Taken for His Pleasure Read online

‘Because of this.’ Kevin handed him a neat typewritten card.

  ‘It says “Welcome, Mr Santini.” What has that to do with anything?’

  ‘You have an excellent PA, Mr Santini. In fact, the reason we’ve been able to rule her out as a suspect is because it’s her attention to detail that has enabled us to recognise the threat. The hotel usually provides a display of native Australian flowers for the Presidential Suite…’ ‘So?’

  ‘These flowers were delivered to the hotel last night. They were ordered from a florist down the road and paid for in cash. The card was already typed up.’

  ‘By who?’

  ‘The florist can’t remember—after all it wasn’t a particularly unusual request. What is unusual, Mr Santini, is that an identical card and lilies were delivered to the hotel you were staying at in Spain six months ago, when you were shot at.’

  ‘I was not shot at,’ Anton countered. ‘The police decided at the time it was a gangland fight I was caught up in. I was merely in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was just bad luck.’

  ‘At the time, it appeared so.’ Kevin nodded. ‘However, Angelina gave a very detailed statement to the Spanish police—at the time of the shooting she was in her room, attending to correspondence. She should have been with you. Flowers had been delivered and she couldn’t work out who they had come from—a seemingly insignificant detail, so insignificant that when flowers were delivered to your hotel room in New York still it didn’t seem relevant…’

  ‘I was nearly run over in New York…’ Realisation was starting to hit, and his hand raked through his hair as he recalled the details. ‘A car came straight at me, accelerating as it did so. I jumped just in time. My shoulder was dislocated but I knew I’d been lucky—the police said…’

  ‘Wrong place, wrong time?’ Kevin offered, and Anton nodded.

  ‘These flowers are a calling card, Mr Santini. A warning that we have to take seriously. You’ve also been getting some nuisance calls, I believe?’

  ‘A few.’ Anton shrugged, but Kevin shook his head.

  ‘Not according to your PA. During the last twelve months or so you’ve received numerous calls—so many, in fact, that not only the telephone company but the police in Rome are investigating. Am I right that in recent weeks they’ve become more frequent?’

  Finally Anton conceded with a brief nod of his head. ‘Who?’ he asked. ‘Who wants to harm me?’

  ‘That we don’t know,’ Kevin admitted. ‘Believe me, we intend to find out. However, our primary concern is your protection while you’re here in Australia. Now, you’re not to discuss this security operation—not even with your own staff.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because right now they’re all suspects in this investigation.’ As Anton opened his mouth to argue, Kevin overrode him. ‘It’s a possibility that we have to consider—for that reason your PA is the only one who is to know about the undercover operation in place. Maria will stay with Angelina, given that she has direct access to you, and we’ll have other detectives in place in the hotel. Naturally we’ll have a detective with you at all times. ‘

  ‘How do you expect me to explain to my staff why a police officer is by my side? With all due respect, you do look like a police officer,’ Anton said, impatience evident in his every gesture as his heavily accented voice filled the room.

  ‘We’re not that stupid, Mr Santini.’ Kevin gave a wry smile. ‘I can assure you that the detective shadowing you is going to blend in.’

  ‘How?’ Anton asked, more intrigued than annoyed now. ‘I can see that we could pass off Maria’s presence by explaining that Angelina needed some assistance, but…’

  ‘Do you remember the woman in the pool this morning?’ Maria asked, watching as Anton frowned. ‘She was there when Angelina and I arrived.’ When Anton’s frown deepened Maria assumed it was because he was trying to place her. ‘She had red hair, was doing some laps. You probably didn’t notice her, but she’s actually been in the hotel since yesterday, posing as a jewellery designer from Sydney here in Melbourne to showcase her work…’

  ‘She’s a detective?’ Anton’s voice was a hoarse whisper as realisation hit. Closing his eyes for a second, he replayed the morning’s events. With the benefit of hindsight, his mouth tightened in rage. ‘You are telling me that that woman is in fact a police officer?’

  ‘No, Mr Santini,’ Kevin answered patiently. ‘For the next couple of days, according to everyone she meets, Lydia is a jewellery designer visiting Melbourne and is here to target some new clients. However, given that the hotel is full, she’s checking out this morning. The bellboy is bringing her luggage down as we speak.’

  ‘I thought you said that she was staying with me?’

  ‘She is.’ Kevin nodded, enjoying seeing this supremely powerful man momentarily flailing as he explained the carefully laid plans. ‘Initially she was going to hang around the hotel until lunchtime but, given that you’ve arrived early, we’ve had to move things forward. You’re going to chat her up, and after a brief exchange you’ll invite her to stay with you. From our homework, sir, I don’t think any of your staff will be remotely surprised to find you with a young lady in situ by the time they get here. By all accounts you’re a pretty fast operator.’

  Anton pressed his lips together, fighting back a smart retort because, though it galled him to admit it, Detective Bates was speaking the truth—no one would turn a hair if they arrived to find a beautiful woman on his arms. After all, it had happened on numerous occasions before.

  ‘Once you’re alone, Lydia will give you more details and try and glean any information from you that might give us some insight as to who this person might be. She’ll also brief you about how the next few days are to be handled. But that conversation can only take place in your hotel room, and even then only when Lydia is satisfied that the room is secure and that you’re definitely alone. Whenever you are out of your room or there is another person present you are to act as if you’re lovers…’

  Kevin paused for a moment, giving Anton time to digest the instructions. He was slightly bewildered by the stunned expression on Santini’s face—the fact that his life might be in danger hadn’t initially evoked even a hint of reaction, but now, Kevin decided, clearly shock was setting in and the truth must be starting to hit him. The Detective’s voice was a touch gentler as he continued. ‘Now, to make your initial contact look accidental, we thought you could make your way over to the breakfast bar—’

  ‘What do you mean—initial contact?’ Anton sneered, desperately trying to regain some semblance of control, forcing himself to drag his mind away from Lydia and back to the conversation. What on earth was he talking about? Did this buffoon not realise it had already been made? That the initial contact had been well and truly taken care of?

