Mary Lyons - The Italian Seduction

by The Italian Seduction (lit)

  ‘I do not recognise either this limousine or its driver,’ he was saying, his voice hard and accusatory. ‘Exactly who gave you the authority to dismiss my own car and chauf­feur?’

  She must at all costs remain non-confrontational, Antonia reminded herself, firmly suppressing a sudden urge to give the guy a good kick in the shins. The fact that he was becoming a first-class pain in the neck was obviously just her bad luck.

  Unfortunately, and far more to the point, he appeared to be about as explosive as TNT—and equally unstable. So, the sooner she managed to take the steam out of the situ­ation the better.

  ‘It’s merely the usual, standard procedure—all of which is designed to ensure your complete safety,’ she told him quietly, deliberately keeping her voice empty of all expres­sion, with her gaze firmly fixed on a point just below his tightly clenched jaw.

  ‘My safety?’ Lorenzo gave a snort of derision. ‘I was perfectly safe until the arrival of you, and this... this go­rilla!’ he added, turning to glare at the tall, thick-set guard standing behind him. His fury increased as the large man merely responded to the insult with a cheerful grin.

  ‘I can assure you that Martin is a very experienced, highly trained operative,’ Antonia retorted, relieved to note that her colleague wasn’t taking any notice of the Italian’s clear loss of temper.

  In fact, when swiftly escorting the grim-faced Signor Foscari along the hotel corridor, and down the back service stairs, Martin had murmured in her ear, ‘You’d better watch it, Tony. This guy looks as if he’s on a very short fuse!’

  ‘Tell me about it!’ she’d muttered, grateful for the solid, reliable back-up of the ex-paratrooper, with whom she’d worked closely over the years.

  However, if they didn’t get a move on, Signor Foscari was going to be late for the opera. So, she must somehow find a way of persuading this extremely difficult man to get into the limousine.

  ‘You really have no need to worry about your new chauf­feur,’ she assured him firmly. ‘Not only is he fully con­versant with all aspects of close protection, but should there be an emergency he would immediately be able to...’

  Lorenzo Foscari’s harsh bark of sardonic laughter cut sharply across her words.

  ‘Kindly spare me the sales pitch, Miss Simpson!’ he snapped curtly. Glaring down at her for a few tense mo­ments, he eventually gave a shrug of his broad shoulders, before taking a few steps forward and entering the car.

  Antonia gave a heavy sigh of relief. She didn’t like ad­mitting the fact, of course. But, just for a few seconds, she’d found herself feeling distinctly nervous. Which was, of course, totally ridiculous. Especially as she was used to handling far tougher, rougher-looking men than Lorenzo Foscari.

  Waiting until Martin had taken his place in the front of the vehicle beside the driver, she took a deep breath before joining her client in the rear of the limousine.

  Taking the radio receiver out of her handbag, she alerted the back-up car, waiting around the corner in Grosvenor Crescent, that they were about to leave, before giving the go-ahead to her own driver.

  Preoccupied in making sure that her arrangements went smoothly, she gradually realised that Signor Foscari had so far remained remarkably silent.

  Long may it last! Antonia told herself, glancing cau­tiously through her eyelashes at the profile of the tall, dark figure sitting at the far end of the wide leather seat.

  The dying rays of the summer sun were casting a rosy glow over the tanned, hawk-like features of the man, who was staring straight ahead and was clearly buried deep in thought. From the enigmatic, inscrutable expression on his face, it was impossible for her to guess what was going through his mind. She could only hope that he’d begun to calm down, and regard the whole situation in a more rea­sonable frame of mind. But, the way her luck was going at the moment, he was just as likely to suddenly erupt, once again, in a violent storm of rage and fury.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the squawks issuing from the small black receiver in her hand.

  ‘It’s a nuisance, but it can’t be helped,’ she said, after listening to the message being relayed by the car in front. ‘i suggest that you take the next right turn, and we’ll go through the park, OK?’ she added, waiting until she’d re­ceived an acknowledgement of her instructions before turn­ing to face Lorenzo.

  ‘There seems to be a bit of a traffic jam ahead. So we’re now making a slight detour through Hyde Park.’

