‘Wildfire. Only opened this week. There’s a fundraiser tonight for the Whistle Fund there. I have to go. But I don’t want to go alone.’
‘How is our favourite shark?’
Sophy shrugged. ‘I hardly see him. He’s very busy. He’s the money behind this bar.’
‘I’ll text the boys. Spread the word. It should be fun. And it’s for a good cause.’ Rosanna leapt up into action. ‘Well, we’d better find ourselves something suitable to wear, then, huh?’
Sophy grinned. Yeah, there was no holding Rosanna back from a party—or an excuse to get dressed to the nines. But two hours later she stared at her reflection in horror. ‘I’m not wearing this.’
‘Why not? You look hot.’
She looked like a wannabe catwoman, in Rosanna’s favourite black—skin-tight satin pants and a sleek, sheer top. It smacked of trying too hard, too out of character—as if she were going out of her way to draw his attention. Which she wasn’t. Not again. ‘It’s more you than me.’
‘Keep the trousers, change the top.’ Rosanna was working on her eyes.
Okay, that she could handle. Sophy went back to her own wardrobe and found one of her pretty silk tops—that flowed, less in your face figure-hugging. She picked up one of her necklaces.
Rosanna appeared in her doorway. ‘Can I borrow one?’
‘Absolutely.’
The bar was already packed when they got there. There was no formal aspect to the fundraiser. It was just that the charity was getting a percentage of the ticket sales—so, really, she didn’t think she had to be there. But she couldn’t not.
Yeah, the place was an instant success. Lorenzo had the Midas touch, didn’t he? Knew the investments to pick, always had his finger on the new big thing.
Sophy let Rosanna lead the way to the bar, she had a way about her that parted crowds. They ordered—classic cocktails—and waited for them to be mixed. Rosanna flipped so her back was against the bar and surveyed the room. ‘Looks good.’
Sophy nodded, trying not to look anywhere. She didn’t want to see him. Didn’t want to have to admit she had no date.
‘Oh, my.’ Rosanna sighed, fanning herself.
‘What?’
‘I just saw Lorenzo.’
‘Oh.’
Rosanna spun back and leaned into Sophy. ‘I just saw the way he was looking at you.’
‘Oh?’ Sophy’s skin felt as if it were about to blister.
‘Kitten you are going to be gobbled. One bite.’ Rosanna laughed. ‘Lucky kitty.’
‘The jet lag is getting to you,’ Sophy muttered, lifting the glass to her lips.
‘Going to introduce me to your date, Sophy?’
She gulped, the liquid burning. Oh, there he was. Right behind her. She turned. In the crush of bodies at the bar he was too close.
‘Of course.’ She summoned some social skills. ‘This is my very special friend Rosanna. Rosanna, this is Lorenzo.’
‘Pleasure.’ Lorenzo was purring like the cat who’d not just got the cream, but the bird too. ‘Vance wanted to meet you too. He’s my co-owner and manager of the bar.’
Lorenzo moved slightly closer to Sophy so the man behind him could be seen. Sophy felt Rosanna stiffen.
‘Hi, Vance.’ Sophy smiled, breaking the short silence.
But the newcomer wasn’t looking at her. He was staring—hard—at Rosanna. And she was positively glaring back. They were squaring off like ancient enemies.
‘Aren’t you too old to still be dressing like a skateboard punk?’ Rosanna was all snark.
‘Aren’t you too old to still have an eating disorder?’ Vance answered ten degrees too coolly.
Sophy’s jaw hit the floor. Rosanna was sleek, utterly sleek and stylish. But she wasn’t sick. At least, Sophy didn’t think so. And this guy so wasn’t her type—she liked them with as much style as her own. Sophisticated style, not street wear. Although Vance had his strengths, to be sure.
‘Do you two know each other already?’ Sophy asked, despite the obviousness of the answer. It wasn’t normal to be trading insults so soon in an acquaintance.
Rosanna didn’t even glance at her. ‘We met a few years ago.’
‘Come and dance, Sophy.’ Lorenzo grabbed her hand in a death grip, took the glass from her other and ditched it on the bar, marching her away despite her protests.
‘Hey, I’d hardly had any of that.’
‘I’ll get you another later.’
She pulled to slow him, twisted back to catch another glimpse of Rosanna. ‘Do you think they’re okay? They look like they might kill each other.’
‘I think they’ll be okay. She’s all grown-up.’
Sophy really wasn’t so sure. She tugged her arm again. ‘She’s not as tough as she makes out.’
Lorenzo laughed, the glint in his eyes too dangerous for comfort. ‘She’ll be fine. Forget about it.’
Well, she wasn’t going to do that. ‘She’s my friend.’
‘Just give them five minutes.’ He looked at her, the darkness in him piercing now. ‘Or is it that you don’t want to dance with me?’
She went cool, despite the thudding in her heart. ‘I like dancing.’
‘Right.’
The music was loud—if they were to hear each other they’d have to lean close. Sophy opted for silence. But he was too close anyway, moving closer. And she couldn’t cope with the way his big body moved—with surprising grace—or the way he absorbed the beat so naturally.
She felt increasingly stilted, her pulse skipping—too fast for the rhythm of the music. She couldn’t relax—tried not to look at him at all. Until he grasped her by the upper arms and pulled her to him.
She gasped as their bodies collided.
‘You’re mad with me for leaving like that,’ he roughly muttered in her ear.
‘No, I’m not.’ She shook head and glared at him. ‘It was good you did, actually.’
‘Oh?’ His eyes glittered in the lights. It looked as if his temper was off the leash now.
‘Saved us from any awkwardness,’ she snapped.
‘And
