Taken for His Pleasure

by Carol Marinelli

  Flicking on the cold tap, Lydia ran her wrists under the water, willing herself calm, collecting her thoughts before heading back into the sumptuous room. She was expecting a second onslaught. Expecting Anton’s fury to have been exacerbated by her absence and for the onslaught of questions to start again. But as she stepped into the lounge, her stilettos not making a sound on the thick woollen carpet, for a second Lydia felt as if she were intruding.

  His back to her, Anton was gazing out of the massive windows, but there was a loneliness to him that hadn’t been there before, a weariness she was sure she hadn’t seen, and it unsettled her—a flash of fragility in this fiercely proud man, a tiny chink in his armour that she was sure he hadn’t meant to reveal.

  ‘Anton?’ The brittle edge had gone from her voice, but she waited for his mask to slip back on, for his haughty indifference to emerge as she crossed the room, but still he stared out of the window, and his voice was low and soft when finally it came.

  ‘I apologise.’

  Not for a moment had she expected an apology. The best she had hoped for was a tense stand-off. But somehow Lydia knew his words were heartfelt, somehow she knew that a man like Anton wouldn’t apologise unless he meant it.

  ‘I go too far.’

  ‘You do?’ Lydia gave a tiny, tight smile, taken aback by the sudden change in him. ‘I do too,’ she admitted.

  ‘This morning has been…’ She watched as he struggled to find the appropriate words, his hands clenching in frustration, and Lydia said them for him.

  ‘A shock?’

  He gave a slow nod.

  ‘More often than not these security alerts come to nothing,’ Lydia explained, more gently now. ‘Certain events trigger alarms and we have to explore every avenue. It doesn’t necessarily mean that—’

  ‘That isn’t what is bothering me,’ Anton said with a tiny flick of his head.

  ‘Then what is?’

  Slowly he turned, the pain in his eyes hitting her with such intensity she took a step backwards. But he recovered in an instant, his stance snapping back to normal, a brittle smile inching over his lips as he scathingly answered her question. The mask had slipped back on with practised ease, just as she had known it would.

  ‘Anton—’ Lydia’s voice was wary ‘—do you have any idea who it is that might want to harm you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you have any enemies?’ Lydia pushed, frowning when he shrugged dismissively.

  ‘Too many to name—’

  ‘Anton, if you have any idea who might be behind all this, then it’s imperative that you tell me. If you think—’

  ‘My thoughts are my own, Lydia,’ Anton snapped. The mask was firmly back in place now—no glimpse of the pensive side to him she had just glimpsed. ‘Not even you can access them. Now, if you can let your colleagues know, I’d like to head down to the boardroom and get on with my day.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  IT WAS a relief to leave him at his meeting—a relief to come back to the room, lock the door and finally let her own mask slip for a few hours. To undress and pull the curtains and slide into the massive bed that he would inhabit tonight, and force herself into a few hours of Anton-inspired restless sleep.

  The vibration of the pager on her bedside table informed her that the meeting would soon be closing, told her to get dressed and make her way down to the bar. Eyeing her wardrobe, Lydia stared at her rather pale offerings. The faithful black dress that always fitted the bill seemed drab and lifeless now. Her wardrobe wasn’t quite up to the sophisticated world Anton inhabited. She was unsure if she could get away with wearing the dress she had worn earlier—the one truly fabulous item in her wardrobe, which had been borrowed from her incredibly glamorous younger sister.

  It would have to do.

  Again!

  Dressing quickly, and heading to the bathroom, Lydia rinsed her mouth and touched up her make-up and perfume. She carefully placed the gun in her specifically designed handbag—a holster was considered too much of a risk if it were seen—then took a moment to check her reflection in the vast full-length mirror. The controlled, elegant woman who stared back at her was the antithesis of how she was feeling—her emotions were as friable as an adolescent’s—but her glittering eyes were the only indicator of the fizzing arousal he had so easily instigated.

  Checking her bag was in position, feeling the heavy weight of the gun against her side, Lydia let her eyes linger on the massive opulent bed of the Presidential Suite. She tried not to picture his jet hair on the golden pillow…Tried not to visualise that haughty guarded face softened by sleep…Tried not to imagine herself lying beside him…tried and failed on all three counts.

