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Chapter Two

NINE a.m. came and went. Sophy sat in the office that looked as if it had been hit by a cyclone and checked her watch every thirty seconds or so. Unbelievable. No wonder this place was in such a mess. He certainly needed help. But he was so going the wrong way about getting it.

She filled in five minutes by moving some of the mail to find the keyboard. Decided to start opening and sorting it. Forty minutes later a portion of the desk was clear, the recycling bin was full of envelopes and half the letters were neatly stacked in classified piles. At that point she decided she shouldn’t go further without consulting him. She went downstairs to the receptionist.

‘Kat? I’m Sophy. Here to work on the Whistle Fund admin. Do you know where Mr Hall is?’

The receptionist blinked at her. ‘I thought he was up with you. I’ve been taking messages because he’s not picking up the phone.’

‘Well, he’s not with me.’

‘He’s not out the back?’

No. Naturally out of the window had been the first place she’d looked. Sophy heard the front doors slide open and turned expectantly. A courier driver walked in with a parcel under his arm.

‘Can you see if he’s on the third floor?’ Kat asked. ‘I need to deal with this.’

‘Of course,’ Sophy answered automatically.

The third floor—was that where Lorenzo’s office was? She climbed the stairs. Stopped at the second floor and checked the other two offices there once more—both were in a far better state than Cara’s. They actually looked as if people worked in them—several people even—but there was no one present. Further along the corridor there was a massive room that was almost totally empty. Was the place run by ghosts? The communication was appalling. Sophy swallowed the flutter of nerves as she climbed up the next flight of stairs. There was no corridor off them this time—just the one door marked ‘private’.

She knocked. No answer.

She knocked again. Still no answer.

Without thinking about it she tried the handle. The door swung open and she stepped inside.

The space was huge—and much brighter than the dimly lit stairwell. Sunlight shone through the skylight windows in the roof. She blinked rapidly and took in the scene. This wasn’t office space. This was an apartment—Lorenzo’s apartment.

And if she wasn’t mistaken, the sofa was occupied.

‘What’s wrong?’ Pure instinct drove her forward to where he was sprawled back on the wide sweep of leather.

It was hard dragging her eyes up his chest to his face but once she did she was able to focus better. Beneath the tan he was pale, but dark shadows hung under his eyes. Hell, if this was a hangover she’d be so mad with him.

‘Sore throat.’ A total croak, not the slight rasp of yesterday.

Sore throat and then some, Sophy reckoned. He looked dreadful. Actually he didn’t, he looked one shade less than magnificent. So that meant he really must be sick. She couldn’t help give him the once over again. Just impossible not to when he had the most amazing body she’d ever seen up close.

He was in boxers—nothing but boxers. Not the loose fitting pure cotton kind, but the knit type that clung to his slim hips, muscled thighs—and other intriguing bits.

So that was that question answered. And a few others too.

Sophy stopped her gaping. She needed to pull herself together and deal with him.

‘You have a temperature.’ It was obvious from his glistening skin. She marched to the kitchen area in the open-plan space. Poured a glass of water. Wished she could snatch a moment to drink one herself, but she was too concerned about how feverish he looked.

‘I’m fine.’ He coughed, totally hacking up that lung.

‘Of course you are,’ Sophy said smartly. ‘That’s why you missed our meeting.’ She held out the glass to him. His hand shook as he reached for it. She took his fingers and wrapped them round the glass herself. Only when certain he had it did she let him go.

Their eyes met when she looked up from the glass. She saw the raw anger in his—impotent anger.

‘I’m fine,’ he repeated, grinding the words through his teeth.

Yeah, right. He was shivering. He ditched the water on the coffee table in front of the sofa after only the tiniest sip. His laptop was on the table too, the faintest hum coming from it. Did he really think he was capable of work?

‘When did you last eat?’ she asked, her practical nature asserting itself.

He winced.

‘I need to take your temperature.’

‘Rot.’