  ‘Is that likely to delay my arrival at the Albert Hall?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘No.’ She shook her head, relieved to discover that her client now appeared to have calmed down. ‘We should still be in plenty of time for you to have a drink with your friends, before taking your seat for the opera.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it!’ he murmured, giving her a surpris­ingly friendly grin, before querying the system she was using to communicate with her operatives.

  ‘I can understand the reasons why you need to be in touch with the vehicle in front of us. But I fail to see why, when you want to say something to our chauffeur, you cannot just slide apart that partition,’ he added, nodding towards the glass barrier between themselves and the men in front.

  ‘While you have a bodyguard in here with you, that glass partition is always kept firmly closed,’ she told him. ‘It’s made of bullet-proof glass—as are all the other windows in this vehicle. So, if anything should happen to the driver...’

  ‘Like getting shot?’

  ‘Well...er...something along those lines,’ she mur­mured, before adding quickly, ‘Although that’s very un­likely, of course. I mean, there’s no need for you to worry about details like that.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not at all worried, Miss Simpson,’ he drawled, turning his dark head to give her a warm, charming smile. ‘To tell you the truth,’ he added, ‘I’ve never believed that these so-called threats against my life were anything other than total nonsense.’

  ‘Once someone has issued threats, there’s always a risk that they will try and carry them out,’ she pointed out, finding it surprisingly hard to resist the almost beguiling warmth and charm of the man sitting beside her. Not to mention that low, positively toe-curling, sexy Italian accent of his-which appeared to be having a very strange effect on her whole nervous system.

  ‘You are, of course, quite right,’ he agreed with a heavy sigh. ‘In fact...’ he hesitated for a moment ‘...I now realise that I was, perhaps, guilty of behaving badly, back at the hotel. I was, of course, obviously tired ... possibly the effect of jet lag...? You know how it is?’ he added, with a casual shrug of his broad shoulders.

  ‘Yes, well...’

  ‘Which is why, my dear Miss Simpson, I do hope that you will find it in your heart to forgive my lapse of bad manners?’

  Phew! Talk about a volte face! Antonia told herself, al­most reeling from the devastating impact of yet another warmly caressing, almost intimate smile.

  Well! At least one thing was now as clear as daylight. This guy hadn’t just decided to be reasonable—he was ob­viously intent on mounting a full-scale charm offensive! And unfortunately, if the way she was suddenly having difficulty with her breathing, was anything to go by, it was proving highly effective.

  ‘I quite understand. There’s no need to apologise,’ she muttered, making an effort to pull herself together. Which was surprisingly difficult. Especially as her mind, for some extraordinary reason, seemed to be temporarily out of order. But maybe that had something to do with the highly-disturbing sensual atmosphere which seemed to be rapidly filling the confined space of the vehicle.

  Trying to ignore the tall, dark figure sitting beside her, Antonia tried to work out what the damned man was up to. Because there was definitely no ‘perhaps’ about his bad behaviour back at the hotel. He’d been an absolute swine­—and well he knew it!

  Her thoughts were sharply interrupted as the car in front abruptly slammed on its brakes. Leaning forward in her seat, she saw that its progress was b
eing impeded by a group of young teenagers on roller-blades.

  Swiftly scanning the area of the park through which they were travelling—which contained only a few courting cou­ples, either sitting on the grass or strolling quietly amongst the trees—she quickly lifted her handset.

  ‘Relax ...the kids are just having a bit of fun, and enjoy­ing themselves. Ignore them—they’ll soon get bored and leave us alone,’ she instructed, almost envying the ability of the youths to control their thin steel blades as they swooped and dived between the two vehicles.

  Her quick assessment of the situation proved to be cor­rect, with the teenagers quickly growing tired of the game, and racing off down the road in search of new victims.

  As the two limousines resumed their journey, Antonia leaned back in her seat, her eyes following the young kids as she wondered if she was too old—or, possibly, far too sensible—to take up the sport herself.

  A silent spectator to the brief interruption of their pro­gress, Lorenzo couldn’t prevent his lips twitching with amusement, having no problem in accurately guessing the thoughts going through her mind.

