Taken for His Pleasure

by Carol Marinelli

  ‘No.’ Angrily, proudly, he shook his head. ‘You try to tell me that it was a set-up? That you engineered what happened, because of some threat—’

  ‘We’ll talk about this later,’ Lydia broke in. His anger, his impending indiscretion were so clearly visible that even Graham was folding his paper, glancing over with a questioning look as Lydia quickly brought the situation under control. ‘I refuse to discuss it here, Anton.’

  And something in her eyes halted him, told him that she was serious. His tirade, but not the question in his eyes, abated as a concierge appeared, wringing his hands in abject apology as he clearly recognised Lydia’s breakfast companion.

  ‘Miss Holmes, I have made a provisional booking for you in a nearby hotel. It’s just a few streets away…’

  ‘Why can’t she stay here?’ Anton’s question was curt, authoritative, and had the poor concierge stammering as he tried to answer. ‘Are you telling me there isn’t a single vacant room in the place?’

  ‘There is,’ the concierge attempted. ‘But only standard rooms are vacant. All of the luxury suites are booked, sir. I explained this personally to Miss Holmes when she checked in—I told her that the suite she is occupying now was only available for one night, and that after that it would have to be a standard room—which naturally isn’t suitable for her needs.’

  ‘Then find her a room that is!’ Anton’s voice had an ominous ring to it, and for a moment Lydia forgot that he was acting, her top teeth nervously chewing her bottom lip as he voiced his demands. He was clearly used to getting his own way, clearly expecting his demands to be met, and from the tension in the concierge’s face, from the nod of his head, they were about to be. Lydia realised with a start that despite Anton’s convincing protests, separate rooms were actually the last thing either of them wanted.

  ‘I will see what I can arrange…’ Nervously, he addressed Lydia. ‘Miss Holmes, would you have any objection to staying in one of our mini-suites? They aren’t as luxurious as the suite you are in now, but I could ask the staff to—’

  ‘No,’ Lydia broke in, and the concierge’s hastily arranged solution thankfully disintegrated. Clearly Inspector Bates hadn’t fully factored in Anton’s enviable pull when he had dreamt up this particular scenario, and she swallowed her guilt as she fixed the concierge with her most withering superior stare. ‘I’m not interested in being downgraded! Could you please arrange a car?’

  Standing, she smoothed her dress, picked up her shoulder bag and started to walk towards the foyer, deliberately avoiding her colleagues’ panicked looks, praying inside that Anton would take his cue and rescue the situation.

  ‘Move Miss Holmes’s belongings to my suite.’ His deep, commanding voice stilled her, and, turning, she watched Anton stare unblinking at the concierge.

  ‘To your suite, sir?’ The concierge checked, his eyes swivelling from Anton to Lydia.

  ‘That’s what I said,’ Anton responded.

  ‘You want luggage in taxi?’ The bellboy’s Italian accent had none of the liquid notes of Anton’s, and his attempt at English was crude as he loudly approached the table, causing a couple of diners to look up. Lydia bit down on her lip in mortification as the concierge corrected him.

  ‘No, there’s been a change of plan. Miss Holmes will be staying with us after all. Could you take her luggage to suite 311?’ The concierge’s behaviour was impeccable as he addressed the bellboy. Not by a flicker did he betray what he was surely thinking.

  ‘Suite 311?’ The dark features of the bellboy screwed into a frown. ‘But that’s Mr Santini’s suite—’

  ‘Take the bags now, please,’ The concierge broke in, clearly irritated that the bellboy had voiced the obvious to anyone within earshot.

  As realisation dawned on the junior staff member, the contempt in his black eyes was visible as his gaze met Lydia’s. The background chatter on the nearby tables stilled for an impossibly long time as in one crushing moment she changed from executive to escort, and not even the latest make-up direct from New York could fade the blush that spread over her face, over her entire body. Even her hands seemed to burn as she clenched them by her sides and willed this uncomfortable moment to be over.

  ‘Now, come here.’

