Mary Lyons - The Italian Seduction

by The Italian Seduction (lit)

  ‘I do not wish to hear any more arguments,’ he stated firmly, lowering her gently on to the mattress. ‘I am a se­rious man, cara. Not a callow youth who carelessly makes love to any woman willing to suffer his advances. You understand what I am saying?’ he added softly, sitting down beside her and gently brushing a lock of blonde hair from her brow.

  ‘I have no intention of taking advantage of our profes­sional relationship with one another. Because that is busi­ness, si? While this,’ he murmured as his arms closed ten­derly about her, ‘this is very personal!’

  Indeed it was! Antonia thought, shivering with tension as the sound of his deep, husky voice seemed to echo around the room. And then, as always seemed to happen when they found themselves in close proximity to one an­other, she found herself slipping helplessly beneath a force­ful, rising tide of sexual need and desire as he pulled her hard up against his firmly muscled body, lowering his dark head to posses her trembling lips in a long-drawn-out kiss of overwhelming sensuality and passion.

  Clasped firmly within his embrace, she knew that there was no point in trying to fool herself any longer. Because it was this which she’d been so desperately longing for... wanting ... needing ... ever since the first night they’d met, when she’d found herself being gripped so roughly in his arms, the mere touch of his lips having such a totally dev­astating, fatal effect on her emotions.

  ‘Darling Antonia...’ he muttered huskily, quickly and expertly sweeping the silk dress up over her head, and toss­ing it across the room, before his mouth hungrily claimed hers, the erotic seduction of his lips and tongue leaving her breathless with desire. ‘I’ve been wanting to do this since the moment I first held you in my arms!’ he exclaimed, slowly removing her panties, his hands softly sweeping up over her long legs and slim body to gently caress her breasts, the nipples hard and swollen with yearning for his touch.

  And then, swiftly discarding his own clothes, he was lying beside her on the bed, his lips and fingers producing feelings of almost indescribable excitement, the subtle mas­tery of his lovemaking leading her gently from one deli­cious sensation to another, until-as if someone, some­where, had pressed a switch—she seemed to become a completely different person, her whole body on fire with an almost incandescent, fierce longing for his possession.

  Helpless in the grip of an overwhelming tidal wave of devastating hunger and desire, she felt no shame or hesitation in wantonly kissing and erotically caressing his body with a passion equal to his own. And it seemed as if Lorenzo’s joyful murmurs of pleasure and delight... ‘Come bella! Mia carina...mia innamorata!’...were inciting them both to ever-increasing heights of frenzied lust and ecstasy. And then ...then, as he entered her, the throbbing rhythmic movement of his body seemed to ignite a fierce flame of mutual, white-hot passion, scorching through them both with mounting intensity, until they climaxed together in an earth-shattering explosion of matchless, exquisite pleasure.

  Trying to park a car in London’s West End was the absolute pits! Antonia told herself, before eventually spotting and quickly zipping into a vacant parking bay.

  ‘I won’t be a moment,’ she told Lorenzo as she switched off the engine. ‘I live just around the corner. It won’t take me more than a few minutes to collect the clothes and the other bits and pieces which I need. And then I’ll drop you off back at the hotel before returning this car to the rental agency. OK?’

  ‘No, I think I will come with you.’ He grinned at her. ‘I must confess to being interested in seeing your own private apartment.’

  ‘It’s really not very large. Just a simple pied-a-terre,’ she warned him, desperately trying to remember whether she’d left the place looking tidy.

  She’d only been given very short notice of her appoint­ment as Lorenzo’s bodyguard. And unfortunately she could only recall dashing around the apartment, throwing garments willy-nilly into a small suitcase, before dashing down and out into the street, to hail a taxi for Lorenzo’s hotel.

  ‘I have been sitting in this small car for too long,’ Lorenzo stated firmly, his tone of voice booking no argu­ment as he released his seat belt.

