Unbuttoned by the Boss: Unbuttoned by Her Maverick Boss / The Far Side of Paradise / Rub It In

‘A few things.’ Sophy dug out her phone and her diary. ‘What am I going to tell them?’

‘The truth.’

‘I don’t want to.’

‘You don’t want to say you’re running off for a dirty long weekend?’

Oh, she couldn’t hesitate now. ‘We’re a secret, remember?’

She got on and made the calls. It took the whole twenty minutes they had left on the ground to rearrange everything she’d agreed to do in the weekend.

She put the phone away but her practical-oriented brain presented her with the next set of problems.

He lifted her face to his. ‘What’s wrong now?’

‘I don’t have any clothes with me.’

‘You don’t need any.’

‘Oh, we’re going to a naturist colony? Awesome.’ She aimed for sarcastic but was burning inside with the naughty promise of his words. ‘They don’t mind furry teeth either?’

He laughed. ‘There are shops where we’re going. We can get you a toothbrush, okay?’

‘Fabulous.’

The flight was only just over an hour. Christchurch. She knew the destination now, of course—the signs and the pilot’s message had given that one away. She was fine with it. Christchurch was a nice city and she hadn’t been there in ages.

But when they got into the rental car he headed straight onto the bypass and the motorway north.

‘Where are we going?’

‘I told you, you’ll see.’

After forty minutes or so she thought she had it figured. The rows and rows of vines in the fields gave it away. Waipara—part of the wine region.

‘We’re staying on a vineyard?’

‘No.’ He kept driving.

It was another hour, passing alongside a river and the weird shaped cabbage trees that looked like something Dr Seuss would have drawn. A few sheep were scattered in the fields. And then they got there—to Hanmer Springs, an Alpine spa town in the heart of a geo-thermal area. He slowed down as they drove through the main street of the village.

‘Look, swimsuit shop on the right,’ he pointed out. ‘Leopard print number in the window gets my vote.’

Oh, please.

‘Superette on the left for toothpaste and other essentials.’ He pointed with his hand. ‘Bakery for the best pies in the country.’

She chuckled. ‘Everything one could possibly need.’

‘That’s right. Now I’m going back to Waipara for some meetings.’ Halfway up the hill he pulled up in front of a house. ‘You’re staying here.’

She got out of the car. He was leaving her? She walked up the path slowly, not caring enough to appreciate the pretty wooden chalet he’d just unlocked. When was she getting the ‘dirt’ in the weekend? Inside he’d opened the big suitcase. Carefully packed inside was all her gear—all her tools, all her unfinished work. She stared at it, then at him.

‘I’m not letting you throw away this opportunity, Sophy,’ he said softly, placing his hands on her shoulders. ‘Not even for hot sex with me.’

‘Lorenzo—’

‘Give me your phone.’ He held out his hand.

She pulled it from her purse and gave it to him.

He switched it off and put it in his pocket. ‘You have no excuses now. You have to finish them.’ His expression softened. ‘I’ve booked you into the spa at four p.m. for a massage and whatever other treatments you feel like.’

‘Really?’ Her spirits lifted a fraction.

‘Uh-huh.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘But you have to do nothing, and I mean nothing, but work until then—deal?’

‘Okay.’

‘And you’ll have to walk down to the spa because I’m taking the car.’

‘That’s okay.’ She nodded again. ‘Thanks.’

But she was disappointed. She ached for him. And he’d played on that—used it to set her up. She’d cleared her weekend to be with him, but now she had nothing to do but finish her pieces for the show.

She supposed she’d thank him one day.

He kissed her, drew away way too soon. But at least he groaned as he did. He put his hands behind his back. ‘Nothing but work. Nothing.’

She managed a laugh and watched him go. As he got to the car she couldn’t stop herself calling after him through the open door. ‘You’ll be back later?’

‘Count on it.’

She turned back inside and looked at her stuff. She had all afternoon. All day Saturday and Sunday too. With no phone, no outside contact—no one calling. Suddenly she felt it—liberation. And she did as he’d bid. It only took twenty minutes to set herself up and then she worked. In the silence, alone, she got into the zone. Her enthusiasm for it returned, as did her confidence. She studied her options, assessing the work she had completed and her pages of notes for other styles. She deliberated carefully before making a decision. She wanted her work to be the-matically linked, but for each piece to stand uniquely, to showcase a broad range.