  The derisive tone to his voice as Anton addressed her was like a slap to her cheek. With a flick of his hand, he summoned her to his table, gestured for her to sit down, and even if it was part of the plan, even if he had done the right thing, even if it was her job, Lydia felt a sting of humiliation as she walked back towards him. A burning anger within her flamed at his arrogance, his presumption, and she fought the desire to turn tail and run, or to lift her hand and slap that mocking cheek as she witnessed the glint of triumph in his eyes at her apparent submission. She saw his lips twist into a cruel smile as she obeyed his command and sat down at his table and she was imbued with shame, acknowledging how it surely must appear to all who were watching.

  ‘Take Miss Holmes’s bags up to the Presidential Suite.’ Anton’s voice broke the heavy silence. He stared directly at Lydia as he spoke, and even though the flames of anger and shame licked the sides of her throat, still his voice caressed her, still he managed to fan her desire. Hollowed with unwelcome lust, her heart seemed to stop beating as Anton spoke on, caressing her with each dangerous word, terrifying her with each skilfully seductive syllable. ‘She is to be my guest—my very special guest—and I expect her to be treated as such.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ‘WILL THAT be everything, sir?’

  Lydia paced uncomfortably as the last of her bags was deposited into the room by the bellboy. Clearly Anton had a lot of questions to ask, and after his arrogant performance Lydia certainly hadn’t been in the mood for chit-chat over breakfast. The sooner Anton Santini heard the ground rules the happier she would be—and once the bellboy was gone, finally they would be alone.

  ‘Not quite,’ Anton clipped. ‘Can you tell my team that I’m not to be disturbed? I’ll meet them as arranged—I’ve booked one of the boardrooms for twelve.’

  ‘I will make sure they are aware of your wishes.’ The bellboy gave a small nod, but still didn’t make a move to leave, staring instead at Lydia. Again she was uncomfortable under his scrutiny, embarrassed at what he perceived her to be. ‘Would you like the butler to come and unpack for you?’

  ‘I would like to be left alone. Put the “do not disturb” sign on the door on your way out,’ Anton retorted briskly. Then, when still he didn’t move, Anton pulled out his wallet, pressing a fold of notes into the younger man’s hands, whistling an impatient, ‘Grazie,’ through gritted teeth.

  ‘Thank you,’ the bellboy responded, and Lydia found herself frowning at his response, given that both men were clearly Italian. ‘Enjoy your stay.’

  Even though there were plenty of things she wanted to say to Anton, even though angry words bobbed on her tongue, as the door closed behind them Lydia still couldn’t say what was on her mind. The room had been thoroughly checked only a couple of hours before, but it was up to her to ensure it was still safe. After locking the door and putting the chain on Lydia made idle small talk as she did just that.

  ‘Gorgeous room,’ she said, her voice casual. ‘The bathroom’s divine.’ Her words were utterly at odds with her actions as she unzipped her shoulder bag and pulled out a handgun, placing it in the bedside drawer before carefully checking the suite, opening each and every door, looking under the bed, behind the mirrors and pictures, even in the lush arrangements of fresh flowers. Anton frowned, clearly bemused by her actions.

  ‘Is all this really necessary?’ When Lydia didn’t deign to respond, instead carrying on with her careful check of the room, Anton’s palpable impatience upped a notch. ‘I asked you a question.’

  ‘I think we need to set some ground rules,’ Lydia responded crisply. ‘Firstly—I’m here for your protection, Anton, and believe it or not I do happen to know what I’m doing. So please don’t question my every move.’

&n
bsp; ‘Suppose these people come into the room at three a.m.?’ Anton retorted. ‘I hate to tell you your job, but what good is a gun in a bedside drawer with its owner asleep?’

  ‘None at all,’ Lydia answered. ‘I won’t be sleeping, Anton. I’ll rest during your meetings.’

  ‘So at night you stay awake?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Lydia said crisply.

  ‘At night you watch me sleep?’ The question was delivered in the same direct manner, his eyes still holding hers, and not by a flicker did he change his expression, but somehow Anton managed to shift the tempo, somehow he managed to reignite the crackling sexual tension, and Lydia moved quickly to douse it.

  ‘I won’t be watching you, Anton; I’ll be watching the door.’

  ‘It will be a long night for you.’

  ‘I’m used to it,’ Lydia said, attempting to be dismissive. ‘I don’t mind at all.’

  ‘Why not? Do you get paid overtime?’

