secure—there are security cameras, you live on site. And that massive piece appears overnight? No way would you have let that happen.’
He shrugged. ‘You got me.’
‘You’re quite good.’ He was better than good. ‘Spray cans?’
He nodded. ‘But I wipe my own slate clean now. And I only decorate my own property.’
‘What else?’
He shook his head. ‘Nope. If we’re doing the twenty questions, then it’s your turn to answer.’
She giggled, thrilled inside that he’d opened up just that touch. ‘Okay, what do you want to know?’
‘Past boyfriends.’
‘No. Really?’ That was the most pressing thing he wanted to know about her?
‘Uh-huh.’ His head bobbed, eyes glinting.
‘Not a lot to tell. Dated a couple of boys at high school. Only one serious when I was at university.’
‘How serious?’
‘We