“You have, I understand, been hired to guard my body for twenty-four hours a day?”

“Yes, technically speaking, I suppose I have. But…”

“Well, there you are!” Lorenzo grinned wolfishly down at her. “I suddenly realized that it would be churlish, to say the least, to turn down the opportunity of having you, my dear Antonia, closely guarding my body through the night.”

“You must be joking!” she laughed.

But, as Antonia discovered for the second time that evening, she was guilty of seriously underestimating an opponent, as Lorenzo suddenly moved at what seemed to be the speed of light. A nanosecond later, she found herself firmly clasped by one steely, unyielding arm while he placed his other hand firmly under her chin.

As he tilted her face up toward him, she barely had time to become aware of his blue eyes glittering down at her, before his dark head was descending swiftly toward her, his mouth possessing her lips in a kiss of devastating intensity.

MARY LYONS was born in Toronto, Canada, moving to live permanently in England when she was six, although she still proudly maintains her Canadian citizenship. Having married and raised four children, her life nowadays is relatively peaceful—unlike her early years when she worked as a radio announcer, reviewed books and, for a time, lived in a turbulent area of the Middle East. She still enjoys a bit of excitement, combining romance with action, humor and suspense in her books whenever possible.

The Italian Seduction
Mary Lyons

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ONE

‘LORENZO—you really must be sensible! You could be in grave danger.’

‘Nonsense!’

Standing behind his large desk, Lorenzo Foscari gave a brief, slightly irritated shrug of his broad shoulders as he continued to toss files and papers into an open briefcase. ‘Quite frankly, Matteo, I consider that you, and the other directors of this company, are taking these foolish threats far too seriously.’

Matteo Barocci gave a heavy sigh, before once again trying to persuade the younger man to see sense.

Unfortunately, it clearly wasn’t going to be an easy task. Which was hardly surprising. After all, no man of thirty-eight—let alone a good-looking, wealthy bachelor with a host of glamorous girlfriends—was likely to welcome having his private life seriously curtailed.

However, as a director of a large industrial corporation—of which Lorenzo was chairman and managing director— Matteo could only agree with the firm’s insurance company when they’d insisted that action must be taken immediately.

‘In the event of anything happening to Signor Foscari, we would be called upon to pay out a huge sum of money to your company. Which is why we cannot afford to take any risks, and are insisting that he has close protection, at all times, until there is no longer any threat to his life.’

But it was one thing for the insurance company to lay down the law, Matteo told himself with another, heavy sigh and quite another to persuade Lorenzo to accept measures designed to protect him. All the same…he had no choice but to try.

‘Now, Lorenzo—you must listen to reason,’ he pleaded. ‘Because, however “foolish” it may seem to you, once someone has written letters threatening your life, it would be the height of folly to take no notice of such a warning.’

‘Sì, d’accordo…I agree. You are quite right to insist that I take sensible precautions,’ Lorenzo said, placing his passport in the case, before firmly closing the lid. ‘And that’s precisely what I intend to do.’

‘So, you’ll agree to have a bodyguard, and…’

‘Absolutely not.’ Lorenzo shook his dark head as he pressed down the intercom, asking his secretary to notify the chauffeur that he was about to leave the building. ‘While I am quite prepared to be careful, I refuse to believe that I am in any immediate danger. Certainly not enough to warrant the appointment of a bodyguard!’

‘But our insurers and the other directors of the company are insisting that…’

‘Damn it, Matteo!’ Lorenzo grated, his blue eyes glinting with anger and frustration. ‘We both know that the man was nothing but a thief. A loathsome little man who, in his role of chief accountant, betrayed our trust by stealing tens of millions of lire from this company, before I sacked him. Right?’

‘Quite right. But…’

‘Yes…yes, I know that he’s apparently made threats against my life,’ Lorenzo added impatiently. ‘But I fail to understand why everyone seems to be taking him seriously.’

‘I’ve already explained that…’

‘Oh, come on! Giovanni may have been a crooked, greedy man, who had no scruples about robbing this company. But the idea that he’s suddenly become a dangerous assassin is totally absurd!’

Continuing to ignore the older man’s protests, he picked up his briefcase from the desk, moving swiftly across the thick carpet towards the door of his large, spacious office.

‘For instance, I very much doubt if Giovanni would even recognise a gun when he saw one—let alone know how to fire it. Which is why the idea that I now need a bodyguard—to protect me from such a puny, insignificant little man—is utter nonsense!’

‘But…but the insurance company is insisting that you…you must take precautions,’ Matteo protested breathlessly, almost having to run to keep up with the other man’s tall, slim figure as Lorenzo left his office, and began striding quickly down the marble-floored corridor, towards his personal elevator.

‘For how long would I be expected to put up with this bodyguard? One month? Six months? A year?’

‘Well…er…I really don’t know,’ Matteo muttered helplessly. ‘It could be for some time, I suppose.’

‘That is precisely the conclusion I’d come to,’ Lorenzo snapped as the elevator doors opened and he entered the steel cage, closely followed by his colleague. So as far as I’m concerned you can forget it! Because I’m damned if I’ll put up with being forced to live—for who knows what length of time?—with some empty-brained, muscle-bound gorilla!’

It was now far too late, of course, Lorenzo told himself grimly, his lips tightening with exasperation as the lift hurtled down, towards the ground floor of the large office building. It was far too late to regret not calling in the police when he’d first been informed by the auditors of a serious problem in the company’s financial department. Prompt and swift action, at that point, would undoubtedly have saved everyone a considerable amount of time and trouble.

Unfortunately, instead of being sensible, he’d allowed his compassion to overcome his better judgement.

After calling the chief accountant, Giovanni Parini, into his office and tearing him off a strip, Lorenzo had been disconcerted and embarrassed when the man had broken down—not only admitting his guilt, but weeping with distress about the future welfare of his wife and many small children. Which was why, very stupidly, Lorenzo had merely called Security to have the man immediately escorted from the building.

What an idiot he’d been! Because it had soon become evident that there was no wife and definitely no small children. In fact, Giovanni, who’d been living alone with his comfortably off, elderly mother, had now disappeared and was on the run. But not before leaving behind him a letter, threatening to kill Lorenzo—the one person who’d been foolish enough to show him some clemency.

Which only serves you right, for being such a soft touch! Lorenzo told himself grimly. However…if he now had the opportunity to get his hands around the thin, scrawny neck of the company’s late and entirely unlamented chief accountant, he’d have great pleasure in cheerfully squeezing the life from the wretched man!

