Rebel with a Cause (11 page)

She bound his wrists together. Wrapped the ribbon around the head board and tied that too, so his arms were caught above his head. She looked down at his face. He had a smirk. As soon as she finished, he flexed, the ribbon went taut.

His smirk vanished. He stiffened and pulled harder.

‘I don't think you can break it.' She leaned closer to him, letting her breasts touch as she taunted. ‘We girl scouts know how to tie knots.'

He pulled again. She saw it dawn in his eyes—that he really couldn't get free. ‘Sophy. Untie them.'

‘No.' She straddled him.

‘Sophy. Joke's over.' He looked very serious, his eyes black.

‘It's no joke. And it's not over.' She tickled her fingers up the under side of his arms—his biceps bulging as he tried to
rip free of the ribbon again. ‘Don't worry,' she whispered. ‘I won't hurt you.'

The tenor had changed completely—he really wasn't comfortable with this, was he? She studied him. Raw, vulnerable, yet fiercely proud. Something pulled deep in her heart. This powerful, independent man was at her mercy—and he didn't like it.

And what had begun as an almost kinky, definitely playful tease, turned devastatingly intense. She spread her fingers wide, ran her palm slowly up the centre of his chest, feeling the warm skin, up to where she could feel the thudding of his heart. Had he ever lain back and just let someone
love
him?

No. He never had. And he didn't want to let her now.

But she wanted to love him—so much. And just this once, she would.

She moved off him, knelt at his side and started—slowly—even more slowly than when he'd tormented her that first time. She touched him, forgot time as she felt him, entranced in her exploration in seeing how she could make him respond. Making love to every inch of his skin and trying to go deeper—right into his bones, into his heart. He said nothing. Nor did she. But his breathing changed. She watched the straining in his body—knew what he wanted. She was breathless too—filled with yearning. She kissed him all over, her fingers either trailing or kneading every part of him—but the most obvious. She was saving the best bits 'til last. It was too wonderful to rush it.

But eventually she moved closer—her hands working together in sweeping circles—ever decreasing—narrowing in on her target. She heard his breath catch.

‘Sophy.'

She smiled and took him in her mouth. His harsh groan
was the sweetest melody to her ears. He moved beneath her—arching, seeking.

‘I want to touch you,' he ground out, his hips rising—chasing her caresses.

‘You already are.' It was her turn to be fiercely proud—of the way she could make his powerful body buck, of the way she could make him cry out for her. The pleasure she could give him. She wanted to make him feel joy—as being with him filled her with joy. And the feelings surged through her, she lifted up looked down into his eyes. The beautiful eyes that she loved.

She kissed him like crazy—pouring it all into him. He met her, his kiss equally fervent. Then his body went rigid beneath her as he strained to be free of the bonds, but the knots held.

‘I have to have you.' He sounded so raw. ‘Please.'

Finally she couldn't take it any more herself—needed to feel him deep within her. She straddled him. Held his pulsing erection in her hand and sank onto him in one swift movement. They both cried out. He arched up, trying to lead the rhythm, but she pushed her hands down on his shoulders, using them as anchors so she could ride him hard—her way. She threw her head back as the bliss ravaged through her.

‘Sophy, Sophy, Sophy.'

She looked back down into his eyes as she heard his agonised call to her. Saw him stripped bare. The vulnerability unconcealed—the bottomless depth of need in him revealed. Her fingers tightened on him as she saw the anguish there. She leaned forward to kiss him again—a kiss offering all she had. And felt the shudders racking him as he accepted it.

A long time later she still lay on him, running her hand gently over his chest as she felt his heart beat slow. She
said nothing, didn't expect him to either—and he didn't. Eventually she moved, lifting to look at him. His eyes were closed, his brow smooth. She pulled the coverings up. He'd gone to sleep. She reached down to the floor and got the scissors. She caressed his jaw, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. And then she snipped the ribbon.