There was a harsh ringing. She literally jumped three feet in the air. Spun round, looking for the source of the noise. It was the landline of the holiday home. ‘Hello?’

‘You need to go now or you’ll miss your appointment.’

‘Oh.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Is it that time already?’

He chuckled. ‘You’ve been hard at it, haven’t you?’

She leaned against the bench and let the smile out. ‘Yes. Thank you.’ She meant it this time.

It was a ten minute walk down the hill to the thermal pool complex, but she jogged it in five—so she had time to pick up a swimsuit from the store first. She walked straight past the leopard print but stopped at the rack of crimson costumes. There was a two piece the exact shade of part of the graffiti piece on Lorenzo’s fence. She grabbed the one in her size—hoped the cut would be okay. She paid and ran—not wanting to be late.

She went for the full facial, full massage option. An hour and a half of pure bliss. At the end she couldn’t have peeled herself off the table if she’d tried. The beautician left her to relax. Her private room had its own small pool of thermally heated, mineral-laden, olive-green water for her to melt into at her leisure. When she regained some kind of muscle control, that was.

She was almost asleep, lying on her tummy, when she heard him.

‘Are you ready for your massage, ma’am?’

She smiled. She recognised the thread in that voice. ‘I’ve already had my massage, thanks.’

‘This one is a little special.’

She felt his hands circling over her back.

‘Crimson,’ he muttered. ‘Good choice.’

She didn’t roll over—for one thing she couldn’t, for another she didn’t want him to see how slight the triangles covering her breasts were. Not yet anyway—she was still getting used to them herself.

But he couldn’t have been that into the bikini because in less than a minute he was pushing the briefs down. He lifted her foot, then the other to get the garment off—and when he placed each foot back he spread them a little further apart. Slid his hands hard up her calves, up the backs of her thighs…

She bit her lip, anticipation flooding her. ‘Lorenzo, there are people everywhere.’

‘I locked the door.’ His ‘massage’ took an incredibly intimate turn.

‘They’ll hear us,’ she said breathlessly.

‘No, they’ll hear you.’ He laughed and bent to nip her butt while his thumbs stroked into the space between. ‘Of course,’ he added thoughtfully, ‘you don’t have to come. Women don’t have to orgasm every time, do they? You can still enjoy sex regardless, right? It won’t bother me.’

‘How magnanimous of you.’ She clutched the towel beneath her and tilted up to give him better access. It was one hell of a massage.

He murmured, mouth moist on her skin as he manipulated her—faster, deeper. ‘Think of it as a challenge. I dare you not to come.’

She rocked, pushing harder onto him, her voice leaping three octaves. ‘I can’t not!’

He whipped his hands away and flipped her over. He was already naked, and in a moment was above her. He held her face hard between his hands, kissing her savagely while he surged into her. Her scream came out in another way—her fingernails raking down his back. He arched harder, his thrusts even more powerful.

It made it even better.

‘Does anyone know about the show?’

They were in the water, cheeks flushed from the heat, bodies floating.

‘Only Rosanna,’ Sophy answered lazily. ‘She got me the chance. One of her flirts sponsors the film festival.’

‘And no one else?’

‘No.’

‘Sophy.’

‘What?’ She gazed at him candidly. ‘It’s not like you’re an open book, Lorenzo. You keep everything from everybody.’

He frowned. ‘Only the bad stuff.’

What, his whole life was bad? She just didn’t believe that.

‘Why don’t you want to tell your family?’ he asked.

‘I’m going to. But I want them to see the stuff first—so I can see what they really think. And not just be nice because they know it was made by me.’

‘What they think matters that much to you?’

‘Sure,’ she said. ‘They’re my family.’

He went quiet.

‘I want them to be proud of me.’ She tried to explain.

‘There’s no way they’re not proud of you already.’

She smiled. But he was wrong. She’d let them down. ‘I’m not like them.’ But she didn’t explain it further. Rather she let her hands slide over him—her reward for a long day of hard work. ‘You were wrong.’

‘What about?’

‘This just can’t be legal.’

He laughed.

‘I’m serious. It feels too good.’

