Sophie and the Scorching Sicilian (11 page)

That had been two days ago, but while he didn't want to cramp her style—Sophie had proved herself more than capable—he did want to be supportive, or so he told himself. What other explanation could there be for his continued visits over these past few weeks?

And it was possible that some of the men might mistake her friendliness for something else and he didn't want them getting out of line. And it wasn't just them; the young academic the museum had sent, who looked more like a surfer than a professor, had made several return visits that to Marco's mind seemed frankly unnecessary.

As he approached the sweeping staircase, at the back of his mind Marco was conscious of the fact that he would have to pass the door of the old nursery to get to his own bedroom.

As he mounted the staircase a light shining under the double doors that led into the ballroom caught his attention.

He paused and retraced his footsteps. Entering the ballroom he discovered that the vast space had not been spared the power failure; the light came from several battery-fed spotlights around the room.

His eyes lifted, and he breathed an awed, ‘
Dio mio
,' under his breath, for Sophie had clearly pulled off a minor miracle.

His glance moved to the scaffold tower. Something had been left on the platform. Then the something moved and he realised it was someone.

His smile faded and a strangled curse was drawn from his throat when he identified the figure lying on the gently swaying platform suspended some twenty feet above his head.

‘What do you think you are you doing up there, woman?'

The question—only one person in the universe had a voice like that—drew a startled squeak from Sophie.

‘You're not meant to be here!' But now that he was she realised that, subconsciously at least, this was a moment she had been anticipating with a mixture of trepidation and excite
ment. The same confusing mixture of emotions which anticipated all his appearances.

‘
You
are not meant to be
there
.' He spoke levelly, not wanting to startle her into making any sudden movements, but the vivid mental image he had of her landing with a dull thud on the stone floor at his feet put an extra layer of gravel in his husky voice.

A childhood memory surfaced, a family day out rare enough to remain in his memory even had it not been for the disaster that had etched it there. They had arrived at the beauty spot complete with picnic and Marco had allowed his puppy to jump from the car ahead of him. He had watched, laughing, as the dog chased a bird, and stopped laughing as the pup had followed it straight over the cliff, landing on the rocks below.

Climbers had retrieved the broken body, but he had never forgotten the awful thud of impact or his father's words when he had told him that the animal had been his responsibility—if the puppy had been restrained, on a lead…the accident would not have happened.

It had been his fault.

 

Sophie sat up cautiously, not because she was nervous—she had a good head for heights—but because there was not a lot of room for manoeuvre. ‘You weren't meant to arrive until the weekend,' she added, unable to keep the reproach from her voice.

The weekend, when the worst of the debris would be cleared, and she could awe him with her efficiency and general brilliance. Face it, Sophie, it just isn't going happen. You appear to be fated to have him appear at all the worst and most embarrassing moments in your life, moments when you're wearing jeans over pyjamas.

She had actually picked out an outfit for the weekend, not to impress him but there was nothing wrong with a girl trying to look her best. And she was a girl; a fact that people had been noticing, and even though the attention might have something
to do with her being the only female under seventy around, it was soothing to her ego.

‘I didn't realise I had to seek permission before I visit my home and it is just as well I didn't wait,' Marco observed grimly. ‘When I said I wanted a hands-on designer I did not mean this hands-on. Get down here this instant!'

Sophie, who had ducked under the barrier the stonemasons connected their safety harnesses to while he was speaking, was already on the ladder. ‘All right, give me a chance!'

She slung the comment over her shoulder as she skipped her way casually down with, it seemed to a watching Marco, not a care in the world.

When he got hold of her he would…well, his intention was to throttle her, but his intentions were sometimes hard to follow through with this woman. Actually, he was not totally sure what he would do when he got his hands on her, as he knew by now that she could throw him wildly off course with a flippant comment or an inappropriate giggle.

When her feet touched the ground he was able to expel the breath trapped in his lungs on one sibilant sigh of relief. He released the icy anxiety in the same breath and fury flamed to fill the vacuum.

On the ground Sophie turned her head; the half-formed shy smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth faded abruptly as she encountered the icy glitter in his eyes.

She'd made a major miscalculation in assuming that he was irritated, arriving home to find no electricity and organised chaos, because it wasn't irritation he saw stamped on his lean features—it was anger.

It seemed like a bit of an overreaction, though she could see that the casual observer might not get the
organised
part of the chaos unless they had it explained. Plus, Marco wasn't a casual observer; he was very attached to his ancestral home and very protective.

She could feel the waves of hostility rolling off him; he'd seen the mess and he thought she was wrecking his home. Given her talent for saying the wrong thing around him she needed to choose her words with care.

Playing for time, Sophie bent forward and shook the dust out of her hair before straightening up and beginning to bang the dust from her hands on the seat of her jeans.

She might not have been quite thorough had she known that the action had drawn his attention to the curve of her bottom.

She turned slowly around and flashed an appeasing smile which abruptly lost focus.

He was standing a lot closer than she had anticipated, close enough for her to see the dark shadow on his jaw. Despite the hour he looked incredible.

Her eyes drifted over the angles of his face; drawn to the sensuous curve of his mouth, she felt something twist hard in her stomach and thought,
Stop staring like you've never seen a man before
.

She cleared her throat and managed a weak version of her smile. ‘I know it
looks
bad.'

Sophie's glance moved around the ballroom. Actually, if you discounted the dust sheets, tools and equipment, it was an improvement on the retro sixties look it had been decorated in.

‘And if I'd let them have their way and sandblast everything in sight we'd be finished,' she admitted.

The macho team who had arrived had laid down their blasting equipment only when they had realised she wasn't going to be pressured. It would have been quicker but she had not been willing to risk the fabric of the building to save time.

