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‘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 forgotten 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.’
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