‘I’ve got a secret for you, honey,’ he whispered into her mouth. ‘Only the things that are right feel this good.’

And that was the moment her heart liquefied. She tipped her head back to look up at him—a long, searching look. But his gaze slid from her and then the rest of him did.

He splashed up the steps out of the pool. ‘We need to get moving.’

‘You’ve got to be kidding.’

‘A couple of my growers are coming in to Hanmer and we’re going out to dinner.’

‘What, like at a restaurant?’

‘Yeah.’ He turned on the shower.

‘And it’s okay for me to turn up in my bikini?’

He laughed under the stream of water. ‘Absolutely.’

‘Well, what else am I going to wear? My crushed suit from today?’

She was naked.

He left the shower running for her and wrapped a towel round his hips. While under the hot jet she watched him open his backpack. He pulled out another pair of jeans and tossed them on the massage table for her.

She switched off the water. ‘I’m not going to meet people wearing your clothes.’

‘Sophy—’ he sent her a look ‘—relax. It’s not a fancy restaurant. Just nice people, nice food.’

It was a fancy restaurant and wearing nothing but a pair of men’s jeans that hung on her and a tourist tee shirt from the spa shop wasn’t her idea of fancy restaurant attire. And, worse, wearing his jeans turned her on.

‘Hi, Lorenzo. You must be Sophy.’ So he’d mentioned her to them? She felt an absurdly warm glow about that.

To her relief the older couple were in jeans too and were full of welcoming smiles. Lorenzo explained that Charlotte and Rob Wilson had one of the largest holdings that supplied grapes to one of his labels. They were led to a table, talk turned to food and wine and business.

‘Have you known Lorenzo long?’ Sophy just had to do some digging while Lorenzo and Rob talked about the bar.

‘Fifteen years,’ Charlotte replied.

Sophy nearly spilt her wine. Wow—if there was someone who knew him it was this woman.

Charlotte was smiling at her as if she’d just read her mind. ‘He used to work as a hand in the picking season. Right from when he was a teen and had nowhere to go in the holidays.’ She looked at Sophy. ‘I tried to spoil him but he wouldn’t have it. I’d leave baking in his cabin and hope he got it. The tin was always empty when he left so I figured he did. Later on Alex used to come and work too. It was more fun for him then, I think.’

Sophy swallowed. ‘He was lucky he worked with you.’

‘He worked on another vineyard when he was still at school too. The McIntosh property.’ Charlotte shook her head. ‘I’ve never known someone to be so driven to succeed. And he has.’

Yeah, but was he happy with it? Sophy was increasingly worried there was a huge depth of unhappiness in him.

‘Now he’s invested in this bar. Who knows what he’ll turn to next? He’s a natural entrepreneur. He’s a genius.’

Okay, so Charlotte was his number one fan.

‘What are you talking about?’ Lorenzo turned to them.

‘You.’ Charlotte smiled at him. ‘When are you going to be satisfied, Lorenzo?’

‘I don’t want to get bored.’

Sophy smiled as the woman laughed. But her nerves stretched. Bored—as he had been with the woman who’d no longer turned him on? He was busy—always busy—and frequently moved to newer, even more challenging projects. He did that with women too, didn’t he? She had to try to remember that.

‘Did you know Jayne McIntosh is trying to sell,’ Rob said. ‘I bet her father regrets not backing you now.’

‘Would you be interested in Jayne’s property, Lorenzo?’ Charlotte asked quietly.

Was it Sophy or had he gone a bit stiff? Who was the Jayne? Was this the McIntosh he’d worked for? He reached for his wine and took a small sip. ‘No. I don’t think so. We have enough for the label and I’m diversifying elsewhere.’

‘He was stupid not to come in at the time.’ That was Rob again.

‘He was doing what he thought best.’ Lorenzo shrugged.

‘He made a mistake,’ Charlotte muttered.

‘No.’ Lorenzo’s face went blank. ‘He did me a favour. He made me want to fight even harder.’

‘You were already fighting hard enough,’ said Charlotte.

Lorenzo just laughed and put his hand on the older woman’s arm.