‘You really cannot continue ignoring the demands of our insurance company.’

‘Hmm…?’

Preoccupied in cursing himself for having been so lenient, Lorenzo realised that he’d missed part of what his companion had been saying.

‘What demands?’ he queried as the elevator doors opened, and he began walking across the foyer, towards the main doors of the large office block.

‘You clearly haven’t been listening to what I’ve been saying!’ his colleague protested, hurrying after the taller man as Lorenzo swept through the glass doors to where his uniformed chauffeur was standing beside a large black limousine.

‘Our insurers are adamant that you must have the protection of a bodyguard, at all times, until Giovanni Parini is caught,’ Matteo continued breathlessly.

‘What nonsense!’ Lorenzo grated as he came to an abrupt halt, spinning around on his heels to glare down at the other man. ‘Are you seriously trying to tell me…?’

Matteo nodded quickly. ‘They say if you don’t take their advice—especially as you will be travelling abroad for the next couple of weeks or so—they will immediately withdraw your insurance cover.’

‘This is totally ridiculous!’ Lorenzo exclaimed angrily. ‘How can they seriously believe that Giovanni is likely to be dogging my footsteps around Europe? My schedule has not yet been finalised. So where and how would he get the information about my business meetings in Switzerland, Germany and Britain? How could he know where I will be on any one, particular day—when I don’t yet have that information myself?’

Matteo shrugged. ‘It seems they regard you as being vitally important for the future of this company. Which is why they are not prepared to take any risks whatsoever—and will cancel the policy unless you agree to their terms.’

Swearing violently under his breath, Lorenzo stared grimly down at the other man for a moment, before quickly glancing at the slim gold watch on his wrist.

‘If I don’t hurry, I’m going miss my flight to Zurich. Which means that I’ve no time to hang around arguing about this subject any longer,’ he grated angrily, handing his briefcase to the chauffeur before climbing into the passenger seat at the rear of the vehicle.

‘I’m sorry…’ Matteo sighed. ‘Believe me, I have tried to reason with the insurers. But, while they aren’t prepared to take even the slightest risk of anything happening to you, they have agreed to make the arrangements regarding your bodyguard. Apparently they expect to have someone in place by the time you reach London. And they have also agreed to pay all the fees involved.’

‘I should damn well hope so!’ Lorenzo retorted through clenched teeth. ‘Especially when I think of the huge sums we’ve paid our insurers over the years. Nothing short of daylight robbery!’ he exploded, before taking a deep breath and making an effort to calm down.

‘I want you to make something very clear to our insurance company,’ he continued grimly, slamming the car door shut with a bang, before lowering his window to deliver a parting shot. ‘If they’re twisting my arm, and forcing me to have a bodyguard, they’d better make certain that he’s the very best in the business!’

Over six hundred miles and many light-years away from the sophisticated city of Milan, Antonia Simpson gave a heavy sigh as she leaned back in the front passenger seat of the chauffeur-driven Rolls-Royce.

Gazing longingly out of the window at the bright sunshine, and the light breeze rustling the leaves of the trees at the edge of the airfield, she found herself thinking that it was about time she had a break.

It was all very well running one’s own business. And she certainly was making a considerable amount of money. But the unrelenting pressure of always having to be totally alert and aware of danger, at all times, was beginning to wear her down.

Which was ridiculous, really, because she’d spent the last eleven years thoroughly enjoying all aspects of her job—eleven years into which she’d packed more adventures than most people experienced in a lifetime.

She’d always been a tomboy, of course. Which wasn’t exactly surprising, since following her mother’s death, when Antonia was only a few months old, her father had raised her in exactly the same way as he’d done her three older brothers. And he’d been delighted to discover, as the years went by, that she was the only one of his children to inherit his natural aptitude for sports.

There was a downside to her happy, comfortable childhood, of course. For instance, it had been a shock, at the age of sixteen, to discover that men preferred girls who wore frilly frocks. And as she’d grown older she’d been confused to discover that most of her brothers’ male friends—however nice they might be—didn’t take kindly to being beaten hollow at tennis. Nor did they like being told not to be ‘sloppy’—and quickly tossed, judo-style, over her shoulder whenever they tried to kiss her.

However, on leaving school and training as a fitness instructor, it was when she was asked to help look after one of her students—who’d suddenly achieved unexpected fame as a rock star—that she’d discovered her true vocation, taking up ‘close protection’ as a permanent job. By which time, of course, she’d also discovered that being kissed by the opposite sex wasn’t really quite so bad, after all! Which hadn’t been much of a help when she was chosen to join a training course with the SAS.

Antonia still shuddered at the memory of those harsh, desperately exhausting few weeks, which she’d spent at a secret location in Herefordshire. The only woman on the course, she was never quite sure how she’d managed to survive the brutally tough regime—a postgraduate course in advanced security techniques, which had dramatically changed her life—and resulted in her becoming a highly valued member of her chosen profession.

But…well, there had been many times, lately, when she had found herself wondering what it would be like to live an ordinary, normal, everyday life.

Which was one of the reasons that she’d recently formed her own, private security firm. Specialising in various training courses—both for members of the general public, as well as employees of various security firms—she also provided clients with surveillance teams for an assortment of mundane problems, such as internal theft and the prevention of industrial espionage.

It was certainly a lot quieter and more peaceful than some of the jobs she’d had in the past. But Antonia was beginning to think that maybe, somewhere along the line, she’d somehow managed to miss out on something vital.

Most of her friends were married, and had happily settled down to enjoy family life. And, although she was definitely not looking for a husband—and hadn’t even begun to think about having any children of her own—she was becoming increasingly aware of strange feelings of dissatisfaction with her life, which she had absolutely no idea how to combat.

Possibly the answer to her problems was simply that she needed a holiday. While she was not someone who enjoyed lying around on a sandy beach for any length of time, the idea of renting a villa, high in the hills of Greece or Italy, was definitely appealing.

Antonia was just anticipating the future delights of enjoying fresh mountain air, and of strolling through fragrant pine woods, when her thoughts were interrupted as the Rolls-Royce came slowly, and sedately, to a halt.

‘Get a grip, Harold! You really must try to do better than this! How many times do I have to tell you: at the first sign of a deliberate obstruction you immediately slam the gear into reverse—and stamp down hard on the accelerator?’

‘Yes, I know, miss,’ the chauffeur muttered unhappily. ‘But I can’t seem to bring myself to harm the car, somehow.’

