Taken For His Pleasure
Taken For His Pleasure
CAROL MARINELLI
Taken for His Pleasure
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
EPILOGUE
COMING NEXT MONTH
CHAPTER ONE
‘LUCKY YOU!’ Maria shouted, holding the punch bag as Lydia boxed away, repeating the words like some kind of chant as Lydia thumped ever harder.
Lydia’s red curls had long since worked their way out of her hair tie, and moved in time as she pounded the punch bag, her pale, slender arms delivering surprisingly strong blows. The rhythmic, vigorous exercise was wonderfully cathartic as, egged on by Maria, Lydia vented some of her anger and frustration.
‘Lucky, lucky you! Come on, Lydia. Hit harder!’
‘I’m done!’ Lydia breathed, shaking her head and resting her gloved hands on her knees. ‘And lucky certainly isn’t how I’d describe myself, being stuck here for the next few nights—I haven’t had a day off for weeks!’
Even though the place was deserted, mindful that someone could be listening, Lydia spoke in low tones as she pulled off her gloves and turned the sink taps on full blast to distort their conversation. She needlessly refilled her water bottle and took a few moments to splash her face.
‘What are you moaning about? Being joined at the hip with Anton Santini is my idea of an absolute dream job. Imagine how I feel!’ Maria grinned, offering Lydia her own water bottle to fill. ‘Being lumbered playing assistant to his female PA! Why couldn’t they have given me Anton Santini to guard?’
Lydia held up a long strand of red curls in answer and gave a wry smile. ‘I don’t somehow think I’d make a very good undercover Italian PA, when the only Italian words I know are the names of pasta!’
‘I’d go ginger in a moment if it meant sharing a bedroom with Anton Santini.’ Maria giggled. ‘I still can’t believe they chose you to pass off as his girlfriend!’
If it had been anyone other than Maria saying it Lydia would have thought the comment sounded catty, but Maria was simply speaking the truth—it was unbelievable that she’d been considered the most suitable person to serve as Anton Santini’s girlfriend during his whirlwind visit to Australia.
Anton Santini liked his women petite, stylishly groomed and demure.
Lydia was painfully aware that she failed on all three.
Although her body was slender and toned, she stood five feet eight without heels—five feet ten if her mass of red curls was running particularly wild! Lydia wore jeans and T-shirts like a second skin, and as for demure—well, it wasn’t exactly a prerequisite for a detective. Sure, she refused to buy into the beer-swilling, coarse language world of some of her colleagues, but she wasn’t exactly afraid of expressing an opinion…
‘Smile, Lydia! You’re a real misery this morning,’ Maria observed. ‘This is one of the top hotels in Melbourne, we’ve been given full access to everything, and here you are moaning…’ Catching Lydia’s frown, Maria looked around and, seeing a yawning man staggering into the massive pool area outside the gymnasium, abruptly ended the conversation.
‘Fancy a sauna?’ Maria asked, and Lydia was about to shake her head—a sauna was the absolute last thing she fancied at this hour of the morning—but she knew it was the one room in the place where it had been agreed detectives could meet and talk unhindered.
After rolling her eyes in protest, Lydia gave a very sweet, very false smile. ‘What a great idea!’
‘How’s Angelina?’ Lydia asked, once they were wrapped in white towels with the door safely closed.
‘Efficient.’ Maria rolled her eyes. ‘And extremely talkative! I can’t believe his entire team travels ahead of him to ensure that everything is to his liking!’
‘It’s just as well that they do,’ Lydia pointed out. ‘It’s thanks to Angelina’s efficiency that we’re even aware of the security threat.’
‘Yeah, but it’s not much to go on though,’ Maria mused. ‘A bunch of flowers sent to his hotel room before his arrival—they could just be from an old girlfriend—’
‘I doubt it,’ Lydia interrupted. ‘Given that on the two previous occasions Santini was sent flowers he was involved in potentially life-threatening incidents! It’s a bit of a coincidence, don’t you think? Not forgetting all the abusive phone calls Angelina’s been fielding. It’s right the Feds are taking this seriously. Can you just imagine the negative publicity if something happens to him?’
‘I guess.’ Maria shrugged. ‘It just seems a bit over the top—senior detectives acting as bodyguards. They’ve even got Kevin behind the bar fixing drinks—it just seems so extreme.’
‘If this deal Santini’s looking to sign up goes ahead, then it’s going to be such a massive boost for tourism. I’m not surprised that all the stops are being pulled out to protect him!’
Cheerfully ladling water onto the coals and upping the already stifling temperature several degrees, Maria, unlike Lydia, was only too happy to veer off the subject of work. ‘I love it here,’ she rattled on happily. ‘We’re going to look fabulous by the time this assignment’s over—can you feel your pores unclogging?’
‘I can feel my hair frizzing,’ Lydia replied, sitting down on the bench. Tears were appallingly close, and she wished she could snap out of her morose mood, surprised at how much Maria’s ‘misery’ comment had stung.
Burying her face in the towel for a moment, Lydia closed her eyes and dragged in the stifling air. ‘I really wanted the next couple of nights off,’ she carefully elaborated. ‘I had things to do.’
‘What could you possibly have to do?’ Maria smiled, her words laced with friendly sarcasm. ‘You know that a detective’s not supposed to have a life.’
‘I just wanted a couple of days to myself.’ Lydia gave a defeated shrug. ‘You know—listening to music, eating chocolate, feeling sorry for myself…’
Seeing her friend and colleague, usually so assured, so driven and focussed, slumped on a bench with her face hidden by a towel, Maria faded out the wisecracks, and sat down next to her, her voice gentle. ‘What’s going on, Lydia? Is it you and Graham?’
‘We broke up.’ Lydia nodded, finally peeking out from the towel and seeing Maria’s shocked expression.
‘But you two seemed so happy!’
‘We were.’ Lydia shrugged. ‘So long as I didn’t mention work.’ She took a deep breath and, closing her eyes, shook her head. ‘And with a job like ours it doesn’t exactly leave much else to talk about. I thought Graham was different; I thought the fact we were both detectives meant that he’d understand that I wouldn’t be greeting him at the door at the end of a long day all scented and oiled in a strappy little number…’
‘Graham didn’t want that from you.’ Maria gave a shocked laugh. ‘Lydia, he adored you—jeans and all!’
‘I thought he did.’ Lydia swallowed. ‘But over the last few weeks he’s been acting weird. When I was on that drug stake-out he kept ringing me up about the most ridiculous things—’
‘He was worried,’ Maria broke in. ‘That was one hell of a dangerous job, Lydia. I was worried about you too!’
‘But you didn’t phone me on the hour every hour,’ Lydia pointed out. ‘You didn’t ring me at two in the morning to ask if I needed someone to feed my goldfish.’
‘Your goldfish died last year!’
‘Exactly,’ Lydia said dryly. ‘And then we were going to his mum’s for dinner one night and he asked me to dress up a bit…’
‘Dress up?’
‘It wasn’t as if I was in jeans or a tracksuit for heaven’s sake. I was wearing a black suit! And then he asked if maybe while we were at his mum’s I could try to refrain from mentioning work…’ Lydia paused as Maria’s lips tightened, watching as her friend struggled to give an objective answer.
‘Lydia, it is a dangerous job, and we do see a lot of the more seamy side of life—it must be hard for any man to put up with, let alone someone who knows the full truth about what we do. I know my father and brothers hate my job, and they don’t know the half of it! I’m the family shame.’ Maria nudged Lydia until finally she managed a glimmer of a smile. ‘So, who finally finished it?’
‘Me,’ Lydia said, chewing on her bottom lip for a moment, not sure whether to reveal her secret—the supposedly good news that had finally brought things between her and Graham to a head. ‘I’m being considered for a promotion.’
Maria’s eyes widened and a smile broke out on her face. Because they really were good friends, as well as colleagues, and because they both knew how tough it could be to climb the ladder in what was still very much a man’s profession, Maria’s smile was completely genuine and her embrace was warm as she hugged her friend. ‘Inspector Lydia Holmes.’
‘It’s not definite,’ Lydia quickly pointed out. ‘But Graham found out, and suddenly all the little niggles, all the little problems we’d been having lately, seemed to magnify.’
‘Is he jealous?’ Maria asked, and Lydia gave a soft, mirthless laugh.
‘Apparently not! He insists that he’s just worried about me. He says that he’s not sure if it’s the sort of job he wants his wife doing. He doesn’t think—’
‘Back up a second.’ Maria was way too sharp to miss a snippet of conversation as juicy as this! ‘So you’ve had an offer of promotion and a proposal?’
‘An offer of promotion or a proposal,’ Lydia corrected. ‘It would seem I can’t have both.’
‘Oh, Lydia.’ Maria’s groan was sympathetic. The problem was all too usual—one that had been pondered by female detectives the world over. As attractive and as sexy as a kick butt detective might sound to a potential lover, the cruel reality was that she didn’t make promising wife material. This didn’t matter a scrap, of course—until you met someone you really cared about. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘I’ve already done it!’ Lydia gave a firm nod as Maria winced. ‘We really are finished.’
‘Then let’s just hope it was worth it. I mean with the promotion coming up and everything—let’s just hope you get it.’
‘It doesn’t matter if I get it or not,’ Lydia said firmly. ‘It would be nice, but it just wasn’t working out between me and Graham. If he can’t take me as I am, then it wasn’t meant to be.’
‘Well, at least you get to lick your wounds in style!’ Maria said. ‘Full access to the beauty salon and you’ve been placed with Anton Santini—you’re a single girl now, Lydia. Who better to have a rebound relationship with?’
‘Anton Santini doesn’t do relationships,’ Lydia said, a smile finally wobbling on her face. She felt so much better for having opened up to her friend. She gave a tiny shocked laugh. ‘You haven’t read what I read last night—his bio’s unbelievable! He’s always been a bit of a rake, but this last year I swear the man’s been on a mission! His list of ex-girlfriends reads like the top one hundred most beautiful people in the world: actresses, European royalty, supermodels, soccer-players’ wives…’
‘Who?’ Maria asked, agog. ‘Anyone I know?’
‘Yep.’ Lydia nodded, but didn’t elaborate. ‘And every last one has ended in tears—for the woman at least.’
‘Is he really that bad?’
‘Worse!’ Lydia nodded. ‘And I’m supposed to be guarding him. God, I hope he behaves himself.’
‘Well, if he doesn’t you can always pass him over to me—I’ll entertain him for you!’
‘You’d be so much better at this than me,’ Lydia happily conceded. ‘You’re way more suited to Anton Santini.’
‘I’m not sure if that’s a compliment.’ Maria feigned a hurt expression. ‘If you’re implying that just because I once had Botox…’
‘I’m implying that you’re a born flirt.’ Lydia laughed. ‘I’m implying that you’re so gorgeous no one would turn a hair if you were draped over Santini’s arm. Whereas I’m going to look so awkward and out of place tagging along beside him…’
‘You’ll be wonderful,’ Maria wailed. ‘You’ll look fabulous and you’re going to have an absolute ball. Unlike me. Angelina’s well over sixty, a confirmed spinster, and tops the scales at one hundred kilos. You’d think someone as divine as Anton would hire a gorgeous assistant. I guess this one must help him keep his mind strictly on business…’
‘You’re shocking.’ Lydia laughed again. ‘This is supposed to be work, remember?’
‘I know.’ Maria managed a tiny groan, but it changed into a giggle as she stared down at the very new, very false nails she’d had applied the moment they’d checked into the hotel yesterday. ‘Right, I’m really cooked now.’ Maria stood up. ‘And if we’re going to pull this off, I suppose we ought to hit the beauty parlour. I’ve got to start looking like a chic Italian businesswoman, while you, Lydia Holmes…’ Maria’s voice trailed off as Lydia groaned. ‘It will be fun,’ Maria insisted. ‘It’s going to be like one of those makeovers on the television—watching you turn from a dark-suited detective to a fabulously rich jewellery designer.’
‘A fabulously rich exclusive jewellery designer,’ Lydia corrected with a wry grin. ‘Here in Melbourne to sell my wares!’
‘Well, whatever you are and wherever you’re from, Graham’s going to be kicking himself when he sees what a stunner you are underneath it all!’
‘Underneath what?’ Lydia frowned, but Maria wasn’t going to elaborate.
Glancing at her watch, she grimaced. ‘I’d better get over to the salon—and you’d better get ready to head to the airport. Santini’s plane is just about due in.’
Lydia shook her head. ‘I don’t have to head to the airport—Graham and John are going to pull him out at Customs, to warn him about the security situation and escort him back to the hotel.’
‘So when do you get to meet him?’
‘In the restaurant. They want the initial contact to look completely accidental—I’m accidentally going to spill my drink on him. You’d think they could have come up with a better pick-up move than that! I’m supposed to be about to check out of the hotel, and he’s apparently going to be so bowled over by me that he moves me straight up to his suite…’ She could see Maria’s lips twitching as she tried not to smile. ‘That’s the sort of thing he does, apparently. I’m going to look a right fool.’
‘A gorgeous fool, though. I can’t wait to see what you look like.’ Maria rubbed her hands in delighted glee. ‘Right, I’m going to have a quick shower, and then off to the parlour—are you coming?’
Lydia shook her head. ‘You go ahead. I think I’ll have a swim first, and try to wind down a bit.’
‘Will you be okay?’ asked Maria.
‘I’ll be fine.’ Lydia smiled, and the smile stayed in place until Maria had closed the sauna door behind her.
Finally alone, Lydia allowed herself an indulgent moment. Raking her fingers through her damp hair, she rested her head in her hands, bracing herself for the huge task that lay ahead over the next few days—guarding a VIP with a security threat in situ. She had to push aside her own problems—or lack of them, now that it was over with Graham.