The rental car was roomy and sleek and, even though it was only a ten-minute drive, she was asleep by the time he parked the car. He switched the engine off and just looked at her in the dim light from the moon and stars. Her hair was amazing. He’d been with her every moment—she hadn’t nipped into a salon to have it styled in the two minutes he’d had his back turned. She hadn’t even used a hairdryer. But it was in that old Hollywood movie star style again—a straight bob at the top ending in curls at her shoulders. She’d run a comb quickly through it, made sure the part was straight and put a clip in. That was it. Utterly effortless perfection.

That was her all over. But she didn’t seem to know it. Always she strived to be more—to be and do everything for everyone. She should just chill out and believe in herself more. Because she was gorgeous—inside and out.

He went round to her side of the car, opened her door and roused her gently.

‘Oh, sorry.’ Her eyes were slumberous, deep blue.

He held her hand tightly and guided her into the lodge. She blinked as he put the lights on.

‘You have been working hard,’ he said looking at the table. It was covered. But it was the one lying on the small mirror that caught his attention. The blue was the exact colour of her eyes.

‘Put it on for me,’ he said, his voice woefully husky.

‘It’s only dress jewellery.’ She played it down as she put it on. ‘It’s hardly diamonds or pearls.’

‘It doesn’t need to be. It’s beautiful. You’re really talented.’ He’d known that. It was some of what had driven him to offer her the room, to bring her down here.

But it wasn’t the only reason. There was the totally selfish reason as well—to have her for the weekend, all to himself. With no one else making demands on her, no interruptions, no brother or sister or mother calling all the time, scheduling errands for her to run. No, she was here for when he wanted. And he wanted her all the time.

He took her on the floor then and there. With her naked other than the beautiful necklace—the blue burning into him as he moved closer, closer still. He couldn’t resist touching, couldn’t stop touching.

He went back to the vineyards early the next day but finished up hours before he ought to. It didn’t matter, much of what he needed could be done by phone. It was more just to see the team face to face. But his mind was elsewhere—and his body ached to catch up with it.

Not good. He rebelled against the unfettered need rising inside. Where was his restraint? His self-control was slipping. It was all wrong—he’d worked so long to gain mastery over his emotions. So why wasn’t the passion waning? Why was it getting worse?

‘Come for a run.’

Sophy looked up as Lorenzo stalked in. The electricity in the room surged—she wouldn’t have been surprised if all the light bulbs had suddenly blown. ‘Is exercise your answer to everything?’

‘It is if I’m stuck on a problem or angry or something—it works for me.’

And was he stuck on a problem now, or feeling something stronger? ‘You get angry a bit, Lorenzo?’

‘I used to.’

Maybe he’d had a bit to be angry about. Casually she put down the pliers. ‘Tell me about it.’

He looked at her, his eyes like burnt black holes. ‘What is there to tell, Sophy? I was my father’s punch bag. Eventually I got taken away but went from foster home to foster home. I didn’t adjust well.’

She stared, shocked at the sudden revelation, at the painful viciousness underlying the plain statement of facts. Not many people would ‘adjust’ to that.

He looked uncomfortable, twisting away from her. ‘But I’m not like him. I’ve never hit a woman, Sophy. And I’ve never hit anyone who wasn’t hitting me first.’

He didn’t need to tell her that. ‘And you don’t get angry any more?’

He relaxed a fraction. ‘I prefer to get passionate.’

Yeah, he channelled his aggression elsewhere.

‘Passionate about exercise,’ she teased softly, wanting to lighten his mood. She knew his bio in the company literature was tellingly sparse. Now she saw his work with the Whistle Fund revealed far more. Art camps, for one thing. Sports days. All the work geared to underprivileged, at risk kids. He identified with them. He’d been one. ‘Did you get into trouble?’

‘Totally.’

‘What things did you do?’

He didn’t answer.

‘How bad?’

‘A few stupid things.’ He was fudging it. ‘The school was good.’

‘What kind of stupid things?’ Sophy leaned towards him. ‘Graffiti?’

His grin flashed. ‘You figured it out?’

‘You have that place totally secure—there are security cameras, you live on site. And that massive piece appears overnight? No way would you have let that happen.’

He shrugged. ‘You got me.’

‘You’re quite good.’ He was better than good. ‘Spray cans?’

He nodded. ‘But I wipe my own slate clean now. And I only decorate my own property.’

‘What else?’