  And why not? he mused. With her tall, athletic figure, she would undoubtedly master the art of roller-blading­—just as smoothly and efficiently as she appeared to do everything else.

  As soon as he’d entered this limousine, a few moments’ reflection had led him to realise that losing his temper with this imperturbable woman had achieved precisely nothing. However, he hadn’t climbed swiftly up the corporate ladder of the business world without learning a thing or two, he’d reminded himself grimly. And one of the chief lessons had been the need for flexibility.

  Which was precisely why he’d swiftly come to the con­clusion that, of all the options open to him, an attempt to drown the highly irritating young woman in honey might prove to be a better choice of tactics.

  However, despite her apparent agreement to forget and forgive his loss of temper, back at the hotel, he’d been well aware of the cautious, wary glint in her smoky-grey eyes.

  So ... although he couldn’t recall ever having a problem in charming a woman out of her mind, it didn’t look as if he’d even got to first base with Miss Antonia Simpson.

  Unfortunately, he knew absolutely nothing about her. Which placed him at a considerable disadvantage. Because, when dealing with a business opponent, it was information on the other man’s background, and his likely response to any pressure, which had always proved an invaluable tool in any negotiation.

  In the present case, he had nothing to go on. No idea of what made this woman ‘tick’. Nor, indeed, what on earth had persuaded her to take up such an extraordinarily bizarre occupation.

  As the limousine began gathering speed, and they con­tinued their progress through Hyde Park, Lorenzo leaned back in his seat, giving him a better view of the tall, slim figure of the blonde sitting beside him.

  She was definitely not his type, he told himself firmly. He had never been attracted to this sort of arrogant, dom­ineering female, who clearly considered herself the equal of any man.

  In fact, almost without exception, his girlfriends had al­ways been dark, slender and petite, with an enchanting air of delicate fragility. And, while it was true that some had been tiresome—either totally self-absorbed, or given to amazing displays of temperament—they had never, under any circumstances, made the mistake of trying to push him around. Nor would they have dreamed of trying to tell him what he could and could not do!

  On the other hand ...if he hadn’t been so annoyed with her, he might be prepared to admit that Antonia Simpson was a highly attractive, good-looking woman. He’d cer­tainly thought so when she’d first marched into his suite, earlier this evening.

  Allowing his gaze to sweep over the firm breasts, clearly outlined as she raised a hand to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, and the short skirt of her dress, displaying long, slim legs encased in sheer black silk stockings, merely con­firmed his first impression.

  However, by the time their vehicle was finally approach­ing the Albert Hall, Lorenzo had abruptly changed his mind again.

  Neither the use of as much charm as he could summon up under the circumstances nor—as a desperate last re­sort—his frank offer of bribery and corruption had in any way managed to dent the cool self-possession of this ex­traordinary young woman.

  ‘Relax, Signor Foscari!’ she’d told him with a wide, un­usually enchanting smile, which suddenly had the effect of making her appear almost beautiful. ‘Believe me, I really appreciate that Italian charm of yours! But unfortunately trying to sweet-talk me into abandoning the job I’ve been hired to do is a pure waste of your time.

  ‘And I’m afraid that offering me a great deal of money to get out of your life won’t work either,’ she’d added, with another broad, ironic grin. ‘Unfortunately, I have a contract with your insurance company. And, until they dismiss me, I’m afraid that you and I will just have to put up with one another. Capisce?’

  He probably deserved that last, verbal slap in the face, Lorenzo told himself grimly. And, while he might actively dislike the girl sitting next to him, he had to admit that she was proving to be a quite impressive adversary.

  However, the situation in which he found himself was still utterly intolerable. And he certainly had no intention of putting up with her appointment—or of allowing himself to be swayed by that enchanting smile—one moment longer than he had to.

  But even as he rallied his forces—pointing out that he could not gain admittance to the concert hall without a ticket, which he’d unfortunately left behind in his hotel room—the damned woman merely gave a brief shrug of her slim shoulders.

  ‘There’s no problem. I picked it up from the hall table before we left your suite,’ she said, clearly enjoying his discomfiture as she removed the ticket from her handbag.