God, it was hot!
Lydia stepped outside the sauna, visibly blanching at the sight of the cool plunge pool and opting instead for the hopefully warmer lap pool.
Popping into a cubicle she pulled on the rather boring navy bathers she used for her daily swim, knowing that if she was going to carry off the part of Anton Santini’s latest girlfriend she’d better head over to the boutique and buy a decent bikini. Folding her clothes and placing them in her bag, she padded out to the pool area, glad to see that it was deserted again, and glad for a few moments of solitude before the rigours of the next few days began.
A wealthy financier, Anton Santini part-owned a vast string of international hotels. According to the detailed brief Lydia had been given, his hotel chain was considering adding this luxury Melbourne hotel to its impressive list of residences. More importantly, down the track he was considering building a vast, brand-new hotel complex in Darwin, which would not only mean more tourists, but would also provide many vital jobs for the locals in the Northern Territory.
Everyone wanted his whirlwind visit to Melbourne to go well—hence the panic that had ensued when a potential security threat towards Anton Santini had been revealed. There had been no time to reschedule the gathering—he was already on his plane and heading for Australia—so instead red panic buttons had been pushed and a massive security operation had been hastily put in place—with no expense spared! And though professionally Lydia relished the opportunity, she was cringing at the prospect of playing the part of Santini’s girlfriend. She knew that no amount of buffing and coiffing was going to bring her up to his exacting standards—she could still hear the sniggers from her colleagues when she had been chosen—but, worse, she could almost see the scorn and incredulity that would surely be visible in Santini’s eyes when they were finally introduced.
Swimming always calmed her, and a half-hour of concentrating on her breathing, focusing on nothing more than reaching the cool marble at the other side of the pool, was exactly what she needed now. Dipping her toe in the inviting-looking pool, Lydia found it pleasantly warm, the deep blue water seemingly calling her to dive in and forget for a moment the pressures of modern living. Diving in gracefully, she closed her eyes as she hit the water, and felt the tension that had held her together disperse as she slid beneath the surface, propelling her body along the floor of the pool, her breath bursting in her lungs as she held it in.
It was good to be alone. Punching his desired level, Anton glanced at his expensive heavy watch as the lift descended from the Presidential Suite to the lower ground floor and realised that had he caught his scheduled flight then his plane would only just be landing now. He was infinitely grateful to the unknown first-class passenger on the packed flight that had preceded his who had cancelled, allowing Anton the luxury of five hours’ sleep in a hotel bed before he faced his horrendous schedule.
Sitting in the luxurious surrounds of the first-class lounge, sipping on a brandy as he’d waited to board the earlier plane, in a reflex action he’d reached for his mobile to call his PA and tell her about the change. But then, almost defiantly, he had clicked his phone off, filled with an urge to have a few hours in his life that were, for once, unaccountable.
Feeling as if he was playing hooky, Anton had boarded the plane and, in a move that was so unusual for him it bordered on the bizarre, he’d handed over his laptop to the flight attendant and refused the latest copies of overseas newspapers. Shaking his head at the endless delicacies that were offered as the plane hit altitude he’d chosen instead to pull on a pair of headphones and gaze unseeing at the international news, his eyes growing heavy as it morphed into a film…
As the lift doors slid open, Anton Santini, automatically polite, pressed the button to hold it open for a dark-haired woman wrapped in a white robe. Her flushed faced indicated that she had just come from the gym area where he was heading. She did a double take when she saw him, but Anton didn’t give it a thought. He was more than used to women giving him a second look. His six-foot-three frame and dark Latin looks merited that alone, and given that these days there was barely a newspaper or magazine published that didn’t contain a photo of him, it wasn’t just women who looked twice.
It certainly didn’t cross his mind that the dark-haired woman might be an undercover detective who didn’t expect him to be in the country just yet! And it never entered his head that Maria was battling with a surge of panic because an unsuspecting Lydia was swimming in the pool—where, judging from the towel draped around his shoulders, Anton was clearly heading!
With a brief nod he stepped out, following the signs for the hotel pool and gym, noting with a wry smile that despite the fact he was in Australia, literally on the other side of the world, he might just as well be in Rome, or London, or Paris, or wherever his hectic schedule took him. No matter how much the hotels fought to be different, to stamp their originality in the minds of affluent businessmen, each and every one was pretty much the same.
Still, at least he had the place to himself.
Even as he processed the thought Anton retrieved and corrected it. As he had turned the corner he hadn’t acknowledged the massive marble pool—he was used to extravagant surroundings, and the marble floor and glittering blue water had barely merited a glance. All he had noticed was the still surface of the water, the thick scent of chlorine, the silence of an empty room. But now, in a beat, his eyes were drawn to the long dark shadow beneath the water, to a hand breaking the surface tension, followed by a slender, pale arm arching a perfect stroke. As he went to walk on, to deposit his towel and robe on the bench, something held him back. In another beat, after another moment’s hesitation, his eyes were drawn to the figure in the water. Her pale length was effortlessly gliding the length of the pool, titian hair dragging behind her, eyes closed as she rhythmically swam towards the edge, then executed a perfect tumble-turn before disappearing beneath the surface again for an impressive length of time.
Anton found himself drawn to the willowy figure. There was something about the effortless way her body moved, a natural litheness that held his attention—something different about this woman. He took a moment to fathom what it was: she was actually enjoying herself! Unlike most early morning swimmers in a hotel pool, she didn’t appear to be working on toning her thighs or extending her endurance. Instead she seemed to be taking a moment, an indulgent moment, oblivious to her surrounds, and inexplicably he didn’t want to disturb her, didn’t want to invade this woman’s privacy, didn’t want to break her delicate stride.
But it was a hotel pool, Anton reminded himself with a brisk shake of his head. It wasn’t as if he’d climbed a fence and stood in voyeuristic silence as the lady of the house swum in her back garden. Almost defiantly he pulled off his robe. Unlike Lydia, he didn’t test the water for warmth, didn’t gingerly dip in his toe—ice could have been floating on the surface and Anton would have merely dived straight in—and as Lydia neared the far end of the pool he slid into the water.
She felt his presence.
She couldn’t really explain how she knew the presence was male, but as she felt the wedge of water buffet her slightly Lydia knew quite simply that it was, and, snapping out of her almost hypnotic trance she shifted back to an alert, edgy state. The effortless strokes she had been executing were more cumbersome now. Her breath was no longer coming regularly, her strokes were no longer deep and rhythmic, and she grasped the marble beneath her fingers, turned around and held onto the edge to catch her breath a moment.
Her eyes gazed the length of the pool, idly focusing on the man coming towards her, and suddenly, despite the width, it was as if the pool had shrunk. Maybe she was too used to the routine of her usual gym—the lanes neatly divided by a row of yellow buoys, swimmers keeping strictly their lanes—but he was heading straight for her, every stroke drawing him closer, long, muscled arms stroking their way nearer. Inexplicably she didn’t move, just held onto the edge as he came in too soon, too fast.
‘Scusi.’ Even though it was the shallow end the water was still deep, but he stood his ground, didn’t need to clutch the edge as Lydia did, shaking his black hair, blinking his eyes and facing hers. ‘I thought it was bigger…’
‘Me too.’ She gave a small shrug, understanding instantly what he meant—the regular length of a pool like this was twenty-five metres, but this one fell a couple short, and if you were used to swimming—as this man clearly was—used to pacing yourself, it was an easy mistake to make. ‘You soon get used to it.’
‘Sorry!’ He said it again, only in English this time. Lydia actually preferred the more spontaneous response he had used earlier, but there were other things on her mind now. Her shrewd amber eyes focussed, and there was a nervous swallow in her throat as she realised that, way before schedule, the man she would be spending the next few days with, the man she should be ‘accidentally’ meeting in a few short hours, was actually here.
Her mind raced for an explanation and her helpless eyes darted around. She was half expecting to see her colleagues Graham and John appear at the doorway, or for Anton Santini to formally introduce himself, explain that there had been a mix-up in the schedule and that this in fact, was their accidental meeting.
That would explain it, Lydia decided in a split second. That would explain why he had swum so directly towards her—would explain why she had been so acutely aware of his presence, why his eyes were boring into her as if he knew her—he knew who she was!
But, far from introducing himself, he gave her a small nod before pushing away from the edge and swimming off, leaving her standing there clinging to the edge, her heart racing, her breath coming in small shallow gasps. Only it had little to do with the exercise and everything to do with the man who shared the pool. Her skin stung from the brief touch of him, and goose bumps appeared on her arms as she recalled the feel of his strong legs brushing against hers. Her mind raced to calm itself, to turn off the energy he had released, to switch off the adrenaline that was pumping through her veins right now. She didn’t know what to do, unsure now if Anton actually did know who she was, if her lack of response when he had tried to approach her had confused him.
Taking a deep breath, even though her body was tired now, Lydia knew that she had to swim on, to give Anton another chance to talk with her, mindful that if Anton was here then anyone could be watching. Her eyes glanced up to the security cameras. Even though it was only the two of them in the pool this meeting had to look accidental; the biggest threat to Anton Santini’s safety was the fact that no one yet knew who the enemy was—no one knew how sophisticated the plans that were intended to bring him down might be.
Swimming a couple more lengths should have been easy, but her effortless stride eluded her now, and Lydia tried to fathom why she couldn’t resume the simple strokes. She decided that the work-out, the swim, and then the surge of energy when she had realised that Anton was in the pool had left her depleted. Her body was heavy and leaden as she dragged it through the water, and her mind was spinning like a stuck CD—whirring furiously for a moment before playing aloud the single track she didn’t want to hear…
He’d aroused her.
It had nothing to do with the fact it was Anton Santini—the man she was engaged to protect for the next few days—in the water with her. Instead it had everything to do with the man who had dived in just a few moments ago—a man she had been attracted to even before she had realised his identity. It was that thought that panicked Lydia, made every supposedly natural movement a chore, made this chance meeting all the more difficult.
‘You must swim a lot?’
He was waiting for her at the other end, as she had known he would be, and his voice was deep, husky and heavily accented when he spoke. Heart hammering in her mouth, Lydia nodded.
‘Most days,’ she breathed. ‘Though I think I’ve done too much this morning. I was working out before, and then I had a sauna…’
Lifting her hand, she gestured to the gym behind them, but Anton’s gaze didn’t follow where she was pointing. Instead she felt his dark navy eyes drag the entire length of her slender arm, scorching her pale flesh from her fingertips to her creamy clavicle. He took in every facet of the subtle muscle definition, of the pale tea-coloured freckles, then slowly worked his way up her long slender neck, searing her with his eyes. The flicker of her pulse in her neck, his nervous swallow, every tiny movement was accentuated until finally he looked directly at her. But there was no relief, only recognition—a jolting recognition, not of familiarity but of attraction. It was a powerful, faint-making emotion, terrifying exhilarating, and Lydia felt her panic multiply. She struggled to retract what her eyes had just stated, to tell this man that this was strictly business—that she was only here because it was her job. She was supposed to be meeting him in the hotel lounge in two hours, as she pretended to check out of the packed hotel—was supposed to spill a glass of water over him. Their attraction was meant to be mutual—so much so that Anton Santini would overcome the problem of a full hotel, would fall so much in lust with this stranger that he would, within a matter of a few hours, install her into his bedroom. That was the plan.
At this very moment Anton Santini was supposed to be being pulled over by customs officers, and John and Graham would deliver those very instructions.
What had happened?
Lydia didn’t have time to guess—didn’t have time to go through the hows and whys. She had to swing her mind away from the delicious distraction of his eyes and force herself to operate—not as a woman, but as a detective. If the plans had changed then so must her approach—there wasn’t exactly a glass of water handy to spill over him right now!
‘I’m Lydia,’ she managed, forcing a small smile to lips that didn’t seem to want to obey. ‘You are…?’
He didn’t answer, just gave her a small, slightly superior smile, his full mouth twisting upwards slightly, his dark eyes still shamelessly staring. Lydia knew that he didn’t want to play along, and considered introductions completely unnecessary when they both knew who they were dealing with—but anyone could be watching, Lydia reminded herself. They had to act as if they were strangers meeting, had to keep appearances up at all times. She would reiterate that fact to Anton later, when they were alone.
Alone.
Her stomach tightened at the mere thought. A knot of anticipation gripped deep within, a blush spread over her chest as a thousand inappropriate thoughts played in her mind. She understood now how it happened—understood how so many powerful, beautiful women had fallen for him so completely and utterly—how they had ignored his appalling reputation and thrown caution to the wind. The sheer, raw sensuality of the man was devastating, his presence overwhelming, blocking out reason, dimming rationality with the power and force of a solar eclipse. And right now, even if it was all engineered, that energy was focussed entirely on her.
Lydia struggled to reflect it. She struggled to keep a level head as her body begged a more primitive response. Angrier with herself than at him, her voice was more demanding, her eyes holding his boldly, as she insisted that he introduced himself. ‘You are…?’
‘I am…’ His smile bordered on the cruel now, like a predator eyeing his victim. His gaze was inescapable as the massive room suddenly closed in around them, as the steamy warm air seemed set to suffocate her, the atmosphere so throbbingly sensual Lydia could almost hear the hiss of the temperature rising as he moved in closer ‘…going to kiss you…’
She didn’t know what to do. Her head was telling her to pull back, reminding her that this level of intimacy wasn’t in her job description. But instead she stared up at this stunningly beautiful man, her eyes wide, her body rigid with a curious dizzy expectation as his face moved towards her, sheer unadulterated lust drenching her far more than the water.