She gingerly placed her palm on his forehead. Snatched it away at the same time that he jerked back.

‘Quit it,’ he said hoarsely.

She curled her tingling fingers. ‘You’re burning up. You need to see a doctor.’

‘Rubbish.’

‘Not negotiable.’ Sophy pulled her mobile from her pocket and flipped it open. ‘I can get someone to come here.’

‘Don’t you dare.’ It would have sounded good if his voice hadn’t cracked in the middle. He tried to move, evidently thought better of it and just rasped bitterly, ‘Sophy, back off. I’m fine. I have work I need to get on with.’

She ignored him, spoke to the receptionist at the clinic she’d been to all her life. Two minutes later she hung up. ‘A locum will be here in ten.’

‘Too bad. I’m not seeing him. I have to do this—’

‘Your social networking will have to wait.’ Sophy closed the laptop. Picked it up and put it far, far away on the kitchen bench.

‘Bring that back here—I was working.’

She went close and looked down at him. ‘I really wish I had one of those old-fashioned mercury thermometers. I know where I’d stick it.’

‘Don’t.’ His hand shot out and gripped her wrist—hard. ‘You’re right. I’m not feeling well. And if you keep provoking me I’ll snap.’

Really? And do what?

She stared into dark eyes, saw the tiredness, the strain, the frustration—and even deeper she saw the unhappiness. At that she relented. ‘Okay. But you have to stop fighting me too. You’re sick, you need to see a doctor and you need taking care of.’

He shifted on the sofa.

‘Look, it’s happening whether you agree or not, Lorenzo. Why not make it that bit more pleasant?’

He breathed in—she could see the effort hurting him. He closed his eyes and she knew she’d won. ‘Okay, but you’ve done your thing. You can go now. Kat can send the doctor up.’ Another tremor shook him.

But she didn’t think she could go now. She couldn’t leave anyone alone in this state. And oddly enough she felt that even more strongly about him—he’d never admit it, but he was vulnerable. He was alone.

He shook his head slightly and looked cheesed again. ‘At least bring my laptop back.’

‘What’s the point, Lorenzo?’ she said quietly. ‘Staring at the screen isn’t going to get it done. You’re better off getting some sleep and getting well. Then you’ll do the work in a quarter of the time.’

His head fell back against the sofa cushions. Round two to her.

The doctor stayed only ten minutes. Sophy waited on the top of the stairs, put her phone in action some more. Then, after exchanging a few words with the doctor on her way out, she went back in to face the grumpy patient.

‘I’m getting you a rug,’ she said, heading towards the doors at the back of the room, refusing to be embarrassed about the idea of going into his bedroom.

‘There’s one on the end of the sofa.’

She stopped. So there was. She’d not noticed it. Hard to notice anything else in the room when he was mostly naked. ‘Well—’ she tried not to stare at him as she reached down and picked it up ‘—I think perhaps you’d better put it on. You don’t want to get a chill.’

He was well enough to send her an ironic glance. But he leaned back on the sofa and pulled the rug over his waist and down his legs. ‘Happy now, nursie?’

His chest was still bare, so, no, she wasn’t. But he was obviously feeling a touch better. The doctor said she’d given him some pain relief—must be fast acting stuff.

‘So it’s tonsillitis?’ Sophy asked carefully, not wanting to intrude too much, yet unable to stop.

‘Stupid, isn’t it?’ Lorenzo said.

No. Like anyone, Sophy knew how painful a sore throat could be. ‘Did you get it as a child?’

‘A bit.’ He nodded. ‘Haven’t had it in years, though.’

‘They didn’t take them out for you?’ While it might not be a regular practice any more, she knew that for the most recurrent cases they still did tonsillectomies.

He repositioned his head on the sofa cushions again. ‘I was on the waiting list for a while. But it never happened. When I got to boarding school the episodes seemed to stop.’

Sophy poured the electrolyte drink the doctor had given her into a glass. ‘It was a good school, wasn’t it?’