  ‘OK,’ she shrugged. There was clearly nothing she could do. And besides, even if her apartment was looking like a tip, she really couldn’t blame Lorenzo for wanting to stretch his legs. It had, after all, been a long, tedious jour­ney this morning, the road from Cambridge unusually crowded with heavy trucks and those monster, long­-distance lorries which always seemed to clog up the fast lanes of the motorway.

  Interested to be walking through an area of London com­pletely unknown to him, Lorenzo found himself admiring the classical Robert Adam-style architecture of the build­ings. And then, as Antonia led the way down a narrow street, he realised, to his surprise, that they were approach­ing the River Thames.

  ‘This area between the Strand and the Embankment had seemed to have fallen on hard times before the developers moved in recently,’ she was telling him, before crossing the road and leading the way into another large, classical build­ing. But, as he soon realised, while retaining the old facade, the interior of the large block of apartments was entirely modern.

  ‘This is very nice,’ he said as she unlocked the front door, standing back to allow him to enter the small apart­ment. ‘And it seems you have a spectacular view of the river,’ he added, walking over to gaze out of the large win­dows at the expanse of bluey-green water, and the converted warehouses on the south side of the river.

  ‘I only use it as a base here in London,’ she told him quickly, her small sitting room—which, thankfully, she had left reasonably neat and tidy—seeming suddenly very small and cramped, after the huge amount of space at Tom and Flavia’s house.

  And, let’s face it, she told herself wryly, you could put three or four rooms of this size into the large sitting room of Loronzo’s suite at his hotel, and still have plenty of space left over.

  ‘Make yourself at home. I think there’s some orange juice in the fridge.’ she said, waving towards the small kitchen on the far side of the room. ‘I’ll just go and throw a few things into a suitcase, and be back with you in a minute,’ she added, going into the bedroom and firmly shutting the door behind her.

  It felt very weird having Lorenzo in this small apartment of hers, Antonia thought, quickly pulling out a suitcase from one of the cupboards and opening and shutting draw­ers, tossing the various garments into the case as quickly as possible.

  She’d only recently bought this place, mainly because it was very central, and a perfect area from which to operate when looking after her clients. Because almost without ex­ception they were wealthy and powerful individuals who either lived in Belgravia or Mayfair, or who stayed at hotels in the same location.

  The other plus was that with such little space and so few possessions she could close the front door and leave at a moment’s notice—an important factor in her job, where she was often given little or no notice of an important assign­ment. Zipping up the suitcase, she looked quickly around the room and its adjoining small bathroom, to see if she’d forgotten anything.

  Thank goodness she could always go and stay with Tom and Flavia, whenever she wasn’t on duty, Antonia told her­self, walking slowly back from the minuscule bathroom, having taken the opportunity to place fresh towels on the rail, already for when she next returned to the apartment.

  Not having any children of their own, her brother and his wife had made it clear that they expected her to use their house as if it were her own home. And, without that safe and secure base, set within the rural English country­side, she’d probably have chucked in her job years ago. So, naturally she’d been pleased that Lorenzo, too, had seemed to appreciate the peace and tranquillity of the old Jacobean house.

  Having made a valiant attempt not to think too much about the quite extraordinary, highly passionate encounter between herself and Lorenzo—mainly because, when she did so, she felt almost faint from a mass of tingling nerves and sexual exciteme
nt—there seemed nothing she could do to prevent the memories of their lovemaking last night from flooding back into her mind now.

  Sinking slowly down to sit on the edge of the mattress, she found herself recalling how, time and again, throughout the long night, it had seemed as if he could not have enough of her. Nor she of him.

  Woken from a drowsy sleep, she had been equally re­sponsive to the enticing excitement of his mouth moving erotically over her soft lips, immediately surrendering to the seductive, rousing touch of the warm hands sweeping possessively over her body.

