Her heart had been so full, so brimming over with joy and hope, she’d wanted to know everything about him. And Matthew.
But she felt sure, when someone got to know him, he was a wonderful person. When he got used to the idea, he would come round to seeing the fantastic side of having a daughter.
Restlessly she got up and started tweaking some brown-edged leaves from her geraniums on the window ledge. She hadn’t felt such confusion for years, not since Henry and Bea had told her they were staying on in England for a bit. Possibly for ever. She lifted her gaze to the Botanical Gardens across the street, wishing she could go across right now, before she saw the first of the children on her morning’s list. Somehow the soothing essence of those cool, leafy pathways always managed to soak into her like balm.
Connor O’Brien was to blame for this turmoil. A wave of puzzlement swept through her. What was wrong with him? Why had he been so mocking, almost distrustful of her?
His behaviour had been so arrogant, so callous and indifferent, as if her anxiety had been a joke. And as for that crack about her never having been kissed…
Of course she had. Countless times. He’d only been teasing, using a typical male ploy to start a flirty conversation, unless he’d been suggesting… A chilling possibility crept in. If, by some quirk of fate, a woman still happened to be a virgin, surely that minor detail wasn’t obvious to people? Could there be something about her that flagged her status to the world?
And if so, what? Could it be her clothes? Her conversation? The way she walked?
She’d never thought it worth worrying about before. It was just—the way things had turned out for her.
It wasn’t that she hadn’t had opportunities. Plenty of men had been keen to relieve her of it. And she had no philosophical objections to sex. In fact, she fully believed that every woman should drink deeply from the cup of life, although the values Henry and Bea had instilled in her had quietly insisted that the drinker should be in love. And there was the little matter of trust. She’d tried a few tentative sips once or twice, but for some reason the trust factor had always intruded and she’d stalled at a certain point.
Leah and Zoe, her flatmates, called her a late bloomer. Sooner or later, they declared, some ruthless hunk would send her completely overboard and she’d plunge right in. And that was where she needed to beware, because someone as dreamy and impulsive as Sophy Woodruff was at risk of a broken heart.
If she wanted to land a man, she needed to do her research, they’d said. Find a solid prospect with financial security and a career trajectory, and plan a campaign.
‘But what if we have nothing in common?’ she’d argued.
The answer was stern and unequivocal. ‘Plan a campaign. Build things in common.’
What Zoe and Leah didn’t understand—well, they did, but they scoffed about it—was that she had dreams. And dreams didn’t go with campaigns. In fact, she preferred to rely on her instincts about people, though she couldn’t always, she had to admit. She had been mistaken more than once, sometimes quite spectacularly. But she’d known definitely at once that those boys she’d turned down just didn’t have the chemistry, and never, ever would.
As for her needing to become more proactive, with a plan and some cold, hard strategy, she doubted she could bring that off. Campaigns weren’t her style. In the situation she was in right now, though, some cool, ruthless strategy was definitely warranted.
She felt a little shiver of apprehension.
There was only one thing for it. Whatever it took, she would have to find a way to seize her letter back. She couldn’t allow Connor O’Brien to ruin her chance to know her father before it had even begun. And he wouldn’t win any future encounter with her, either, dammit. He’d better learn that, kissed or unkissed, Sophy Woodruff was a force to be reckoned with.
Somehow, if it killed her, she would find a way into his office.
It gave her an eerie feeling to realise that at this very second he might be on the other side of her wall, gazing out at the very same view.
Connor frowned out across the treetops, beyond the Gardens, to where a strip of Walsh Bay glimmered under a hot blue sky. It occurred to him that not so very far away, as the crow flew, he owned a house. Most of his father’s things had been auctioned for charity, as became the possessions of the extremely wealthy, but it might do, especially as it wasn’t too far from the haunts of Elliott Fraser. He was sure he’d left some of his law books there. Slightly outdated perhaps, but he could pick up some of the current publications later. It might be interesting to see what had changed this side of his old profession.
He stepped back from the window and gazed appreciatively around at the high-ceilinged rooms with their ornate cornices. If he’d been setting up for real, he couldn’t have found a more pleasing location.
He glanced at his watch. Organise a car, then take some time to pick up his books and some stationery supplies before the office furnishings were delivered. Consider his next encounter with Sophy Woodruff….
His pulse rate quickened. He wondered what the letter was she’d been searching for. The anxiety in those stunning eyes had seemed genuine enough. With her sweet low voice, the ready flush washing into her cheek, she’d seemed amazingly soft, too soft to be any of the things Sir Frank suspected. But he was too hardened a case to be sucked in by appearances. Women in the profession could be superb actresses…
Whatever she was searching for, his challenge would be to find it first.
He remembered the fire that had flashed in those blue eyes when he’d touched her, and his blood stirred. He could so enjoy a worthy protagonist.
* * *
At lunchtime, on her way down to the basement deli, Sophy saw Connor O’Brien assisting some workmen to manoeuvre a handsome rosewood bookshelf through his door. She grimaced to herself. No doubt he needed it for storing other people’s private documents.
She queued at the deli for a salad sandwich, but instead of taking it to her usual picnic spot in the Gardens, headed back upstairs to finish some of the morning’s reports. As she reached the top of the last flight her stomach flipped in excitement.
Connor’s door was standing half open.
Her imagination leaped to the possibilities. The workmen must have gone to pick up their next load. Had the arrogant beast gone with them?
Except that would be too good to be true. Surely he wouldn’t leave his office unlocked and unattended?
With a thudding heart, she slowed her pace, and as she reached his door hesitated, pretending to search for something in her bag. She could hear no sound from within. All she could see in the slice of reception office visible through the half-open door was an empty expanse of carpet and the corner of the built-in reception desk.
He could be in the inner room, though, skulking. She hovered there, straining her ears, trying to guess if anyone was inside. If he was in there, she reasoned, she should be able to sense his presence. A quick glance along the gallery revealed a couple of people waiting for the lift at the other end. She closed her eyes and listened, but the air seemed flat and empty.
Voices floated up to her from below. She darted across and looked over the balustrade. There were people on the stairs to the lower levels, but no sign of Connor O’Brien. And the lift must have arrived without the workmen, for the waiting people were now stepping into it.
For the moment, the coast seemed to be clear.
It was too good a chance to lose. She made a small precautionary knock, then waited with her heart thumping fit to burst. Nothing disturbed the stillness. Feeling as guilty as a thief, she cast a last furtive glance about, then slipped inside.
Familiar with the layout, she sensed immediately that the entire suite, including both offices and the tiny tea-room inside, were unoccupied. She ventured through the connecting door into the