Taken for His Pleasure

by Carol Marinelli

  ‘Hello, you.’

  Two little words, husked from his lips. His mouth had barely moved as he spoke, but one hand reached up to her hair, catching a heavy ringlet and coiling it around his finger in a curiously possessive gesture. His eyes ravished her, caressing each feature, taking in the almond-shaped eyes, the delicate snub of her nose, as if truly seeing her for the first time.

  ‘Will you join me for dinner?’ He offered his arm, clearly certain she would accept, a quizzical smile on his lips as she slowly shook her head.

  ‘No, Anton, will you join me?’

  ‘Where?’

  And she’d have loved to take him by the hand, to lead him away from the grandeur of the hotel and out into the hustle and bustle of Melbourne’s streets, to show him her favourite restaurant and later, to wander hand in hand along the river—would have loved, even more, to take him to her home.

  To invite him in for coffee, so to speak.

  But this was the strangest of first dates, and protocol didn’t allow such luxuries.

  A wry smile twisted her lips at the incongruity of her thoughts—they were, after all, in practically the most luxurious hotel in Melbourne, with a legion of staff to attend to their every whim, their every need, but right now true luxury would be her own little flat and Anton. There would be no one watching, no guidelines to follow, no conversations to steer. Just the sheer, decadent luxury of being truly together.

  But instead she invited him to the one other place they could be themselves—the one place they could really let down their guard and talk without fear of being overheard.

  ‘I’ve ordered food to be delivered to the room.’ Her voice was so low he had to lean forward to hear her, his cheek dusting hers as she leant in and spoke. ‘I thought perhaps we could talk…’ She gave a tiny nervous swallow, trying to summon up the courage to lay down some guidelines. ‘Talk,’ she said again. ‘Get to know each other a bit more. If you still want to, I mean.’

  ‘There’s nothing I want more,’ Anton said solemnly, but his mouth twitched in a small private smile. ‘Well, one thing, perhaps. But there are things we need to take care of first, yes?’

  ‘Yes.’ Lydia nodded, sharing his smile with one of her own, but blushing as she did so.

  ‘I’ll go and say my farewells, and then…’ His eyes held hers. ‘Then we will spend some time together, Lydia.’

  ‘Is everything okay?’ Maria cornered her as Anton made their excuses, spoke to his colleagues and bade them farewell for the night.

  ‘Everything’s fine. Anton wants to have dinner upstairs in his room,’ Lydia said as lightly as she could. ‘And I have to admit I’d be a lot happier away from the crowd.’ Even though no one appeared to be listening, still Lydia chose her words carefully. But Maria got the thinly disguised message, delivering a tiny encouraging wink in her friend’s direction.

  ‘I just hope to God Angelina doesn’t get ideas and suggest an early night herself. Frankly, I’d rather take my chances down here!’

  ‘I don’t think you need to worry.’ Lydia smiled, watching as Angelina monopolised another drinks waiter. ‘A couple more champagnes and she’ll be out like a light!’

  CHAPTER TEN

  ‘HAVE YOU changed your mind about coming to Italy with me?’ Anton asked when finally Lydia had checked the room and placed her gun on the bedside locker, when finally they were truly alone.

  ‘No.’ She faced him, revealing a little more of herself that perhaps he didn’t know. ‘I don’t change my mind very often, Anton.’

  ‘Neither do I.’

  And it could have been checkmate—two proud, stubborn people unwilling to make the first move—but for now Lydia wasn’t thinking about tomorrow. Instead she was thinking about the here and now, revelling in what they had, determined to enjoy the moment.

  ‘What’s this?’ Frowning, he watched as Lydia lifted the heavy silver lids on the table, revealing two white boxes and a brown paper bag already shiny from its greasy contents. ‘Noodles?’

  ‘Not just any noodles,’ Lydia corrected. ‘The best noodles in Melbourne—when I’m on night shift I always grab a box, and generally there’s enough left over for breakfast in the morning. I had them delivered, then asked the chef to heat them up—I don’t think he was very impressed.’

  ‘And these?’ Anton peered into the brown paper bag.

  ‘Spring rolls.’

  ‘Not like any I’ve ever seen.’

