Unbuttoned by the Boss. Robyn Donald

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      ‘Will Mr Hall be long, do you think?’ Sophy asked with extreme politeness.

      The receptionist stopped, but looked harassed. ‘He’s not up there?’

      Sophy gave the woman a cool stare. She didn’t know? Wasn’t she his receptionist? Where was the efficiency in this place—off on a holiday to Mars? She inhaled and crisped up even more. ‘Obviously not.’

      The frown on the receptionist’s face deepened. ‘I’m sure I saw him earlier. You could look and see if he’s up on the third floor or try out the back.’ With that she was gone, hurrying to do whatever it was that was so urgent.

      Sophy continued down the stairs and went through the doorway behind Reception. This was a meeting that had been arranged two days ago. He might be the newly crowned king of the wine exporters, but for the life of her she couldn’t figure out how he’d managed it. Not when he couldn’t even make it to a meeting on time. She found what had to be the door leading out to the yard. She paused for a second, squared her shoulders and then turned the handle, pulling the heavy wood back.

      From what she’d seen at the window upstairs she’d known what she was about to face—but she hadn’t accounted for the effect it would have on her up close. She swallowed, momentarily speechless.

      He had his back to her—a mightily broad back it was too, and very bronzed. Well, it would be from all the time he obviously spent out here—shirtless.

      The fire that blazed through her was surely all due to anger.

      The baseboard and basket were on a stand on the far side of the asphalt square. He had the ball in hand, feet apart, his knees slightly bent as he readied to take the shot.

      Sophy waited for the exact moment. Just as his body moved to shoot the ball, she called—raising her normal volume more than a fraction, and using what her speech and drama teacher had referred to as ‘the tone’.

      ‘Lorenzo Hall?’

      Needless to say, he didn’t make the basket. Sophy smiled. But then, in an instant, it died on her lips.

      Even with the three or so metres between them she could feel the scorching heat of him. He turned his head, looked her over—a quick, slicing glance with the darkest eyes she’d ever seen. Then he turned back to the wretched basket.

      That had been all he needed to sum her up? Sophy wasn’t used to being dismissed so quickly. She might not have lived up to her family’s stellar success in the legal fraternity, but she did okay in the appearance stakes. Always immaculate. Always appropriate. Presentation had been drilled into her for so long it was second nature now. So she knew she looked more than acceptable in her baby-blue linen skirt and pressed white shirt. Her lipstick was muted but smooth and her face wasn’t shiny. Her one-style-only hair would be in place—she didn’t even have to try for that to happen.

      The ball had bounced a couple of times. He barely had to move to retrieve it. Once it was back in his broad hands he turned and gave her another look—even more pointed. Then he turned back to face the baseboard, took careful aim and replayed the shot—landing it this time.

      Sophy would have turned and walked if she wasn’t too angry to move. So that was the way of it, huh? His little game of by-myself-basketball was more important than a meeting scheduled with her. She’d heard nothing but positives about this guy’s charitable organisation. Had heard the rumours about his own background and his meteoric rise—marvellous, wasn’t it, people said, that someone with a background like that could become such a success?

      Well, Sophy wasn’t about to patronise the selfish jerk. ‘Are we meeting any time soon?’ She refused to offer to come back at another time—bit back the conciliatory words by pushing her jaws together. She wasn’t going to put herself out at all for him.

      The ball had bounced back to him again. He tossed it to the side and walked towards her. His jeans sat low on his hips. He wore them with no belt and she saw a glimpse of a waistband—briefs or boxers? She shouldn’t be wondering. But she couldn’t stop looking.

      There was no fat beneath his skin, just lithe muscles that rippled as he walked. She managed to force her gaze a fraction higher, skimming over the dusting of masculine hair, the dark nipples. He had straight, broad shoulders. Sleek curving muscles stretched down his arms. And all over was the sheen of sweat—burnishing the smooth, sun bronzed skin.

      She found she was mirroring his slight breathlessness. His chest was rising and falling that bit quickly, that bit jerkily, and her own felt tight as she studied him. He had an amazing torso—the strength, the undeniable masculinity had her spellbound. Her gaze coasted downwards again.

      He took two more steps—bringing him too close. Startled, she looked up as he loomed over her. Realised that with a narrowed, keen gaze he was watching the way she was looking him up and down.

      She met his stare, matched it, refusing to let her embarrassment at being caught ogling burn her skin red. But then, when he knew he had her attention, he let his gaze strip down every inch of her body. She actually felt the way his attention lit on her neck, on the small V of exposed skin on her chest, on the curve of her breasts…

      She fought harder to stop the blush and felt her anger resurge. But she probably deserved it. Hadn’t she just done this to him? But not intentionally—not provocatively. She just hadn’t realised quite how obvious she’d been or how long she’d been staring—her brain had gone AWOL while her eyes feasted.

      But his was a deliberate, blatantly sexual action.

      Her toes curled in the tips of her heeled pumps. The rest of her wanted to shrivel too—so she could disappear. And she used the anger to block that other message striving to move from brain to body—the desire that wanted to unfurl and scurry through her veins.

      ‘You must be Sophy.’ He gestured back to his mini basketball court. ‘I was thinking. Lost track of time.’

      Well, that fell way too short for an apology.

      ‘My time is valuable to me,’ she asserted vocally for the first time in her life. ‘I don’t like it being wasted.’

      Certainly not by a half naked man. Not like this anyway.

      Those black, bottomless eyes met hers. The colour rose a little higher on his cheekbones. She wasn’t sure if it was from exertion, embarrassment or anger. She suspected the latter.

      ‘Of course,’ he said smoothly—too quietly. ‘I won’t do it again.’

      Something had kindled in his eyes as he’d added that. Something she didn’t care to define. As it was she felt herself flushing—unable to stop it now—as if she were the one in the wrong. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Stole another quick glance at his torso and then aimed to concentrate on the concrete.

      ‘You never seen a man sweat before, Sophy?’ His soft question hit her in the gut.

      The crisp spring morning suddenly got a whole lot hotter. She tried to say something. Couldn’t. The dry irony in his voice just devastated her.

      He turned away from her. ‘Want to play a little one on one?’ he asked. ‘I find it helps me focus. You might find it helps СКАЧАТЬ