It didn’t even take five minutes. In fact, by the time the waiter had come over to take their order Anton had cast his astute eyes over the figures and nailed the problem. ‘Cross-reference that figure, but I think you’ll just find that someone missed a zero on the end. Not for me, thanks,’ Anton added to the waiter, standing up. ‘I’ll see both you ladies tonight at the cocktail party.’
‘Will it be very grand?’ Lydia asked as they headed out of the lift and towards Anton’s suite.
‘Probably.’ Anton shrugged, swiping his card and opening the door to let her in. ‘Why don’t you get your hair put up? I think it would suit you!’
But Lydia wasn’t listening—instead her mind was on her job, her hand in her bag, wrapped firmly around her gun, hazel eyes checking out the suite as she entered, standing stock still, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end as instinct told her something wasn’t right.
As Anton went to breeze past her Lydia moved quickly, deliberately stepping in front of him, halting his progress, her slender frame shielding him.
‘What the…?’ Anton’s voice trailed off as the bellboy came into view, stepping into the hallway, his black eyes meeting Lydia’s.
‘Would you like me to unpack?’
‘Unpack?’ Lydia frowned. Her breath was coming in short, rapid bursts but her voice was even.
‘Your shopping bags,’ the bellboy explained. ‘I have placed them on the bed—’
‘We’ll be fine.’ It was Anton talking now, taking over the conversation and side-stepping Lydia, walking past her, pressing a tip into the bellboy’s hand. ‘Grazie.’
‘Enjoy your evening,’ the bellboy responded, nodding briefly before quietly exiting.
‘What the hell was that all about?’ Anton demanded once they were alone, but Lydia said nothing for a while, checking the room meticulously before finally sitting down on the bed surrounded by the pile of shopping bags they had acquired on their expedition.
‘I knew someone was in the room,’ Lydia answered, raking her hand through her hair. ‘Anton, I don’t like him…’
‘He’s the bellboy, for heaven’s sake!’ Anton flared. ‘But that’s not the point. Suppose he had been an attacker, suppose his intention had been to hurt me—what on earth were you doing stepping in front of me?’
‘It’s my job, Anton,’ Lydia answered, but her response was vague, her mind still going over and over the brief encounter, instinct still telling her that something didn’t fit, that something wasn’t right.
‘To take a bullet?’ His hand gripped her arm, jerked her around to face him. ‘And I’m not going to flatter myself that it has anything to do with feelings, anything to do with what just happened. You’d do it for anyone wouldn’t you?’
Lydia didn’t respond. She didn’t have to—they both already knew the answer.
It was the longest night of her life. Dressed in the same strappy number he had taken her in, her hair skilfully put up by yet another hairdresser Anton had summoned to the room, Lydia felt her nerves jangling more loudly than Angelina’s ostentatious earrings.
His simmering black mood was palpable—the incident with the bellboy had been a non-event, yet the result had been devastating. Anton had seen with his own eyes the lengths she was prepared to go to in the name of duty, and he had confirmed for Lydia what she had known already deep down—Anton would never accept her work. The tension in the suite had been unbearable. After escaping to the bathroom before coming down to the cocktail party she had checked her shoulder for the bruise his weighty kiss must surely have left and found nothing. But even if there were no visible signs of their lovemaking his mark on her was indelible. Her whole body felt deliciously bruised, Anton’s touch still reverberating through every tender muscle. Eyeing her unfamiliar reflection carefully in the mirror, taking in the sleek hairdo, the heavily made-up eyes, the sophisticated, groomed woman who stared back, mocking over and over the trembling child inside, she had wrestled with the biggest decision of her life.
‘I’m going downstairs now!’
He had summoned her with a sharp knock on the bathroom door, told her in no uncertain terms that if she intended to join him she’d damn well better come now.
And—because it was work—she’d complied.
Now, watching the room, Lydia sipped at yet another fake daiquiri as Anton held court—easily a head above the rest. And though he listened intently to the conversation in progress, occasionally smiled as the people around him loudly laughed, his aloofness, his air of superiority had never been more evident.
