poured the entire contents of the ice tray into her glass—not caring that half the blocks fell out onto the bench and skidded onto the floor. She was unbearably hot—Lorenzo putting his shirt on had made no difference. For over an hour she’d suffered—sitting at the desk while he hovered beside her, behind her. Filling in the holes that had appeared in the days when she’d been working without the information only he or Cara could provide. She’d had the rest of the day to recover—but she hadn’t succeeded. She gulped down half the glass of water, sagged against the bench, she was so out of her depth.
‘Where have you been? I’m only home for half a day and I wanted us to go for a pedicure and—’
Sophy turned, dropping the glass in the sink. ‘You’re back!’ Thrilled, she ran across the room and hugged her elusive flatmate.
‘Okay, you’ve missed me too.’ Rosanna’s arms came round her and tightened. Then pushed her away. ‘Shirts, doll, we can’t crush our shirts.’
Sophy laughed. In the sentence of life, Sophy figured she was like a verb—the action, the one who got things done. Not very exciting perhaps, but necessary. Rosanna, however, was the exclamation mark. The rare beauty that could fill a whole paragraph—a whole room—with excitement. She even looked like one. Always dressed in black, she was a thin streak of long limbs, her glossy dark hair swept in a high ponytail that swung halfway down her back. She was full of vitality, and sheer outrageousness.
‘Now where have you been? I landed hours ago and have been lonely ever since and now the taxi to take me back to the airport will be here in ten. What’s up with your mobile?’
Sophy walked back to the bench to find and refill her glass. How was she going to explain this one? Rosanna was not going to be impressed. ‘I’m doing some admin work.’
Rosanna frowned. ‘You’ve got a job?’
‘Only for a few weeks. Their usual administrator’s baby arrived sooner than expected.’
‘Baby okay?’
‘Baby’s fine.’
‘So why couldn’t they get a temp? Why did it have to be you?’ Rosanna rolled her eyes. ‘Who asked you?’
‘Cara, the new mother, is a good friend of Victoria’s.’
‘Of course she is. Of course you couldn’t say no.’ Rosanna gave a theatrical sigh as she went to the pantry and pulled out a bottle of wine. ‘So where’s the job?’
‘You heard of the Whistle Fund?’
Rosanna wolf-whistled as she unscrewed the cap of the bottle. ‘Alex Carlisle and Lorenzo Hall. Who hasn’t heard of them? Alex got married recently and Lorenzo’s someone you don’t forget. Ever.’
Well, that was true. His image was burned on Sophy’s brain, every inch of skin, muscle and pure man.
‘Every bit as good as he looks, apparently,’ Rosanna drawled.
‘You’ve hooked him?’ A hot flash of envy sliced through Sophy.
‘No,’ Rosanna said, pausing as she poured the crimson wine. ‘Not that I’d turn him down. But the one time our paths crossed I didn’t even score a second glance.’
‘I’m sure that’s not true.’ Sophy was able to smile again. ‘Every man gives you at least four glances.’
‘Sweetie-pie.’ Rosanna flopped into a chair, giant wine glass in hand. ‘No, I’ve heard he’s impossible to catch. Tangles in the nets now and then but always swims free.’
Sophy was quite sure he tangled and then ripped free. ‘I think he’s a shark.’
‘Do you now?’ Rosanna giggled—half choking on her wine.
‘Absolutely,’ Sophy said. ‘I think he’s far too used to seeing any fish he wants and getting the kill.’
Rosanna held her glass up to the light and with a flick of her wrist let the liquid swirl inside it. ‘At the very least you might score some wine.’
Sophy shook her head. ‘I don’t know that we’ll be getting on well enough for that.’
Rosanna tilted her head on the side and appraised Sophy, a sly smile on her lips. ‘You’re interested.’
‘No I’m not.’ Sophy lied. And then immediately started to laugh.
Rosanna laughed too. ‘Of course you are. We all are. But—’ her nose wrinkled ‘—I don’t think he’s your type.’
‘No?’ Sophy felt irrationally put out.
‘He is a shark,’ Rosanna said. ‘You need a dolphin.’
‘Oh, great. Someone with a big nose.’
‘And with a habit of rescuing rather than destroying. It’s true.’ Rosanna sat up. ‘You need a good guy, Soph, someone safe and cuddly, not some dangerous type you couldn’t handle.’
‘You don’t think I could handle him?’
‘I know you couldn’t.’
‘So you’ve no advice for me?’
Rosanna looked up sharply. ‘I’m the last person you should take advice from.’
How did she figure that? She was the one who had them all eating out of her palm.
‘You were wearing that when you saw him?’ Rosanna’s expression clouded.
‘What? What’s wrong with it?’ Had she committed some terrible fashion faux pas? She couldn’t think what.
‘Nothing. But if he has a Grace Kelly fantasy, then you’re in trouble.’
Sophy snorted. ‘Now who’s the sweetie-pie?’
‘He’d gobble a kitten like you.’ Rosanna frowned. ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Anyway, I’m grumpy, we don’t have time for a pedicure now. I’ve had to sit here all day doing nothing.’
Kitten? She thought she was a kitten? ‘Poor you.’ Now Sophy had zero sympathy. ‘It’s about time you stopped and did nothing for half a day.’
Rosanna cupped her hand round her mouth, making a pretend megaphone. ‘Pot calling kettle, come in, kettle.’ She stood. ‘At least I’m busy pushing my career. You’re just busy doing everything for everyone else.’
‘You’re going to miss your next flight. Go have a good trip.’ Rosanna was a buyer for one of the major fashion chains. Knowledgeable, chic, damn good at her job and away more nights than she was at home.
Rosanna picked up the handle of her chic trolley case. ‘I love Wellington.’
‘The boys are going to miss you.’
‘It’ll be good for them.’ Rosanna bent and flicked an invisible speck of fluff from her
