Free Sophie and the Scorching Sicilian by Kim Lawrence

the last time he had seen a woman without any make-up?
    â€˜You would not find that argument compelling?’
    â€˜That wouldn’t be an argument—that would be an order, Mr Speranza.’ Something she was guessing he was rather good at doling out.
    â€˜Are you always so pedantic? And make it Marco.’
    At one level Sophie knew that her gut reaction to the suggestion was disproportionate but she couldn’t keep the horror from her voice as she said stiffly, ‘I couldn’t possibly.’
    â€˜Step outside your comfort zone, Sophie…’ he goaded gently.
    Her father had said exactly the same thing to her. Startled by the déjà vu, her eyes flew to his face… There was absolutely no resemblance between the man whose eyes connected with her own and Oscar Balfour.
    She lowered her gaze and comforted herself with the thought that the opportunities to use his name were not going to be frequent.
    Men like Marco Speranza delegated and she doubted he ever put himself in danger of getting a crease in his suit.
    â€˜I’m so far out of my comfort zone that I’m…’ She stopped as a sudden ache of longing for the familiar things she had been forced to leave behind welled up inside her.
    â€˜You’re what?’
    â€˜Fine, Marco ,’ she said, curling her tongue around his name with difficulty and trying not to think about the gatehouse.
    â€˜The hotel you speak of will be fully booked as they are hosting a convention. Most of the hotels in the city are full of people who like to dress up as aliens from film and TV.’
    Sophie could see a flaw in his explanation. ‘And the hotel you suggest won’t be full?’
    â€˜I keep a suite there for business purposes. I’m quite happy to put it at your disposal.’
    Business purposes. Was that a polite euphemism for love nest? Would she find a selection of sexy women’s clothes in the wardrobes, silk sheets and champagne in the fridge? Her experience was limited, as in zero, and she found her sudden prurient interest in the subject troubling.
    She gave a prim smile. ‘I would not like to put you out,’ she said, wondering if he ever double-booked the room.
    While she was not addicted to the celebrity columns or, for that matter, the financial pages, she would have had to be livingon another planet not to know that even though he had stepped off the celebrity-party circuit and gone reclusive he was rarely seen without female companionship.
    It had crossed her mind that the beautiful trophy girlfriends might be a smokescreen—a way of hiding his broken heart from the world. Now having met him she felt it was more likely he just enjoyed shallow sex with beautiful women.
    Marco looked amused. ‘You can stop looking so alarmed, Miss Balfour. I am not inviting you to share my bed.’
    The mortified colour flew to Sophie’s cheeks. ‘I never thought you were!’ she choked.
    Her emphatic response drew a curious look from him. ‘Why not?’
    Sure now that he was mocking her she shot him an unfriendly sideways look as he held open the passenger door for her.
    She slid into the passenger seat. ‘Men do not proposition me,’ she said flatly.
    Marco, his attention caught by the flash of something pale, glanced casually downwards. His drifting gaze stilled. Her skirt had bunched up and the paleness he saw was her thighs. They were rather superior thighs, as were the legs they were attached to, the sort of legs that most women would flaunt in short skirts and heels.
    It was none of his business if Sophie Balfour chose to hide them under layers of unattractive clothes, but even a disinterested observer did have to wonder about this woman’s hang-ups.
    â€˜But you would like them to? I suggest putting slightly more flesh on show.’
    When the flesh in question was as good as hers it made sense.
    His eyes drifted downwards once more; the milky paleness of her