‘OK…’ Antonia sighed. ‘I know it’s hard to break the habits of a lifetime. But if it’s a case of worrying about your vehicle, or saving the life of your passenger—there’s really no choice, is there? So, let’s try it again, shall we?’

Harold sighed heavily. He was clearly hating every minute of the course, designed to teach chauffeurs of rich and influential businessmen how to escape from tricky situations.

‘That was much better! You’re really getting the hang of it,’ Antonia told him encouragingly some minutes later as the large vehicle juddered abruptly to a halt at the sight of a car, suddenly blocking its path, before racing backwards down the tarmac at a rate of knots.

‘Now, I’m going to let you continue on your own,’ she added, unbuckling her seat belt. ‘I want you to keep going around the circuit until you can instinctively react to a problem, without having to stop and think what to do. And then one of my assistants will give you some practice in controlling a skid on roads which have been deliberately sprayed with oil. OK?’

He nodded, looking far more cheerful than he had earlier as she got out of the car, and began walking over the long grass towards a large, decrepit building on the far side of the old East Anglign airfield—an ancient relic of World War II.

When the sun was shining, England in June was just about perfect, Antonia told herself, taking off her crash helmet and shaking free her shoulder-length blonde hair. However, just as she was relishing both the smell of new-mown hay from a nearby field and the chirping of birds, wheeling and diving in the sky, far above her head, she was recalled to more mundane matters by the imperative buzz of her mobile phone.

Recognising the number on the back-lit display as that of James Riley, an old colleague who was now running a top security agency, Antonia took a deep breath before answering his call. James could be very persuasive, but there was no way she was going to allow him to cajole or sweet-talk her into taking on another of his rotten jobs.

‘I’m definitely not interested in guarding any more Arab princesses,’ she announced grimly, before he had a chance to say anything. ‘Your last client was a totally manic shopaholic! In fact, if I never have to visit Knightsbridge or Bond Street again, as long as I live, that’s just fine by me!’

‘Hang about, Tony!’ he protested. ‘It’s nothing like that.’

‘Oh, yeah? Well, just as long as you’ve got the message,’ she told him firmly. ‘Besides, I’m running my own business these days. And I’ve got more work than I know what to do with. So…’

‘Hey—relax. You’re quite right,’ he murmured soothingly. ‘I’ll admit that I shouldn’t have lumbered you with that job. It was just a mistake, OK? Definitely not right for someone of your experience and expertise. After all, you’re one of the best in the business. Right?’

‘Uh-oh…this is beginning to sound like some of your usual, lousy soft-soap, James!’ she retorted warily. ‘When you start paying compliments, I just know that you’ve got a dirty job lined up for me. So, what is it this time? Going undercover to track down industrial espionage in a smelly chemical factory? Or tailing a suspect in a particularly nasty and brutal drug syndicate? Come on—spill the beans!’

‘You’ve got it all wrong,’ he told her in an aggrieved tone of voice. ‘In fact, what I’m offering you is a really cushy, very simple job. Merely looking after a high-profile client, in a London hotel, for about ten days. Absolutely nothing to it. As easy as falling off a log,’ he added quickly. ‘And the fee you’ll be getting is pretty spectacular, as well.’

‘So—what’s the catch?’ she demanded.

‘There isn’t one,’ he assured her earnestly. ‘Believe me—it’s a doddle.’

‘Hmm!’ she murmured suspiciously. ‘The thing is, James, I can’t help wondering—if it’s really going to be as easy as you say—why you’ve bothered to contact me?’

‘Well…the truth is…’ He gave a heavy sigh. ‘You’re right. I did have Pete Davis lined up for the job. But the stupid man fell asleep at the wheel when driving home last night. And now he’s in hospital with all his limbs in plaster.’

‘So…?’

‘So I can’t get hold of anyone else who’d be suitable for the job, at such short notice,’ James admitted bluntly. ‘The client isn’t the man you’d be guarding. It’s his insurance company. He isn’t taking the threats against his life seriously, but they are. Right? So, if the guy is to have close protection—apparently he’s Italian, and not at all keen on the idea of a bodyguard—it has to be someone who’s able to merge into his very up-market, social scene, and not stand out like a sore thumb. Which is where you come in. Because, from our enquiries so far, it seems that he’s a bit of a womaniser.’

‘Gee—thanks!’

‘Nothing you can’t handle,’ James told her quickly. ‘Just partial to the ladies…lots of glamorous girlfriends…you know the sort of thing.’

‘Yes, unfortunately, I do,’ she retorted grimly. ‘OK, let’s get down to brass tacks. What’s the fee for the job?’

When James mentioned a sum she gave a hoot of grim laughter. ‘Forget it!’

‘Oh, come on, Tony. Don’t give me a bad time.’

‘What “bad time”? I’m the one who’s going to have the hassle of dealing with a guy who, according to you, is “partial to the ladies”. Which, if my past experience is anything to go by, means nothing but trouble. So, if you want me, you’ll have to double that figure, make all the initial arrangements, and provide a specialist team for round-the-clock-surveillance—or I’m simply not interested.’

‘You’re a hard woman!’ he groaned, before eventually and most reluctantly agreeing to her terms.

Lorenzo gave a sigh of relief as he gazed around his spacious hotel suite. After so many intensive, if stimulating business meetings in Zurich and Bonn, he was now looking forward to spending a more relaxing time in London.

Feeling hot and sticky, he slipped off the jacket of his dark suit, loosening his tie and stretching his long rangy body as he decided that, before having a shower, what he really needed was a stiff drink.

Even when travelling first-class, air travel these days was becoming increasingly tedious. It was ridiculous to be forced to spend so many long, boring hours in various terminals—especially when the flights themselves took hardly any time at all. With his company’s business expanding so fast nowadays, maybe it was about time he acquired a private jet?

Luckily, he had only one meeting scheduled here in London, with a large private merchant bank, mainly concerning the funding of a new factory in the north of England. Which meant that he would have plenty of time to see his friends, and also visit his young niece, currently attending a language school in Cambridge.

But first of all, he reminded himself grimly, he was going to have to sort out this stupid business of being forced to put up with a bodyguard.

In regular touch with his office in Milan, he’d been informed by his secretary that the insurance company seemed to have pulled out all the stops. Not only had they appointed someone from a top security agency to look after him here in England, but they’d apparently sent his office a fax, demanding exhaustive details of his personal life.