He moved faster than she'd ever have thought possible. Grasping both her hands in his, he flipped her onto her back, his eyes open and blazing as he crushed her half beneath his body. The scissors clattered to the floor. Breathless, she twisted her head to the side—could see the red marks on his wrists from where he'd fought against the knots. She bit her lip, braced as she looked back into his face—afraid of the anger she would find there.

But the flames weren't frightening. Instead the faintest smile appeared as he pushed down to emphasise each word. ‘No one. But. You.'

L
ORENZO
could hear Sophy playing with the necklace—picking it up, rolling the beads between her fingers, letting it drop. And then picking it up again. He kept his gaze on the dark grey bitumen that was fast sliding under the car. The airport was a rush of bodies and noise and interminable waiting—even though they arrived only five minutes before the check-in for their flight closed. Too soon they landed in Auckland. Too soon he was driving her home.

And he was not going in with her.

‘Are you pleased with your designs?'

She nodded, dropping the necklace against her skin once more.

‘I'll take them back to the warehouse. You can do any finishing there this week.' He couldn't bring himself to sever it completely. Not yet.

‘Thanks.' She didn't look him in the eye. And he didn't look for long to see if she did.

Breathing space. He couldn't wait to be alone so he could reclaim his equilibrium. Alone was good. Alone was comfortable—this wasn't. The discomfort was bigger than the silence that ballooned between them.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out her phone. The shock on her face sent a welcome flash of pleasure through him. Yeah, she'd forgotten he had it. She'd for
gotten everything else the whole weekend except her work. And him.

That pleased him far too much, and in the wake of the warm glow the discomfort barged back.

‘See you tomorrow, Sophy.' He drove away as soon as she was out of the car.

Something had changed. He knew when it had, but he wasn't sure how. She'd held him and he'd been more vulnerable than ever before in his life. But it wasn't because she'd bound his hands.

He didn't care to think about what had happened—what he might have revealed or what she thought she might have seen. But the need to have more of what she'd given had driven him. Just for today he'd taken it—holding her, playing with her, laughing like the carefree kid he'd never been. She'd done some work—not that much—they'd swum, they'd rested. A lovely, lazy Sunday for anyone normal.

But he wasn't normal—was fundamentally different from most and especially someone like Sophy with her perfect world and her perfect family. And now—back on normal ground—he was feeling more alien than ever.

Restless in his apartment, he tried to catch up on some work—went through the motions of checking his messages. He felt as if he'd stolen someone else's life for a day and he was going to get caught out any moment. His heart pounded the way it had when he was a kid and had known trouble was coming. His concentration splintered, reformed—focused on only one thing.

He went down to the room she'd taken as a workshop. Went into the cupboard at the back and pulled out the crate of paint. Twelve hours later he was still working on it in his office, hating the way he was so wired about seeing her.

‘Stay late tonight—I've got something to show you.' He poked his head into her office halfway through the next
day, not staying to explain, glad she had the temp with her so he couldn't go and kiss the hell out of her as he wanted. He was a touch embarrassed. She might not like what he'd done. And wasn't he just getting himself in an even stickier mess? He should be pulling away, not going in deeper.

Lorenzo was no stranger to hardship—well used to going without. So a bit of abstinence should be nothing. But she was the first thing—the only thing—that he wasn't sure he could give up.

He'd noticed she was missing something for the show and he was certain she hadn't had time to do it herself. She was up to her neck just trying to get the pieces done. She came to his office on the dot of five. He'd abandoned work hours ago—had been shooting hoops half the afternoon, was now sitting waiting.

‘It's upstairs.' He almost blushed. But the screen of his computer up there was bigger—that was why—not because up there was private and had his huge bed waiting. She said nothing, just followed. He swung the computer screen round so she could see. ‘I did some designs for you. If you want to use any I can get them printed.'

She stopped in front of the computer and stared at the images he'd pulled up. ‘For business cards?'

He nodded. ‘And labels for each piece—you can write on the details by hand or do them on the computer individually.'

Her eyes were wide as she bent to take a closer look. ‘You're a man of many talents, aren't you?'

‘Some good, some not so good.'

‘Lorenzo, they're amazing.' She looked so thrilled he was even more embarrassed. ‘I can't believe you did this for me.'