‘Better than all the others I went to.’

She knew he’d been at school with Alex Carlisle—his partner in setting up the Whistle Fund. It was the school her elder brother had gone to too—years before. Private, exclusive, incredibly academic and with superior sporting results as well. It was a tough place to shine—and she just knew Lorenzo had shone. Her sister had gone to the girls’ equivalent. But by the time Sophy had come along their parents were happy for her to just go to the local—they’d said they didn’t want to send her away to board. But Sophy knew it was because she hadn’t had the off-the-charts grades her siblings had had. It wasn’t that she was below average, she just wasn’t brilliant. ‘The antibiotics will have you better in no time. Then maybe you should have a holiday.’

His brows shot up.

‘Cara says you’ve been working too hard,’ Sophy said blandly, ignoring his mounting outrage. ‘Perhaps you’ve gotten run down.’ At that she sent him a look from under her lashes—unable to resist the temptation to let a hint of flirt out.

‘Honey, I’m hardly run down.’ His muscles rippled as he stretched out his arms in an unabashed display of male preening.

Oh, he was definitely feeling better. And she just couldn’t resist teasing him some more.

‘The muscles might look good, Lorenzo,’ the devil made her whisper, ‘but you wouldn’t be up to it. You’d be spent just trying to stand.’

‘You want to move closer and we’ll test that out?’ Sick or not, he didn’t miss a beat.

She turned and paced away. Enough channelling of Rosanna—Sophy just wasn’t as practised a flirt as her best friend. ‘I’m not in the mood for more disappointments.’

‘You were disappointed I wasn’t there to meet you?’

She spun and caught his amused, satisfied look. She inhaled. ‘You should be lying down. Hurry up and finish that drink.’

‘Sophy—’ his eyes glittered ‘—I don’t need a mother.’ It was a slicing rejection of any sort of kindness.

‘No,’ she agreed curtly. ‘You need a nurse. I’ve arranged for one to come from an agency.’

Lorenzo was so shocked he couldn’t speak for a full minute. He repeated her words in his head several times. Still didn’t believe it. ‘You’ve what?’

‘I’ve got a nurse coming. I’ve got work to get on with, so does Kat, and you can’t be left alone.’

Can’t be left alone? What did she think he’d been all his life? ‘You can tell your nurse she’s not necessary.’

‘No. Too late for that.’ She moved back to the table and took away the empty glass. ‘She’s on her way.’

Oh, she thought she was so damn competent, didn’t she? ‘She’ll have a mobile. Call it.’ Wasn’t getting a doctor around enough for this woman? Another tremor shook him from the bones out. Blow the fever—he was boiling mad.

‘Don’t bother trying, Lorenzo,’ she said coolly, cutting him off before he’d even got started. ‘She’s on her way and she’s staying.’

He gritted his teeth and glared at her. He’d never felt this frustration—hadn’t felt this useless since he was a kid being shunted from place to place with no say in it.

He closed his eyes as a wave of utter weariness hit him. Okay, he had been working hard—even harder than usual recently. He didn’t know when his hunger for success would be filled. Always he was chased by the feeling that it could be whisked away from him, that he’d wake up one day and find himself with nothing. So he worked, worked, worked—building the base bigger. He could never have enough of the security he needed.

But investing in Vance’s bar idea might have been one project too many. He’d sent all his staff and resources there for the last week. Helping him get ready for the big opening night—which Lorenzo was going to miss at this rate. As a result his own offices had been sadly neglected. The Whistle Fund in particular. It wouldn’t take too much to get it right again, but it needed time that he simply didn’t have right now. He’d been working twenty-hour days in the last fortnight as it was. So Cara’s office was a mess. It was stupid, but there was a big part of him that hated this woman seeing it like that.

Sophy—the supremely interfering piece of efficiency.