He shook his head. ‘Nope. If we’re doing the twenty questions, then it’s your turn to answer.’

She giggled, thrilled inside that he’d opened up just that touch. ‘Okay, what do you want to know?’

‘Past boyfriends.’

‘No. Really?’ That was the most pressing thing he wanted to know about her?

‘Uh-huh.’ His head bobbed, eyes glinting.

‘Not a lot to tell. Dated a couple of boys at high school. Only one serious when I was at university.’

‘How serious?’

‘We got engaged.’

His eyes widened. ‘What happened?’

‘I changed my mind.’

‘You don’t strike me as the kind of person to break a promise easily.’

‘It wasn’t easy. I left the country.’

‘Where did you go?’

‘France for most of the time.’

‘Why did you come back?

‘I missed my family.’ She shrugged. ‘Stupid huh?’

‘No. Not stupid.’ He went to his pack and pulled out his training gear. ‘What did you do at university?’

She’d started law, of course. Had done okay, but didn’t have the family brilliance. ‘I didn’t graduate.’

‘Snap. I left to build the business. Why did you quit?’

She swallowed. ‘That boyfriend. Bad news.’

‘What did he do?’

Cheated, of course. He’d been a law student a few years ahead of her. But he’d only wanted to be with her because of her family’s prestige. She didn’t want to go there. ‘It’s more than past your turn for a question. Past girlfriends?’

He bent and tied his trainer laces. ‘No relationships Sophy, remember?’

‘What about Jayne McIntosh?’

His fingers stilled. ‘What did Charlotte tell you?’

Barely anything—it was a guess. So was her next question. ‘It wasn’t that she didn’t turn you on any more, was it?’

He stood. ‘I never liked this game.’

‘What happened?’

‘Nothing that matters,’ he said shortly. ‘I’m more interested in what’s happening now. Not the past, not the future, but now.’

‘And what is happening now?’ She drew in her lip, wondering if he’d go there—dissect their affair at all.

He paused too. Finally turned—away from her. ‘We’re going for that run.’

They got her some running shoes and shorts from a shop in the town and then he led the way—up the hill, round and down through the forest, finally returning to town and the thermal pools.

Back at the chalet she dressed in his jeans and he cracked the whip.

‘You get back to work.’

It was all right for him—he was sprawled on the sofa reading the paper. But she was on target so found going back to work wasn’t so hard at all.

A couple of hours later he went out, brought back some Thai takeaway for dinner. After they’d eaten Sophy felt as playful as a kitten—the happiness made her feel sparkly from the inside out. She’d had a wonderful afternoon, was pleased with her progress for the show, and had loved his quiet company. She stood up from the sofa, stretched her arms out and twirled round the room.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Expressing myself.’ She lifted her tee shirt and his smile widened. Oh, it was so easy to have fun with him. ‘Come into the bedroom and watch me express myself some more,’ she invited.

She danced the way through, peeling the tee shirt from her body. He followed, and she pushed him onto the bed and knelt over him, enjoying the dominant position. Well, she was wearing his trousers, so she’d be in charge. She knew he liked it slow, and she could do slow for him. She toyed with the edges of her bikini top. He reached out and teased one triangle down a little lower so her nipple was almost exposed.

She slapped his hand away from her. ‘No. My job.’

His mouth made an ‘oh’ and his grin went wider. And thirty seconds later his fingers were back teasing—ruining her concentration.

‘Stop it.’ She batted his hand away again.

‘Make me.’

She paused, an idea bolting in. ‘Okay.’

She got off the bed and went out to the table covered in all her supplies. The ribbon was scarlet, a thin smooth satin. She picked up some scissors too.

He saw them as soon as she went back into the bedroom. Guessed her intention immediately. ‘Oh, no.’

‘Hands up.’

‘No.’

‘Why, Lorenzo—’ she knelt on the bed ‘—you wouldn’t be afraid, would you?’

He gave her a piercing look and held out his hands with a pained sigh. ‘There was me thinking you were straightlaced.’

‘Maybe I’ve discovered a ribbon of recklessness,’ she joked. It was his fault. His influence. His touch. He made her feel free. He made her feel as if she could do anything, try anything, and he’d still accept her.

She bound his wrists together. Wrapped the ribbon around the headboard 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.