All Lydia knew was that she didn’t want it to end—didn’t want to go back to the world she had inhabited just a short while ago. And it had nothing to do with the jewels and the clothes. Nothing to do with the sumptuous surrounds and the lavish wealth that swathed her now. Instead it had everything to do with the man who had transformed her life the second he had stepped into it—the man who, quite simply, had taken her heart the second she had laid eyes on him.
‘You’re quiet,’ Maria observed as they stood on the outskirts of the entourage. ‘Not that I blame you—I’m just about dying with boredom. Even when they’re not working, it’s all they talk about. I don’t know how Anton manages to retain all those figures. He’s like a human calculator.’
She so ached to confide in her friend. Not to find an answer—Lydia knew there wasn’t one—but for some moral support. But now was neither the time nor the place. ‘How’s your boss?’ Lydia asked instead.
‘Like my dog when it’s on heat!’ Maria’s mouth twitched as she took a sip of her drink. ‘I should be armed with a stick to keep her at bay. Not that I’m complaining. I’m having the best time really—I’ve booked myself in for a hot stone massage tomorrow, which sounds divine! And so is he…’ Maria breathed as Anton looked over in their direction and started to make his way over.
‘Maria,’ he gave her a curt greeting before facing Lydia, ‘I’d like to go back to the room.’
A bucket of champagne was cooling in a silver bucket, and as Lydia closed the door behind them Anton opened the bottle with ease.
‘Lock the door,’ Anton said, pouring two glasses and offering her one, frowning as Lydia shook her head.
‘I’m not supposed to drink alcohol on duty.’
‘You had three strawberry daiquiris downstairs,’ Anton pointed out.
‘Which were made by one of my colleagues.’ Lydia gave a tight smile. ‘They were non-alcoholic, to ensure that I’m able to keep my mind on the job.’
‘You weren’t exactly concentrating this afternoon…’
‘The shop was secure…’ Lydia swallowed hard. ‘But you’re right. That wasn’t my finest career moment. But my work is important to me Anton…’ She watched his face darken.
‘It’s too dangerous.’
‘It’s who I am.’
‘No.’ He shook his head firmly. ‘I saw the real Lydia this afternoon.’
‘No, Anton,’ Lydia said softly. ‘You’ve never met the real me.’
‘Come here,’ Anton said softly, and Lydia knew that it was now or never, knew that he was testing her. If she joined him in his bed then he’d expect her to join him in his life, and Lydia knew that she couldn’t do it. A night in Anton’s arms, being held by him as she slept, seemed far more intimate somehow than what they had already shared. It would make the inevitable loss that would follow greater somehow if she glimpsed his tender side.
‘Come to bed, Lydia.’ It was practically an order, and it took a supreme effort to defy him, to pull over the chair and resume her guard.
‘You go to bed if you want, Anton. I’m working.’
CHAPTER NINE
‘ANYTHING from Angelina?’ Lydia asked as Maria closed her eyes and rested back on the wooden slats of the sauna wall. Both women were delighted to be able to drop their guards for a few minutes—the only reminder they were detectives were the pagers nestled in their bathrobes that would trill if they were needed.
&
nbsp; ‘Nothing—she’s safely tucked up in the salon, getting her beard waxed, with Graham beside her.’ Maria let out a gurgle of laughter. ‘He’s having a facial and a manicure, can you believe? Strictly so that he can watch Angelina while we catch up, of course, but I think he’s enjoying it just a bit too much—maybe that’s why you really broke up.’
‘You’re obsessed!’ Lydia laughed.
‘No, I’m not.’ Maria sighed. ‘You’re looking at the new laid-back me, courtesy of the hot stone massage—Lydia, you simply have to try it. They place these warm stones all over you and wrap you up in this little cocoon, and when you’re cooked, when you think you could never be more relaxed in your life, they oil you and massage you with the stones—it’s bliss—sheer bliss. I swear, nothing will ever faze me again—not even Angelina and her none too subtle advances. I couldn’t be more relaxed!’
‘Any news on the background check for that bellboy?’ Lydia asked.
‘Nothing out of the ordinary.’ Maria yawned. ‘He’s a backpacker who’s worked for the hotel a couple of months. No criminal history…’
‘Where’s he from?’