And how could he be finding her remotely attractive? She was so damn quick and proper and right it was nauseating. Had she ever made a mistake in her life? He so didn’t think so. And if she had, he bet she’d never admit to it.

Utterly perfect, wasn’t she?

He shifted under the rug. She was perfect—like a porcelain doll. Creamy skin and a blonde bob that sprang into neat curls at the ends—how long did it take her to get it to sit just so? Then there was that little nose and the lips that had a sweet cupid’s bow that begged to be kissed. And big blue eyes that went even bigger when she looked at him—a blend of intense interest and reserve. She looked as if she wanted but was wary. She half teased and then withdrew again. It made him want to pounce all the more. He saw her gaze flick over him again. Damn the weakness in his bones. Because that look in her eyes made him want to strip her bare—inch by beautiful inch—and find out whether the hint of the fire he could see really was just the glow from an inferno beneath. He sure as hell was fantasising it was.

Only he was so damn helpless.

That one last part of his body refused to acknowledge the sickness. He raised his knees, lifting the rug to hide the evidence, and mentally berated himself. So inappropriate. It must be the fever putting these kinds of thoughts into his head.

He looked at her, she was speaking briskly into her phone again. Some other poor soul was at the mercy of her efficiency. He was beyond even trying to listen. All he wanted was to rip the gadget from her and press his mouth to hers—just to shut her up. Just to slake the lust. So damn irresistible. So damn impossible. For one thing he was harbouring a million nasty bugs in his throat, for another she just wasn’t his type. Not at all. Not when he was on form.

But he felt an almost feral need to touch her—had done since the second he’d first seen her looking so snippy out the back of the warehouse. He wanted to muss her up so bad he wanted to growl.

Sick. He really was sick.

‘Okay, that’s everything settled, then.’

‘You’re going?’ Oh, man. He grimaced. Where had that sound of disappointment come from?

She paused. ‘You didn’t think I was going to stay, did you? I’ve got other things to do. And you said it yourself, Lorenzo—you don’t need a mother, or any kind of sympathy.’

‘So you’re going to leave me here at the mercy of some stranger?’ He opted to try to wheedle. Thinking on it, he’d rather have her here than some nurse—even if she was a little too efficient for his liking. Did she never stop and slow down? She should slow down—he’d make her. Give it to her really, really slow. Bend her back and lick all the way up her gorgeous length until she…Hell, his eyes were probably glazing over. He shut them tight. It made the fantasy worse. It made the aching in his gut worse.

On seconds thoughts, the sooner Sophy left, the better.

‘She’s very well qualified and has great references,’ Sophy said—oblivious to the base nature of his thoughts. ‘She’ll get you right again.’

‘I do not need a damn nursemaid.’ What was she going to do all day? He’d had the pills, now he just needed to sleep until it was time to take more. The last thing he wanted was some woman poking round his apartment. He never let women poke around. He liked his privacy—the peace in isolation.

‘Your temperature is sky-high. Until it’s down and the antibiotics have kicked in, then you are not being left alone. We’re talking twenty-four hours or less, Lorenzo. Get over it.’

He opened his mouth. Shut it again. He hadn’t been given orders quite like that in years.

‘Now you need to rest. The nurse will be here in twenty. She’s bringing more medicine with her.’

Enough was enough. He wasn’t putting up with this for a moment longer. He put his feet on the ground and hauled himself up.

‘Lorenzo.’ Sophy’s heart lurched. She moved fast.

His eyes were closed and the frown on his face was heightened by his extreme pallor. His whole body was covered in a film of sweat but he shivered again. She wrapped her arm around him—felt every single muscle in his body go tense. Sophy bit her lip. The sooner the nurse got here, the better.

‘I’m fine.’ The anger surged in his voice. Directed at both her and himself. He was furious with his weakness.

‘And I’m the Queen of Atlantis.’

‘This is ridiculous. I’m hardly at death’s door. It’s a sore throat.’ But he sat back down all the same, put his feet up this time and scrunched more into the sofa, lying shivering beneath the rug. His teeth were tightly clenched—to stop them chattering or because he was so mad? Probably both.

