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Suddenly he pushed her back against the pillows and leaned over her, his face only inches away. She heard the heavy pounding of his heart—or was it hers?
‘Damn it, Lucy, I don’t care what you heard. I can’t leave you alone, and you are not going anywhere. I know I don’t deserve you, but I love you—I want you and I need you.’ he stated, staring into her eyes and seeing the darkening pupils. ‘Though you don’t love me, you do want me,’ he said, with some of his usual arrogance returning.
She stared back, her mouth going dry, her body heating beneath the pressure of his.
‘No, I don’t,’ she lied, still afraid to believe his sudden avowal of love. ‘I don’t really know you and I don’t trust you.’
‘Lucy, you know me better than anyone—but I can’t blame you for not trusting me.’ He leant back a little, resting his forearms either side of her shoulders. ‘I admit I was determined to think the worst of you, and sure I was right about your brother. I didn’t know until the doctor told me tonight what you had done for him—donating a kidney. Have you any idea what that did to me?’ he demanded his face grim. ‘All I could think of was you on an operating table, risking your life for someone else, and it ripped my guts out. I have never been so afraid in my life for another person. I asked the doctor if you were all right. Because in that moment 1 knew I would not want to live in a world without you. I knew I loved you.’ He lowered his head and brushed his lips against hers, and she saw the vulnerability in his dark eyes. ‘You have got to believe me—listen to me. Lucy, please give me a chance.’
‘All right,’ she murmured—not that she had a choice, trapped in the cage formed by his broad chest and arms, but the please helped.
‘I think I have loved you from the day you walked into my office wearing that horrible suit with your hair scraped back in a pleat. I kissed you—totally out of character for me. With hindsight I can see it was unfortunate that Manuel was the man I’d lunched with that day. He gave me the photographs I showed you this afternoon, and his opinion on the timescale, and I accepted his conclusion. He is a strong man, and like me has not much time for weakness, but now I don’t know and I no longer care. The past is past. You say you don’t know me, but you do, Lucy. I am the arrogant bastard you called me, and I very rarely change my mind, but I did that day. I was considering voting with you on the deal, but I was so angry I changed my mind. Then, when I kissed you, I was so overwhelmingly attracted to you I nearly lost control and was embarrassed by it. I lashed out at you.’ He laughed—a hollow sound.
‘I actually thought I was having a mid-life crisis … But it wasn’t—it was you. And I have been lashing out at you ever since. I used my perception of your brother as an excuse to believe you were as bad as I thought him to be in a crazy attempt to deny what was staring me in the face. I love you.’
Deep inside, Lucy felt the dead embers of hope burst into flame. She could see the sincerity in his eyes—hear it in every word he spoke.
‘I swore I never wanted to see you again, and yet I came up with reasons to visit you—each one crazier than the last. I was jealous of my dead brother because it was obvious you’d liked him. I was even jealous of Gianni, the butler, when you walked into the dining room with him laughing. I’ve never seen Gianni laugh like that in his life. And tonight I could have knocked young Paolo down when he laid his hands on you. I was so jealous.’ He ran a finger down her cheek. ‘I know it is a lot to ask, but can you ever forgive me for the way I have treated you? At least try and forget? Forget the argument over our brothers and business? Forget everything that has happened these past months and give me a chance to prove I love you?’
Lucy looked at him. Lorenzo was jealous. She had not been mistaken. But he was better than most at hiding his feelings. She thought of how on that first night, when he had remonstrated with her about her security, it had given her hope at the time, and of other instances when he’d been protective of her. He said he didn’t care what her brother might have done. Later she would tell him how her brother had passed out when he returned home, and the rest—but for now she decided to take a chance, a leap of faith, and believe him.
Her green eyes sparkled and a smile curved her lips. ‘I’ll give you a chance, but I don’t want to forget everything, Lorenzo. Some parts were memorable and should be repeated,’ she said, with a wriggle against him and a teasing flicker of her lashes. Lifting her hand, she swept back the hair from his brow.
He caught her wrist, his eyes tender and passionate as they met hers. ‘Oh, I think I can arrange that,’ he said, knowing exactly what she meant. ‘But first there is something else,’ he said in a husky, unsteady tone.
Lucy tensed, wondering what was coming next.
‘I don’t expect you to love me, but I want to take care of you—keep you. I know I can make you happy in bed, and maybe in time you will grow to love me if only you will let me try. Lucy, will you marry me?’
