lifted away from the wall. ‘Sophy.’
‘No.’ She straightened, getting ready to move. ‘I’ve got someone waiting for me.’ She moved fast to get past. But he pounced—just as she’d known he would.
Damn, his hands were fast and he was too strong. In seconds he’d pulled her into a room and locked the door. A toilet. Really classy.
But before she could even start in on the fury she felt he’d pulled her close. His hand cupped her chin, tilting her head back for him to kiss.
But he didn’t go for her mouth—no, it was her jaw, her neck, that spot beneath her ear that they both knew was so sensitive. She could smell the alcohol on him, could feel how thin his control was and then she felt his lips. That damn sweet tenderness that made her feel as if he was worshipping her with his mouth. She fell back, melting into the kisses; his furious passion rose in a flash, sweeping her away.
It had been three days. Three long, lonely days in which she hadn’t felt his touch—and as soon as she did she flamed for him. Despite her hurt and disappointment she still wanted him—desperately.
His kisses deepened as she softened. She panted as he kissed her with ravenous abandon, his hands cupping her butt and rhythmically pressing her against his hard erection as his mouth scalded her skin.
But as his touch grew bolder, more intimate, her brain started screaming at her. He didn’t want to go out with her—be seen together by their friends or family. But he’d whisk her into the nearest, tackiest place he could so he could get his hands on her? He was the proverbial dog in the manger. Not wanting her but not wanting her to have fun with anyone else? Not fair. Not right.
She grabbed his chin and forced it up, making him look into her face. Her nails curled into the vulnerable space just below his jawbone. If she were truly part animal she could kill him this way—pierce the skin and slice his throat. But that wouldn’t serve her purpose at all. She wouldn’t scratch him, couldn’t hurt him—not that way at least—despite the anger burning inside her, and the bottomless well of pain that was feeding it.
For a long moment she looked into his eyes—saw her anger reflected. What bothered him so much? Surely not her dancing with Jay?
No, this anger was too deep for that. And too old. It was the bitterness she’d seen in him before, only tonight it was burning out of control.
She looked away, caught sight of their reflection in the mirror—her face pale, her lips that ridiculous bright red from her forties fashion look.
She turned back to him, brushed her lips against his jaw and then looked at his skin. All praise to the modern cosmetics companies with their long-lasting lip colours—but they’d yet to make them smudge free.
She kissed his jaw again, then down his neck, pressing her lips hard all the way down to the starched white collar of his shirt—and then across that. As she made her mark she let her hands tease him, inflame him, distract him.
‘Sophy.’
She swore she’d heard that old thread of laughter then—yeah, he was so confident of her surrender. She let her hands slip lower—harder.
She heard his hissing breath, felt the surge of energy and braced herself.
But nothing could prepare her for what happened. His hands twisted in her hair as he held her firm and gazed at her. His burning black eyes bored into hers—but there was no laughter in them, not even a smile. He was all serious, so intense and, if she was right, so sad.
It began as the softest kiss. Then his arms went tight around her, sealing their length, and she felt him straining against her, his touch scorching, his need overwhelming.
Finally the kiss eased. It was then that she found it—the strength to push him away. To her surprise he let her, his head snapping back as she shoved him hard in the chest.
She blinked away the tears—of bewilderment, resentment and plain old hurt.
‘Gosh, Lorenzo—’ her voice shook ‘—you have lipstick stains all over your face and all over your shirt.’ Her bitter laugh turned into a sob halfway through. ‘How are you going to hide your dirty little secret now?’
The fury that flashed made her run.
‘Sophy!’
How she got the door open she never knew. But she ran through the crowded bar, desperate for an escape.
Jay materialised in front of her, eyes wide. ‘Sophy?’
Yeah, her little paint job meant she had more than a make-up malfunction now, she probably looked like a reject from clown school with the slut red lipstick smudged all over her chin. ‘Walk me to a cab, would you?’ She had no idea where Rosanna was but would get Jay to pass the message on later.
‘Of course.’ He moved instantly.
‘I’ll do that.’ Lorenzo was on the other side of her.
‘No, you won’t.’ She pushed past him.
‘Are you okay?’ Jay muttered, putting his arm around her, glaring over her head at Lorenzo, who silently stalked next to them.
‘Never better. Will you tell Rosanna I’ve gone home?’
‘Sure.’
They got outside. Jay kept a protective arm looped around her shoulders as he stepped to the kerb and waved his spare arm at the taxi rank not far down the road. The first one peeled off and came towards them. Jay stayed with her, holding the door—blocking it from Lorenzo while she got in.
‘Sophy.’ Deadly quiet but she heard him anyway.
Just before she slammed the door she answered. ‘Not now, Lorenzo. I’m too angry, and you’re too drunk.’
SOPHY hadn’t been home fifteen minutes when the thudding on her door started.
She opened the door and glared at him. ‘I said not now.’
‘I’m not drunk.’
‘Oh, please.’ She looked at the way he was breathing, at the flush in his cheeks. ‘Did you run here?’
He shrugged.
‘You shouldn’t run in those shoes. It’ll be bad for your feet.’
‘Says the woman wearing stupidly high heels.’
She whirled away and walked down the hall. ‘What is it you want, Lorenzo?’
She heard him close the door and walk after her. ‘I just wanted you to know it’s not you. It’s me.’
She stopped and turned back to stare at him. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’ She laughed. ‘That’s the line you’re giving me?’
‘I