He shifted uncomfortably. ‘It didn't take anything. It's really easy.' Okay, it hadn't been that easy. He'd stayed up
half the night painting and then spent half the morning getting them into digital form. And then playing some more with them.

‘I won't mind if you don't want to use them.'

‘Of course I want to.' She was already fiddling with the mouse, tapping words. ‘Lorenzo, this is fantastic. Thank you so much—I love them.'

‘Okay.' He felt the relief whistle through him. ‘Well, you want to work on them now? Then I'll get them printed. You'll be right on schedule.'

He went to the coffee machine. Hadn't slept all night, didn't need the hit now, but it was something to do. He glanced over to his work space—she'd pulled up the seat and was busy adjusting his designs, experimenting with the text to go across the swirling design he'd created as her logo.

His heart thudded even more uncomfortably as the edge of panic sliced into him. He glanced at the door. This wasn't just his place, but his
escape
—his private lair. So why the hell had he tainted it with her scent again? It had taken days to fade after the last time she'd been here—when he'd been stupidly sick. And her scent had tormented his fever then. It was swirling round him now—tempting, choking him.

He shouldn't feel annoyed she was here—he'd invited her, after all. But now he wished he hadn't. He needed to get out before he did something stupid. All he could see was the memory of her lush mouth sucking him in, the look in her eyes as she'd arched above him.

‘Um…' he walked away ‘…I'm going for a run.'

She looked up from the computer. ‘Now?'

‘Uh-huh.' He moved as fast as possible. If he didn't the concrete would set around him and he'd be stuck completely.

As soon as he changed into shorts and trainers he got
out onto the pavement and pushed it from the off. But with every pound of his feet the pull sharpened. It was like being torn in two. He pushed harder. Aimed to go further. But…he couldn't fight it. Any hope of restraint faded. He turned back.

The door slammed behind him. His breathlessness didn't ease. His erection grew harder. He'd run from her yet in less than twenty minutes was running back to her faster than before. His fingers curled tighter in his fists. She looked up as he strode across the room. He winced as her cool gaze swept over him. No way could she fail to see the state he was in. He walked across the room.

‘You're going to shower?'

He nodded and strode faster. The torment infuriated him. He faced the shower head, turning the jet onto full power. Not caring that the gush of water was slightly too hot and needling his nipples. His sensitive nipples. He'd managed to go without all kinds of things before—why not now? He braced his hands on the wall and pushed his face into the rush of water, wanting to wash away the desire he felt for her. Wanting the emptiness back. It was easier—so much easier.

A hand slipped around his body. He gasped as she grasped his straining erection. He could feel her soft body against his back. And then her other arm wrapped round him too, her fingers teasing circles around one of those too sensitive nipples—tormenting him further. ‘Sophy, don't.' The words hurt. Everything hurt.

‘Do you really mean that?'

‘You don't know what will happen.'

Her mouth moved across the skin stretching across his tense shoulders. ‘Don't I?'

He pushed harder against the wall with his hands, desperate to thrust his hips. This would all be over in a second
if he didn't get a grip. But it was her grip that tightened—pulling up his length with faster, harder strokes.

‘Sophy.' He whirled around and pulled her close.

She shivered as he brushed his lips up the length of her neck in the gentlest ever touch—the sweeping caress a complete contrast to the rough, hard hold of his hands. He struggled to soften that hold—but couldn't, so made his kisses light instead.

‘I want you so bad,' he confessed.

‘That's not a bad thing.'

Oh, but it was. The water thundered in his ears. She was so soft—so heart-meltingly soft. But it was because she was so soft that he should be staying away. Instead he leaned into her, his lips trailing over her jaw, sucking her lip. He felt the insane need to touch strengthen again. His need to be with her was unstoppable now.

‘Are you too sore?' He tried to slow down—they had been so physical yesterday and he was sure she must be tender.

‘No.'

‘Are you sure?'

