Unbuttoned by Her Maverick Boss. Natalie Anderson

sorry, but that she had other priorities and couldn’t give him that much time. She looked at him, tried really hard not to let her gaze slip down his body again. There was a hard look in his eyes—as if he didn’t really believe what Cara had told him about her, and that he expected her to say no. That he’d just as soon phone for some anonymous temp and be done with it. Suddenly she sensed that he didn’t like having to ask her at all. That made her stand up even straighter.

      And there was Cara herself, wasn’t there? Hovering over her tiny daughter in the incubator—with enough on her mind without needlessly worrying about her boss being so stressed out. What a crock. If Cara had seen him today, she’d have known she had no cause for concern—he was so relaxed he was out wasting time playing ball. But Sophy couldn’t let her sister’s friend down—just as she’d never let her sister down.

      ‘I’ll be back tomorrow to start,’ she said briskly.

      ‘I’ll be here to show you the ropes.’

      ‘Nine a.m.’ She let her gaze rake him one last time. ‘Sharp.’

      She turned and walked. His words came just as the door closed behind her. Whether she was meant to hear the low suggestively spoken reply she didn’t know, but she did—and it almost incinerated her.

       ‘Yes, ma’am.’

      Chapter Two

      NINE a.m. came and went. Sophy sat in the office that looked as if it had been hit by a cyclone and checked her watch every thirty seconds or so. Unbelievable. No wonder this place was in such a mess. He certainly needed help. But he was so going the wrong way about getting it.

      She filled in five minutes by moving some of the mail to find the keyboard. Decided to start opening and sorting it. Forty minutes later a portion of the desk was clear, the recycling bin was full of envelopes and half the letters were neatly stacked in classified piles. At that point she decided she shouldn’t go further without consulting him. She went downstairs to the receptionist.

      ‘Kat? I’m Sophy. Here to work on the Whistle Fund admin. Do you know where Mr Hall is?’

      The receptionist blinked at her. ‘I thought he was up with you. I’ve been taking messages because he’s not picking up the phone.’

      ‘Well, he’s not with me.’

      ‘He’s not out the back?’

      No. Naturally out of the window had been the first place she’d looked. Sophy heard the front doors slide open and turned expectantly. A courier driver walked in with a parcel under his arm.

      ‘Can you see if he’s on the third floor?’ Kat asked. ‘I need to deal with this.’

      ‘Of course,’ Sophy answered automatically.

      The third floor—was that where Lorenzo’s office was? She climbed the stairs. Stopped at the second floor and checked the other two offices there once more—both were in a far better state than Cara’s. They actually looked as if people worked in them—several people even—but there was no one present. Further along the corridor there was a massive room that was almost totally empty. Was the place run by ghosts? The communication was appalling. Sophy swallowed the flutter of nerves as she climbed up the next flight of stairs. There was no corridor off them this time—just the one door marked ‘private’.

      She knocked. No answer.

      She knocked again. Still no answer.

      Without thinking about it she tried the handle. The door swung open and she stepped inside.

      The space was huge—and much brighter than the dimly lit stairwell. Sunlight shone through the skylight windows in the roof. She blinked rapidly and took in the scene. This wasn’t office space. This was an apartment—Lorenzo’s apartment.

      And if she wasn’t mistaken, the sofa was occupied.

      ‘What’s wrong?’ Pure instinct drove her forward to where he was sprawled back on the wide sweep of leather.

      It was hard dragging her eyes up his chest to his face but once she did she was able to focus better. Beneath the tan he was pale, but dark shadows hung under his eyes. Hell, if this was a hangover she’d be so mad with him.

      ‘Sore throat.’ A total croak, not the slight rasp of yesterday.

      Sore throat and then some, Sophy reckoned. He looked dreadful. Actually he didn’t, he looked one shade less than magnificent. So that meant he really must be sick. She couldn’t help give him the once over again. Just impossible not to when he had the most amazing body she’d ever seen up close.

      He was in boxers—nothing but boxers. Not the loose fitting pure cotton kind, but the knit type that clung to his slim hips, muscled thighs—and other intriguing bits.

      So that was that question answered. And a few others too.

      Sophy stopped her gaping. She needed to pull herself together and deal with him.

      ‘You have a temperature.’ It was obvious from his glistening skin. She marched to the kitchen area in the open-plan space. Poured a glass of water. Wished she could snatch a moment to drink one herself, but she was too concerned about how feverish he looked.

      ‘I’m fine.’ He coughed, totally hacking up that lung.

      ‘Of course you are,’ Sophy said smartly. ‘That’s why you missed our meeting.’ She held out the glass to him. His hand shook as he reached for it. She took his fingers and wrapped them round the glass herself. Only when certain he had it did she let him go.

      Their eyes met when she looked up from the glass. She saw the raw anger in his—impotent anger.

      ‘I’m fine,’ he repeated, grinding the words through his teeth.

      Yeah, right. He was shivering. He ditched the water on the coffee table in front of the sofa after only the tiniest sip. His laptop was on the table too, the faintest hum coming from it. Did he really think he was capable of work?

      ‘When did you last eat?’ she asked, her practical nature asserting itself.

      He winced.

      ‘I need to take your temperature.’

      ‘Rot.’

      She gingerly placed her palm on his forehead. Snatched it away at the same time that he jerked back.

      ‘Quit it,’ he said hoarsely.

      She curled her tingling fingers. ‘You’re burning up. You need to see a doctor.’

      ‘Rubbish.’

      ‘Not negotiable.’ Sophy pulled her mobile from her pocket and flipped it open. ‘I can get someone to come here.’

      ‘Don’t you dare.’ It would have sounded good if his voice hadn’t cracked in the middle. He tried to move, evidently thought better of it and just rasped bitterly, ‘Sophy, back off. I’m fine. I have work I need to get on with.’

      She ignored him, spoke to the receptionist at the clinic she’d been to all her life. Two minutes later she hung up. ‘A locum will be here in ten.’

      ‘Too bad. I’m not seeing him. I have to do this—’

      ‘Your social networking will have to wait.’ Sophy closed the laptop. Picked it up and put it far, far away on the kitchen bench.

      ‘Bring that back here—I was working.’

      She went close and looked down at him. ‘I really wish I had one of those old-fashioned mercury thermometers. I know where I’d stick it.’

      ‘Don’t.’ His hand shot out and gripped her wrist—hard. ‘You’re right. I’m not feeling well. And if you keep provoking me I’ll snap.’

      Really? And do what?

      She stared into dark eyes, saw