The morning shadow on his chin was almost as navy as his heavy-lidded eyes, his cheekbones exquisitely sculptured in his haughty face. Truly, Lydia decided, he was the most beautiful man she had ever borne witness to—such strength, such arrogance, even, etched in every feature. Yet his eyes were gentle as they held hers, soothing her terror and multiplying it at the same time. She didn’t want to move, didn’t want to back away from the pleasure that was surely to follow. Even if it was orchestrated, even if it was just for show, a tiny voice was telling her to go with it—a tiny, dangerous voice she’d never heard before was telling her that she didn’t want to miss the feel of this beautiful man close to her, that never again in her lifetime was she likely to be kissed, to be held, by someone as supremely divine as Anton Santini.
Her eyes closed in giddy expectation as painfully slowly he moved in…But in a curious move his lips didn’t meet hers. Instead he dusted his cheek against hers, the warmth of his breath tickling her face, and even if the kiss that was surely about to ensue was only for the cameras, for the sake of the hidden audience that might be watching, before his lips even met hers Lydia knew it would be one she would remember for ever.
His chin was scratching, dragging slowly along her pale, alert flesh, so slow it was almost painful. Yet it had the desired effect. His decadent stealth banished her fear and skilfully replaced it with need—a need that was physical, a need that was palpable. Her lips twitched with desire, her body flaming in its treacherous response to his touch, and lingering misgivings were gone completely. His touch had her moving her lips to his, and so magnetic was his force that reason and doubt were erased, and it was Lydia moving things along, Lydia’s mouth searching for his, and finally, deliciously, finding it.
She relished in the bruising weight of his mouth against hers, the cool of his tongue as it parted her willing lips, the soldering feel of his hand in the small of her back as he pulled her a fraction closer, fanning the flames of desire. Her insides literally melting, she felt her fingers let go of the edge, but the bottom of the pool was too deep for her to stand. He supported her easily, her body weightless in the water, his arms holding her as his mouth ravished her, warm, muscular thighs tipping her further into heady oblivion.
Her swollen nipples were straining against Lycra, and heat was flaring between her legs. The need that imbued her was still not satisfied, the taste of such pleasure making Lydia greedier now, hungry for more. And Anton reciprocated. The nudge of his erection against her taut stomach was faint-making as she pressed provocatively against it, fuelling a primitive desire Lydia had never, not even in her most intimate moments, fully experienced—a total and utter abandonment, a complete, delicious loss of control.
He made her bold, made her wanton, provocative, immersed her in passion.
Her mind was completely focussed now on her own desires, on the pulse flickering between her legs. Her clitoris was engorged, twitching with want, and only this man could satisfy it. Still he kissed her, ravished her, but his mouth was moving now, tracing her neck, kissing the hollows. He buried his face in her dripping hair, and her fingers dug into his shoulders, and in a movement that was as provocative as it was instinctive she raised her hips several decadent inches. His fingers pressed into the warm flesh of her taut buttocks and the deep, languorous, throaty kiss was abandoned as she glided her swollen, most intimate lips along the endless, solid length of his manhood.
His breath was hot on the shell of her ear as she nestled the heat of her centre on the tip of his. She wanted him to take her, to part the tiny inch of fabric that covered her most private place. Wanted him to fill her, to calm the frenzy of her body beneath the still surface of the water. Her stomach tightened in rhythmic contraction and her legs wrapped around him as he pressed his velvet steel harder against her. Heady, drunken, faint, Lydia rested her head on a damp shoulder, nibbling at the salty flesh of his skin, willing him to take her, sure that the strength of his erection alone could part the fabric that covered her. She could feel the pulse of her orgasm aligning, the heavy pit in her stomach an abyss that needed to be filled. And, from the short, rapid breaths in her ear, the tension in every muscle beneath her fingers, Lydia knew he was as close as dammit too.
His hand moved from her, pulling impatiently at his bathers, the motion causing his knuckles to dig into the flesh of her inner thigh. The pain only intensified the experience, abandonment drenching her as she imagined him spilling his salty kiss inside her, visualised the decadence of Anton Santini making love to her…
Anton Santini!
The two words were a brutal slap to her flushed cheeks—a stab of self-preservation mercifully holding her back at the eleventh hour. The world suddenly came into sharp, unwelcome focus and she pulled back, struggled to catch her breath—appalled at what had taken place. She quivered with unsated desire as her mind fought for control and she stared at his questioning eyes.
This was work. This was her livelihood. But it wasn’t just that that had stopped her. It was the knowledge, the realisation, that a man as suave, as sophisticated, as merciless as Anton Santini could reduce her in a matter of minutes to this squirming ball of desire. If she lost her head she’d go under; he would crush her in the palm of his hand and barely even notice.
‘Lydia?’ he murmured, clearly confused by the change in her.
‘I have to pack…’ She shook her head as if to clear it. ‘I’ve got an appointment at the hairdresser…’
And he should have understood, should have been versed by Detective John Miller about the plan. But he just stared back at her. Lydia thought she understood his confusion—John would have told him that he wasn’t to be left alone!
Her mind raced for a solution and almost instantaneously found one. ‘We could go up to my room,’ she said, suddenly desperate to get away from the pool, to find out just what the hell was going on and—perhaps more importantly—face this man dressed!
But she stopped talking abruptly as she heard loud chattering in the corridor outside. Aware of the potential precariousness of the situation she moved quickly, putting herself between Anton and the doorway.
‘What are you doing?’ He sounded irritated, confused by the change in her, but there was no time for explanation as Maria and another woman appeared. Although Maria was still dressed in her white robe a towel was rolled up under her arm, and Lydia knew that she was now armed.
‘Signor Santini, che cosa fa qui?’
A large, irate woman Lydia could only assume was Angelina gesticulated wildly as she addressed her boss.
‘Sto nuotando!’ came Anton’s curt reply.
Lydia bobbed under the water and swam towards the edge, her hands gratefully reaching the silver of the rail, dragging herself up the steps. It was as if the marrow had seeped out of her bones, and her legs were weak as she pulled herself out of the water and located her robe.
‘I ask him what he is doing here so soon,’ Angelina’s exasperated voice greeted Lydia as she made her way over. ‘And he say swimming—I had no idea he was coming!’
‘Well, he’s here,’ Maria said, with a distinctly dry edge to her voice, frowning as she watched Lydia who, her fingers shaking, pale and wrinkled from her time in the water, was knotting her belt. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Everything’s fine,’ Lydia said, hardly trusting herself to speak, still brutally shaken from her first encounter with Anton.
‘Go up and shower quickly,’ Maria said in low, urgent tones. ‘Then get over to the salon. I’ll cover him till you’re dressed and ready—we’ll get him upstairs and brief him.’
‘Brief him?’ Lydia blinked at Maria. Surely she had misheard? Or perhaps Maria didn’t know that Anton had already been versed in the situation? That had to be the case, Lydia begged mentally. Because otherwise…
Panic rose in her as she attempted to confront the other appalling possibility—that Anton Santini really hadn’t been briefed—that he had no idea who she was—that he had merely been attracted to her, had approached her, just as his bio suggested he would, with the supreme confidence that she would respond.
And she had!
‘Where are John and Graham?’ Lydia asked, trying to keep her voice even as Anton climbed out of the pool, her eyes darting away as she tried and failed not to notice the superb body that only moments ago had been pressed against hers.
‘On their way back from the airport,’ Maria answered, and Lydia’s last vestige of hope disappeared—Anton really had no idea who she was. ‘I rang them and told them what was happening.’
Cheeks flaming, she avoided even looking at him. Somehow she picked up her gym bag, and somehow she made her way out to the lifts, her heart hammering in her chest, only remembering to breathe when she was finally alone.
He would have made love to her if she’d let him, and—Lydia gulped as horrible truth flooded in—she almost had. She had almost let a virtual stranger in, let down her cool façade in an appalling unguarded moment. Anton hadn’t just seen a different side to her character today, it was as if a complete alter ego had emerged—a wanton, sensual woman that knew her needs.
Oh, there had been a blistering attraction—that much she understood, that much she could accept. She could almost console herself that they had chosen to mix business with pleasure, had been caught up in the thrill of the moment, safe in the knowledge that they were making themselves look convincing to anyone watching…But if Maria was right, if he hadn’t even known that she was a detective, that they were supposed to be meeting, then she wasn’t just out of her depth with Anton Santini she had already been pulled under!
What sort of man had the confidence, the supreme arrogance, to approach a stranger and kiss them so blatantly, so fully, to arouse them to the point of oblivion and know, just know, that she would reciprocate—know that with one touch he would win?
On autopilot she headed for her room, showered and dressed quickly. She closed her eyes, her mind tightened in disbelief, a stinging flood of shame coursing through her body as another question exploded in her mind.
What must Anton think of her?
CHAPTER TWO
THE PRESSURE of the hairdresser’s fingertips on her scalp as she massaged conditioner deep into her hair didn’t even provide a vague distraction—Lydia’s mind was working overtime, trying to fathom how she was supposed to face Anton Santini now. How on earth could she manage detachment, professionalism, after what had transpired in the pool? Hell, right now she’d settle for being able to look him in the eye.
But she had to remain in control—not only did her career depend on it, but Anton’s life was in her hands. And, given she was signed up as his protector, her life too could be on the line. This was no time to be acting like a gauche teenager—she had to somehow regain control of this appalling situation, had to wrestle back her dignity. But for the first time in her life she was completely at a loss to come up with a plan. How could she deny her part in what had taken place? How could she deny the blatant, overwhelming passion that had engulfed her? The sensual, debauched alter ego that had emerged the second he had touched her?
‘So, you’re booked for nails, full make-up and a blow-dry?’ Karen, the therapist questioned her as a warm towel was wrapped around Lydia’s head and she was guided to the make-up room.
‘Please.’ Lydia nodded, lowering herself into the chair and trying to sound blasé, as if she did this type of thing every day. ‘Though I’m not sure if there will be time to do my nails. I’ve got an appointment scheduled—’
‘That’s no problem,’ Karen interrupted, clearly used to dealing with busy clients. ‘Cindy can do your nails while I do your make up—let’s have a look at you.’ Pulling off the towel, she ran her fingers through Lydia’s long red curls.
‘Is it business or pleasure?’ When Lydia blinked back, Karen elaborated. ‘Your appointment? I’m just trying to get a feel for how you want to look.’
‘It’s business,’ Lydia answered firmly. ‘And I want to look fabulous!’
‘Oh, you will.’ Karen winked, tipping the chair backwards and setting to work.
Lydia closed her eyes as a few stray hairs around her eyebrows were deftly tidied and a thick layer of scented cream gently rubbed into her face, chatting amicably to Karen about jewellery and the one-off pieces she supposedly designed, practising the alias she would be adopting over the next few days.
‘How long are you staying at the hotel?’
‘I have to check out this morning.’ Lydia gave a regretful shrug. ‘When I checked in I was hoping to stay for four nights but apparently the hotel’s been booked up for weeks—some VIPs are arriving this morning. The bellboy’s bringing my luggage down now, and while I’m having breakfast the concierges are ringing around to find me alternative accommodation.’
‘That’d be right,’ the therapist muttered. ‘Kick out the paying guests…’ Her voice trailed off as she realised she’d probably overstepped the mark, but Lydia pushed on, more than happy to fish a little, giving a tiny swallow as she tried to sound like the rich little madam she was hoping to portray.
‘Well, I’m far from happy with the situation,’ Lydia bristled. ‘And I sincerely hope that a concierge can find me somewhere suitable—somewhere with a decent salon at the very least. What sort of VIPs are they anyway?’
‘The worst sort,’ the therapist answered in a theatrical whisper. ‘There’s going to be a take-over of the hotel and some of the bigwigs from a massive European chain are coming. We’re all supposed to be on our best behaviour—why don’t we try grey?’
‘Sorry?’ Opening her eyes, Lydia blinked back at the woman.
‘On your eyes. I know you said you prefer neutral, but a deep smoky grey will really bring out the amazing colour of your eyes—they’re more gold than hazel—’
‘I don’t want anything too heavy,’ Lydia broke in. ‘I really prefer a more natural look.’
‘Trust me,’ Karen insisted, a long red nail hovering over an array of tiny pots, her eyes narrowing as she stared closely at Lydia’s face. ‘You’re going to look stunning. One wave of my magic wand and I can create an entire new you.’
A ‘new you’ was exactly what was needed, Lydia thought ruefully, if she was ever going to face Anton. A tiny glimmer of a plan started to emerge. ‘Can you do anything to tone down my complexion?’
‘You’re as white as paper,’ Karen tutted.
‘But I blush terribly.’ Lydia gave a dismissive shrug. ‘And, like I said, I’ve got an important meeting this morning—I don’t want to give myself away when we discuss prices.’
‘You need a green base.’ Karen nodded knowingly. ‘Nothing like what you’re thinking.’ She grinned at Lydia’s rather startled expression. ‘I’ve got this fabulous mineral powder; we have it flown in from New York. Wearing that you can double your prices—triple them, even—and you’ll be as pale and as cool as porcelain.’
‘Really?’ Lydia gave a dubious frown.
‘Really!’ Karen winked. ‘We’ll have to pay extra attention to your décolletage—that’s a real give away when you’re blushing.’
And she would blush!
Just the thought of facing Anton had her pulse pounding in her temples and a scorching, shameful warmth flooding her. But as Karen worked on slowly the horror receded, and Lydia gave in to the pleasure of the moment, knowing that in a few short days she’d be back to a few dabs of sunblock and slick of mascara if she was lucky.
Lydia let Karen transform her as Cindy worked on her nails. She didn’t even glance in the mirror when she sat upright for her hair to be dried—she focussed on a magazine as her curls were dragged beyond her shoulders.