Admittedly, some of the requests—a photocopy of his passport; his blood group; his height and weight and the name and address of his doctor in Milan—could possibly be regarded as sensible. Especially if he was likely to be in any danger—which, of course, he wasn’t.

However, he deeply resented some of the other questions, such as: ‘Does he have any aliases?’ and ‘Is he on a known hit list? Or affiliated with any political group?’

Who on earth did they think he was…James Bond?

In fact, Lorenzo told himself, slowly sipping his whisky and staring moodily out of the large, floor-to-ceiling windows at the traffic swirling around Hyde Park Corner, the whole business was obviously becoming a total farce.

And if this bodyguard…what was his name? He turned to pick up the message from Worldwide Security Inc., which he’d been handed on his arrival at the hotel. If this man, Tony Simpson, thought that Lorenzo was prepared to meekly accept being closely shadowed day and night, he was very much mistaken!

He’d had time, over the past few days, to give the matter some thought, and it looked as if his best solution to the problem would be to simply outbid the insurance company, by offering to double or even treble Mr Simpson’s salary—provided he would leave Lorenzo alone. A decision, he told himself, which had the great virtue of both simplicity—and a way in which to satisfy the needs of everyone concerned.

Some time later, after deciding to forgo a shower in favour of a long, leisurely bath, Lorenzo found himself feeling a good deal more cheerful.

He’d obviously been in danger of allowing himself to become far too obsessed about having to put up with a bodyguard, he told himself ruefully as his long, tanned fingers quickly knotted his black bow-tie.

In fact, he’d do better to concentrate on the pleasure of renewing his acquaintance, this evening, with some old friends—who’d been kind enough to invite him to join them at the Albert Hall for a gala performance of excerpts from Verdi’s opera Otello.

While he was smiling at the idea of an Italian travelling hundreds of miles to attend a performance of one of his own country’s famous composers, Lorenzo’s thoughts were sharply interrupted by the sound of a loud knock on the door of his suite.

Walking over to open the door, and fully expecting to see a member of the hotel staff—or the chauffeur of the limousine which had been placed at his disposal during his visit to London—Lorenzo was surprised to find himself staring down into the cool grey eyes of a tall, slim young woman.

‘Signor Foscari?’

‘Sì,’ he responded, before quickly realising that the female standing in front of him was clearly English. ‘Yes…yes, I am Lorenzo Foscari. Can I be of any assistance?’ he added politely.

‘Well…I think that it’s probably the other way round,’ she said with a quick smile, before putting out her hand towards him. ‘I’m Antonia Simpson. I believe you are expecting me.’

Momentarily confused by the fact that she obviously knew his name, Lorenzo found himself automatically shaking the proffered hand, his puzzlement increasing as she gave him another brief smile, before moving swiftly past his tall figure and entering the large sitting room.

‘This is all very comfortable,’ she commented, quickly scanning the room with its deep sofas and large armchairs, whose pale cream upholstery matched the off-white raw silk curtains surrounding the tall windows. ‘And you’ve got a great view of both Aspley House and Hyde Park Corner, haven’t you?’ she added, moving over to gaze out of the tall windows.

‘Yes, it seems I have,’ he murmured, leaning casually against the architrave of the open doorway of the sitting room, and regarding his unknown visitor with some amusement.

Lorenzo had travelled widely around the world on business over the past few years. Which was why his first, instinctive reaction to the sudden appearance of a strange female at the door of his suite had been to immediately assume that she was up to no good. Mainly, of course, because loose women frequently plied their trade in the world’s top hotels—despite all attempts by respectable hoteliers to keep them well away from their premises.

However, after a long, searching glance at the slim, well-dressed figure in front of him, he swiftly discarded that notion.

With a mother and two much older sisters—not to mention a considerable number of sophisticated girlfriends—he knew enough about women’s apparel to immediately recognise the hallmark design of a very expensive handbag, hanging from her shoulder on its thin gold chain. Moreover, the scoop-necked, sleeveless black silk cocktail dress—expertly cut to skim lightly over the curves of her tall, athletic body—clearly hadn’t come cheap, either.

In fact, from the tips of her toes in those high-heeled shoes, up to the discreet sparkle of small diamond earrings, half hidden behind her shoulder-length blonde hair, this young woman was clearly a class act. So…what on earth was she doing here?

Standing across the room and taking a good, hard look at her new client, Antonia found herself feeling both surprised and slightly taken aback. Not merely because this man seemed to have an almost perfect command of the English language, with only a slight accent betraying his country of origin. Or the fact that he was so tall—most Italians of her acquaintance being far shorter and more rotund.

It was just…well…there hadn’t been time for the agency to send her a photograph, of course. However, while she wouldn’t have described him as classically handsome—not with that long aquiline nose and those high cheekbones—there was no doubt that Signor Foscari was a quite amazingly attractive man.

Maybe it was something to do with the hint of laughter glinting from beneath his heavy eyelids, thickly fringed with long black lashes? Or the warm, amused curve of his lips? But, even on the other side of this large room, she was almost physically aware of the highly potent, heady attraction of rampant sex appeal, which seemed to ooze from every pore of his tall, slim figure.

Trust that idiot James Riley to have got hold of the wrong end of the stick! Because she hadn’t a moment’s doubt that if this Italian was ‘partial to the ladies’ it was because they’d undoubtedly been throwing themselves at him ever since he’d put on his first pair of long trousers!

All the same…while few things fazed her nowadays, she definitely didn’t like the way this man was looking at her. Maybe James hadn’t been entirely off-beam, Antonia told herself grimly, irritated to find herself feeling uneasy beneath the highly intense, speculative gleam in the man’s clear blue eyes.

‘It is undoubtedly a great pleasure to meet you,’ Lorenzo drawled, his lips twitching with amusement as he gazed at the attractive young woman.

Although she now appeared to be regarding him with a studiously closed, deadpan expression on her face, he’d been well aware, from the momentary tightening of her lips and the brief, fleeting glint of annoyance in those grey eyes, that she had no problem reading his mind.

‘Nevertheless,’ he continued smoothly, ‘I’d be grateful if you could tell me why you’re here.’

He was surprised by her reaction as she stared blankly at him for a moment, before giving a quick shake of her blonde head, clicking her teeth with annoyance as she crossed the room to hand him a small white card.

‘I’m sorry. It looks as if there’s been a bit of a slip-up, doesn’t it?’ She shrugged. ‘I’d assumed that the agency would have left full details confirming my appointment, to be collected by you on your arrival here, at this hotel.’