She arched, lifted her legs to curl them around his thighs—opening to give him all access. And as he felt the wet heart of her sliding against him he lost it. Couldn't stop now even if he tried, the last shred of control gone. His hands moved, fingers gripping tight, holding her so she couldn't move.

He was hardly conscious of her cries as he mindlessly pumped deeper and deeper, growling as he strove for the bliss only a stroke or two away.

Instinctive, elemental, shattering—
peace
.

For a long moment he remained still, rammed into her body, trying to stop his weak shuddering in the after math. The hot water cascaded over him but inside the chill was
spreading fast and painfully. So out of control. He'd been so hopelessly out of control. He didn't even know if—

Oh, God, what had he done?

‘Better now?' She ran her hand lightly down the side of his neck.

He screwed his eyes shut, wanting to reject her touch.

Because, no, he was
not
better. His body might be spent, but he still wasn't satisfied. He didn't know if he ever would be. The feelings scared him. He couldn't suppress them. It had never happened before. Never been like this. ‘I'm sorry.' He shook his head and made himself look at her. ‘You didn't have time.' Hell—had he hurt her?

‘Didn't I?'

He saw a smile stretch her puffy lips, the pure satisfaction glowing from inside out. ‘Really?' But it didn't ease his conscience.

She closed her eyes, tilted her head to let the water flow over her face.

Her beauty hurt him. Everything about her hurt him.

Because he could have hurt her. He wouldn't even have known—certainly wouldn't have been able to stop. In those moments just now, he'd totally lost it. The wild animal he knew was caged inside him had been freed—he'd been operating on blind, raw emotion and been utterly unable to think, to be aware of anything but his need to let that emotion have free rein. Just as he had all those years ago. Only then he'd pulverised some random person's car—had taken a bat to it in a blind rage, had smashed and destroyed, his anger thermonuclear. Unstoppable. Uncontrollable. Terrifying.

Loss of control over his emotions was unacceptable. It didn't matter what emotion—lust was as bad as anger. And if he'd lost it over one, he could lose it over another just as easily. The years of hard work, the self-discipline gained
from physical training and concentration meant nothing now. He'd thought he could manage it? He didn't have a hope.

And hurting anyone—hurting
her
—was not an option. He'd always choose isolation over running that risk. And he'd enforce it now.

He looked at her—she wasn't even naked. She'd only stopped to take off her knickers before reaching to touch him as he'd showered. And now she was wet and bedraggled and beautiful.

Her eyes opened and in that moment he saw it—the vulnerability, the confusion, the
questions
. His blood ran cold. He couldn't possibly answer those questions.

He pushed away, switched the water off and got out of the intimacy of the shower room. ‘Here.' He handed her a towel. ‘Strip off and I'll hang your clothes to dry.'

 

They needed to talk. It was a talk they should have had the day before but she'd been too scared. Honestly she was still too scared. She didn't want to shatter this fragile moment—this happiness seemed so fleeting.

But it was disappearing anyway. She could see him retreating. His face had frozen, the brooding look back in his eyes. She tried not to let it hurt her. But that was like trying to stop the sun from rising.

‘Don't worry,' she said, suddenly realising what might be bothering him. ‘I've started the pill. I won't get pregnant.'

‘What?' He spun to face her.

She blinked. ‘In the shower just now, we ah…' She didn't finish.

His eyes had widened in horror. ‘You've started taking the pill?'

‘I thought it was for the best.' She didn't want babies
yet. Judging by the look on his face he didn't want babies at all. So it was better not to run the risk of accidents. She'd known it was the wise thing to do.

‘When?'

When had she started taking it? ‘Last week.'

‘Oh.' He still looked shocked, only now a frown had overlaid the discomfort on his features too. ‘I'll, um…just find you a robe.'

He hurried from the bathroom.

An affair. She rubbed her skin hard with a towel and tried to remind herself that that was all it was. A one night fling that was having a few replays—okay, was on a continuous loop. But she couldn't make herself believe that was all there was to it despite his rapid cooling off now. If she were sensible, if she were reading the signs, she'd stop it. Walk away. But she was utterly lost in the web of desire for him. Her body held in thrall by his. And there was more than that.