For the first time in ages Lydia didn’t turn automatically to the health section, didn’t read how she could increase her stamina or detox her entire system in a mere weekend. She even bypassed an in-depth article on a recent high-profile court case. Instead, with a flutter of excitement, she flicked to the social pages. She gazed at photos of the rich and famous, at their smooth botoxed faces belying their age, their divine dresses and long, smooth legs that ended in jewel-encrusted shoes. She could almost smell the expensive perfume wafting from their silicone-enhanced bosoms. She looked at the Russian-red lips smiling for the cameras, and for the first time since she’d checked in Lydia smiled back.
The diversity of her career hit home: only this time last week she had been on a stake-out, dressed in a navy tracksuit, a world away from the glamour she was forced to sample now, boxed up in a supposedly abandoned van for forty-eight hours. She had watched pimps and drug dealers infesting the vulnerable with their wares, staring through the bolt holes fitted with telescopes as weary prostitutes willed the morning to come, drinking endless cups of coffee to stay awake as she made small talk and tried to cheer up Kevin Bates—an inspector on the force she regularly worked alongside, a man she both liked and admired.
Forty-eight hours confined in his company, listening to him fret about his eldest child who was having his tonsils out that week, was a world away from what she was experiencing now! A freshly squeezed orange and guava juice was the order of the day, instead of her usual flask of coffee. Now, massive marble bathrooms replaced the rudimentary portaloo in the corner of the van that she’d had to endure so they didn’t blow their cover by stepping outside.
It wasn’t just a world away, Lydia corrected herself, but an entire universe from where she was now. And for a slice of time this opulent world was the one in which she was supposed to belong, with which she had been ordered to blend in. Lydia made a vow to revel in it the same way Maria was—to live the fantasy of being obscenely rich. She’d taken the bad over and over again. For the next few days she’d enjoy the good.
‘You’re done!’ Karen’s voice was triumphant as she pulled off the towel and gown and smoothed Lydia’s hair over her shoulders. ‘I’ll get a mirror so you can see the back and sides.’
Normally for Lydia the mirror bit of a salon visit was an uncomfortable, painful experience—a mumbled thanks as she wondered how on earth she could correct the appalling creation, grappling in her purse to give a very undeserved tip as she blinked away tears. This time, however, she was trying hard to keep herself from smiling, desperately trying to remember that she was supposed to be used to this, that she was always supposed to look groomed and divine.
Staring at her profile from every angle, Lydia barely recognised herself. Her curls were a distant memory. Instead her hair shimmered in a straight silk curtain. But it wasn’t just her hair that had her mesmerised—it was the entire package! The sparkling gold of her eyes as they peered out from underneath smoky grey lids was deliciously framed by her newly darkened lashes, and even her skin seemed to glow with healthy delight, a cheeky dot of colour on the apple of each cheek drawing her gaze to the dark, sexy red of her lips.
‘Try it now.’ Karen giggled.
‘Try what?’ Lydia asked, still mesmerised by her reflection.
‘Think of your deepest, darkest secret, something that will make your toes curl with shame, and watch that make-up do its magic.’
So she did…
She relived in her mind the sheer abandonment that had doused her this morning. The stinging sensation of Anton’s kiss, the cool of his mouth, the nibble of his teeth against the wedge of her tongue. She could almost feel the steel of his erection nudging her most private place. She could almost feel herself willingly overstepping boundaries that until today had always been firmly entrenched. Staring at her reflection, Lydia envisaged what had just a short while ago seemed impossible—facing Anton Santini, confronting the man she had revealed so much of herself to, staring deep into those cruel, sensuous eyes and somehow appearing in control, portraying the cool, detached detective that she was supposed to be, somehow pretending that he hadn’t touched her so.
‘Cool as a cucumber,’ Karen enthused, and Lydia blinked back at her reflection, amazed that the therapist was right—her face was pale, not a hint of a blush darkened her cheeks. Her shoulders were creamy white against the flame of her dress and Lydia was infused with possibility…
Maybe she could pull it off.
Stare at Anton and tell him that he didn’t move her.
Tell him that the scorching intimacy they had shared hadn’t been pleasure but merely a duty—a cross she’d had to bear.
She would get through this!
And because she was supposedly rich, a mere detail like payment shouldn’t even enter her head—with a swish of her fragranced hair Lydia should stalk out. But, rummaging in her bag, she peeled off a note and pressed it into Karen’s hand. She shared a tiny smile as the woman’s fingers gleefully closed around the crumpled paper before heading out into the massive foyer, staring at her luggage being wheeled through the foyer by the bellboy. A concierge was juggling a telephone call and two rather irate Americans and attempting to catch her eye—no doubt wanting to inform her of the reservation he’d made on her behalf. But Lydia deliberately ignored him, heading over to the restaurant instead, ready to face Anton again. But on her terms this time—not as the woman he had witnessed earlier, but as the detective she was.
CHAPTER THREE
‘SHE OVERREACTS!’ Anton’s words were like pistol shots shooting across the Presidential Suite. Showered and dressed now, he wanted to get on with his day, wanted to end this ridiculous conversation and get on with his work. ‘Angelina had no business calling the police without consulting me.’
‘She tried to contact you, sir, but your telephone was turned off.’
Kevin Bates faced Anton and tried to bring the situation under control—Maria’s attempts to explain things had been greeted with scorn, but it was hoped the more authoritative air of an inspector might calm things down. ‘Sir, you don’t seem to understand the seriousness of the situation. As Maria has tried to explain to you, we have serious concerns about your safety…We have reason to believe that there is going to be an attempt on your life—’
‘Because of some flowers?’ Anton snapped.
‘Because of this.’ Kevin handed him a neat typewritten card.
‘It says “Welcome, Mr Santini.” What has that to do with anything?’
‘You have an excellent PA, Mr Santini. In fact, the reason we’ve been able to rule her out as a suspect is because it’s her attention to detail that has enabled us to recognise the threat. The hotel usually provides a display of native Australian flowers for the Presidential Suite…’ ‘So?’
‘These flowers were delivered to the hotel last night. They were ordered from a florist down the road and paid for in cash. The card was already typed up.’
‘By who?’
‘The florist can’t remember—after all it wasn’t a particularly unusual request. What is unusual, Mr Santini, is that an identical card and lilies were delivered to the hotel you were staying at in Spain six months ago, when you were shot at.’
‘I was not shot at,’ Anton countered. ‘The police decided at the time it was a gangland fight I was caught up in. I was merely in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was just bad luck.’
‘At the time, it appeared so.’ Kevin nodded. ‘However, Angelina gave a very detailed statement to the Spanish police—at the time of the shooting she was in her room, attending to correspondence. She should have been with you. Flowers had been delivered and she couldn’t work out who they had come from—a seemingly insignificant detail, so insignificant that when flowers were delivered to your hotel room in New York still it didn’t seem relevant…’
‘I was nearly run over in New York…’ Realisation was starting to hit, and his hand raked through his hair as he recalled the details. ‘A car came straight at me, accelerating as it did so. I jumped just in time. My shoulder was dislocated but I knew I’d been lucky—the police said…’
‘Wrong place, wrong time?’ Kevin offered, and Anton nodded.
‘These flowers are a calling card, Mr Santini. A warning that we have to take seriously. You’ve also been getting some nuisance calls, I believe?’
‘A few.’ Anton shrugged, but Kevin shook his head.
‘Not according to your PA. During the last twelve months or so you’ve received numerous calls—so many, in fact, that not only the telephone company but the police in Rome are investigating. Am I right that in recent weeks they’ve become more frequent?’
Finally Anton conceded with a brief nod of his head. ‘Who?’ he asked. ‘Who wants to harm me?’
‘That we don’t know,’ Kevin admitted. ‘Believe me, we intend to find out. However, our primary concern is your protection while you’re here in Australia. Now, you’re not to discuss this security operation—not even with your own staff.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because right now they’re all suspects in this investigation.’ As Anton opened his mouth to argue, Kevin overrode him. ‘It’s a possibility that we have to consider—for that reason your PA is the only one who is to know about the undercover operation in place. Maria will stay with Angelina, given that she has direct access to you, and we’ll have other detectives in place in the hotel. Naturally we’ll have a detective with you at all times. ‘
‘How do you expect me to explain to my staff why a police officer is by my side? With all due respect, you do look like a police officer,’ Anton said, impatience evident in his every gesture as his heavily accented voice filled the room.
‘We’re not that stupid, Mr Santini.’ Kevin gave a wry smile. ‘I can assure you that the detective shadowing you is going to blend in.’
‘How?’ Anton asked, more intrigued than annoyed now. ‘I can see that we could pass off Maria’s presence by explaining that Angelina needed some assistance, but…’
‘Do you remember the woman in the pool this morning?’ Maria asked, watching as Anton frowned. ‘She was there when Angelina and I arrived.’ When Anton’s frown deepened Maria assumed it was because he was trying to place her. ‘She had red hair, was doing some laps. You probably didn’t notice her, but she’s actually been in the hotel since yesterday, posing as a jewellery designer from Sydney here in Melbourne to showcase her work…’
‘She’s a detective?’ Anton’s voice was a hoarse whisper as realisation hit. Closing his eyes for a second, he replayed the morning’s events. With the benefit of hindsight, his mouth tightened in rage. ‘You are telling me that that woman is in fact a police officer?’
‘No, Mr Santini,’ Kevin answered patiently. ‘For the next couple of days, according to everyone she meets, Lydia is a jewellery designer visiting Melbourne and is here to target some new clients. However, given that the hotel is full, she’s checking out this morning. The bellboy is bringing her luggage down as we speak.’
‘I thought you said that she was staying with me?’
‘She is.’ Kevin nodded, enjoying seeing this supremely powerful man momentarily flailing as he explained the carefully laid plans. ‘Initially she was going to hang around the hotel until lunchtime but, given that you’ve arrived early, we’ve had to move things forward. You’re going to chat her up, and after a brief exchange you’ll invite her to stay with you. From our homework, sir, I don’t think any of your staff will be remotely surprised to find you with a young lady in situ by the time they get here. By all accounts you’re a pretty fast operator.’
Anton pressed his lips together, fighting back a smart retort because, though it galled him to admit it, Detective Bates was speaking the truth—no one would turn a hair if they arrived to find a beautiful woman on his arms. After all, it had happened on numerous occasions before.
‘Once you’re alone, Lydia will give you more details and try and glean any information from you that might give us some insight as to who this person might be. She’ll also brief you about how the next few days are to be handled. But that conversation can only take place in your hotel room, and even then only when Lydia is satisfied that the room is secure and that you’re definitely alone. Whenever you are out of your room or there is another person present you are to act as if you’re lovers…’
Kevin paused for a moment, giving Anton time to digest the instructions. He was slightly bewildered by the stunned expression on Santini’s face—the fact that his life might be in danger hadn’t initially evoked even a hint of reaction, but now, Kevin decided, clearly shock was setting in and the truth must be starting to hit him. The Detective’s voice was a touch gentler as he continued. ‘Now, to make your initial contact look accidental, we thought you could make your way over to the breakfast bar—’
‘What do you mean—initial contact?’ Anton sneered, desperately trying to regain some semblance of control, forcing himself to drag his mind away from Lydia and back to the conversation. What on earth was he talking about? Did this buffoon not realise it had already been made? That the initial contact had been well and truly taken care of?
But just as he was about to correct him, he checked himself. Long ago Anton had learnt that any knowledge, however unimportant it might seem at the time, was a vital tool that could be used later. That to keep the upper hand one had to be constantly ahead of the game. So instead he changed tack.
The sneer still in place, he voiced a different question. ‘Why on earth would I go over to the breakfast bar? I do not serve myself. Did you think of that when you were making your plans?’
He didn’t get an answer. The room fell quiet as Kevin’s mobile phone trilled. ‘She’s ready.’ Kevin nodded, quickly ending the call and nodding to Maria. ‘Okay, Mr Santini, there are two detectives coming up in the lift. Their names are Graham and John. Don’t talk to them—just treat them as you would any strangers—they’re going to take the lift down with you and watch until you’re in the restaurant. Once you’re there, Lydia will walk in. Perhaps you could—
‘I do not need to be told by you how to chat up a woman,’ Anton sneered, appalled now by what had taken place this morning, and more than ready to face this undercover detective and give her a piece of his mind. ‘Come.’ He snapped his fingers impatiently. ‘Let’s get this over with. Let’s make this initial contact!’
CHAPTER FOUR
ORDERING his breakfast Anton glanced around the room, bracing himself for her entrance. To anyone watching he would look supremely in control as he flicked open the paper and read through the business section, but inside he was seething.
She had used him, had been playing a mere game with him; she was the one who had been in control this morning, and it stung like hell to admit it. A bitter taste of his own medicine had been served, and it was almost choking him to swallow it down.
What the hell had he been thinking anyway? Anton demanded of himself—aside from the fact she was a detective, what the hell had he been doing, practically making love to a stranger in a pool with no thought to birth control, no thought to the consequences?
She could have been anyone!
Anton’s jaw tightened.
She was a damned detective!
He looked up from his paper and his racing mind stilled as a pale woman walked into the restaurant. His anger momentarily faded as he watched her cross the room. Maybe the bright early-morning Australian sun that streamed through the windows had dipped behind a cloud for a moment, shadowing the bright skylights of the restaurant because all of a sudden the vast sun-drenched restaurant seemed to dim. Even the noise seemed to fade—the clatter of knives and forks against plates, the rustle of newspapers, the chatter of his fellow diners, all blurring in the distance as Lydia became the sole power source.