  As dangerous and unpredictable as the night might be, the real danger to her wasn’t what lay ahead in the bar, or on the walk back to the suite. The real danger for Lydia would be right here in this room. She had to keep her guard up, had to remain eternally vigilant, had to watch out not just for his life, but for her heart.

  There was no question of heading over to the bar and ordering her drink.

  As Anton Santini’s special guest, Lydia acted accordingly—taking a seat on one of the low, velvet lounges and barely looking up as an attentive waiter came and asked what she would like to drink.

  ‘Strawberry daiquiri,’ Lydia answered, glancing briefly over to the bar to ensure that Kevin had seen her arrival. It was important that no one suspected even for a second that she was carefully observing proceedings, and if she was being watched a glass of mineral water might raise suspicion. Kevin had been placed at the bar to work as a member of the staff. His seniority was needed to oversee things, and also to ensure that, as much as possible, all the undercover detectives’ drinks remained alcohol-free.

  As the VIPs started to drift in from their meeting, Lydia didn’t even need to turn her head to know when Anton arrived. The noise of background chatter and laughter dropped a touch, conversation momentarily suspended as he entered. The staff snapped to attention and Lydia noted that even the most beautiful of women checked themselves. Their hands dashing to their faces, flicking their hair, pulling in already toned stomachs, tongues licking at beautifully rouged lips, eyes narrowing a touch as their gazes followed the focus of this beautiful man’s attention. Because he filled the room as he stepped inside—brooding yet somehow charismatic, with an elusive quality that had everyone paying attention.

  What Lydia had expected of Anton, she wasn’t sure—perhaps for the same chauvinistic arrogance she had witnessed in the restaurant to emerge again, or a brief, distracted introduction to his colleagues and acquaintances. But his attention was solely on her, his eyes fixed on her and only her as he crossed the room, dismissing his entourage. Clearly whatever had needed to be said in the meeting had been dealt with, and Anton was now off duty.

  And stunning, to boot!

  As he crossed the room, his purposeful stride heading directly towards Lydia, his restless eyes focussed solely on her, it was all too easy for a tiny dangerous moment for Lydia to indulge herself, to pretend that this was her reality—that the elegant, intimate smile softening his mouth was truly for her.

  ‘How was your meeting?’ Lydia asked as he sat down beside her on the low couch. The forced closeness was more intoxicating than any liquor, his thigh pressing against hers, his voice low and deep. Because of the background noise, Lydia had to lean forward to catch it.

  ‘That is not how you would greet me if you were my woman.’ His warm hand slid behind the curtain of her hair, his fingers massaging the back of her neck. Tiny pulses of energy flicked through her body as his mouth moved towards hers. ‘This is how you would greet me.’

  He tasted of danger.

  His kiss was a dangerous, teasing elaboration of the fantasy she had just harboured. And, as sexist and chauvinistic as his words were, they caused a flutter of excitement in the pit of her stomach—to be his woman, to greet this divine man with the deepest of kisses, had Lydia literally trembling inside
. His tongue slid around hers, and his utter lack of inhibition, the complete inappropriateness of his actions, caused a shrill of excitement in her groin.

  ‘That’s better!’ Pulling back, he lifted the drink that had been placed before him, completely calm, seemingly unmoved.

  Lydia’s eyes darted to Maria’s, and she tried vainly to ignore the shocked but gleeful expression on her colleague’s face.

  ‘Now, how about we head for the restaurant?’

  ‘I’d rather eat in the room,’ Lydia attempted, the detective in her anxious to get him away from the crowd and to the relative safety of his suite. But when Anton shook his head and headed for the restaurant Lydia had no choice but to follow, her lips tight as Kevin delivered an annoyed frown in their direction.

  Naturally Anton made an entrance as he entered the restaurant, with every face turning to look at the dark, brooding gentleman as he was whisked away to a discreet corner table.

  There was an uncomfortable moment as Lydia ignored the chair that was pulled out for her, choosing instead the one that was being held out for Anton—to enable her to face the room and watch out for any irregularities.