‘Florence,’ Maria answered. ‘Well, that’s the last address they’ve got on him—and given Anton’s from Sicily, and works mainly in Rome, there’s nothing suspicious there. They’re still running checks, but it doesn’t look as if he’s involved in this.’ Maria gave a lazy shrug. ‘I’d forget it if I were you, Lydia.’
‘I don’t like him,’ Lydia insisted. ‘Tell Kevin I want them to keep looking in to him.’
‘No problem.’ Maria nodded.
‘Anton wants me to go back to Italy with him.’
Lydia blurted the words out, watching as Maria’s eyes peeped open, a tiny frown puckering on her newly relaxed brow as she eyed her agitated colleague. ‘He wants me to join him there for a holiday.’
‘He wants you to join him!’ Maria gaped.
‘Is it really that unbelievable?’ Lydia snapped.
‘Of course it is.’ Maria shook her head as if to clear it. ‘Lydia, this is Anton Santini we’re talking about. And you’re telling me that he wants to whisk you away for a holiday! What on earth did you say?’
‘No, of course.’ Sitting forward on the bench, Lydia raked her hands through her rapidly frizzing hair. ‘If I take a few weeks off to jet to the other side of the world I can practically kiss my promotion goodbye—my career, too, probably! I mean—’ Lydia’s hands flailed like windmills as Maria listened intently ‘—Graham was offering me marriage and I said no. Why on earth would I give everything up for a fling with Anton?’
‘Why are you so sure it would be just a fling?’ Maria asked.
‘Because flings are what Anton does best—the man’s a serial flinger!’
‘Is there such a thing?’ Maria grinned.
‘I don’t know,’ Lydia admitted, reluctantly smiling back. ‘But there should be—it should be listed in the dictionary and when women look the word up there should be the name Anton Santini written beside it!
‘It could never work,’ she added, even though Maria hadn’t asked. ‘I mean, just look at his reputation! And he’s made it very clear he hates my work. He doesn’t even know me—he thinks he knows me,’ Lydia carried on, talking nineteen to the dozen as Maria sat patiently listening, ‘but he doesn’t. I’d be an idiot to go.’
‘Then don’t,’ Maria said, closing her eyes and sinking back into relaxed oblivion. ‘Just chalk it up as one of the nicest offers you’ve ever had! And be grateful that you didn’t lose your head and do something daft like sleep with him.’
Lydia sat back on the bench beside Maria, closing her eyes and dragging in the hot air, her silence speaking volumes.
‘Lydia!’ It was Maria who was agitated now, the warm volcanic stones a distant memory, staring at her friend, aghast. ‘Tell me you didn’t sleep with him!’
‘Well, we didn’t exactly sleep…’ Lydia grimaced.
‘But you’ve only know him a couple of days,’ Maria wailed.
‘That’s a bit much, coming from you,’ Lydia retorted.
‘We’re not talking about me—heavens, Lydia, it took Graham weeks…’
‘Months,’ Lydia corrected.
‘Months, then,’ Maria choked. ‘So what the hell happened with Anton? How on earth did he…?’ Maria’s voice trailed off as Lydia broke down, and at the sight of her friend’s devastated face Maria wrapped an arm around her. ‘This isn’t love, is it?’
‘I think it might be,’ Lydia gulped. ‘But, like I said, he doesn’t even know me.’
‘Then show him you,’ Maria said firmly. ‘Show him the amazing woman you are, Lydia.’
‘You think I should go with him?’
‘Hell, no.’ Without hesitation Maria shook her head. ‘You’re Detective Lydia Holmes, and he’d damn well better get used to it.’ A cheeky smile inched across Maria’s pretty face. ‘Give him a taste of the real you, Lydia. Don’t compromise yourself, and don’t play by his rules. You never have before, so why start now? I guarantee that even if he leaves he’ll soon come back!’
‘And if he doesn’t?’ Maria stared at her friend and she answered her own question. ‘Then it wasn’t meant to be.’
Finally she knew what to do.
Back in the Presidential Suite, like a child creeping into her mother’s room, Lydia faced the mirror alone. Armed only with her rather paltry make-up bag, she slicked her lashes with mascara and rubbed some gloss on her full mouth. She tamed her wild curls with some mousse, and pulled her long red locks into some sort of acceptable shape. If Anton thought she was dressing down then he was wrong, she was actually dressing up.