  ‘Try one,’ Lydia said, sitting down at the table and smothering a smile at the role reversal. Anton was staring at the cheap wooden chopsticks, clearly used to working cutlery from the outside in. ‘They pull apart.’

  ‘So they do.’ Anton grinned, and with enviable ease worked his way through the noodles. It was the most wonderful meal of her life—the food divine, the conversation easy. They were getting to know each other a little better, laughing at each other’s jokes, finding out what made the other tick.

  ‘The chef would have a coronary if he could hear me—but that was an amazing meal.’

  ‘I told you so.’ Lydia smiled, but it was short lived. The light-hearted conversation that had filled the room was fading as the seriousness of their situation hit home.

  ‘So you’re not coming?’

  ‘No.’ Lydia shook her head.

  ‘Then how…?’ Anton started.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Crossing the room, he took her in his arms, held her so fiercely, so closely, that for that moment the problems they faced barely mattered. All she could feel was him, and it felt so right it hurt. The cradle his solid arms provided comforted her, his masculinity enhanced her femininity. His arms swathed her, holding her so close, their roles easily reversed—Anton the protector, Anton trying to tell her that it would all be all right, that somehow they could make it work.

  ‘Would it make things easier if I gave some sort of commitment…?’ His English was faltering but his intention was clear, and Lydia pulled back from his embrace.

  ‘A diamond isn’t going to solve this, Anton,’ Lydia said. ‘It isn’t that easy. But let’s not think about it now…’ Leaving the warmth of his arms, she headed for the door and double checked it.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Making sure it’s secure.’ There was a tiny tremble in her voice, her simple answer loaded with complicated meaning as she moved a chair and wedged it firmly in front of it. ‘So I don’t have to watch it.’

  ‘The maid comes in at—’

  ‘I already cancelled,’ Lydia said, because he made her feel bold, made assertion possible, because finally she had found in a man what she needed. A man so comfortable in his own skin, so confident in his own abilities, his own sexuality, that he wasn’t threatened by hers. She turned and faced him. The doubts, the questions in her mind were still there, but despite the internal wrestling, despite playing over and over the worst case scenarios of losing him in her mind, one constant remained—she wanted this night with him.

  ‘Come here,’ Anton said softly, using the same two words that had enraged her just a few days ago. But he was summoning her to his bed now, not his table, and his voice was so thick with lust, his eyes so loaded with desire, there was no question of feeling humiliated. Actually, Lydia realised, there were no questions at all in her mind—just want and need, propelling her those last few steps to his bed.

  Her nerves caught up with her just a touch as he pulled back the bedlinen and, taking her trembling hand, guided her towards him. He held her close for a moment, the gesture somehow reassuring, stroking her long slender neck, the nub of his index finger exploring the pulsing hollows of her throat, then working down, slowly down, tracing the rigid prominence of her clavicle as his mouth finally found hers.

  He undressed her slowly, savouring every slip of the fabric with his tongue, and with every kiss, every tender word he made her feel beautiful, feminine and beautiful—which sometimes was the hardest thing in the world with a job like Lydia’s. No matter how fi
t, how assertive, or how much she craved the adrenaline and the danger of her work, sometimes all she wanted was to feel like a woman. And Anton achieved that just by looking at her.

  There was no haste in his movements, no hurried gestures, so blatant, so potent was the chemistry between them. Long, deep kisses that made everything okay, made everything suddenly all right, giving her the impetus to undress him, her trembling fingers working the buttons of his shirt, Anton helping her, until for the first time they faced each other naked.

  Quite simply he was more beautiful than even her mind had allowed, and the giant step to his bed was easy now, desire guiding her as he laid her down beside him. His fingers caressed the pale flesh of her breast and she could feel it swell in his hand, warm to his divine touch, to his finger slowly, slowly stroking her nipple, drawing it out to its needy length as still he kissed her. All Lydia could do was shiver at his skilful touch—submit to the pleasure he so easily generated. His touch was electric on her cool skin as he connected again the unbreakable circuit he instigated with one flick of his hand. And though her exposed body craved his touch he made her wait, taking a long, decadent moment to admire her naked beauty, slowly taking in every intimate feature, from the riot of titian locks on the pillow down to the golden curls that covered her womanhood.