  Feeling weak, and even now trembling at the memory of both last night and this morning’s lovemaking, Antonia realised that she must make an effort to pull herself to­gether. There were still some bits and pieces to go into her small suitcase, and Lorenzo would undoubtedly be getting impatient at having to wait so long for her to finish her packing.

  On the other side of the bedroom door Lorenzo was, in fact, walking slowly around the tiny sitting room.

  As Antonia had pointed out, this was clearly only a con­venient base which she used when engaged on jobs in London. There were therefore few clues as to the range of her private interests, little to give him some idea of how she spent her time when she wasn’t engaged on her official, professional duties.

  Why he should be surprised to see the many CDs of Beethoven symphonies and concertos—neatly stacked to­gether with recordings of the more emotional operas by such composers as Puccini and Verdi—he had no idea. Because, if he’d learnt one thing during that quite extraor­dinary night of delicious lovemaking, it had been that be­neath Antonia’s cool, highly efficient exterior there lay a very passionate woman.

  So, it seemed that her sister-in-law, Flavia, had been quite right, after all.

  Recalling how the outwardly tough, feisty young woman had gradually softened in his arms, until she’d totally dis­carded the hard, steely armour with which she faced life­—to disclose her intense, fiery and passionately sensual inner emotions—Lorenzo swore briefly under his breath. What was it about Antonia that he could feel himself becoming hard with arousal at just the mere recollection of the fierce, almost wanton way in which she’d responded to his love­making?

  But there had been something else. Something utterly strange and tangible, which he’d never known with another woman. Some factor which he couldn’t yet define, yet which had driven him to posses her time and again, throughout the long night.

  Swearing again under his breath, Lorenzo fought for con­trol as he paced rapidly up and down the small room, before giving up the unequal struggle. Spinning around on his heels, he marched swiftly across the carpet, and abruptly threw open the door of her bedroom.

  ‘What on earth...?’

  ‘My dearest Antonia,’ he said, slamming the door behind him, before beginning to remove his suit jacket. ‘I fear that there must be a short delay before we return to the hotel.’

  She stared at him in astonishment. ‘Why? What’s hap­pening?’

  ‘There is no need to be alarmed,’ he grinned, unknotting his tie and tossing it down on to the small chair in the corner of the room. ‘It is merely due to the fact that I have an overriding need to make love to you. Immediately!’ he added, his fingers swiftly unbuttoning his shirt.

  ‘But we can’t!’ She gazed at him in bewilderment. ‘I mean ... it was only a few hours ago ... earlier this morn­ing...’

  ‘What has the passage of time to do with it?’ he de­manded impatiently, moving swiftly across the room to take her in his arms. ‘I want you. Right now. Subito!’

  She gazed up at him in astonishment for a moment, be­fore suddenly giving way to gales of laughter. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake! You’re absolutely impossible!’

  ‘Is that yes or no...?’ he demanded hoarsely, running his hands over the soft curves of her body.

  ‘I think I can find a window in my diary!’ She grinned up at him, winding her arms around the back of his dark head, and almost shivering with excitement as his arms tightened possessively about her.

  Much later, as she lay replete against the pillows, while Lorenzo was taking a shower in the small bathroom next door, Antonia realised that she was in big trouble.

  After yet another amazingly wonderful demonstration of their overriding need of one another, her emotions seemed to be in a highly confused state. Feeling distinctly not her­self, and thoroughly disoriented, she nevertheless knew that she was well on the way to falling deeply in love with a man whom she’d only met a few days ago—and who would soon be returning to his own country.

  And that was the crux of the problem. Everything had happened so quickly. And, while she hardly knew anything about this man—other than the fact that he was, without a doubt, a highly accomplished, warm and tender lover—she did know that there could be no happy ending to their re­lationship.

  It was almost as if they came from two different plan­ets—he an important businessman, heavily involved in run­ning a large corporation in Milan, and she a bodyguard, having to drop everything at a moment’s notice, and be prepared to travel anywhere in the world. What could she possibly have in common with such a man?