  ‘Sorry, I forgot,’ Anton said as she sat, and for a second she was privy to one of his most charming smiles. Not for the first time Lydia wondered how on earth she was going to get through this—because Anton wasn’t the only one struggling to remember why she was here. His gaze was so captivating, his company so overwhelming, it took all her strength to remain focussed, to break away every now and then and work the room with her eyes instead of staring into his. Waiters were hovering, pouring water, spreading a huge napkin over Lydia’s trembling knees as Anton dealt swiftly with the wine list.

  ‘Red?’

  ‘Just water, thank you.’

  ‘Water?’ Anton looked truly appalled, but Lydia was insistent, taking the massive menu and trying to quickly make her way through it—which, after such a thorough kissing, was a feat in itself. Somehow Lydia stumbled through it, choosing a simple risotto as Anton ordered a massive rare steak, making small talk as the waiters flurried around them, but once they were alone Lydia managed to say what was on her mind.

  ‘Don’t do that again, Anton. If I say we go to the room, then that’s what we do.’

  ‘You like your work?’ Anton asked, completely ignoring her anger.

  ‘I love jewellery,’ Lydia responded tightly, her eyes working the room, but relaxing slightly when she saw John and Graham being guided to a nearby table.

  ‘Have some wine,’ Anton pushed. ‘It’s really very good.’

  ‘I can’t drink any alcohol,’ Lydia answered, her eyes imploring him to understand. Anton just frowned back at her, but thankfully changed the subject.

  ‘So, your boyfriend—what does he think of your job?’

  Not so thankful perhaps!

  Giving him a tight smile, Lydia reluctantly answered—realising they would arouse suspicion if they sat in silence, but not too sure how much of herself to reveal. ‘My ex-boyfriend hated it.’ Lydia gave a tight smile. ‘Even though he was in the jewellery business too. I’ve had a bit more success than he has lately—I think he may have been jealous.’

  ‘Or concerned?’ Anton quipped, and Lydia gritted her teeth. ‘I wouldn’t like my woman in that kind of work.’

  ‘Your woman?’ Lydia gave a tight smile. ‘Whatever you were trying to say, Anton, it didn’t translate very well.’

  ‘It translated perfectly,’ Anton answered, not remotely fazed. ‘It’s not a very feminine job—though I have to say you look amazing tonight. That dress, however, is a touch familiar. Maybe tomorrow I take you shopping.’

  If it had been a real date she’d have slapped his damned face. ‘Maybe not!’ Lydia snapped.

  ‘You are…’ He paused for a second as he chose his words. ‘One of those feminist women, yes?’

  Lydia’s jaw dropped at his cheek. ‘What I am and what I believe in has absolutely nothing to do with you—’

  ‘But we are on a date!’ Anton flashed a devilish grin. ‘Surely we are supposed to be getting to know each other better, Lydia?’

  He had a point—and, given that her colleagues were close, and that the background noise of the restaurant meant there was no chance of them being overheard, by the time their meals arrived Lydia had relented a touch, dropping her defensive guard a notch, but only so as to find out more about him.

  ‘Do you enjoy your work?’ Lydia asked, picking her way through her risotto, her usually healthy appetite the size of a sparrow’s under Anton’s scrutiny.

  ‘Most of the time.’ Anton nodded. ‘It does not leave me much time for myself, though…’ He frowned as Lydia raised a slightly questioning eyebrow. ‘It doesn’t!’ he insisted.

  ‘From what I’ve gleaned, you’ve found the time to maintain an incredibly active social life, Anton.’

  ‘It really isn’t as good as the magazines make out.’ Not remotely embarrassed by her inference, Anton gave an easy shrug. ‘A lot of those so-called relationships were nothing more than a few dinner dates.’ Lydia’s eyebrows were practically in her hairline and Anton managed a wry laugh. ‘So I don’t like to sleep alone. I wasn’t aware it was a crime!’