Nerves truly hit her as her pager buzzed, alerting her that the meeting was nearing its end and to head downstairs in fifteen minutes.
It would have been so very much easier to pull on one of the dresses Anton had chosen for her, to dab her pulse-points with the expensive perfume he had bought and to strap on the perfect new shoes that lay nestled in tissue paper, courtesy of their shopping expedition, but it wasn’t her.
Flicking through her wardrobe, Lydia bypassed the expensive designer gowns, settling instead on her own faithful black dress—the one staple in every woman’s wardrobe. It was the same black dress she had worn for the police Christmas party, the same black dress that had seen her through plenty of first and last dates—the one dress she felt good in. Slipping it over her head, Lydia fiddled with the zip and then pulled on a pair of her own high strappy sandals. Rummaging in her handbag for her own scent, Lydia dabbed it on, her hands shaking so much she spilled most of it.
‘Calm down, Lydia,’ she scolded herself, placing her gun in her bag and heading for the door, stopping for just a moment to check her reflection.
And her nerves disappeared. A strange relief flooded her as she witnessed the familiar reflection, and even if she wasn’t quite as elegant, quite as exquisitely packaged as she had been, somehow it felt right, it felt real, it felt honest.
Tonight she would face him as the woman she was.
Closing the door behind her, she headed for the lift, pushed the call button and stepped inside, shaking her curls, straightening her shoulders. She was on duty now, bracing herself for any eventuality, ready to face whatever tonight might bring.
Only it wasn’t the thought of a security breach or the fact that her life could be in great danger that terrified her. It was the thought of Anton’s reaction that caused her stomach to tighten, her throat to constrict as she stepped out of the lift and walked across the sumptuous foyer, heels clicking on the marble tiles…
Anton’s reaction when he saw the real Lydia.
‘Lydia!’ Draped in some hideous multi coloured kaftan, Angelina summoned her over while simultaneously ramming tiny slivers of pâté-drenched toast into her mouth. ‘You look fantastic—love the hair. Did you have a perm? What a brave move!’
‘Thanks.’ Lydia forced a smile, and then shook her head as Angelina thrust a glass of
champagne at her.
‘No, thanks, it gives me the most appalling headache.’ Glancing over at the bar, she checked that Kevin had seen her arrival before summoning a waiter. ‘I’d like a strawberry daiquiri please. Extra sweet,’ Lydia added, then waved a finger in Kevin’s direction. ‘He knows how I like it.’
‘Certainly.’
‘Where’s Anton?’ Lydia asked Angelina, happy that her drink order had been taken care of.
‘He’s just signing some papers—he should be out soon,’ Angelina said, summoning back the waiter Lydia had just spoken to and exchanging her empty champagne glass for a full one.
Lydia was grateful for the momentary reprieve and turned with a beaming smile to Maria, kissing her on the cheek.
‘You look fabulous!’ Maria said.
‘Really?’
‘Really.’ Maria grinned. ‘You’ll knock his hundred-dollar socks off!’
‘We’ve done well.’ Angelina was back, draining her glass in one gulp. ‘The deal is finalised, so tonight we can party before we head for home.’
‘Or maybe we can get some sleep!’
His dry, deeply accented voice practically sent her already shot nerves into orbit. Her spine tensed as she felt the heat of his hand on the small of her back, radiating warmth through her dress, and, turning her cheek, she closed her eyes for a second, relishing the dizzy brush of his lips against her cheek as he joined the gathering.
‘You look stunning.’ His low tones were for her ears only, and, carrying on the intimate mood, she turned to face him. ‘Stunning,’ he said again, his eyes dragging over her face as if slowly taking in each freckle, lingering on her full lips, the riot of curls that framed her face. ‘Your hair’s amazing—did someone new do it?’
‘Yes.’ Her eyes glittered back at him, taking in every flicker of his reaction as she delivered her words. ‘Me.’
It was only the two of them. Angelina’s loud voice faded, the crowd, the waiters seemingly melted away, leaving just the two of them facing each other. ‘I did my own hair and make-up—this is me you’re seeing, Anton.’
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