‘The agency?’

‘James Riley, who runs Worldwide Security, is normally very efficient,’ she quickly assured the man, who was frowning at her in some confusion. ‘However, there’s no need to worry,’ she continued, looking quickly down at the slim gold watch on her wrist. ‘I’ve personally seen to all the arrangements, and everything is now in place. So, if you’re ready…?’ She glanced over at his black dinner jacket, hanging over the back of a nearby chair. ‘The chauffeur is waiting outside the back entrance, and…’

‘Just a minute!’ Lorenzo ground out, all trace of good humour swiftly vanishing from his face, as he gazed fixedly down at the white card in his hand. ‘There must be some mistake!’

But, even as the baffled, incredulous note in his voice was still echoing loudly around the room, the truly awful, hideous truth was hitting him with all the force of a tenton truck.

‘A mistake?’ Antonia frowned. ‘But the itinerary which I’ve been given of your engagements, here in London, plainly stated that you are due to attend the Albert Hall for a gala performance of…’

‘I know where I’m going!’ he snapped angrily. ‘It’s what you think you’re doing here which concerns me.’

‘I’m sorry, Signor Foscari. There seems to have been a complete breakdown in communications between yourself and Worldwide Security,’ she told him quietly, hoping to take the heat out of what was looking like becoming a difficult situation. ‘However, I have been appointed to act as your bodyguard…’

‘What nonsense!’

‘And I will be looking after you during your stay here, in Britain, to the very best of my ability,’ she continued calmly, doing her best to ignore the man’s stiff, rigid figure, and the baffled fury etched on his tanned face.

‘But…but I was expecting a man! A Mr Tony Simpson,’ Lorenzo ground out. ‘Most definitely not a Miss Antonia Simpson. For heaven’s sake—this is utterly ridiculous!’ he added, his voice grating angrily around the room. ‘I can’t be expected to have a woman looking after me!’

Here we go again! Antonia told herself with grim resignation. It was exactly this sort of stupid anti-feminist, blind prejudice which had led her to form her own company, where she could call the shots, and not have to put up with such irritating male chauvinism.

However, it was obvious that she was going to have to take an immediate, firm grip on the situation. Especially as they were now in danger of running late, and upsetting her arrangements.

‘How very clever of you to realise that I’m female,’ she told him with a bland smile, quickly picking up his dinner suit jacket, and holding it towards him. ‘Now, time is getting on. So, if you’ll just put this on…’

‘Don’t you dare to try and patronise me!’ he ground out through clenched teeth, before swearing violently under his breath. Mostly at himself—for automatically, without thought, taking the jacket from the woman and slipping it on over his broad shoulders.

‘Let me tell you,’ he continued angrily, ‘that I absolutely refuse…’

‘Yes, yes, of course you do,’ she murmured soothingly, firmly propelling his tall figure out of the sitting room, and down the short hall towards the door. ‘But we really must hurry.’

‘Santo cielo…!’ he exploded, suddenly digging in his heels and spinning around to face her. ‘I am not going anywhere. And certainly not with you! Capisce?’

Antonia gazed at him coolly. ‘Oh, sure. I understand all right—loud and clear!’

Used to dealing with difficult clients, she was well aware that, just at the moment, she had the upper hand. However, this man was clearly turning out to be both difficult and unpredictable. So there was no point in taking a hard line. Maybe she ought to take a more subtle approach to the problem…?

‘To tell you the truth, Signor Foscari, I’m not a great opera buff,’ she confided, with a brief shrug of her slim shoulders. ‘So, if you don’t mind disappointing your friends, by not bothering to turn up at the Albert Hall, that’s OK by me. Quite frankly,’ she added calmly, ‘I’d be perfectly content to spend a quiet evening here, in the hotel. It’s entirely up to you.’

Glaring down at her in baffled rage, his body rigid and taut with fury, Lorenzo realised that the damn woman had him neatly boxed into a corner. Because of course he couldn’t let his friends down. Certainly not at the last moment, and without any warning.

‘Very well…’ he growled. ‘It seems that I have no choice in the matter. But I can assure you that I will be sorting out this totally ridiculous situation with your superiors first thing in the morning!’

‘Very well,’ she murmured, struggling to keep a straight face as she slipped past his stiff, angry figure to open the door, nodding to the man whom she’d stationed outside the suite, on her arrival at the hotel.

‘You can tell the chauffeur that we’re on our way,’ she told him, waiting until she saw the guard issuing rapid instructions into his black handset, before turning back and holding the door open for Lorenzo. ‘After you, Signor Foscari!’

‘Thank you, Miss Simpson,’ he grated through clenched teeth, throwing her a searing glance of pure, unadulterated loathing as he strode past her, and out into the corridor.

CHAPTER TWO

‘I’M SORRY. This isn’t exactly the smartest part of the hotel, but…’

‘You’re quite right—it most certainly is not!’ Lorenzo agreed in a harsh, grating tone of voice, his tall figure rigid with outrage as he stared with disgust at the overflowing dustbins edging the pavement outside the rear service entrance.

‘Yes, well…we’ll soon have you out of here,’ Antonia assured him quickly as the large black, chauffeur-driven limousine drew up beside them.

Just wait until I get my hands on James Riley! she told herself grimly, walking forward to open the passenger door of the limo. In fact, she was definitely going to enjoy having a few choice words with that gentleman! Because not only had James landed her with someone who was clearly the client from hell—but it looked as if he’d also managed to completely screw up the arrangements.

Even if he had informed Signor Foscari about the appointment of a bodyguard, James had clearly failed to provide the Italian with any other basic information regarding Close Protection. And why on earth he’d told the client that her name was Tony—a hangover from her childhood, which was only used nowadays amongst her family, and friends in the profession—she had no idea.

‘If you’d like to take your seat in the vehicle…?’ she murmured, holding the car door open and being careful not to make direct eye contact with Signor Foscari—who was clearly in a very tricky, nasty frame of mind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Like getting shot?’

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

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

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

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

‘Yes, well…’

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

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

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

‘I quite understand. There’s no need to apologise,’ she muttered, making an effort to pull herself together.

Which was surprisingly difficult. Especially as her mind, for some extraordinary reason, seemed to be temporarily out of order. But maybe that had something to do with the highly-disturbing sensual atmosphere which seemed to be rapidly filling the confined space of the vehicle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Why don’t you sit here, darling?’ she murmured with a soft, winsome smile.