  She should have felt horribly exposed, should have felt embarrassed, but instead under his adoring gaze she felt beautiful. Her eyes closed in unbridled pleasure as his lips lowered to her chest, tracing with his tongue where his fingers had been. His hand was still moving, but to a far more intimate place, sliding into her needy warmth. Tiny gasps escaped from her throat as his fingers moved slow and rhythmic on her hidden jewel. His tongue was hot and teasing on her swollen breasts, his legs scratched as he parted her taut thighs with his own, cupping her buttocks in his hands, and his heated length plunged into her, filling her exquisitely.

  Long, deliberate strokes consumed her, his body gliding against hers, tension meeting tension, no give, no time to relent. They were utterly absorbed, taking their time this time, revelling in the feel of each other’s bodies, locked in delicious union, moving to a beat of their own, to the grind of his hips against hers. She could feel her legs shaking, her neck arching backwards, a flush of heat spreading along her spine, and she gave in then—gave in because she had no choice. Her whole body trembled as he came deep within her, as he called out her name, and her own contractions pulled him in deeper, dragging each precious drop from him until there was no more to take and he had nothing left to give.

  Spent, exhausted, but still deep inside her, Anton rolled them onto their sides, his eyes never leaving hers, not even attempting words as their flushed bodies came down to earth together, knowing, just knowing, the pleasure had been entirely mutual.

  ‘I’d better get up,’ Lydia whispered, but Anton wouldn’t hear of it.

  ‘The door’s locked and the chair’s against it. No one can get in without us hearing.’

  No one could, Lydia realised, relaxing in his arms, allowing herself to enjoy the remains of what might well be their last night together. And if their lovemaking had been divine, then falling asleep in his arms, being held by him, was a feeling that was unsurpassed.

  ‘Anton?’ Lifting her head, blinking at the harsh morning sun, Lydia heard his low grumble, felt his arm try to pull her in closer as she tried to pull away. But she wriggled free, smiling as he struggled to wake up. His body slowly stretched beside her, though his muscular legs wrapped her tighter, and she revelled in the warm, intimate cocoon of their entwined bodies, gazing down unashamedly as his navy eyes attempted to open—a sharp contrast to the sudden awakening of yesterday. ‘Your plane’s in a couple of hours—we ought to think about getting up.’

  ‘It’s ages yet.’ Anton yawned.

  ‘No,’ Lydia corrected. ‘It’s almost ten.’

  ‘No—’ Anton started, but after he’d squinted at his watch the evidence was irrefutable. ‘I never oversleep,’ Anton said in disbelief.

  ‘You do now,’ Lydia whispered, not even resisting as his arm wrapped around her again, jumping as the cool metal of his watch met the warm skin on her back.

  ‘Come here.’

  As he drew her back into his embrace Lydia relented for a moment, truly meaning to get up in just a couple more minutes. Her cheek was now back where it had been so comfortable, on the firm cushion of his chest, and, indulging her senses, she let him hold her. The slow, rhythmic thud of his heartbeat in her ear hastened a touch as one lazy finger circled the silk of jet hair that whirlpooled around one dark mahogany nipple, as the pad of her finger kneaded the small area of flesh. She felt it stiffen beneath her touch as the divine scent of him filled her nostrils; the last husky note of his cologne had disappeared, leaving in its place a headier, tangier, more sensual scent—the lusty fragrance of shared intimacy, their shared intimacy.

  Schedules didn’t matter any more, and her last sense was indulged as she moved her mouth a few delectable inches, her hair draping his chest, hungry lips dusting his chest, her tongue searching for the hard pad of flesh her fingers had created, lips tasting his delicate flesh.

  A low, throaty moan escaped him as her lips worked their magic. She was bold now, empowered by the desire she had instigated, and her thigh moved seductively against his. The scratching warmth of his leg was against hers, deepening her arousal, and, gently straddling his body, she felt his morning glory swelling against the soft warm flesh of her inner thigh. She lowered herself a fraction to accommodate it.