  Her pay packet was none of his damn business. But it wasn’t so much the question that infuriated her as the almost imperceptible implication, and the anger that had suffused her downstairs when he’d summoned her to his table emerged again.

  ‘That’s none of my business.’ Anton answered his own question, then moved swiftly on. ‘Secondly? I assume there’s more?’

  ‘You are not to leave this room without informing me—either I will accompany you downstairs—’

  ‘Am I allowed to go to the bathroom by myself?’

  Ignoring his facetious comment, Lydia attempted to continue with the brief, but Anton wasn’t listening. He’d turned his back to her, pulling a small silver laptop out of his case in a clearly insolent gesture.

  ‘I haven’t finished yet,’ Lydia said. But instead of turning around to face her, infuriatingly, he opened up his computer and turned it on. ‘I’m talking to you, Anton.’

  ‘Then talk.’ Anton shrugged, ignoring the warning note in her voice. ‘I do not have to see you to listen.’

  This only enraged her more, and gave her the final impetus to say what was on her mind. ‘Finally, let’s get one thing very clear—I know you don’t want me here, Anton, and I know you think I’m clearly not up to the job, but don’t you ever treat me the way you just did downstairs.’

  ‘I assume we’re talking about the restaurant rather than the pool?’ Anton asked, pulling up files on his screen, long dark fingers stroking the keys, absolutely refusing to turn around. ‘Because from memory you seemed to be enjoying yourself…’

  ‘I’m talking about in the restaurant,’ Lydia snapped. ‘Insinuating that I’m some sort of escort, trying to embarrass me…’

  Lydia wasn’t sure what she had expected from Anton—contrition, perhaps, or an attempt at an apology—but the anger that had been simmering inside her exploded out of control as he threw his head back and had the audacity to laugh.

  ‘It isn’t funny.’

  ‘I am told that I have to chat you up. I am told by your seniors that I am to arrange for you to stay in my room after only the briefest of meetings.’ Finally he faced her, the computer forgotten as he stood up and turned around. ‘Tell me, Lydia, how the hell were you supposed to come out of that encounter looking anything other than a cheap tart? Did you expect to come out of it looking like a rescued nun?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Lydia retorted but Anton hadn’t finished and he walked two dangerous steps towards her. There were several metres still between them but even the slightest forward motion of this man had her mentally ducking for cover, had the vast Presidential Suite shrinking to a broom cupboard as he held her with his eyes.

  ‘You say that people are watching.’ His voice was coarse and direct. ‘You say that that I have to act normally, that these people will know if I act in a different way.’

  ‘Yes,’ Lydia croaked, her mouth impossibly dry, her eyes wide as still he came closer. She tried to stall him with words, tried to put her point across while there was still space between them. ‘And maybe you’re used to women who—’

  ‘Oh, I’m used to women,’ Anton broke in, still a couple of feet away, but suffocatingly close now. ‘I know women,’ he breathed. ‘I know all the games they play…’ His voice trailed off, a muscle flickering in his cheek as he stared down at her. ‘And believe me, Lydia, I have never once needed to pay for the pleasure of a woman’s company—and anyone watching, anyone who knows about me, knows that to be true.’

  ‘So what was that about downstairs?’ Lydia pushed. ‘Summoning me to your table, ordering me to sit. If I hadn’t been on duty, Anton, I’d have walked—’

  ‘You’d have sat,’ Anton cut in. ‘And that isn’t a compliment.’

  ‘I don’t take it as one,’ Lydia retorted. ‘You’re so damn sure of yourself,’ she choked, appalled at his arrogance. ‘You’re so sure that with one crook of your finger you can have any woman you want—well, you’re wrong. I’m here because of work, Anton, and believe me, I’m not enjoying myself.’

  ‘You were a couple of hours ago,’ Anton pointed out. ‘Don’t try and tell me otherwise.’

  ‘You’re a great kisser.’ Somehow she kept her voice even, somehow she stayed calm. ‘Maybe practice does make perfect after all—but it was strictly work for me.’

  ‘Liar.’ Anton smiled slowly, playing his trump card, recalling Inspector Bates’s words and carefully watching her reaction as he relayed them. ‘I spoke with your boss. I know that you weren’t expecting me in the pool—the same way I wasn’t expecting you, Lydia. This morning wasn’t about work. It was about attraction.’