  ‘I never said it was,’ Lydia replied, but despite the hair and make-up, despite the flickering candlelight and the presence of this stunning man, her mind was still alert. The detective in her was carefully placing the pieces in this difficult, complicated jigsaw, and, shooting him a direct question, she carefully watched his reaction. ‘What happened twelve months ago, Anton?’

  Watching his face still, Lydia knew her hunch had been right—knew that she’d hit a nerve.

  ‘Nothing.’ To most people it would have seemed his recovery was instantaneous, but Lydia noted that his eyes were no longer able to meet hers. His hand reached for his glass and he took a sip as, to Lydia’s trained mind, he played for time. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘I’m just curious,’ Lydia said casually, but her mind was anything but. ‘It would seem your social life became rather more active around then…’ Momentarily she took her eyes from him. After ensuring no waiter was hovering she pushed the conversation a touch further, sure that her vague hunch was right—sure that somehow she was on the right track. ‘And so did those telephone calls.’

  ‘The two are not related,’ Anton said quickly—too quickly for Lydia’s liking. His rapid response told Lydia it was something he’d already considered.

  ‘How can you be so sure?’ Lydia asked.

  ‘I just am,’ Anton retorted, abruptly ending the conversation, clearly irritated by her intrusion.

  The slightly more amicable air they had created was history now and they stumbled on in silence. Pretty soon dinner was clearly over. His steak barely touched, Anton dropped his knife and fork with a clatter, screwed up his napkin and tossed it onto the table.

  ‘You walk me back now?’ He gave a tight smile, and Lydia wasn’t sure if it was an apology for his bad English, or the embarrassment of his date looking out for him.

  ‘Do you want to go out in the gardens for coffee—or a brandy, perhaps?’ Anton asked as they walked through the hotel foyer. And though it could have been mere politeness that had engineered the question, though she was in no doubt he offered the same to every woman after a meal—brandy and coffee in some delectable surrounds—Lydia had a feeling he was delaying things. She realised that maybe, just maybe, Anton was dreading heading upstairs as much as her—dreading the stuffy confines of his bedroom—even if it was in the Presidential Suite. A night in each other’s company, a night denying the attraction that leapt between them, would be an almost impossible feat.

  ‘No.’ Lydia shook her head. The gardens were the last place she wanted to be with a potential hitman on the loose. ‘I think we really ought head back.’

  ‘And I think I could really use a brandy,’ Anton said sharply, snapping his fingers at the young woman on the desk, who immediately made her way over, completely ref
using to follow the rules that had been so carefully spelt out.

  All Lydia knew was that if she didn’t get control here and now then she might just as well walk away from the job—unless Anton accepted that for now she was the one in charge, then both their lives would be in danger.

  ‘Darling—’ Smiling sweetly, Lydia took his hand as he relayed his orders to the young woman, choking back a gurgle of laughter as Anton’s words abruptly halted. ‘I really am tired. Let’s forget about the brandy and head for bed.’

  It was a credit to his strength that he didn’t make a sound, his expression almost bland as Lydia’s hand coiled around his and, in a subtle but supremely painful manoeuvre she had learnt years ago—one that would have bought most people to their knees in a matter of seconds—pushed his thumb up firmly against his wrist. Briskly, she walked her reluctant partner towards the lifts. For all the world they looked like any other couple heading for bed. No one could have guessed the agony Anton was in as she marched him across the foyer.

  ‘What the hell was that?’ Anton glowered as the lift doors closed and Lydia’s grip finally loosened. She held back a smile as he let out a long breath and mumbled a few choice words. She didn’t need a translation to guess that he was cursing her in Italian as he bent over slightly and held his hand between his thighs. ‘You just about broke my thumb back there.’

  ‘And you just about broke our cover,’ Lydia said sharply. ‘When I say move, Anton, we move—got it?’

  He didn’t answer—didn’t even let her go first when the lift door opened—just marched ahead of her.

  ‘Manners.’ Lydia grinned at his tense back.

  ‘You want it both ways?’ Anton barked, pulling out his swipe card to open the hotel room. ‘Well, you choose, Lydia—if you want to act like a man in a bar then that is how I will treat you. Don’t act all tough one minute and then demand I hold doors open for you or step aside.’