  But that was only a small part of the problem. There was also the matter of self-preservation raising its ugly head.

  Because, while she might be seriously falling in love with Lorenzo, he obviously had at least one or more girl­friends in Italy. And he was hardly likely to abandon his relationships there for someone he’d only just met here in England. And, even if she could be his only girlfriend, he obviously wasn’t a man who was interested in marriage. So...this brief affair clearly wasn’t going anywhere, and she’d be well advised to get out while the going was good. And concentrate on building up her own security business.

  Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only problem. They would, presumably, still be working together for a few more days before his return to Milan. And, however careful or discreet they tried to be, it would be almost impossible to disguise the change in heir feelings for one another—from either the hotel staff or, more importantly, the chauf­feurs laid on by James Riley’s agency.

  She’d worked with those guys many times, on assign­ments like this, and they all knew each other very well. So, it was highly likely that at least one of the men—all highly trained to instantly assess a situation—would quickly sense the relationship between herself and Lorenzo. And that could have serious, and highly unfortunate, repercussions on her career.

  In fact, with Lorenzo’s imminent departure for Italy on the cards, she could ill afford to take the chance of com­mitting professional suicide.

  Her thoughts were interrupted as he strolled back into the room from the bathroom, a short white towel tied ca­sually about his slim waist. And Antonia, who only mo­ments before had been so firmly resolved to put an end to his relationship, found her determination to do so now draining away.

  His magnificent physique seemed to dominate the small room. The tanned skin covering his broad shoulders, and the muscular chest liberally covered with dark, curly hair, was glistening with tiny droplets of water from his recent shower. He looked superbly fit, powerful and overwhelm­ingly sexually attractive. And she suddenly realised, as a deep shaft of pain scorched through her, leaving her weak and trembling, just what giving up this man was going to mean.

  No one died of a broken heart these days. And, of course, she’d get over him ... eventually, she told herself fiercely. But, as she could almost physically feel icy cold, cruel tal­ons hardening about her frail heart, she acknowledged that it was likely to be a very long time indeed before she re­covered from the loss of this man.

  Slipping out of bed and padding across the carpet to have her own shower, Antonia was further depressed to realise that, having taken the basic decision to end their relation­ship, she must force herself to do so before they returned to the hotel.

  Goodness knows, she’d have done anything to put off the evil moment. Especially as she very much suspected that Loren
zo was not likely to take a sanguine, relaxed view of her decision.

  It wasn’t that she rated her own charms all that highly, she told herself, frowning at the reflection of her naked figure in the bathroom mirror. She couldn’t hold a candle, for instance, to any of those glamorous and voluptuous women with whom, she suspected, he’d usually conducted his affairs.

  However, the sudden urge to make love to her, not so many minutes ago, showed that last night hadn’t been a one-night stand, as far as he was concerned. Lorenzo ob­viously still found her highly attractive, and would see no reason why he shouldn’t be able to continue enjoying their lovemaking—at least while he was still here in Britain.

  Which was why, having no problem in recalling the row in the restaurant and his loud, noisy reaction at the hospital in Cambridge, she couldn’t take the risk of having such a deafening, ear-splitting quarrel taking place in his hotel, where the whole world and his wife would instantly be­come aware of what was happening.

  Going back into the bedroom, and shooing him out of the room while she got dressed, Antonia tried to rehearse the arguments she intended to use to persuade him that it was the right decision. But, after giving herself a final in­spection in the bedroom mirror, before going through into the small sitting room, she knew she was in for a hard time.

  Her assessment of the situation proved to be entirely cor­rect.

  ‘It’s no good, Lorenzo,’ she told him for the umpteenth time, only too well aware of the icy rage emanating from the stiff figure sitting beside her as she drove them back to the hotel. ‘You know that what I’m saying makes sense.’

  ‘I know nothing of the sort!’ he snapped curtly, the harsh, grating tone of his voice almost deafening within the enclosed space of the small vehicle.