‘No, thank you,’ he retorted through gritted teeth, clearly furious at having to maintain a fixed, pleasant expression on his face, solely for the benefit of his hosts and their guests. ‘I’m sure one of the other ladies would prefer to…’

‘Don’t be silly, darling—I insist that you sit there,’ she told him firmly, accompanying her words with another simpering, entirely false smile. A smile which had those present gazing indulgently at what they, quite mistakenly, assumed to be a loving couple.

As Lorenzo stood glaring down at her, his body taut and rigid with anger at finding himself totally outmanoeuvred, she thought for one, wild moment that he might throw caution to the winds and indulge in a spectacular loss of temper. However, after what appeared to be a massive inner struggle, he finally managed to bring himself under control.

‘Why don’t you go to hell!’ he ground out savagely under his breath as, very reluctantly, he lowered himself into the chair.

‘Only if you lead the way, sweetie!’ she retorted with a grin, before seating herself just behind his tall figure.

As the house lights dimmed and the orchestra began playing the overture, Lorenzo leaned back in his comfortable red plush seat, a bland expression on his face—and murder in his heart!

He’d never, in the whole of his life, been tempted to even think of using violence of any kind against a woman. Which made it all the more shocking to now find himself actively contemplating—with considerable pleasure!—the untimely demise of Miss Antonia Simpson.

Right from the moment that bossy, thoroughly irritating young woman had marched so confidently into his hotel suite, earlier this evening, he’d suspected that she was likely to be up to no good. And how right he’d been. Because the brazen hussy had turned out to be nothing but trouble, with a capital T!

What had he ever done to deserve such a fate? Lorenzo asked himself grimly as, on the stage below the box, the chorus and orchestra wound themselves up for the grand entrance of Otello—returning home to Venice in triumph, after soundly beating the Turkish Navy.

Living most of the year in Milan, he’d regularly visited La Scala—in his opinion, the greatest opera house in the world. And he had, of course, seen many productions of Verdi’s tragic opera, based on the play Othello, by William Shakespeare.

But only now did it occur to him that the story of a man driven out of his mind by external forces and culminating in his murder of his wife, Desdemona, seemed strangely appropriate to his own current predicament.

Don’t be ridiculous! It’s time you got a grip on the situation! Lorenzo lectured himself sternly.

The fact that Antonia Simpson had managed to have everything her own way, so far, was no reason to allow her to push him around for the foreseeable future. Which meant that the sooner he got his act together the better.

Oh, yes! It was about time he taught that domineering, high-handed, so-called ‘bodyguard’ of his a lesson which she wouldn’t forget in a hurry.

For her part, and greatly to her surprise, Antonia found herself enjoying the opera. In fact, she would have found it totally absorbing if she hadn’t been required to be fully alert on behalf of Lorenzo Foscari.

This was definitely the last job she’d ever take on for that ratfink James Riley. Goodness knows, she’d looked after some tiresome people in the past. But this oh, so macho Italian—who clearly should have been strangled at birth—just about took the biscuit!

All the same, maybe it hadn’t been too clever of her to try and score a few points off the swine just now, she told herself. Recalling her impression, earlier in the evening, that he was as tricky and unpredictable as dynamite, she realised it might possibly have been a mistake to have momentarily lost her own temper—simply because she’d considered him guilty of bad manners.

Because, however tempting it might have been to cut the man down to size, it definitely wasn’t the response expected from an experienced and highly capable bodyguard.

She was a professional, Antonia reminded herself firmly. Which was why, despite all provocation, she must strive to maintain an air of cool, calm efficiency and detachment remaining totally aloof and objective at all times. It also meant, she told herself grimly, that she was going to have to find some way of coping with this extraordinarily difficult man.

Unfortunately, it was becoming clear that Lorenzo Foscari wasn’t just your ordinary, run-of-the-mill client.

He was, of course, extremely arrogant and overbearing. Not to mention his quite extraordinary, old-fashioned, chauvinistic attitude to women. The way he’d gone completely ballistic, at the appointment of a female bodyguard was totally ridiculous in this day and age.

On the other hand…well…there was no denying the fact that he did possess a disturbing aura of rampant sex appeal. And, when he wasn’t busy losing his temper, he appeared to have been born with an equally large quota of overwhelming, almost mesmerising charm. Charm which he was quite prepared to use as a weapon, she reminded herself sharply, recalling his unscrupulous attempts to undermine her contract with his insurance company.

So, the fact that the man was a high-octane, lethal mixture of barely leashed force and aggression, coupled with an almost irresistible warmth and attraction, meant that he wasn’t just a difficult man, but also a highly complex one. There was no doubt that she was going to have to keep her wits about her, at all times, Antonia told herself with a heavy sigh. There was no way she’d be able to relax her guard on this job! A conclusion that was reinforced as she turned to view the man sitting on her left, just slightly in front of her own chair.

Despite the dim light within the box, and with only his sharply etched profile in view, one didn’t need a very high IQ to read Lorenzo Foscari’s body language. And the message it conveyed was not a happy one.

The muscle beating furiously in his tightly clenched jaw, and the rigidly tense, broad shoulders beneath his expensive black dinner jacket provided plenty of evidence that the guy was still very angry. Maybe the wonderful music would help him to calm down?

Rarely attending concerts in the Albert Hall, Antonia had forgotten that the larger boxes surrounding the auditorium also contained a small, individual area at the back—designed for the service of food and drink during the interval.

Since Giles and Susie Harding had been kind enough to include her in their party, she felt the least she could do when the curtain came down for the interval, to give Susie a hand with the light supper—which the older woman had brought with her in a large picnic hamper.

‘I’ve kept it very simple,’ Susie told her, removing various plates from the wicker basket. ‘Just champagne, smoked salmon sandwiches and, to finish the meal, some strawberries and cream.’

‘It sounds absolutely delicious—and not at all simple!’ Antonia said with a slight laugh as the older woman delved into the hamper to extract some icy cold bottles of champagne.

‘Well…I really meant that it took the minimum of effort. Because all I had to do was to make the sandwiches,’ Susie explained with a grin, before handing the champagne to her husband, with a brisk instruction to make sure that everyone had enough to drink.

‘So, tell me,’ Susie enquired as she tipped the strawberries into a large bowl, ‘have you known Lorenzo for long?’

‘No. We…er…we only met fairly recently,’ Antonia murmured, glancing quickly across the room to where Lorenzo appeared to be deep in conversation with the stuffy banker.