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CAROL MARINELLI
Taken for His Pleasure
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
EPILOGUE
COMING NEXT MONTH
CHAPTER ONE
‘LUCKY YOU!’ Maria shouted, holding the punch bag as Lydia boxed away, repeating the words like some kind of chant as Lydia thumped ever harder.
Lydia’s red curls had long since worked their way out of her hair tie, and moved in time as she pounded the punch bag, her pale, slender arms delivering surprisingly strong blows. The rhythmic, vigorous exercise was wonderfully cathartic as, egged on by Maria, Lydia vented some of her anger and frustration.
‘Lucky, lucky you! Come on, Lydia. Hit harder!’
‘I’m done!’ Lydia breathed, shaking her head and resting her gloved hands on her knees. ‘And lucky certainly isn’t how I’d describe myself, being stuck here for the next few nights—I haven’t had a day off for weeks!’
Even though the place was deserted, mindful that someone could be listening, Lydia spoke in low tones as she pulled off her gloves and turned the sink taps on full blast to distort their conversation. She needlessly refilled her water bottle and took a few moments to splash her face.
‘What are you moaning about? Being joined at the hip with Anton Santini is my idea of an absolute dream job. Imagine how I feel!’ Maria grinned, offering Lydia her own water bottle to fill. ‘Being lumbered playing assistant to his female PA! Why couldn’t they have given me Anton Santini to guard?’
Lydia held up a long strand of red curls in answer and gave a wry smile. ‘I don’t somehow think I’d make a very good undercover Italian PA, when the only Italian words I know are the names of pasta!’
‘I’d go ginger in a moment if it meant sharing a bedroom with Anton Santini.’ Maria giggled. ‘I still can’t believe they chose you to pass off as his girlfriend!’
If it had been anyone other than Maria saying it Lydia would have thought the comment sounded catty, but Maria was simply speaking the truth—it was unbelievable that she’d been considered the most suitable person to serve as Anton Santini’s girlfriend during his whirlwind visit to Australia.
Anton Santini liked his women petite, stylishly groomed and demure.
Lydia was painfully aware that she failed on all three.
Although her body was slender and toned, she stood five feet eight without heels—five feet ten if her mass of red curls was running particularly wild! Lydia wore jeans and T-shirts like a second skin, and as for demure—well, it wasn’t exactly a prerequisite for a detective. Sure, she refused to buy into the beer-swilling, coarse language world of some of her colleagues, but she wasn’t exactly afraid of expressing an opinion…
‘Smile, Lydia! You’re a real misery this morning,’ Maria observed. ‘This is one of the top hotels in Melbourne, we’ve been given full access to everything, and here you are moaning…’ Catching Lydia’s frown, Maria looked around and, seeing a yawning man staggering into the massive pool area outside the gymnasium, abruptly ended the conversation.
‘Fancy a sauna?’ Maria asked, and Lydia was about to shake her head—a sauna was the absolute last thing she fancied at this hour of the morning—but she knew it was the one room in the place where it had been agreed detectives could meet and talk unhindered.
After rolling her eyes in protest, Lydia gave a very sweet, very false smile. ‘What a great idea!’
‘How’s Angelina?’ Lydia asked, once they were wrapped in white towels with the door safely closed.
‘Efficient.’ Maria rolled her eyes. ‘And extremely talkative! I can’t believe his entire team travels ahead of him to ensure that everything is to his liking!’
‘It’s just as well that they do,’ Lydia pointed out. ‘It’s thanks to Angelina’s efficiency that we’re even aware of the security threat.’
‘Yeah, but it’s not much to go on though,’ Maria mused. ‘A bunch of flowers sent to his hotel room before his arrival—they could just be from an old girlfriend—’
‘I doubt it,’ Lydia interrupted. ‘Given that on the two previous occasions Santini was sent flowers he was involved in potentially life-threatening incidents! It’s a bit of a coincidence, don’t you think? Not forgetting all the abusive phone calls Angelina’s been fielding. It’s right the Feds are taking this seriously. Can you just imagine the negative publicity if something happens to him?’
‘I guess.’ Maria shrugged. ‘It just seems a bit over the top—senior detectives acting as bodyguards. They’ve even got Kevin behind the bar fixing drinks—it just seems so extreme.’
‘If this deal Santini’s looking to sign up goes ahead, then it’s going to be such a massive boost for tourism. I’m not surprised that all the stops are being pulled out to protect him!’
Cheerfully ladling water onto the coals and upping the already stifling temperature several degrees, Maria, unlike Lydia, was only too happy to veer off the subject of work. ‘I love it here,’ she rattled on happily. ‘We’re going to look fabulous by the time this assignment’s over—can you feel your pores unclogging?’
‘I can feel my hair frizzing,’ Lydia replied, sitting down on the bench. Tears were appallingly close, and she wished she could snap out of her morose mood, surprised at how much Maria’s ‘misery’ comment had stung.
Burying her face in the towel for a moment, Lydia closed her eyes and dragged in the stifling air. ‘I really wanted the next couple of nights off,’ she carefully elaborated. ‘I had things to do.’
‘What could you possibly have to do?’ Maria smiled, her words laced with friendly sarcasm. ‘You know that a detective’s not supposed to have a life.’
‘I just wanted a couple of days to myself.’ Lydia gave a defeated shrug. ‘You know—listening to music, eating chocolate, feeling sorry for myself…’
Seeing her friend and colleague, usually so assured, so driven and focussed, slumped on a bench with her face hidden by a towel, Maria faded out the wisecracks, and sat down next to her, her voice gentle. ‘What’s going on, Lydia? Is it you and Graham?’
‘We broke up.’ Lydia nodded, finally peeking out from the towel and seeing Maria’s shocked expression.
‘But you two seemed so happy!’
‘We were.’ Lydia shrugged. ‘So long as I didn’t mention work.’ She took a deep breath and, closing her eyes, shook her head. ‘And with a job like ours it doesn’t exactly leave much else to talk about. I thought Graham was different; I thought the fact we were both detectives meant that he’d understand that I wouldn’t be greeting him at the door at the end of a long day all scented and oiled in a strappy little number…’
‘Graham didn’t want that from you.’ Maria gave a shocked laugh. ‘Lydia, he adored you—jeans and all!’
‘I thought he did.’ Lydia swallowed. ‘But over the last few weeks he’s been acting weird. When I was on that drug stake-out he kept ringing me up about the most ridiculous things—’
‘He was worried,’ Maria broke in. ‘That was one hell of a dangerous job, Lydia. I was worried about you too!’
‘But you didn’t phone me on the hour every hour,’ Lydia pointed out. ‘You didn’t ring me at two in the morning to ask if I needed someone to feed my goldfish.’
‘Your goldfish died last year!’
‘Exactly,’ Lydia said dryly. ‘And then we were going to his mum’s for dinner one night and he asked me to dress up a bit…’
‘Dress up?’
‘It wasn’t as if I was in jeans or a tracksuit for heaven’s sake. I was wearing a black suit! And then he asked if maybe while we were at his mum’s I could try to refrain from mentioning work…’ Lydia paused as Maria’s lips tightened, watching as her friend struggled to give an objective answer.
‘Lydia, it is a dangerous job, and we do see a lot of the more seamy side of life—it must be hard for any man to put up with, let alone someone who knows the full truth about what we do. I know my father and brothers hate my job, and they don’t know the half of it! I’m the family shame.’ Maria nudged Lydia until finally she managed a glimmer of a smile. ‘So, who finally finished it?’
‘Me,’ Lydia said, chewing on her bottom lip for a moment, not sure whether to reveal her secret—the supposedly good news that had finally brought things between her and Graham to a head. ‘I’m being considered for a promotion.’
Maria’s eyes widened and a smile broke out on her face. Because they really were good friends, as well as colleagues, and because they both knew how tough it could be to climb the ladder in what was still very much a man’s profession, Maria’s smile was completely genuine and her embrace was warm as she hugged her friend. ‘Inspector Lydia Holmes.’
‘It’s not definite,’ Lydia quickly pointed out. ‘But Graham found out, and suddenly all the little niggles, all the little problems we’d been having lately, seemed to magnify.’
‘Is he jealous?’ Maria asked, and Lydia gave a soft, mirthless laugh.
‘Apparently not! He insists that he’s just worried about me. He says that he’s not sure if it’s the sort of job he wants his wife doing. He doesn’t think—’
‘Back up a second.’ Maria was way too sharp to miss a snippet of conversation as juicy as this! ‘So you’ve had an offer of promotion and a proposal?’
‘An offer of promotion or a proposal,’ Lydia corrected. ‘It would seem I can’t have both.’
‘Oh, Lydia.’ Maria’s groan was sympathetic. The problem was all too usual—one that had been pondered by female detectives the world over. As attractive and as sexy as a kick butt detective might sound to a potential lover, the cruel reality was that she didn’t make promising wife material. This didn’t matter a scrap, of course—until you met someone you really cared about. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘I’ve already done it!’ Lydia gave a firm nod as Maria winced. ‘We really are finished.’
‘Then let’s just hope it was worth it. I mean with the promotion coming up and everything—let’s just hope you get it.’
‘It doesn’t matter if I get it or not,’ Lydia said firmly. ‘It would be nice, but it just wasn’t working out between me and Graham. If he can’t take me as I am, then it wasn’t meant to be.’
‘Well, at least you get to lick your wounds in style!’ Maria said. ‘Full access to the beauty salon and you’ve been placed with Anton Santini—you’re a single girl now, Lydia. Who better to have a rebound relationship with?’
‘Anton Santini doesn’t do relationships,’ Lydia said, a smile finally wobbling on her face. She felt so much better for having opened up to her friend. She gave a tiny shocked laugh. ‘You haven’t read what I read last night—his bio’s unbelievable! He’s always been a bit of a rake, but this last year I swear the man’s been on a mission! His list of ex-girlfriends reads like the top one hundred most beautiful people in the world: actresses, European royalty, supermodels, soccer-players’ wives…’
‘Who?’ Maria asked, agog. ‘Anyone I know?’
‘Yep.’ Lydia nodded, but didn’t elaborate. ‘And every last one has ended in tears—for the woman at least.’
‘Is he really that bad?’
‘Worse!’ Lydia nodded. ‘And I’m supposed to be guarding him. God, I hope he behaves himself.’
‘Well, if he doesn’t you can always pass him over to me—I’ll entertain him for you!’
‘You’d be so much better at this than me,’ Lydia happily conceded. ‘You’re way more suited to Anton Santini.’
‘I’m not sure if that’s a compliment.’ Maria feigned a hurt expression. ‘If you’re implying that just because I once had Botox…’
‘I’m implying that you’re a born flirt.’ Lydia laughed. ‘I’m implying that you’re so gorgeous no one would turn a hair if you were draped over Santini’s arm. Whereas I’m going to look so awkward and out of place tagging along beside him…’
‘You’ll be wonderful,’ Maria wailed. ‘You’ll look fabulous and you’re going to have an absolute ball. Unlike me. Angelina’s well over sixty, a confirmed spinster, and tops the scales at one hundred kilos. You’d think someone as divine as Anton would hire a gorgeous assistant. I guess this one must help him keep his mind strictly on business…’
‘You’re shocking.’ Lydia laughed again. ‘This is supposed to be work, remember?’
‘I know.’ Maria managed a tiny groan, but it changed into a giggle as she stared down at the very new, very false nails she’d had applied the moment they’d checked into the hotel yesterday. ‘Right, I’m really cooked now.’ Maria stood up. ‘And if we’re going to pull this off, I suppose we ought to hit the beauty parlour. I’ve got to start looking like a chic Italian businesswoman, while you, Lydia Holmes…’ Maria’s voice trailed off as Lydia groaned. ‘It will be fun,’ Maria insisted. ‘It’s going to be like one of those makeovers on the television—watching you turn from a dark-suited detective to a fabulously rich jewellery designer.’
‘A fabulously rich exclusive jewellery designer,’ Lydia corrected with a wry grin. ‘Here in Melbourne to sell my wares!’
‘Well, whatever you are and wherever you’re from, Graham’s going to be kicking himself when he sees what a stunner you are underneath it all!’
‘Underneath what?’ Lydia frowned, but Maria wasn’t going to elaborate.
Glancing at her watch, she grimaced. ‘I’d better get over to the salon—and you’d better get ready to head to the airport. Santini’s plane is just about due in.’
Lydia shook her head. ‘I don’t have to head to the airport—Graham and John are going to pull him out at Customs, to warn him about the security situation and escort him back to the hotel.’
‘So when do you get to meet him?’
‘In the restaurant. They want the initial contact to look completely accidental—I’m accidentally going to spill my drink on him. You’d think they could have come up with a better pick-up move than that! I’m supposed to be about to check out of the hotel, and he’s apparently going to be so bowled over by me that he moves me straight up to his suite…’ She could see Maria’s lips twitching as she tried not to smile. ‘That’s the sort of thing he does, apparently. I’m going to look a right fool.’
‘A gorgeous fool, though. I can’t wait to see what you look like.’ Maria rubbed her hands in delighted glee. ‘Right, I’m going to have a quick shower, and then off to the parlour—are you coming?’
Lydia shook her head. ‘You go ahead. I think I’ll have a swim first, and try to wind down a bit.’
‘Will you be okay?’ asked Maria.
‘I’ll be fine.’ Lydia smiled, and the smile stayed in place until Maria had closed the sauna door behind her.
Finally alone, Lydia allowed herself an indulgent moment. Raking her fingers through her damp hair, she rested her head in her hands, bracing herself for the huge task that lay ahead over the next few days—guarding a VIP with a security threat in situ. She had to push aside her own problems—or lack of them, now that it was over with Graham.
God, it was hot!