Sophy was definitely staying ’til the nurse arrived now. She sat in the chair across from the sofa. Keeping a wary eye on him and sneaking interested glances round his apartment. The space was gorgeous—huge and light. The kitchen was modern—had all the lovely stainless steel appliances a gourmet home cook could ever want. There was a massive shelving system on one wall—filled with books, CDs, DVDs. She leaned close to look at the titles, even though she knew she was being nosy.

She glanced at her watch. Shouldn’t be long now ’til the nurse arrived. He’d gone very quiet. Was he asleep? Quietly she moved back to the sofa, bent so she could see his face.

His jet-black hair was just slightly too long—as if he’d missed his last appointment with the barber—and right now it was a tousled mess. It was gorgeous—just begging for fingers to tunnel into it. And his features were beautiful. His eyelashes were annoyingly long while the shadow on his angular cheek tempted her to touch. And then there was his mouth. In the heart of his chiselled jaw were the most sensual lips she’d ever seen. Full, gently curved, slightly parted as he slept. The shivering seemed to have eased. Had his temperature dropped? She put her palm on his forehead again.

His hand moved fast, clamping round her wrist as his eyes shot open. The brown so deep as to be black, filled with a fire she wasn’t sure was purely fever.

She was caught, crouched half over him, unable to move.

His eyes burned into her. ‘I told you to quit it.’

But he wasn’t holding her hand away from him, instead he pressed her fingers harder to his skin. Afterwards she never knew from where she’d got the audacity, but she spread her fingers, gently stroking them over his damp brow. Smoothing the frown lines, stretching higher to reach into his hair, rumpling it ever so gently.

Her fingertips felt so sensitive—never had she felt something so strong inside from just touching someone. The strangest kind of electricity surged into her. Thrilling yet relaxing at the same time. It felt right to be touching him. It felt good. Okay, more than good. Sexual energy strummed through her, just like that. She wanted to move, to touch more, to shift her hips—tease the ache that had woken deep within.

His eyes didn’t leave hers, filled with a look so full of…something. Was it anger or desire or something deeper and darker still?

The buzzing made her jump. Made him grip her even harder—so hard she winced.

‘That’ll be the nurse,’ she muttered.

Despite the illness he had fearsome strength when he wanted to use it.

She finally broke away from his deepening gaze, and pointedly looked at his hand. ‘You need to let me go.’

His fingers loosened and she pulled her hand free. Her heart was beating so fast she felt dizzy. Maybe it wasn’t tonsillitis that he had. Maybe it was the flu and she’d caught it just like that. She felt as hot as he looked.

She caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror hanging on the wall as she hurried to the door. Yes, the colour in her cheeks was definitely more than the usual. And her eyes looked huge.

The nurse was at least fifty and looked like a total grandma with her specs and cardigan and knitting needles poking out of her bag. She talked like a grandma too—incessant, interested and caring but with an underlying thread of steel.

Sophy smothered her smile as the woman began her no nonsense fussing over Lorenzo. Definitely time to make a move. She needed some space to examine that moment again too.

‘I’ll phone later,’ she said to the nurse.

‘Aren’t you going to talk to me?’ A growl from the sofa.

‘You’re going to be asleep.’ Sophy went even warmer inside when she saw the put out look flash on his face.

But then he started shivering again and the nurse turned to him. ‘We need to get you into bed, don’t we? I’ll go and put some nice fresh sheets on it. No, don’t worry, I can find them. You just lie back and relax. Medicine, some painkillers, something nice and warm to drink. We’ll have you better in no time.’

Sophy watched the woman bustle off, finding her way around the place by some kind of special nursing sixth sense. She looked back at Lorenzo; he was looking at the nurse with such loathing that Sophy had to clap her hand over her mouth to stop herself laughing. At her movement his head whipped round and he glared at her. Oh, boy, definitely time to go.