‘He and Giles were at school together, so dear Lorenzo is one of our oldest friends,’ Susie explained. ‘He’s gorgeous, isn’t he? So attractive, so charming…and so rich. An absolutely lethal combination!’ she added with a grin.

Wondering whether she was being warned off, Antonia was just about to reassure her hostess that she and Lorenzo were definitely not interested in one another, when Susie quickly shook her head.

‘Oh, no—don’t get me wrong. Giles and I are absolutely delighted that Lorenzo has brought you along here tonight,’ she said, placing the sandwiches on some small plates for distribution amongst the guests. ‘We reckon that it’s about time he stopped living life in the fast lane, and settled down with a wife—and lots of bambini too, of course!’ Susie added with a grin. ‘So, if he has finally managed to dump that awful woman, Gina Lombardi, I couldn’t be more happy! In fact,’ she confided with a wink, ‘Giles and I reckon that you and Lorenzo are just made for each other!’

This is getting to be a very heavy scene! Antonia told herself, giving the other woman a brief, noncommittal smile.

Deliberately trying to score a few points off the foul man was one thing. But Giles and Susie were obviously a very nice couple. So she really didn’t like the idea of trying to deliberately deceive or fool them into believing that she was romantically involved with Lorenzo.

‘To tell you the truth, Susie, as far as Lorenzo and I are concerned…’ She paused, carefully choosing her words as she continued, ‘Well, the fact is…’

‘The fact is…we’re simply mad with each other!’ Lorenzo’s deep voice completed the sentence, from just behind her left shoulder.

Startled by his sudden appearance, Antonia found herself taken utterly by surprise as he quickly slipped an arm about her waist, before firmly clasping her to the side of his strong body.

‘No—you idiot!’ Susie laughingly told him. ‘The correct expression is not mad with but mad about each other.’

‘Ah, yes—I must improve my use of the English language,’ he agreed smoothly. ‘However, darling Antonia knows exactly how I feel about her. Isn’t that right, sweetie?’

Damn right I do! she told herself grimly, wondering how he’d managed to creep up on her so quickly and silently? She must be slipping, because it wasn’t like her to be taken by surprise like this.

Unfortunately, unless she was prepared to cause a scene, there was nothing she could do to free herself from the hard, muscular strength of the arm which was keeping her so tightly pinned against his tall figure.

‘I’m so lucky to have Antonia looking after me. We have such a close relationship,’ Lorenzo was telling his hostess. ‘Mmm…strawberries! How delicious. They’re my favourite fruit,’ he added, reaching forward to pick a very large, succulent berry from the bowl as Antonia turned her head to glare up at him.

‘You’re fond of them too, aren’t you, darling?’ he murmured, smiling so warmly and tenderly down at the girl clasped to his side that Susie found herself giving a small sigh of pure envy.

‘Yes, they’re very nice,’ Antonia muttered, still feeling slightly confused and thrown off balance by the way Lorenzo was suddenly playing the part of her red-hot lover. Especially as she was only too well aware of the chilly, icy cold gleam in the eyes staring down into her own.

‘However, I was just telling Susie that…Whaa-aa…!’ she gasped as Lorenzo adroitly popped the large strawberry into her mouth, rendering her temporarily speechless.

‘Mmm…yes, they clearly are delicious!’ he murmured, his lips twitching with sardonic laughter as he viewed Antonia’s cheeks bulging while she struggled to cope with a huge mouthful of juicy red fruit.

‘Would you like some more, darling?’ he added, maintaining the firm grip of his arm about her body as he reached forward to choose another large fruit from the bowl. ‘Nuh!’ Antonia mumbled helplessly, giving a quick shake of her head, and glaring up at him with utter loathing.

‘Isn’t she amusing?’ Lorenzo exclaimed as Antonia gulped, finally managing to swallow the huge strawberry. And then, with Susie looking on and beaming at what she clearly regarded as a happy couple, he lowered his dark head as if about to kiss his new girlfriend’s cheek.

But, even as she instinctively flinched, quickly turning her head away from him, she realised that he’d never had any intention of kissing her. Far from it.

Pressing his lips to her ear, he whispered savagely, ‘Let that be a lesson, sweetie! Never make the mistake of trying to mess around with me, again—or you’ll be very sorry! OK?’

He waited until she gave a slight nod before loosening his grip on her waist and strolling off to have a word with Giles Harding.

‘You’re so lucky!’ Susie sighed deeply, before turning away to hand small plates of sandwiches to the banker and his wife.

Oh, yeah? Antonia’s eyes narrowed with baffled rage and fury as she stared at Lorenzo, who’d clearly regained his good humour as she saw him laughing at something his host was saying. If she ever got the chance for revenge, she promised herself grimly, that arrogant swine was definitely going to regret, what he’d just done!

Following the performance, the short journey back to the hotel was conducted in silence. Which was mainly due to the fact that Antonia, after battling to control her anger during the last act of the opera, was still trying to simmer down and pull herself together.

She knew that she’d been originally in the wrong, and so might have been prepared to call it quits, and do her best to forget the incident, if Lorenzo Foscari hadn’t been so cheerful. Although, what he had to be so happy about was absolutely beyond her. However, it looked as if putting her down had done his own temper a power of good, she told herself sourly.

Glancing through her eyelashes at the hawk-like profile of the man sitting beside her, she noted that he was still quietly humming a tune from the opera, while taking an interest in the brilliantly lit shop windows of Knightsbridge.

After directing the car to the rear of the hotel, and arranging which guards could be released and which should stay on duty, Antonia accompanied Lorenzo up the back stairs towards his suite.

She had to calm down, she told herself firmly. If Lorenzo Foscari wanted to play stupid games—that was entirely up to him. She, for her part, must remain totally calm and professional at all times.

‘Well…that was a very interesting evening,’ he drawled as they entered the suite. ‘Can I fix you a drink?’ he added, walking across the carpet to a bar, in a far corner of the large sitting room.

‘No, thank you. I never drink when on duty.’

‘Ah, yes…I’ve been thinking about your duties as my personal bodyguard,’ he murmured, pouring himself a stiff whisky, before turning around to give her a broad smile. ‘And I came to one or two interesting conclusions.’

‘Oh, yes?’ Antonia eyed him warily. She was beginning to realise that when Lorenzo Foscari turned on the charm he generally had some devious objective in mind.

He shrugged. ‘We both know that I was less than pleased to find myself landed with a bodyguard. Nor was I too happy to discover that she was female. Not that I have anything against women, of course…’

‘You could have fooled me!’