Lucy felt her heart swell to overflowing. She saw the vulnerability in his eyes as he waited for her answer—her proud, arrogant lover was unsure … nervous. Taking a deep breath, she said, ‘You won’t have to try—I do love you.’ She saw the confusion, then the growing hope in his eyes. ‘I have from the first time we made love. And, yes—I will marry you.’
‘You do? You will?’ Lorenzo looked shocked, then his dark eyes blazed with emotion and a hint of tears as he wrapped his arms around her, crushing her against his broad chest, and buried his face in the fragrant silken mass of her hair. ‘You are sure?’ he queried, and then his lips sought hers and he kissed her with achingly sweet tenderness and a love that stole her breath away. He lifted his head. ‘When?’ he asked, and his dark eyes watched warily as he waited for her answer.
She realised her confident, powerful man was still uncertain. ‘Whenever you like.’ She smiled, all the love in her heart shining in her brilliant green eyes. ‘The sooner the better,’ she said, and finally let go of the coverlet and looped her arm around his neck. ‘Do we have to wait for the wedding?’ she teased.
‘Dio, no—I can’t wait,’ Lorenzo groaned, his voice thick with emotion and a hunger that Lucy felt herself.
Taking her arm from his neck, he stripped off his shirt, his pants. Lucy’s eyes followed his every move. This was what she wanted—what she yearned for—and as he gathered her in his arms she met the smouldering darkness of his gaze and arched into the hard warmth of his great body, her small hands caressing, her lips parting.
They melded together—heart to heart, mouth to mouth—in a kiss like no other, full of tenderness and longing, passion and love.
‘Lorenzo … ‘ she breathed, as his hands slid sensuously over her body and her own caressed his satin smooth skin. He filled up her senses, and with murmured words of love and groans of fervent need their bodies joined in the primeval dance of love, finally fusing together in surge after surge of pure ecstasy, two halves of a whole in perfect love.
‘I can’t find the words to tell you how you make me feel,’ Lorenzo husked as they lay satiated in each other’s arms. But he tried, with softly whispered endearments. He eased his weight away, but held her close to his long body, his hands gently stroking her back. ‘I don’t deserve you, Lucy, but I will never let you go—you are the colour in my life. You are beautiful inside and out.’ A long finger found the scar near the base of her spine. ‘I can’t believe you did this for your brother.’
‘Yes, you can,’ Lucy murmured. ‘You would have done the same for yours if he’d needed it,’ she said lazily as she surfaced from the sensual haze that surrounded her.
‘You have more faith in me than I do myself.’
‘Ah, but then I love you.’ She pressed a kiss on his chest and he rolled over on his back, carrying her with him. And as the dawn of the new day crept through the windows the dance of love started all over again.
‘What the hell?’ Lorenzo swore as a loud crashing noise woke him. Keeping Lucy safe in the curve of his arm, he sat up.
The maid was standing three feet into the room, and she had dropped the coffee tray she had been carrying. Her face was scarlet, and Lorenzo could understand why as Lucy opened her eyes and smiled up at him, stroking her small hand across his stomach.
‘I just need to feel you are real, Lorenzo, and know I wasn’t dreaming last night.’
Then to add to the confusion his mother appeared in the doorway, fully dressed.
‘What on earth has happened?’ she demanded of the maid, and then looked across at the bed. ‘Oh, Lorenzo—how could you?’
Lucy heard the voice and snatched her hand away from his stomach, blushing redder than the maid and trying to burrow down beneath the coverlet.
Lorenzo pulled her gently back up. ‘Trust me, Lucy—that will look worse.’ He grinned and tucked the coverlet under her, putting his arm around her shoulders before looking back across the room.
‘Good morning, Mother,’ he said, with all the confidence and panache a thirty-eight-year-old man could muster when for the first time in his life he had been caught in bed with a woman by his mother … ‘I want you to be the first to know Lucy and I are getting married.’
His mother gasped, and then smiled, and was about to rush over.
‘But can you save the congratulations and the cleanup until later? Lucy is a little shy right now.’
‘Yes—yes, of course.’
The two women backed out of the room.
‘As embarrassing moments go, that has to be the worst,’ Lucy said.
‘Not really. I should have expected something like that. From being a highly successful, staid and arrogant banker, in control of billions, who has never had any trouble with women in his life, this summer has seen women running rings around me. But, on the plus side, I have found the love of my life.’ And, laughing out loud, he tipped Lucy back in his arms and kissed her soundly.