  Amber eyes on navy, she slid down that delicious length. And eyes closed in mutual bliss as the sweet warmth of her vice-like grip filled them—how easy it was to be herself with him inside her, to move her body against his, to know, just know that their pleasure was mutual.

  Their lovemaking was slower now, they were taking their time because they’d only just been there, and there was no rush as she climbed that decadent hill. His fingers pressed into the flesh of her buttocks, his cool tongue exploring her, tasting her sweet flesh, biting on her fruit as she moved above him, gliding over his silken body—coveting him even while possessing him. It would have been so easy to lose herself to the moment, so easy for Lydia to let Anton take her ever higher, but the sound of her pager vibrating on the bedside table broke the moment.

  Lydia grimaced at the intrusion and Anton tried vainly to ignore it.

  ‘I have to get it.’

  ‘You don’t,’ Anton grumbled, but the moment was gone.

  Lydia moved across the bed and, locating the offending article, punched numbers into her phone, rolling her eyes as Anton did the same.

  ‘John and Graham are on their way up.’ Lydia’s voice was flat as she pulled on her track pants and struggled with the clasp on her bra. ‘You’d better get dressed.’

  ‘So had you,’ Anton whispered, taking over the bra, deft fingers finding the tiny metal clasp. He planted a kiss on her shoulder as Lydia leant forward to retrieve her T-shirt and asked, for what Lydia knew was the final time, ‘Will you come?’

  Picking up her T-shirt, Lydia pulled the cotton over her head, welcoming the fact that as she asked the most difficult question of her life her face was covered.

  ‘Will you stay?’

  The lift must have just been serviced, because it seemed a matter of seconds before someone knocked at the door. Peeping through the spyhole, Lydia could feel the time that had been theirs escaping like air from a leaking balloon.

  ‘Get rid of him,’ Anton said. ‘And then we’ll talk.’

  As Anton headed for the bathroom Lydia let in her dark-suited colleagues, listening intently as they brought her up to date.

  ‘Where is he?’ Graham asked, his eyes working the room, taking in the rumpled bed, and Lydia spoke quickly to distract him.

  ‘He’s in the shower.’ She feigned a shrug.

  ‘Well, his flight leaves in just over an hour. He’d better step on it.’

  ‘I’m not his keeper,’ Lydia
pointed out. ‘He doesn’t seem in any hurry to catch the plane.’

  ‘Well, he needs to be,’ John Miller said sharply. ‘At midday his protection ends, so the sooner we get him to the airport and on his plane the better!’

  ‘What’s going on?’

  Her throat thickening, Lydia watched as Anton emerged from the bathroom, rubbing his hair with a massive white towel, feigning surprise at the intrusion.

  ‘Problem?’

  Voicing the question, even dressed in a bathrobe, he was still the one in control.

  ‘On the contrary, sir.’ Graham cleared his throat. ‘Things have gone extremely well: the conference has passed without event and we’ve got a car waiting to take you to the airport.’

  ‘Sorry?’ Anton frowned, but Lydia knew that despite his slightly confused expression he had understood every word. ‘I wasn’t aware that I had to check out—in fact, given that I practically own this hotel, I would have thought I would be most welcome to stay on here for a few days and actually see a bit of the place.’

  ‘It’s not that straightforward…’ Graham attempted, but John Miller stepped in, his tone slightly more authoritative than Graham’s.

  ‘The security threat would seem to have passed—your stay has gone off without a hitch—’

  ‘Maybe there was no security threat.’ Anton glowered.

  ‘Maybe there wasn’t,’ John admitted—but, refusing to be intimidated, he soon rallied. ‘Or maybe someone got wind of the massive security operation that was underway and thought twice. But until you’re out of the country we can’t completely relax—’

  ‘So it would be easier for you if I leave?’ Anton interrupted, cutting straight to the point in his brutal, direct way.

  ‘Yes,’ John admitted, without apology. ‘It would be easier for us if you leave. We’ve arranged a car to take you to the airport now, sir. We’ll provide security for you till you’re safely on the plane.’

  Still rubbing his hair on a towel, Anton didn’t seem in any hurry to go anywhere, and he certainly didn’t look like someone who was about to pack his bags on command. But John Miller stood firm.