  ‘And what about you?’ he demanded, through gritted teeth, as their vehicle drew to a halt outside the concert hall. ‘Exactly how are you planning to spend the evening? Standing outside my friends’ box for three hours, until the end of the performance, doesn’t sound much fun.’

  ‘I’m not being paid a great deal of money just to have fun,’ she retorted dismissively, before opening the car door, and he found himself being swiftly escorted inside the large dome of the Albert Hall.

  ‘Hi, there! We were just beginning to wonder if you’d make it here tonight,’ Giles Harding called out, hurrying through the crowd towards him.

  ‘O, ye of little faith.’ Lorenzo grinned at his old friend, before turning to greet Giles’s wife, Susie Harding.

  Busy chatting to Susie, and catching up with their fam­ily’s news, he just about managed to temporarily forget Antonia. However, if he’d hoped to have seen the last of her—for a few hours, at least—he was doomed to disap­pointment.

  ‘Aha! You lucky dog! I might have known that you’d turn up with a gorgeous girlfriend in tow,’ Giles murmured with a grin, giving him a sharp dig in the ribs as he spotted the tall girl standing behind the tall Italian.

  ‘I’m so glad you could join us,’ Giles said, taking her arm with a beaming smile, before Lorenzo had a chance to explain that Miss Simpson was most definitely not his girl­friend.

  ‘There’s no problem with seats, since two of our guests had to cancel at the last minute,’ Giles added, handing her a drink, before quickly introducing her to his wife.

  Chatting idly with his friends’ guests—a rather boring banker and his wife—amidst the noise of loud voices and laughter in the large bar, Lorenzo realised that there was virtually nothing he could do about the situation.

  It placed him in an awkward position, of course. On the other hand, he certainly didn’t want to have to go into long, tedious explanations of why he apparently needed protec­tion. Especially as he was almost certain that his old friends would find the highly embarrassing, humiliating fact that he was being forced to put up with a female bodyguard absolutely hilarious.

  Initially surprised to
find herself being greeted as his girl­friend, Antonia had glanced enquiringly at Lorenzo, indi­cating her willingness to go along with the scenario.

  In her job, she’d frequently been called upon to act the part of a devoted wife or loving fiancee—especially when en­gaged in undercover work, such as trailing a suspect. So assuming the role of Lorenzo’s girlfriend wasn’t likely to be too difficult.

  And maybe... maybe, if he’d made even the slightest ef­fort to act his part, she might not have lost her temper with the foul man. But, after clearly deciding to let Giles Harding believe that she was his latest popsy, Lorenzo had proceeded to totally ignore her, turning his back and chat­ting to his friends and their guests as if he’d never even heard of her existence.

  Goodness knows, she’d already had to put up with quite enough of his nonsense this evening. Besides, she wasn’t stupid. She could easily understand why he hadn’t corrected his friend’s mistake. But there was no excuse for him to behave in such a boorish fashion.

  In fact, it was the way he was trying to have his cake—­and eat it too—which finally tipped her over the edge.

  As the bell rang, signalling that the performance was about to start, and the crowd began moving out of the bar towards the auditorium, she adroitly moved up behind Lorenzo’s tall figure, before casually slipping her arm through his.

  ‘Sweetie! You weren’t thinking of leaving me behind, were you?’ she exclaimed with a light ripple of laughter, before raising her head to give him a wide, beaming smile.

  Rewarded by the sudden tensing of his tall body, and the brief look of horror flickering over his handsome, tanned face, Antonia turned to smile at the Hardings and their guests.

  ‘I’m so pleased that darling Lorenzo brought me here tonight. I’ve been longing to see this opera for ages. Such a treat!’ she told them, with another warm, happy smile, maintaining a firm grip on his arm as they entered the box.

  Swiftly glancing around the red plush interior, which hadn’t changed since the days of Queen Victoria, Antonia quickly identified the perfect position for her client. Letting go of Lorenzo’s arm, she casually edged a nearby chair into a position which would shield him from any possible assassin in the audience—while still allowing him a good sight of the large stage below.