EPILOGUE (#ulink_19d4d6a2-e169-560a-84fd-c9c23cfc0bbf)
LORENZO guided the car through the gates and up the drive, a smile on his face. Lucy had married him in the cathedral in Verona on a fine October day—a vision in white and a picture he would carry in his mind for ever. And eight months later their son Antonio had been born—conceived, Lucy was sure, on the night he’d proposed to her. Lorenzo had his doubts, but didn’t argue with his wife. She had filled his life with laughter and love, and she collected friends as other people collected stamps. Last week had been Antonio’s first birthday, and they had thrown a party for their friends, and his little friends and their families, with a funfair set up in the garden.
Today was Lorenzo’s birthday. He had spent the last four days in New York and could not wait to get home and get Lucy alone. He loved his family, but sometimes a man just needed his wife—and he was hard with anticipation. He had it all planned. He was going to surprise Lucy and fly her to Venice, take her to the Hotel Cipriani, where he had booked a suite for the night. They could share an intimate dinner … just the two of them.
* * *
Lucy combed Antonio’s soft black hair. He had woken from his afternoon nap an hour ago, and was now dressed and ready for the party. She kissed his cheek and handed him to the nanny to take downstairs. She had not wanted a nanny but Lorenzo had insisted, saying if she wanted to continue with her art it made sense.
He was right. He had arranged for one of the tower rooms to be converted into a studio for her, but she still had the gallery and visited regularly and showed her work there. Elaine now ran it, with Miss Carr the temp—who, having gone full-time, had ended up marrying the woodcarver in residence, confirmed bachelor Leon. In fact all four of them were here now, and downstairs with Anna.
Lucy walked along to the master suite and quickly showered and dressed. Sometimes she had to pinch herself to believe how lucky she was. Lorenzo had made her the happiest woman in the world. She knew he loved her—he showed it in myriad ways—and he had given her a wonderful son she worshipped and adored. He was a great father. How she had ever thought he was staid and boring was inconceivable to her now.
When they’d married he had asked her where she wanted to live, saying he would buy or build her a house anywhere she chose. She’d chosen to live in the house by the lake with his mother. He’d been surprised, but had agreed. They stayed at the villa in Santa Margherita a lot of weekends, and already he was trying to teach Antonio to sail on a specially built boat in the swimming pool. She’d told him he was crazy—the baby had only just learnt to walk—but he’d just laughed and made love to her by the pool.
He still worked hard, and commuted to Verona daily. Sometimes he drove, but he had a new toy—a helicopter which he piloted himself. Tonight he was driving home, thank heaven, otherwise he would be back too soon and ruin her surprise.
Three months ago he had surprised her. They had gone to Dessington for the grand opening of the new development, and she had discovered he had bought her old home. She had auctioned it off and converted it into a hotel with James Morgan. Not an ordinary hotel, but a centre where cancer sufferers and their families could have a holiday. Lorenzo knew her mum had died of cancer, and James had done it for Samantha.
They two were arriving any minute, with their son Thomas, and with one last look at her reflection in the mirror Lucy dashed downstairs just in time to welcome them.
Lorenzo stopped the car under the portico, leapt out and dashed into the house—and stopped dead. A huge banner was strung around the balcony, with ‘Happy Fortieth Birthday’ written on it, and the hall was full of people. His dark eyes went unerringly to Lucy.
She was walking towards him, a brilliant smile on her face, her eyes sparkling with love and laughter. The gown she wore should have been censored, was his second thought. His first was wow … A shimmering gold, the dress had a halter-neck and no back, he noted, as she turned for a second to speak to someone, and the bodice plunged between her breasts—slightly larger now, since she had breastfed their son. It nipped in at her tiny waist, then fell smoothly over hips to her feet. And he was in danger of embarrassing himself—but then Lucy always had that effect on him.
She reached up and looped her arms around his neck. ‘Surprise, surprise—happy birthday, Lorenzo darling.’
He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her as the crowd started cheering. ‘You will pay for this,’ he murmured in her ear. ‘I had plans for an intimate dinner for two in Venice. We have to communicate better—starting now.’
And then Antonio came, hurtling to his feet, and he picked his son up and spun him around, and kissed his mother on the cheek. Then he was shaking hands and greeting people, but he put a hand around Lucy’s waist and kept her by his side as he made for the stairs, telling Gianni and various others that he needed to get changed. And huskily telling Lucy she was going to help him.
‘Lorenzo, we can’t,’ Lucy said, eyeing him with loving amusement as he shed his suit and shirt, dropping them on the bed room floor as usual.
