Free Sophie and the Scorching Sicilian by Kim Lawrence Page B

your father slept with her.’
    â€˜Being my employer,’ she gritted doggedly, pursuing the thought to the end. ‘Doesn’t give you the right to…to…’ Stamp around in my head with your size tens. ‘Be personal.’
    â€˜You are a role model of professional detachment for us all.’
    Sophie flashed him a look of seething dislike.
    To her relief it did not take long to reach the hotel. Marco escorted her into the foyer where the decor matched the art-deco thirties architecture outside.
    Marco watched her as she looked around; when she wasn’t being guarded Sophie Balfour had one of the most expressive faces he had ever seen. For a woman who had presumably been raised in the lap of luxury she possessed an almost child-like appreciation. ‘You approve?’
    â€˜It’s really nice,’ she said, her blue eyes glowing with pleasure as she examined the luxurious space. ‘I’m a fan of art deco.’
    â€˜In its historical context,’ he said with a cautionary note in his voice.
    â€˜Don’t worry, I won’t be tempted to install black PVC and leopard-skin prints in the bedrooms of your palazzo.’
    He met her innocent look with a smile. ‘I feel reassured. Luca will look after you,’ he said, nodding in the direction of the dapper-looking suited figure who was approaching them. ‘So try not to start a fight before I return.’
    The charge startled Sophie. ‘Me!’
    He smiled and looked more attractive and dangerous than in Sophie’s opinion any man had a right to look.
    Well, it had been quite an experience meeting Marco Speranza and seeing him smile, but it was one that she could put behind her now, which was just as well.
    His personality was so overwhelming that it was hard to concentrate on anything else, and if she was to make a successof this job and prove herself—do her small part in retrieving the good name of the Balfours—she didn’t need any distractions.
    And Marco Speranza was a big distraction!
    At the door he paused and turned back. Sophie, who was feeling dead on her feet, tensed.
    â€˜Be ready at eight…’ He paused. She looked so small and utterly exhausted standing there that he adjusted his timetable. ‘Be ready at eleven-thirty.’ The decision had nothing to do with sympathy. It was purely practical; he needed her alert and functioning when he showed her what needed to be done.
    â€˜Eleven-thirty, of course,’ Sophie said, hiding her relief as for a split second she had thought he had said eight.
    â€˜It is an hour’s drive to the palazzo.’
    â€˜You’re coming!’ Sophie was startled; she had assumed that Marco Speranza would delegate such a task to one of his underlings, one that she had hoped would have a less deleterious effect on her nervous system.
    â€˜You look disappointed.’
    â€˜No, of course not,’ Sophie denied unconvincingly.
    â€˜I would like to see your reaction to my home and hear your ideas.’ He turned to the dapper-looking man, sliding seamlessly into Italian as they shook hands.
    â€˜Tell Luca if you need anything. I will see you in the morning, Sophia.’ He tilted his head and moved away.
    â€˜Sophie,’ she called after him, not liking the Latin treatment of her name—it implied an intimacy that didn’t exist.
    Marco didn’t stop but turned his head to fling a grin at her over his shoulder.
    Â 
    The penthouse suite turned out to be just as luxurious as one might expect a suite Marco Speranza used to be, not that it bore any trace of his occupation. There were no slinky dresses in the wardrobes, but she was provided with a basket of all the essentials and a promise that her luggage would be there in the morning.
    Sophie thought the promise was overly optimistic but, sure enough, when she woke up—she had fallen into a deep dreamless slumber almost before her head hit the