Lydia stepped outside the sauna, visibly blanching at the sight of the cool plunge pool and opting instead for the hopefully warmer lap pool.
Popping into a cubicle she pulled on the rather boring navy bathers she used for her daily swim, knowing that if she was going to carry off the part of Anton Santini’s latest girlfriend she’d better head over to the boutique and buy a decent bikini. Folding her clothes and placing them in her bag, she padded out to the pool area, glad to see that it was deserted again, and glad for a few moments of solitude before the rigours of the next few days began.
A wealthy financier, Anton Santini part-owned a vast string of international hotels. According to the detailed brief Lydia had been given, his hotel chain was considering adding this luxury Melbourne hotel to its impressive list of residences. More importantly, down the track he was considering building a vast, brand-new hotel complex in Darwin, which would not only mean more tourists, but would also provide many vital jobs for the locals in the Northern Territory.
Everyone wanted his whirlwind visit to Melbourne to go well—hence the panic that had ensued when a potential security threat towards Anton Santini had been revealed. There had been no time to reschedule the gathering—he was already on his plane and heading for Australia—so instead red panic buttons had been pushed and a massive security operation had been hastily put in place—with no expense spared! And though professionally Lydia relished the opportunity, she was cringing at the prospect of playing the part of Santini’s girlfriend. She knew that no amount of buffing and coiffing was going to bring her up to his exacting standards—she could still hear the sniggers from her colleagues when she had been chosen—but, worse, she could almost see the scorn and incredulity that would surely be visible in Santini’s eyes when they were finally introduced.
Swimming always calmed her, and a half-hour of concentrating on her breathing, focusing on nothing more than reaching the cool marble at the other side of the pool, was exactly what she needed now. Dipping her toe in the inviting-looking pool, Lydia found it pleasantly warm, the deep blue water seemingly calling her to dive in and forget for a moment the pressures of modern living. Diving in gracefully, she closed her eyes as she hit the water, and felt the tension that had held her together disperse as she slid beneath the surface, propelling her body along the floor of the pool, her breath bursting in her lungs as she held it in.
It was good to be alone. Punching his desired level, Anton glanced at his expensive heavy watch as the lift descended from the Presidential Suite to the lower ground floor and realised that had he caught his scheduled flight then his plane would only just be landing now. He was infinitely grateful to the unknown first-class passenger on the packed flight that had preceded his who had cancelled, allowing Anton the luxury of five hours’ sleep in a hotel bed before he faced his horrendous schedule.
Sitting in the luxurious surrounds of the first-class lounge, sipping on a brandy as he’d waited to board the earlier plane, in a reflex action he’d reached for his mobile to call his PA and tell her about the change. But then, almost defiantly, he had clicked his phone off, filled with an urge to have a few hours in his life that were, for once, unaccountable.
Feeling as if he was playing hooky, Anton had boarded the plane and, in a move that was so unusual for him it bordered on the bizarre, he’d handed over his laptop to the flight attendant and refused the latest copies of overseas newspapers. Shaking his head at the endless delicacies that were offered as the plane hit altitude he’d chosen instead to pull on a pair of headphones and gaze unseeing at the international news, his eyes growing heavy as it morphed into a film…
As the lift doors slid open, Anton Santini, automatically polite, pressed the button to hold it open for a dark-haired woman wrapped in a white robe. Her flushed faced indicated that she had just come from the gym area where he was heading. She did a double take when she saw him, but Anton didn’t give it a thought. He was more than used to women giving him a second look. His six-foot-three frame and dark Latin looks merited that alone, and given that these days there was barely a newspaper or magazine published that didn’t contain a photo of him, it wasn’t just women who looked twice.
It certainly didn’t cross his mind that the dark-haired woman might be an undercover detective who didn’t expect him to be in the country just yet! And it never entered his head that Maria was battling with a surge of panic because an unsuspecting Lydia was swimming in the pool—where, judging from the towel draped around his shoulders, Anton was clearly heading!
With a brief nod he stepped out, following the signs for the hotel pool and gym, noting with a wry smile that despite the fact he was in Australia, literally on the other side of the world, he might just as well be in Rome, or London, or Paris, or wherever his hectic schedule took him. No matter how much the hotels fought to be different, to stamp their originality in the minds of affluent businessmen, each and every one was pretty much the same.
Still, at least he had the place to himself.
Even as he processed the thought Anton retrieved and corrected it. As he had turned the corner he hadn’t acknowledged the massive marble pool—he was used to extravagant surroundings, and the marble floor and glittering blue water had barely merited a glance. All he had noticed was the still surface of the water, the thick scent of chlorine, the silence of an empty room. But now, in a beat, his eyes were drawn to the long dark shadow beneath the water, to a hand breaking the surface tension, followed by a slender, pale arm arching a perfect stroke. As he went to walk on, to deposit his towel and robe on the bench, something held him back. In another beat, after another moment’s hesitation, his eyes were drawn to the figure in the water. Her pale length was effortlessly gliding the length of the pool, titian hair dragging behind her, eyes closed as she rhythmically swam towards the edge, then executed a perfect tumble-turn before disappearing beneath the surface again for an impressive length of time.
Anton found himself drawn to the willowy figure. There was something about the effortless way her body moved, a natural litheness that held his attention—something different about this woman. He took a moment to fathom what it was: she was actually enjoying herself! Unlike most early morning swimmers in a hotel pool, she didn’t appear to be working on toning her thighs or extending her endurance. Instead she seemed to be taking a moment, an indulgent moment, oblivious to her surrounds, and inexplicably he didn’t want to disturb her, didn’t want to invade this woman’s privacy, didn’t want to break her delicate stride.
But it was a hotel pool, Anton reminded himself with a brisk shake of his head. It wasn’t as if he’d climbed a fence and stood in voyeuristic silence as the lady of the house swum in her back garden. Almost defiantly he pulled off his robe. Unlike Lydia, he didn’t test the water for warmth, didn’t gingerly dip in his toe—ice could have been floating on the surface and Anton would have merely dived straight in—and as Lydia neared the far end of the pool he slid into the water.
She felt his presence.
She couldn’t really explain how she knew the presence was male, but as she felt the wedge of water buffet her slightly Lydia knew quite simply that it was, and, snapping out of her almost hypnotic trance she shifted back to an alert, edgy state. The effortless strokes she had been executing were more cumbersome now. Her breath was no longer coming regularly, her strokes were no longer deep and rhythmic, and she grasped the marble beneath her fingers, turned around and held onto the edge to catch her breath a moment.
Her eyes gazed the length of the pool, idly focusing on the man coming towards her, and suddenly, despite the width, it was as if the pool had shrunk. Maybe she was too used to the routine of her usual gym—the lanes neatly divided by a row of yellow buoys, swimmers keeping strictly their lanes—but he was heading straight for her, every stroke drawing him closer, long, muscled arms stroking their way nearer. Inexplicably she didn’t move, just held onto the edge as he came in too soon, too fast.
‘Scusi.’ Even though it was the shallow end the water was still deep, but he stood his ground, didn’t need to clutch the edge as Lydia did, shaking his black hair, blinking his eyes and facing hers. ‘I thought it was bigger…’
‘Me too.’ She gave a small shrug, understanding instantly what he meant—the regular length of a pool like this was twenty-five metres, but this one fell a couple short, and if you were used to swimming—as this man clearly was—used to pacing yourself, it was an easy mistake to make. ‘You soon get used to it.’
‘Sorry!’ He said it again, only in English this time. Lydia actually preferred the more spontaneous response he had used earlier, but there were other things on her mind now. Her shrewd amber eyes focussed, and there was a nervous swallow in her throat as she realised that, way before schedule, the man she would be spending the next few days with, the man she should be ‘accidentally’ meeting in a few short hours, was actually here.
Her mind raced for an explanation and her helpless eyes darted around. She was half expecting to see her colleagues Graham and John appear at the doorway, or for Anton Santini to formally introduce himself, explain that there had been a mix-up in the schedule and that this in fact, was their accidental meeting.
That would explain it, Lydia decided in a split second. That would explain why he had swum so directly towards her—would explain why she had been so acutely aware of his presence, why his eyes were boring into her as if he knew her—he knew who she was!
But, far from introducing himself, he gave her a small nod before pushing away from the edge and swimming off, leaving her standing there clinging to the edge, her heart racing, her breath coming in small shallow gasps. Only it had little to do with the exercise and everything to do with the man who shared the pool. Her skin stung from the brief touch of him, and goose bumps appeared on her arms as she recalled the feel of his strong legs brushing against hers. Her mind raced to calm itself, to turn off the energy he had released, to switch off the adrenaline that was pumping through her veins right now. She didn’t know what to do, unsure now if Anton actually did know who she was, if her lack of response when he had tried to approach her had confused him.
Taking a deep breath, even though her body was tired now, Lydia knew that she had to swim on, to give Anton another chance to talk with her, mindful that if Anton was here then anyone could be watching. Her eyes glanced up to the security cameras. Even though it was only the two of them in the pool this meeting had to look accidental; the biggest threat to Anton Santini’s safety was the fact that no one yet knew who the enemy was—no one knew how sophisticated the plans that were intended to bring him down might be.
Swimming a couple more lengths should have been easy, but her effortless stride eluded her now, and Lydia tried to fathom why she couldn’t resume the simple strokes. She decided that the work-out, the swim, and then the surge of energy when she had realised that Anton was in the pool had left her depleted. Her body was heavy and leaden as she dragged it through the water, and her mind was spinning like a stuck CD—whirring furiously for a moment before playing aloud the single track she didn’t want to hear…
He’d aroused her.
It had nothing to do with the fact it was Anton Santini—the man she was engaged to protect for the next few days—in the water with her. Instead it had everything to do with the man who had dived in just a few moments ago—a man she had been attracted to even before she had realised his identity. It was that thought that panicked Lydia, made every supposedly natural movement a chore, made this chance meeting all the more difficult.
‘You must swim a lot?’
He was waiting for her at the other end, as she had known he would be, and his voice was deep, husky and heavily accented when he spoke. Heart hammering in her mouth, Lydia nodded.
‘Most days,’ she breathed. ‘Though I think I’ve done too much this morning. I was working out before, and then I had a sauna…’
Lifting her hand, she gestured to the gym behind them, but Anton’s gaze didn’t follow where she was pointing. Instead she felt his dark navy eyes drag the entire length of her slender arm, scorching her pale flesh from her fingertips to her creamy clavicle. He took in every facet of the subtle muscle definition, of the pale tea-coloured freckles, then slowly worked his way up her long slender neck, searing her with his eyes. The flicker of her pulse in her neck, his nervous swallow, every tiny movement was accentuated until finally he looked directly at her. But there was no relief, only recognition—a jolting recognition, not of familiarity but of attraction. It was a powerful, faint-making emotion, terrifying exhilarating, and Lydia felt her panic multiply. She struggled to retract what her eyes had just stated, to tell this man that this was strictly business—that she was only here because it was her job. She was supposed to be meeting him in the hotel lounge in two hours, as she pretended to check out of the packed hotel—was supposed to spill a glass of water over him. Their attraction was meant to be mutual—so much so that Anton Santini would overcome the problem of a full hotel, would fall so much in lust with this stranger that he would, within a matter of a few hours, install her into his bedroom. That was the plan.
At this very moment Anton Santini was supposed to be being pulled over by customs officers, and John and Graham would deliver those very instructions.
What had happened?
Lydia didn’t have time to guess—didn’t have time to go through the hows and whys. She had to swing her mind away from the delicious distraction of his eyes and force herself to operate—not as a woman, but as a detective. If the plans had changed then so must her approach—there wasn’t exactly a glass of water handy to spill over him right now!
‘I’m Lydia,’ she managed, forcing a small smile to lips that didn’t seem to want to obey. ‘You are…?’
He didn’t answer, just gave her a small, slightly superior smile, his full mouth twisting upwards slightly, his dark eyes still shamelessly staring. Lydia knew that he didn’t want to play along, and considered introductions completely unnecessary when they both knew who they were dealing with—but anyone could be watching, Lydia reminded herself. They had to act as if they were strangers meeting, had to keep appearances up at all times. She would reiterate that fact to Anton later, when they were alone.
Alone.
Her stomach tightened at the mere thought. A knot of anticipation gripped deep within, a blush spread over her chest as a thousand inappropriate thoughts played in her mind. She understood now how it happened—understood how so many powerful, beautiful women had fallen for him so completely and utterly—how they had ignored his appalling reputation and thrown caution to the wind. The sheer, raw sensuality of the man was devastating, his presence overwhelming, blocking out reason, dimming rationality with the power and force of a solar eclipse. And right now, even if it was all engineered, that energy was focussed entirely on her.
Lydia struggled to reflect it. She struggled to keep a level head as her body begged a more primitive response. Angrier with herself than at him, her voice was more demanding, her eyes holding his boldly, as she insisted that he introduced himself. ‘You are…?’
‘I am…’ His smile bordered on the cruel now, like a predator eyeing his victim. His gaze was inescapable as the massive room suddenly closed in around them, as the steamy warm air seemed set to suffocate her, the atmosphere so throbbingly sensual Lydia could almost hear the hiss of the temperature rising as he moved in closer ‘…going to kiss you…’
She didn’t know what to do. Her head was telling her to pull back, reminding her that this level of intimacy wasn’t in her job description. But instead she stared up at this stunningly beautiful man, her eyes wide, her body rigid with a curious dizzy expectation as his face moved towards her, sheer unadulterated lust drenching her far more than the water.