Wearing only boxers, he caught her to him. ‘Yes, we can, Lucy. I love you more and more each day. You have given me a wonderful son and you have made me the happiest man in the world. But it has been four days, and right now I ache to be inside you.’ And gathering her close, a hand curving around her nape, he kissed her long and deep, his fingers deftly loosening the haltertop.
Lucy closed her eyes. He was right. She could feel the passion, the desire vibrating between them, and when he slipped her dress down to pool at her feet and carried her to the bed she wanted him with a hunger that could not be denied. She always did and always would.
Later, she slipped off the bed and told Lorenzo to wait. She crossed to the dressing room and, taking the parcel she had hidden there, returned to the bed. ‘Happy birthday,’ she said, and handed him her gift.
Grinning, he ripped off the paper—and stopped, his dark eyes fixed on the painting. He stared for so long in silence, she began to worry.
‘I thought it was time there was a portrait of you above the fireplace in the lounge, and your father’s was relegated to the hall,’ she said. ‘But if it’s not good enough.’
He turned his head, and she saw the moisture in his eyes. ‘Good enough? It is magnificent—the best gift, after our son, you could possibly give me. The days. the hours you must have spent … I am humbled and flattered that you see me so well.’ And, slipping the painting gently to the floor, he reached for her.
Lorenzo Zanelli’s surprise fortieth birthday party was talked about for months afterwards in the homes of Verona—mainly because it had taken him three hours to get changed for the party, particularly as his wife was helping him!
Untamed Italian, Blackmailed Innocent (#ulink_c75eaa48-6aad-5d11-b175-7702c8eb5bff)
Chapter One (#ulink_a9208be6-f65f-53ed-8c66-c24288247517)
ZAC DELUCCA stepped out of the chauffeur-driven limousine and glanced up at the four-storeyed Georgian-style building in front of him: the head office of Westwold Components, a company he had finally acquired two weeks ago. He had left Raffe, his top man, in charge of the changeover, so he had not expected to be needed in London in June, and he was not pleased…
He was ruggedly attractive, with black hair and shrewd dark eyes, and the navy silk and mohair suit he wore was a testament to the expertise of his tailor. The jacket stretched taut across shoulders as wide as a barn door, and at six feet five he was a powerful, impressive figure of a man in every respect. Not a man anyone could overlook, though the fierce frown at present marring his bold features would scare all but the bravest into glancing the other way.
Orphaned at a year old by the tragic death of his young parents in a car crash, Zac Delucca had spent his early years in a children’s home in Rome. He had left at fifteen, with nothing but the clothes he stood up in and a burning ambition to become a success in life.
Tall, and looking older than his years, he had by sheer guts, determination and keen intelligence dragged himself up from the gutter that beckoned. He had studied by day and used his physical strength in the testosterone-fuelled world of the fighting game at night to earn money and build up a stake to set up his own company: Delucca Holdings.
He had fought masked, under an assumed name, because he’d had total belief in his ability, mentally and physically, to be a winner in life. From a young age he had known he was destined to succeed on a worldwide scale…never mind in a canvas ring…
His first purchase at the age of twenty had been a rundown farm in southern Italy that had included three cottages, a large farmhouse and a thousand acres of neglected land. A few weeks later the government had bought a chunk of the acreage to build a new runway to expand a local airport for the increasing tourist trade.
Some people said he’d had inside information. He had said nothing and recouped the money he had invested and more besides. He’d converted the farm house, which was situated on the coast at the southernmost tip of Italy, with stunning views over the sea, and kept it for his own use.
The remaining land had included an overgrown olive grove he had tried to cultivate himself, but he had quickly realised agriculture was not for him and finally hired an expert in the field to restore, enlarge and manage the farm, while converting the cottages for the staff. Eventually he’d marketed the produce as Delucca Extra Fine Virgin Olive Oil, and Delucca Oil was today the choice of the connoisseur and priced accordingly…
It was the first business Zac had bought and kept.
Now, fifteen years later, Delucca Holdings was an international conglomerate that owned a vast array of companies, including mines, manufacturers, properties and oil of the petroleum variety as well as from the olive tree. Nothing was out of Delucca’s grasp.
Ruthless, arrogant, and merciless were some of the terms used by his enemies, but none in the business world friend or enemy could deny he was a financial wizard, and basically honest…A master of the universe who went after what he wanted and always succeeded.
‘Are you sure about this, Raffe?’ Zac demanded of the man who had exited the car to join him on the pavement.