‘It’s just that I foresaw certain…er…difficulties in such an appointment,’ he continued, clearly choosing to ignore her interjection. ‘However, after giving the situation much thought, I suddenly realised that those “difficulties” were, in fact, a positive bonus!’

She frowned. ‘Sorry—I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.’

‘I’m talking about the fact that, as my bodyguard, you are concerned with the close and personal protection of my body,’ he drawled smoothly, walking slowly over to where she was standing by the doorway.

‘So?’

‘You have, I understand, been hired to guard my body for twenty-four hours a day?’

‘Yes, technically speaking, I suppose I have. But…’

‘Well, there you are!’ He grinned wolfishly down at her. ‘I suddenly realised that it would be churlish, to say the least, to turn down the opportunity of having you, my dear Antonia, closely guarding my body through the night.’

She stared at him in amazement for a moment, before being struck by the utterly ridiculous aspect of the situation.

‘You must be joking!’ she laughed.

‘Oh, no—not at all,’ he murmured, his eyes gleaming beneath their heavy lids. ‘In fact, I’m beginning to find the idea of us spending the night together quite an enchanting prospect. Tell me…on which side of the bed do you prefer to sleep?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ she snapped.

Antonia was almost certain that he was just winding her up. But she was determined to put this guy straight about the relationship between a bodyguard and their client. Who did he think she was? Some kind of Mata Hari?

‘Your insurance company has hired me to act as your personal bodyguard,’ she told him firmly. ‘And yes, I do have the overall responsibility of making sure that you have close, adequate protection around the clock. But…’

‘Wonderful!’ he exclaimed with another wolf-like grin. ‘I don’t wear pyjamas, of course. But, I’m sure a real professional, such as yourself, has a great line in sexy night-dresses, hmm?’

‘Oh—come on! Are you completely incapable of listening to a word I’ve been saying?’ she demanded irritably, refusing to be intimidated by the tall, dark figure now looming over her. ‘Believe me, I have absolutely no intention of spending the night here, in your suite.’

‘What? Are you intending to welsh on the deal?’ he queried with mock indignation. ‘That is disgraceful! I shall certainly report this dereliction of duty to your superiors.’

‘Ha-ha—very funny!’ she ground out sarcastically. ‘However, if you want to check, you’ll find that there is already a guard stationed outside in the corridor,’ she added curtly. ‘He, working together with a colleague, will make absolutely certain that you are not disturbed during the night.’

‘And you?

‘I will be in the suite adjacent to this one—with the door firmly locked!’ she retorted swiftly. ‘Although why you seem to think that I’d want to share your bed is completely beyond me!’ she added with a shrill, high-pitched laugh. ‘You may think that you’re totally irresistible, but, quite frankly, sweetie, I’m not that desperate!’

He took a step forward, his expression suddenly hard and threatening.

‘Be careful, Antonia!’ he growled. ‘As you undoubtedly realised, I was merely enjoying a joke with you. However, I really don’t care to be talked to in such a disrespectful manner.’

‘Tough!’ she retorted, suddenly deciding that she’d had quite enough of this unbelievably tiresome Italian for one day.

‘Although, believe me, if I was in frantic need of a man,’ she added with another, high-pitched laugh, ‘I sure as hell wouldn’t waste any time chasing after an uptight male chauvinist such as yourself!’

In the dead silence which followed, she was aware of Lorenzo Foscari’s quick, sharp inhalation of breath, a dark flush sweeping over his cheeks.

‘Oh, really?’ he muttered savagely. His blue eyes, like chips of tungsten steel, bore down into hers as his hands came down on her shoulders.

‘OK—let’s cool it, huh?’ she muttered, quickly pulling herself together. What on earth was she doing, quarrelling with a client like this? Even if the gentleman concerned was enough to try the patience of a saint, her behaviour was well out of order.

But, as Antonia discovered for the second time that evening, she was guilty of seriously underestimating an opponent.

Despite always priding herself on her quick reactions, she realised that she’d been completely outclassed and out-gunned, as Lorenzo suddenly moved at what seemed to be the speed of light. A nanosecond later, she found herself firmly clasped by one steely, unyielding arm to his hard, tall body, while he placed his other hand firmly beneath her chin.

Tilting her face up towards him, she barely had time to become aware of his blue eyes glittering down at her before his dark head was descending swiftly towards her—his mouth possessing her lips in a kiss of devastating intensity.

CHAPTER THREE

SHOCKED and stunned by the totally unexpected swiftness of Lorenzo’s action, Antonia took a second or two to begin trying to struggle free from his strong arms.

Bitterly ashamed of being such an idiot, and having stupidly underestimated both this man’s strength and his likely speed of movement, she gradually realised that the hand firmly placed on her back was now beginning to slide slowly and seductively down over her body.

The hardening muscles of his strong thighs, clasped so tightly to her own, suddenly prompted a fierce clench of sexual awareness deep in the pit of her stomach, which left her feeling weak and trembling.

She had no idea of what was happening to her. But it was clear that they were now both in a high state of arousal. As he ruthlessly forced her lips apart, the moistly erotic heat of his tongue, savagely exploring the sweet, inner softness of her mouth, was driving her almost wild with excitement.

As if he sensed her bewilderment and confusion, her inability to cope with the sudden flash-flood of hot desire scorching through her veins, his mouth relaxed its hard pressure as his hands travelled slowly and erotically over the soft curves of her body. She was dimly conscious of the rapid, deep thudding of his heartbeat, of her nostrils filled with the musky scent of his cologne, and the warmth of his mouth, now moving softly and seductively over her quivering lips.

It was as if time was standing still and she, hopelessly trapped by her own emotions, was utterly powerless. She seemed to have no choice, but to respond to the increasingly fiery tide of sensual excitement and sheer naked lust pounding and rampaging through her trembling body.

Only when she became aware that he was unzipping her dress, her bare flesh quivering with delight beneath the soft, warm touch of the fingers trailing down her spine to undo her bra strap, did harsh reality begin to break through the thick mist of overwhelming desire clouding her mind.

Oh, my God…what on earth was she doing? This…this man was a client, for heaven’s sake!

It seemed to take the most enormous effort. But at last she managed to force herself to make a serious, determined attempt to break out of his embrace. Struggling free, she raised her hands to push him away as, at the same time, she threw herself sharply backwards. Only to have the breath almost knocked out of her trembling, shaking body as her spine jarred painfully up against the wall by the door.

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