The morning shadow on his chin was almost as navy as his heavy-lidded eyes, his cheekbones exquisitely sculptured in his haughty face. Truly, Lydia decided, he was the most beautiful man she had ever borne witness to—such strength, such arrogance, even, etched in every feature. Yet his eyes were gentle as they held hers, soothing her terror and multiplying it at the same time. She didn’t want to move, didn’t want to back away from the pleasure that was surely to follow. Even if it was orchestrated, even if it was just for show, a tiny voice was telling her to go with it—a tiny, dangerous voice she’d never heard before was telling her that she didn’t want to miss the feel of this beautiful man close to her, that never again in her lifetime was she likely to be kissed, to be held, by someone as supremely divine as Anton Santini.
Her eyes closed in giddy expectation as painfully slowly he moved in…But in a curious move his lips didn’t meet hers. Instead he dusted his cheek against hers, the warmth of his breath tickling her face, and even if the kiss that was surely about to ensue was only for the cameras, for the sake of the hidden audience that might be watching, before his lips even met hers Lydia knew it would be one she would remember for ever.
His chin was scratching, dragging slowly along her pale, alert flesh, so slow it was almost painful. Yet it had the desired effect. His decadent stealth banished her fear and skilfully replaced it with need—a need that was physical, a need that was palpable. Her lips twitched with desire, her body flaming in its treacherous response to his touch, and lingering misgivings were gone completely. His touch had her moving her lips to his, and so magnetic was his force that reason and doubt were erased, and it was Lydia moving things along, Lydia’s mouth searching for his, and finally, deliciously, finding it.
She relished in the bruising weight of his mouth against hers, the cool of his tongue as it parted her willing lips, the soldering feel of his hand in the small of her back as he pulled her a fraction closer, fanning the flames of desire. Her insides literally melting, she felt her fingers let go of the edge, but the bottom of the pool was too deep for her to stand. He supported her easily, her body weightless in the water, his arms holding her as his mouth ravished her, warm, muscular thighs tipping her further into heady oblivion.
Her swollen nipples were straining against Lycra, and heat was flaring between her legs. The need that imbued her was still not satisfied, the taste of such pleasure making Lydia greedier now, hungry for more. And Anton reciprocated. The nudge of his erection against her taut stomach was faint-making as she pressed provocatively against it, fuelling a primitive desire Lydia had never, not even in her most intimate moments, fully experienced—a total and utter abandonment, a complete, delicious loss of control.
He made her bold, made her wanton, provocative, immersed her in passion.
Her mind was completely focussed now on her own desires, on the pulse flickering between her legs. Her clitoris was engorged, twitching with want, and only this man could satisfy it. Still he kissed her, ravished her, but his mouth was moving now, tracing her neck, kissing the hollows. He buried his face in her dripping hair, and her fingers dug into his shoulders, and in a movement that was as provocative as it was instinctive she raised her hips several decadent inches. His fingers pressed into the warm flesh of her taut buttocks and the deep, languorous, throaty kiss was abandoned as she glided her swollen, most intimate lips along the endless, solid length of his manhood.
His breath was hot on the shell of her ear as she nestled the heat of her centre on the tip of his. She wanted him to take her, to part the tiny inch of fabric that covered her most private place. Wanted him to fill her, to calm the frenzy of her body beneath the still surface of the water. Her stomach tightened in rhythmic contraction and her legs wrapped around him as he pressed his velvet steel harder against her. Heady, drunken, faint, Lydia rested her head on a damp shoulder, nibbling at the salty flesh of his skin, willing him to take her, sure that the strength of his erection alone could part the fabric that covered her. She could feel the pulse of her orgasm aligning, the heavy pit in her stomach an abyss that needed to be filled. And, from the short, rapid breaths in her ear, the tension in every muscle beneath her fingers, Lydia knew he was as close as dammit too.
His hand moved from her, pulling impatiently at his bathers, the motion causing his knuckles to dig into the flesh of her inner thigh. The pain only intensified the experience, abandonment drenching her as she imagined him spilling his salty kiss inside her, visualised the decadence of Anton Santini making love to her…
Anton Santini!
The two words were a brutal slap to her flushed cheeks—a stab of self-preservation mercifully holding her back at the eleventh hour. The world suddenly came into sharp, unwelcome focus and she pulled back, struggled to catch her breath—appalled at what had taken place. She quivered with unsated desire as her mind fought for control and she stared at his questioning eyes.
This was work. This was her livelihood. But it wasn’t just that that had stopped her. It was the knowledge, the realisation, that a man as suave, as sophisticated, as merciless as Anton Santini could reduce her in a matter of minutes to this squirming ball of desire. If she lost her head she’d go under; he would crush her in the palm of his hand and barely even notice.
‘Lydia?’ he murmured, clearly confused by the change in her.
‘I have to pack…’ She shook her head as if to clear it. ‘I’ve got an appointment at the hairdresser…’
And he should have understood, should have been versed by Detective John Miller about the plan. But he just stared back at her. Lydia thought she understood his confusion—John would have told him that he wasn’t to be left alone!
Her mind raced for a solution and almost instantaneously found one. ‘We could go up to my room,’ she said, suddenly desperate to get away from the pool, to find out just what the hell was going on and—perhaps more importantly—face this man dressed!
But she stopped talking abruptly as she heard loud chattering in the corridor outside. Aware of the potential precariousness of the situation she moved quickly, putting herself between Anton and the doorway.
‘What are you doing?’ He sounded irritated, confused by the change in her, but there was no time for explanation as Maria and another woman appeared. Although Maria was still dressed in her white robe a towel was rolled up under her arm, and Lydia knew that she was now armed.
‘Signor Santini, che cosa fa qui?’
A large, irate woman Lydia could only assume was Angelina gesticulated wildly as she addressed her boss.
‘Sto nuotando!’ came Anton’s curt reply.
Lydia bobbed under the water and swam towards the edge, her hands gratefully reaching the silver of the rail, dragging herself up the steps. It was as if the marrow had seeped out of her bones, and her legs were weak as she pulled herself out of the water and located her robe.
‘I ask him what he is doing here so soon,’ Angelina’s exasperated voice greeted Lydia as she made her way over. ‘And he say swimming—I had no idea he was coming!’
‘Well, he’s here,’ Maria said, with a distinctly dry edge to her voice, frowning as she watched Lydia who, her fingers shaking, pale and wrinkled from her time in the water, was knotting her belt. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Everything’s fine,’ Lydia said, hardly trusting herself to speak, still brutally shaken from her first encounter with Anton.
‘Go up and shower quickly,’ Maria said in low, urgent tones. ‘Then get over to the salon. I’ll cover him till you’re dressed and ready—we’ll get him upstairs and brief him.’
‘Brief him?’ Lydia blinked at Maria. Surely she had misheard? Or perhaps Maria didn’t know that Anton had already been versed in the situation? That had to be the case, Lydia begged mentally. Because otherwise…
Panic rose in her as she attempted to confront the other appalling possibility—that Anton Santini really hadn’t been briefed—that he had no idea who she was—that he had merely been attracted to her, had approached her, just as his bio suggested he would, with the supreme confidence that she would respond.
And she had!
‘Where are John and Graham?’ Lydia asked, trying to keep her voice even as Anton climbed out of the pool, her eyes darting away as she tried and failed not to notice the superb body that only moments ago had been pressed against hers.
‘On their way back from the airport,’ Maria answered, and Lydia’s last vestige of hope disappeared—Anton really had no idea who she was. ‘I rang them and told them what was happening.’
Cheeks flaming, she avoided even looking at him. Somehow she picked up her gym bag, and somehow she made her way out to the lifts, her heart hammering in her chest, only remembering to breathe when she was finally alone.
He would have made love to her if she’d let him, and—Lydia gulped as horrible truth flooded in—she almost had. She had almost let a virtual stranger in, let down her cool façade in an appalling unguarded moment. Anton hadn’t just seen a different side to her character today, it was as if a complete alter ego had emerged—a wanton, sensual woman that knew her needs.
Oh, there had been a blistering attraction—that much she understood, that much she could accept. She could almost console herself that they had chosen to mix business with pleasure, had been caught up in the thrill of the moment, safe in the knowledge that they were making themselves look convincing to anyone watching…But if Maria was right, if he hadn’t even known that she was a detective, that they were supposed to be meeting, then she wasn’t just out of her depth with Anton Santini she had already been pulled under!
What sort of man had the confidence, the supreme arrogance, to approach a stranger and kiss them so blatantly, so fully, to arouse them to the point of oblivion and know, just know, that she would reciprocate—know that with one touch he would win?
On autopilot she headed for her room, showered and dressed quickly. She closed her eyes, her mind tightened in disbelief, a stinging flood of shame coursing through her body as another question exploded in her mind.
What must Anton think of her?
CHAPTER TWO
THE PRESSURE of the hairdresser’s fingertips on her scalp as she massaged conditioner deep into her hair didn’t even provide a vague distraction—Lydia’s mind was working overtime, trying to fathom how she was supposed to face Anton Santini now. How on earth could she manage detachment, professionalism, after what had transpired in the pool? Hell, right now she’d settle for being able to look him in the eye.
But she had to remain in control—not only did her career depend on it, but Anton’s life was in her hands. And, given she was signed up as his protector, her life too could be on the line. This was no time to be acting like a gauche teenager—she had to somehow regain control of this appalling situation, had to wrestle back her dignity. But for the first time in her life she was completely at a loss to come up with a plan. How could she deny her part in what had taken place? How could she deny the blatant, overwhelming passion that had engulfed her? The sensual, debauched alter ego that had emerged the second he had touched her?
‘So, you’re booked for nails, full make-up and a blow-dry?’ Karen, the therapist questioned her as a warm towel was wrapped around Lydia’s head and she was guided to the make-up room.
‘Please.’ Lydia nodded, lowering herself into the chair and trying to sound blasé, as if she did this type of thing every day. ‘Though I’m not sure if there will be time to do my nails. I’ve got an appointment scheduled—’
‘That’s no problem,’ Karen interrupted, clearly used to dealing with busy clients. ‘Cindy can do your nails while I do your make up—let’s have a look at you.’ Pulling off the towel, she ran her fingers through Lydia’s long red curls.
‘Is it business or pleasure?’ When Lydia blinked back, Karen elaborated. ‘Your appointment? I’m just trying to get a feel for how you want to look.’
‘It’s business,’ Lydia answered firmly. ‘And I want to look fabulous!’
‘Oh, you will.’ Karen winked, tipping the chair backwards and setting to work.
Lydia closed her eyes as a few stray hairs around her eyebrows were deftly tidied and a thick layer of scented cream gently rubbed into her face, chatting amicably to Karen about jewellery and the one-off pieces she supposedly designed, practising the alias she would be adopting over the next few days.
‘How long are you staying at the hotel?’
‘I have to check out this morning.’ Lydia gave a regretful shrug. ‘When I checked in I was hoping to stay for four nights but apparently the hotel’s been booked up for weeks—some VIPs are arriving this morning. The bellboy’s bringing my luggage down now, and while I’m having breakfast the concierges are ringing around to find me alternative accommodation.’
‘That’d be right,’ the therapist muttered. ‘Kick out the paying guests…’ Her voice trailed off as she realised she’d probably overstepped the mark, but Lydia pushed on, more than happy to fish a little, giving a tiny swallow as she tried to sound like the rich little madam she was hoping to portray.
‘Well, I’m far from happy with the situation,’ Lydia bristled. ‘And I sincerely hope that a concierge can find me somewhere suitable—somewhere with a decent salon at the very least. What sort of VIPs are they anyway?’
‘The worst sort,’ the therapist answered in a theatrical whisper. ‘There’s going to be a take-over of the hotel and some of the bigwigs from a massive European chain are coming. We’re all supposed to be on our best behaviour—why don’t we try grey?’
‘Sorry?’ Opening her eyes, Lydia blinked back at the woman.
‘On your eyes. I know you said you prefer neutral, but a deep smoky grey will really bring out the amazing colour of your eyes—they’re more gold than hazel—’
‘I don’t want anything too heavy,’ Lydia broke in. ‘I really prefer a more natural look.’
‘Trust me,’ Karen insisted, a long red nail hovering over an array of tiny pots, her eyes narrowing as she stared closely at Lydia’s face. ‘You’re going to look stunning. One wave of my magic wand and I can create an entire new you.’
A ‘new you’ was exactly what was needed, Lydia thought ruefully, if she was ever going to face Anton. A tiny glimmer of a plan started to emerge. ‘Can you do anything to tone down my complexion?’
‘You’re as white as paper,’ Karen tutted.
‘But I blush terribly.’ Lydia gave a dismissive shrug. ‘And, like I said, I’ve got an important meeting this morning—I don’t want to give myself away when we discuss prices.’
‘You need a green base.’ Karen nodded knowingly. ‘Nothing like what you’re thinking.’ She grinned at Lydia’s rather startled expression. ‘I’ve got this fabulous mineral powder; we have it flown in from New York. Wearing that you can double your prices—triple them, even—and you’ll be as pale and as cool as porcelain.’
‘Really?’ Lydia gave a dubious frown.
‘Really!’ Karen winked. ‘We’ll have to pay extra attention to your décolletage—that’s a real give away when you’re blushing.’
And she would blush!
Just the thought of facing Anton had her pulse pounding in her temples and a scorching, shameful warmth flooding her. But as Karen worked on slowly the horror receded, and Lydia gave in to the pleasure of the moment, knowing that in a few short days she’d be back to a few dabs of sunblock and slick of mascara if she was lucky.
Lydia let Karen transform her as Cindy worked on her nails. She didn’t even glance in the mirror when she sat upright for her hair to be dried—she focussed on a magazine as her curls were dragged beyond her shoulders.