Raffe Costa was his right-hand man and his friend. They had met over a decade ago, when Zac had applied for funding for a deal from a bank in Naples, where Raffe had been working in the commercial loan office. The pair had hit it off immediately, and two years later Raffe had joined Zac’s swiftly expanding company as an accountant-cum-PA. The title was not important. Zac trusted him completely, and knew him to be shrewd and rarely wrong.
‘Sure…?’ Raffe responded slowly. ‘No, I am not absolutely sure, but enough to want you to check it out,’ he qualified as they walked towards the entrance. ‘It wasn’t noticed in the due diligence we conducted before buying, because the siphoning off of funds—if that is what it is—has been done very cleverly, and been deeply hidden in the accounts for years.’
‘You’d better be right. Because I had plans to take a holiday, and I did not intend it to be in London,’ Zac said dryly, flicking his friend a glance as they entered the building. ‘I had a hot climate and a hot woman in mind.’
Zac Delucca was not a happy man. He had no trouble in thinking on several levels at the same time, and right now, while smiling at the security guard as Raffe introduced him, another part of his mind was wondering how quickly—if Raffe’s suspicions were correct—he could sort out the problem and leave…
He had, after months of prolonged negotiation, finalised this deal. Coincidentally it had been the following morning, standing in the shower, that he realised he had been celibate for almost a year. Ten months since he had parted with his last lady, because she was becoming too proprietorial and the M word had surfaced more than once.
Amazed at his own restraint, he had swiftly decided to rectify the situation by arranging a couple of dates with a rather striking model from Milan. He had planned to take her out on his yacht for the day and make her his mistress. If they proved to be compatible he had actually considered breaking the habit of a lifetime and allowing her to accompany him on a cruise around the Caribbean for a few weeks.
He had never taken more than a week’s holiday in years, but just lately he’d found himself questioning if work was the be-all and end-all of life. Unusual for him. He was not usually given to bouts of introspection and immediately he had decided to do something about it—hence Lisa the Milan model…
Unfortunately, the call last night from Raffe, voicing some concern over the recent acquisition of Westwold Components, looked like scuppering his plan.
He signed the log-in book where the security guard indicated—a formality, but no doubt the man wanted to impress—and was then introduced to the receptionist: Melanie.
‘I’m sure Mr Costa will have told you,’ the girl simpered, while hanging on to Zac’s hand like a leech. ‘We are all really happy to become part of Delucca Holdings, and if there is anything I personally can do…’ The busty blonde fluttered her eyelashes at him. ‘Just ask.’
The woman gushed and pouted at the same time, which was quite a feat, Zac thought cynically.
‘Thank you,’ he replied smoothly, and, disentangling his hand from the receptionist’s grasp, he turned. ‘Come on, Raffe, let’s get—’ And he stopped, his dark eyes instinctively flaring in primitive masculine appreciation of the woman walking into the building.
‘Exquisite,’ he murmured under his breath, his stunned gaze roaming over her. She had the face of an angel, and a body to tempt any man with blood in his veins…
Big, misty-blue eyes, pale, almost translucent skin, a small nose and a wide mouth with full lips that begged to be kissed. Long ruby-red hair fell in soft curls around her slender shoulders, and the elegant white obviously designer dress she wore caressed every curve of her slender body. Sleeveless, with a low square neck and a broad white belt circling her tiny waist, it accentuated her high full breasts.
She looked bridal…The unbidden thought flashed in his mind. But the evocative tap of high-heeled shoes on the marble floor knocked it straight out as his gaze lowered to where the hem of the skirt ended on her knees. The red stiletto sandals she wore screamed sex.
His heart almost stopped. She had legs to die for…A mental image of them clamped around his waist had his body hardening instantly.
‘Who is that?’ he demanded of Raffe.
‘I have no idea, but she is gorgeous.’
Zac looked at his friend and saw he was watching the girl as she drew nearer. He had to bite his lip to stop himself saying, Take your eyes off her. She is mine.
In that instant he came to a decision. Admittedly she was not his usual type. Tall, elegant brunettes had been his preference up until now. This woman was average height, with that long, red hair, but for some inexplicable reason he wanted her with a hunger he had not felt in a long time. He decided he was going to have her…
His firm lips parted in a loaded smile aimed directly at her, but amazingly the girl walked straight past him with a dismissive shake of her head…
Sally Paxton strode across the foyer of Westwold Components, determination in every step. She flicked a glance at the group of people at the reception desk and caught a brilliant smile from the tallest man in the group. Her heart missed a beat and she felt her shoulders stiffen with tension. She had to appear confident, as if she belonged here. Maybe he was someone she should recognise…She gave a brief nod of her head in acknowledgment.