  ‘No.’ Slowly but surely she shook her head, red hair shimmering as the morning sun captured it. ‘I thought you had been briefed, that you were fully aware I was a police officer. I was told that our initial meeting had to look authentic. I was just glad that as luck would have it Anton Santini didn’t turn out to be five foot two with a beer belly. I guess even in the dirtiest of jobs there are flashes of silver.’

  ‘So that kiss we shared…’He didn’t look so assured now, his voice trailing off, those dark eyes for the first time confused.

  ‘Was for the cameras.’ Lydia finished for him. ‘At least it was on my part. Though I have to admit—’ she gave a small laugh ‘—it was extremely pleasurable.’

  ‘We nearly made love,’ Anton pointed out. ‘We nearly—’

  ‘No, Anton, we didn’t.’ Every word was a lie, every word a supreme effort, but a necessary one. She knew with certainty that she had to take the heat out of this encounter—had to somehow erase all that happened. And this was the only way she knew how. ‘I pulled back—remember? I might have to crawl into your bed for the next couple of mornings to make things look convincing when the maid comes in. I might have to hold your hand as we walk down the hotel corridor, or even kiss you in front of a crowd, but don’t for a minute think that it’s about you and I. This is what I do for a living. I’m an undercover cop, and immersing myself in a role is something I’m used to. You were the one who kissed me, Anton,’ Lydia reminded him. ‘You were the one who swam over to a virtual stranger for no other reason than sexual attraction. I, on the other hand, was working.’

  ‘Prostituting yourself!’ Anton sneered.

  ‘Trying to save your life,’ Lydia countered. ‘Though I have to admit sometimes I wonder why I bother.’

  ‘I didn’t ask for your help,’ Anton pointed out. ‘In fact, if it were up to me I would prefer to take my chances alone rather than have a—’ He didn’t say it, stopped himself before it continued, but the word was as audible as if he’d shouted it.

  Lydia shook her head as yet again he questioned her competence and she finished the sentence for him.

  ‘Than have a mere woman protect you?’

  ‘I didn’t say that,’ Anton refuted. ‘But if you insist on the truth then, yes—I admit that is how I feel.’

  And Lydia could only grudgingly admire his honesty as he elaborated, because finally here was someone who actually voiced what
half the station she worked at secretly thought. Here was someone who had the guts to speak his chauvinistic mind.

  ‘I cannot possibly see how a woman half my weight, who does not even reach my shoulders, has any hope of protecting me…’ Anton’s hands were gesturing wildly as he spoke, relegating her substantial height to that of a five-year-old. ‘Maybe you are an expert at martial arts—who knows? But a black belt won’t stop a bullet. This is not suitable women’s work.’

  Even making allowances for a rather poor translation, Anton’s take on things was brutally obvious. His utter disregard, his sheer lack of respect for her had been made crystal clear.

  ‘What is suitable women’s work, Anton?’ Lydia asked, her face chalk beneath her rouge, lips rigid with rage. ‘Barefoot and pregnant in your kitchen?’

  ‘You are being ridiculous,’ Anton hissed.

  ‘No more ridiculous than the assumptions you have just made about me—but at least my assumptions are based on fact. I’ve read up on you these past few days, Mr Santini.’

  ‘What? You’ve flicked through a few glossy magazines to form an opinion?’ Anton sneered. ‘That would be about your level.’

  ‘You arrogant bastard,’ Lydia whispered. ‘ Maybe the only role you feel suitable for women is on our backs, with our legs wrapped around you, massaging your already over-inflated ego, but other people’s lives may be at stake here—not just yours. There are innocent guests at this hotel, children staying here, and not for a second will I or my team allow their safety to be compromised. So you’d better start playing the game, Anton. For the next couple of days, like it or not, you’re stuck with me—and whatever problem you have dealing with that fact, I suggest you bury it.’

  Turning she headed for the bathroom, closing the door behind her and resting her shaking hands on the cool black marble, staring into the mirror at the made-up face she barely recognised, swallowing bile as she recalled the vile words that had hissed between them. Somehow they had managed to derogate the pure, naked beauty that had shrouded them this morning, had taken away the raw pleasure of that intimate moment until all that was left was a filthy smear of shame.