The Italian Seduction

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.