‘Sophy.’

Halfway across the room she hesitated.

‘Come here.’

Sick as he was, it was a command. And Sophy felt a scarily overwhelming urge to do as he bid. How pathetic—it wasn’t as if he could do much if she refused.

‘Come here.’ Softly spoken again, but it wasn’t just a thread of steel in there—it was a whole core. And his magnetism wasn’t something she could ignore.

She walked over to him. Even though he was the one lying down, even though she was the one who could leave, somehow the balance of power had changed. In those few minutes when she’d been crouched next to him, stroking him, something had changed completely.

She stopped a little distance away, met the deep, dark gaze a little nervously.

‘I want to thank you,’ he said quietly.

‘It’s not necessary.’ She felt the blush rising in her cheeks. Sorting out others was her speciality. She had a family of geniuses who could barely organise what they wanted to make for dinner every night. This was nothing.

He was still looking at her so intensely she wondered what it was he was trying to read. His focus dropped, to her mouth. She swallowed—determined not to give herself away by licking her suddenly desperately dry lips. Her pulse thumped in her ears.

‘I’m kissing you. Can you feel it?’

Sophy blinked. Had she just dreamed that? Was that a fantasy moment? Had he really just said that? Like that—a purring whisper?

Mind sex. Was that what this was? Because she had to admit she was feeling it—and was desperate to feel more. Okay, she was delirious. She really was. Definitely burning up. She licked her lips, not realising she was ’til she was done and they were still tingling with the need for touch—his touch. His kiss.

Suddenly he was smiling—that absolutely brilliant smile that had disarmed her so completely yesterday.

She snatched in a breath—her lungs felt as if they were eating fire. ‘Get better soon.’ And she ran, his low chuckle hard on her heels.

Every time Sophy thought of the expression on his face as she’d left she blushed bodily. And it wasn’t without a few nerves that she walked up to the second floor three days later. Lorenzo was back on deck—Kat told her as soon as she arrived. And he was waiting for her in his office. She was to see him as soon as she got there.

Sophy had the feeling it was going to be interesting. He hadn’t liked her seeing him so vulnerable. Certainly hadn’t liked the way she’d handled it. If she’d learned anything about him from their brief meetings so far, he liked to be the boss. Only she’d overruled him. She suspected he was going to make her pay for that—only the burning question was how? In the devastatingly direct way that he’d reclaimed the power in his apartment? By using his way-too-potent sensuality? She totally shouldn’t be hoping so. Lorenzo Hall had playboy commitment-phobe stamped all over him—in permanent ink. She took a breath and knocked on his door.

‘Just a moment.’

She waited, her nerves stretching tauter with every tiny tick of her watch. What was this pause about—did he want to force her to break point? Because he knew, didn’t he? Was all too aware of his effect on her—and on any woman. Why, he’d used it to his advantage in his apartment—a look, a very few words and she was practically in a puddle at his feet. Then she heard him.

‘Okay, you can come in now.’

She opened the door and stopped on the threshold. Gaped.

He was standing by the window, had turned to watch as she came in. He was in jeans. But still no shirt. From behind him the light touched his body like an aura giving it a golden glow. It didn’t need the emphasis. It was blindingly gorgeous already.

It was as if she were two feet from a launch tower that had just sent a rocket into space—the heat from the blast nearly eviscerating her.

His torso was bronzed, no sheen from sweat this time, but she wanted to see it wet again. Her fingers wanted to slide through the slickness, they wanted to torment him to slickness.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Since when did she have rabid sexual fantasies about a virtual stranger? Such uncontrollable, lusty urges? She blamed it on the sight of all that beautiful skin.

‘The first time was a mistake,’ she muttered. ‘The second you couldn’t help.’ She opened her eyes and stared some more, watching as he slowly walked until he stood ten inches too far within her personal space. ‘This time—’

‘Was entirely deliberate.’