He couldn't believe she was acting as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. If he hadn't come when he had, that neck of hers might be lying in a pool of blood… His big hands curled into fists at his sides as he pushed away the graphic images forming in his head.

His stormy silence did not bode well. And she wished that emerald gaze would stop boring into her. She resisted the impulse to smooth her hair again—like it would make any difference—and lifted her chin, smiled pleasantly even though he was a rude rat, and was glad she did not need his admiration to get a good night's sleep. Then again, she hadn't had a good night's sleep in quite a while, but there was absolutely no connection between her insomnia and her difficult client.

‘The fact is…you've got to crack a few eggs to make an omelette.' She made a very good omelette—not as good as mum's, but… She swallowed but before she could recognise the knot in her chest as homesickness, Marco's deep scathing voice jolted her back to the here and now.

‘Omelettes!' His voice was shaking with suppressed emotion. ‘I do not wish to talk about eggs!'

‘Look, calm down—there's no need to be cranky.'

The growling noise that issued from his clenched lips suggested her advice had fallen on deaf ears. Unable to tear her eyes from the nerve that was clenching in his lean cheek she reached for one of the spare flashlights that were stacked on an upturned box.

Marco was trying, very hard, to calm himself. He was aware that he was overreacting, but she had looked so small and delicate, and thoughts of what might have happened to her were overwhelming him. He was also exhausted by constantly fighting the almost uncontrollable urge to take her in his arms.

Sophie held the flashlight out to him with a slightly shaking hand. Was she about to be fired?

He narrowed his eyes and dragged a hand through his dark hair mussing it up so that it stood up spikily on top.

The combustible quality she had always sensed was there under his urbane facade was no longer hidden.

‘Look, it's not as bad as it looks. All you need is a little imagination, Mr Speranza, and you'll see…'

His nostrils flared as he sucked in an outraged breath. ‘I do not lack imagination.' His imagination was still providing an image of her broken body lying still on the marble floor. ‘And do not call me Mr Speranza!' he blasted. With that explosion, his self-control snapped. ‘What did you think you were doing? Have you never heard of health and safety regulations? Of common sense?'

Sophie's glance slid to the scaffold. ‘Oh, you mean the tower? Oh, I've got a great head for heights!' As he continued to glower, she added hastily, ‘But I won't break any regs next time, if it bothers you. I'll wait until there is someone else around and use the harness.'

‘There won't be a next time.'

The remaining colour left Sophie's face. Her confidence had grown but not to the point where she could consider this possibility of losing her job with anything but total horror. ‘Are you sacking me?'

‘I should never have given you the contract to begin with.'

Marco watched her bite her quivering lip and fought the compelling urge to wrap her in his arms and tell her he was sorry… What was happening to him? His whole body seemed to be shaking! She was driving him to distraction. He had to end this before his irrational, apparently uncontrollable, emotions drove him to do or say something seriously stupid.

‘This is not the time to discuss the situation. It's late, and we both need to sleep.' It was not the only thing he needed and the constant ache of frustration was driving him slowly out of his mind.

Sophie gave a bitter laugh. ‘You think I'm going to sleep knowing you're going to sack me?'

‘Do not,' he gritted, ‘put words into my mouth.'

She felt a surge of relief. ‘Then you're not…' She stopped as he loosed a sigh of irritation between clenched teeth. ‘You're right.'

Maybe, she thought, this was sleep deprivation. With luck he would be more reasonable in the morning. ‘This isn't the time…'

It wasn't the time and it never would be the time because he was too big, too male and, damn it, too
everything…
! And she was so tired and frustrated that she was having serious problems with processing what he was saying. As for reading between the lines…she'd given up. The man was just too confusing, complex and unreasonable.

And her dreams… A person could not feel responsible for their subconscious but she felt irrationally guilty and also slightly panicky at the mere possibility of him suspecting the things she dreamt about him.

He won't guess unless you tell him, Sophie. And to reveal her dreams would be a quick route to not only humiliating herself but losing her job for sure. And she was becoming increasingly convinced that he was just looking for an excuse to get rid of her, and that hurt because she was knocking herself out to impress him.

She lifted a hand to her spinning head and thought, Why else does he keep appearing at such unexpected times unless it was to catch her out?

She lowered her eyes and mumbled, ‘I'm tired.'

‘Why do you push yourself so hard?' he asked, looking accusingly at the dark smudges under her eyes.

‘Not just me—the men have been incredible. They've done a marvellous job, haven't they?' She stopped, closed her eyes and thought,
No, I can't do this—I have to know.

She met his eyes squarely. ‘Look, you can tell me, I'm not going to break down or cry on you. Did you come here tonight to sack me?' Her glance slid to his mouth and her hands clenched at her sides.

The lines of colour etched along the crests of his chiselled cheekbones deepened as he threw up his hands in a gesture of frustrated incredulity.

Like his body language, his accent too was more noticeably Latin as he pinned her with a glittering green glare and rasped in throaty outrage, ‘
Sack
you? I came here tonight because I would like to…' His eyes settled on her mouth and he thought,
Kiss you
.

His jaw clenched as he battled against the impulse to follow through with the thought. This is not, he reminded himself yet again, what you came here for, Marco.

Wasn't it?

Isn't this
exactly
what you wanted?

Marco dragged a hand through his hair. He had always felt contemptuous of people who employed self-deception, and it was unpleasant to recognise suddenly that he'd been guilty of that very crime.

Five minutes in it had been obvious that despite her relative inexperience Sophie was more than capable of working without supervision; she knew exactly what she was doing, yet he had spent the past two weeks using the pretext of concerned employer to check up on her, phoning
because he liked to hear her voice.