For the first time in ages Lydia didn’t turn automatically to the health section, didn’t read how she could increase her stamina or detox her entire system in a mere weekend. She even bypassed an in-depth article on a recent high-profile court case. Instead, with a flutter of excitement, she flicked to the social pages. She gazed at photos of the rich and famous, at their smooth botoxed faces belying their age, their divine dresses and long, smooth legs that ended in jewel-encrusted shoes. She could almost smell the expensive perfume wafting from their silicone-enhanced bosoms. She looked at the Russian-red lips smiling for the cameras, and for the first time since she’d checked in Lydia smiled back.
The diversity of her career hit home: only this time last week she had been on a stake-out, dressed in a navy tracksuit, a world away from the glamour she was forced to sample now, boxed up in a supposedly abandoned van for forty-eight hours. She had watched pimps and drug dealers infesting the vulnerable with their wares, staring through the bolt holes fitted with telescopes as weary prostitutes willed the morning to come, drinking endless cups of coffee to stay awake as she made small talk and tried to cheer up Kevin Bates—an inspector on the force she regularly worked alongside, a man she both liked and admired.
Forty-eight hours confined in his company, listening to him fret about his eldest child who was having his tonsils out that week, was a world away from what she was experiencing now! A freshly squeezed orange and guava juice was the order of the day, instead of her usual flask of coffee. Now, massive marble bathrooms replaced the rudimentary portaloo in the corner of the van that she’d had to endure so they didn’t blow their cover by stepping outside.
It wasn’t just a world away, Lydia corrected herself, but an entire universe from where she was now. And for a slice of time this opulent world was the one in which she was supposed to belong, with which she had been ordered to blend in. Lydia made a vow to revel in it the same way Maria was—to live the fantasy of being obscenely rich. She’d taken the bad over and over again. For the next few days she’d enjoy the good.
‘You’re done!’ Karen’s voice was triumphant as she pulled off the towel and gown and smoothed Lydia’s hair over her shoulders. ‘I’ll get a mirror so you can see the back and sides.’
Normally for Lydia the mirror bit of a salon visit was an uncomfortable, painful experience—a mumbled thanks as she wondered how on earth she could correct the appalling creation, grappling in her purse to give a very undeserved tip as she blinked away tears. This time, however, she was trying hard to keep herself from smiling, desperately trying to remember that she was supposed to be used to this, that she was always supposed to look groomed and divine.
Staring at her profile from every angle, Lydia barely recognised herself. Her curls were a distant memory. Instead her hair shimmered in a straight silk curtain. But it wasn’t just her hair that had her mesmerised—it was the entire package! The sparkling gold of her eyes as they peered out from underneath smoky grey lids was deliciously framed by her newly darkened lashes, and even her skin seemed to glow with healthy delight, a cheeky dot of colour on the apple of each cheek drawing her gaze to the dark, sexy red of her lips.
‘Try it now.’ Karen giggled.
‘Try what?’ Lydia asked, still mesmerised by her reflection.
‘Think of your deepest, darkest secret, something that will make your toes curl with shame, and watch that make-up do its magic.’
So she did…
She relived in her mind the sheer abandonment that had doused her this morning. The stinging sensation of Anton’s kiss, the cool of his mouth, the nibble of his teeth against the wedge of her tongue. She could almost feel the steel of his erection nudging her most private place. She could almost feel herself willingly overstepping boundaries that until today had always been firmly entrenched. Staring at her reflection, Lydia envisaged what had just a short while ago seemed impossible—facing Anton Santini, confronting the man she had revealed so much of herself to, staring deep into those cruel, sensuous eyes and somehow appearing in control, portraying the cool, detached detective that she was supposed to be, somehow pretending that he hadn’t touched her so.
‘Cool as a cucumber,’ Karen enthused, and Lydia blinked back at her reflection, amazed that the therapist was right—her face was pale, not a hint of a blush darkened her cheeks. Her shoulders were creamy white against the flame of her dress and Lydia was infused with possibility…
Maybe she could pull it off.
Stare at Anton and tell him that he didn’t move her.
Tell him that the scorching intimacy they had shared hadn’t been pleasure but merely a duty—a cross she’d had to bear.
She would get through this!
And because she was supposedly rich, a mere detail like payment shouldn’t even enter her head—with a swish of her fragranced hair Lydia should stalk out. But, rummaging in her bag, she peeled off a note and pressed it into Karen’s hand. She shared a tiny smile as the woman’s fingers gleefully closed around the crumpled paper before heading out into the massive foyer, staring at her luggage being wheeled through the foyer by the bellboy. A concierge was juggling a telephone call and two rather irate Americans and attempting to catch her eye—no doubt wanting to inform her of the reservation he’d made on her behalf. But Lydia deliberately ignored him, heading over to the restaurant instead, ready to face Anton again. But on her terms this time—not as the woman he had witnessed earlier, but as the detective she was.
CHAPTER THREE
‘SHE OVERREACTS!’ Anton’s words were like pistol shots shooting across the Presidential Suite. Showered and dressed now, he wanted to get on with his day, wanted to end this ridiculous conversation and get on with his work. ‘Angelina had no business calling the police without consulting me.’
‘She tried to contact you, sir, but your telephone was turned off.’
Kevin Bates faced Anton and tried to bring the situation under control—Maria’s attempts to explain things had been greeted with scorn, but it was hoped the more authoritative air of an inspector might calm things down. ‘Sir, you don’t seem to understand the seriousness of the situation. As Maria has tried to explain to you, we have serious concerns about your safety…We have reason to believe that there is going to be an attempt on your life—’
‘Because of some flowers?’ Anton snapped.
‘Because of this.’ Kevin handed him a neat typewritten card.
‘It says “Welcome, Mr Santini.” What has that to do with anything?’
‘You have an excellent PA, Mr Santini. In fact, the reason we’ve been able to rule her out as a suspect is because it’s her attention to detail that has enabled us to recognise the threat. The hotel usually provides a display of native Australian flowers for the Presidential Suite…’ ‘So?’
‘These flowers were delivered to the hotel last night. They were ordered from a florist down the road and paid for in cash. The card was already typed up.’
‘By who?’
‘The florist can’t remember—after all it wasn’t a particularly unusual request. What is unusual, Mr Santini, is that an identical card and lilies were delivered to the hotel you were staying at in Spain six months ago, when you were shot at.’
‘I was not shot at,’ Anton countered. ‘The police decided at the time it was a gangland fight I was caught up in. I was merely in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was just bad luck.’
‘At the time, it appeared so.’ Kevin nodded. ‘However, Angelina gave a very detailed statement to the Spanish police—at the time of the shooting she was in her room, attending to correspondence. She should have been with you. Flowers had been delivered and she couldn’t work out who they had come from—a seemingly insignificant detail, so insignificant that when flowers were delivered to your hotel room in New York still it didn’t seem relevant…’
‘I was nearly run over in New York…’ Realisation was starting to hit, and his hand raked through his hair as he recalled the details. ‘A car came straight at me, accelerating as it did so. I jumped just in time. My shoulder was dislocated but I knew I’d been lucky—the police said…’
‘Wrong place, wrong time?’ Kevin offered, and Anton nodded.
‘These flowers are a calling card, Mr Santini. A warning that we have to take seriously. You’ve also been getting some nuisance calls, I believe?’
‘A few.’ Anton shrugged, but Kevin shook his head.
‘Not according to your PA. During the last twelve months or so you’ve received numerous calls—so many, in fact, that not only the telephone company but the police in Rome are investigating. Am I right that in recent weeks they’ve become more frequent?’
Finally Anton conceded with a brief nod of his head. ‘Who?’ he asked. ‘Who wants to harm me?’
‘That we don’t know,’ Kevin admitted. ‘Believe me, we intend to find out. However, our primary concern is your protection while you’re here in Australia. Now, you’re not to discuss this security operation—not even with your own staff.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because right now they’re all suspects in this investigation.’ As Anton opened his mouth to argue, Kevin overrode him. ‘It’s a possibility that we have to consider—for that reason your PA is the only one who is to know about the undercover operation in place. Maria will stay with Angelina, given that she has direct access to you, and we’ll have other detectives in place in the hotel. Naturally we’ll have a detective with you at all times. ‘
‘How do you expect me to explain to my staff why a police officer is by my side? With all due respect, you do look like a police officer,’ Anton said, impatience evident in his every gesture as his heavily accented voice filled the room.
‘We’re not that stupid, Mr Santini.’ Kevin gave a wry smile. ‘I can assure you that the detective shadowing you is going to blend in.’
‘How?’ Anton asked, more intrigued than annoyed now. ‘I can see that we could pass off Maria’s presence by explaining that Angelina needed some assistance, but…’
‘Do you remember the woman in the pool this morning?’ Maria asked, watching as Anton frowned. ‘She was there when Angelina and I arrived.’ When Anton’s frown deepened Maria assumed it was because he was trying to place her. ‘She had red hair, was doing some laps. You probably didn’t notice her, but she’s actually been in the hotel since yesterday, posing as a jewellery designer from Sydney here in Melbourne to showcase her work…’
‘She’s a detective?’ Anton’s voice was a hoarse whisper as realisation hit. Closing his eyes for a second, he replayed the morning’s events. With the benefit of hindsight, his mouth tightened in rage. ‘You are telling me that that woman is in fact a police officer?’
‘No, Mr Santini,’ Kevin answered patiently. ‘For the next couple of days, according to everyone she meets, Lydia is a jewellery designer visiting Melbourne and is here to target some new clients. However, given that the hotel is full, she’s checking out this morning. The bellboy is bringing her luggage down as we speak.’
‘I thought you said that she was staying with me?’
‘She is.’ Kevin nodded, enjoying seeing this supremely powerful man momentarily flailing as he explained the carefully laid plans. ‘Initially she was going to hang around the hotel until lunchtime but, given that you’ve arrived early, we’ve had to move things forward. You’re going to chat her up, and after a brief exchange you’ll invite her to stay with you. From our homework, sir, I don’t think any of your staff will be remotely surprised to find you with a young lady in situ by the time they get here. By all accounts you’re a pretty fast operator.’
Anton pressed his lips together, fighting back a smart retort because, though it galled him to admit it, Detective Bates was speaking the truth—no one would turn a hair if they arrived to find a beautiful woman on his arms. After all, it had happened on numerous occasions before.
‘Once you’re alone, Lydia will give you more details and try and glean any information from you that might give us some insight as to who this person might be. She’ll also brief you about how the next few days are to be handled. But that conversation can only take place in your hotel room, and even then only when Lydia is satisfied that the room is secure and that you’re definitely alone. Whenever you are out of your room or there is another person present you are to act as if you’re lovers…’
Kevin paused for a moment, giving Anton time to digest the instructions. He was slightly bewildered by the stunned expression on Santini’s face—the fact that his life might be in danger hadn’t initially evoked even a hint of reaction, but now, Kevin decided, clearly shock was setting in and the truth must be starting to hit him. The Detective’s voice was a touch gentler as he continued. ‘Now, to make your initial contact look accidental, we thought you could make your way over to the breakfast bar—’
‘What do you mean—initial contact?’ Anton sneered, desperately trying to regain some semblance of control, forcing himself to drag his mind away from Lydia and back to the conversation. What on earth was he talking about? Did this buffoon not realise it had already been made? That the initial contact had been well and truly taken care of?
But just as he was about to correct him, he checked himself. Long ago Anton had learnt that any knowledge, however unimportant it might seem at the time, was a vital tool that could be used later. That to keep the upper hand one had to be constantly ahead of the game. So instead he changed tack.
The sneer still in place, he voiced a different question. ‘Why on earth would I go over to the breakfast bar? I do not serve myself. Did you think of that when you were making your plans?’
He didn’t get an answer. The room fell quiet as Kevin’s mobile phone trilled. ‘She’s ready.’ Kevin nodded, quickly ending the call and nodding to Maria. ‘Okay, Mr Santini, there are two detectives coming up in the lift. Their names are Graham and John. Don’t talk to them—just treat them as you would any strangers—they’re going to take the lift down with you and watch until you’re in the restaurant. Once you’re there, Lydia will walk in. Perhaps you could—
‘I do not need to be told by you how to chat up a woman,’ Anton sneered, appalled now by what had taken place this morning, and more than ready to face this undercover detective and give her a piece of his mind. ‘Come.’ He snapped his fingers impatiently. ‘Let’s get this over with. Let’s make this initial contact!’
CHAPTER FOUR
ORDERING his breakfast Anton glanced around the room, bracing himself for her entrance. To anyone watching he would look supremely in control as he flicked open the paper and read through the business section, but inside he was seething.
She had used him, had been playing a mere game with him; she was the one who had been in control this morning, and it stung like hell to admit it. A bitter taste of his own medicine had been served, and it was almost choking him to swallow it down.
What the hell had he been thinking anyway? Anton demanded of himself—aside from the fact she was a detective, what the hell had he been doing, practically making love to a stranger in a pool with no thought to birth control, no thought to the consequences?
She could have been anyone!
Anton’s jaw tightened.
She was a damned detective!
He looked up from his paper and his racing mind stilled as a pale woman walked into the restaurant. His anger momentarily faded as he watched her cross the room. Maybe the bright early-morning Australian sun that streamed through the windows had dipped behind a cloud for a moment, shadowing the bright skylights of the restaurant because all of a sudden the vast sun-drenched restaurant seemed to dim. Even the noise seemed to fade—the clatter of knives and forks against plates, the rustle of newspapers, the chatter of his fellow diners, all blurring in the distance as Lydia became the sole power source.
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Carol Marinelli
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: Taken For His Pleasure, электронная книга автора Carol Marinelli на английском языке, в жанре современная зарубежная литература