  But just as he was about to correct him, he checked himself. Long ago Anton had learnt that any knowledge, however unimportant it might seem at the time, was a vital tool that could be used later. That to keep the upper hand one had to be constantly ahead of the game. So instead he changed tack.

  The sneer still in place, he voiced a different question. ‘Why on earth would I go over to the breakfast bar? I do not serve myself. Did you think of that when you were making your plans?’

  He didn’t get an answer. The room fell quiet as Kevin’s mobile phone trilled. ‘She’s ready.’ Kevin nodded, quickly ending the call and nodding to Maria. ‘Okay, Mr Santini, there are two detectives coming up in the lift. Their names are Graham and John. Don’t talk to them—just treat them as you would any strangers—they’re going to take the lift down with you and watch until you’re in the restaurant. Once you’re there, Lydia will walk in. Perhaps you could—

  ‘I do not need to be told by you how to chat up a woman,’ Anton sneered, appalled now by what had taken place this morning, and more than ready to face this undercover detective and give her a piece of his mind. ‘Come.’ He snapped his fingers impatiently. ‘Let’s get this over wit
h. Let’s make this initial contact!’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ORDERING his breakfast Anton glanced around the room, bracing himself for her entrance. To anyone watching he would look supremely in control as he flicked open the paper and read through the business section, but inside he was seething.

  She had used him, had been playing a mere game with him; she was the one who had been in control this morning, and it stung like hell to admit it. A bitter taste of his own medicine had been served, and it was almost choking him to swallow it down.

  What the hell had he been thinking anyway? Anton demanded of himself—aside from the fact she was a detective, what the hell had he been doing, practically making love to a stranger in a pool with no thought to birth control, no thought to the consequences?

  She could have been anyone!

  Anton’s jaw tightened.

  She was a damned detective!

  He looked up from his paper and his racing mind stilled as a pale woman walked into the restaurant. His anger momentarily faded as he watched her cross the room. Maybe the bright early-morning Australian sun that streamed through the windows had dipped behind a cloud for a moment, shadowing the bright skylights of the restaurant because all of a sudden the vast sun-drenched restaurant seemed to dim. Even the noise seemed to fade—the clatter of knives and forks against plates, the rustle of newspapers, the chatter of his fellow diners, all blurring in the distance as Lydia became the sole power source.

  Lydia, filling each and every one of his senses, her presence so electric, so consuming, it was as if he could taste again the cool decadence of her kiss, inhale again the sweet pungent fragrance of her arousal. Her presence was so potent that as Lydia crossed the room it was as if everything bar her had been plunged into darkness, as if they had been catapulted back to the weightless intimacy of the pool. Anton felt hollowed out with lust as he watched the long, slender legs that had been wrapped around him just a short while ago cross the room. His body responded like some testosterone laden adolescent’s, as he took in every last detail. The naked flesh that had seared his was encased now in sheer silk stockings; the feet that had been bare, the soles that had dusted his skin, were delicate in high strappy sandals; the feather-light toned body he had pressed his own against was draped in a burnt orange dress—a brave move, with her colouring, yet it clashed divinely. Exquisitely tailored, it skimmed the length of her torso, the superb, subtle cut of the fabric divinely accentuating the enticing swell of her breasts, and the jut of her nipples caused Anton’s fists to clench as he quelled the tirade of desire that swept through him. The inappropriateness of his arousal was thankfully hidden under the table, but still he fought to douse it, willing himself to move, to reach for a drink, to do something to break the spell. But he simply couldn’t drag his eyes away. The flame of hair cascading down her shoulders captivated him like a roaring fire—until sensibility took over.

  This was the woman who had used him.

  Even though her back was to Anton’s table, Lydia could feel the searing heat of his eyes on her as he crossed the room. Horribly exposed, she felt like a helpless creature being quietly stalked, and though her senses screamed danger, although every fibre in her being warned her of his approach, because her colleagues were sitting at a table just a few feet away, because this was her job, somehow she feigned nonchalance.

  Concentrating on keeping the tongs in her hand steady, she spooned strawberries onto her plate and carefully selected some canteloupe and Kiwi fruit. Her heart was in her mouth, every nerve was screaming, warning of his approach. Her fight or flight response kicked in, willing her to run, to flee this dangerous predator. But she stood her ground, her confidence inwardly wavering but determined to thwart the emotional attack Anton would surely deliver and deal with him professionally.

  ‘We meet again.’

  His voice was a low, silken drawl. The scent of him reached her even before his words did, making the hairs on her neck static in their response to him, yet she refused to turn, refused to jump, refused to let him glimpse how much he moved her. Instead she carefully piled two more strawberries onto her plate before finally offering her response.

  ‘We do.’

  ‘This is a pleasant surprise!’ He was impossibly close now. She could feel the heat from his body, the suffocating, intoxicating power of his presence as he moved deeper into her personal space, and Lydia knew it had to be now—that if she were to have any chance of fulfilling her assignment, any hope of controlling any dangerous situation they might confront, then she had to assume control, had to wrestle her self-respect, her authority, back from this consuming man.

  ‘Hardly a surprise.’ A tiny nervous swallow went unnoticed with her back still towards him. She dragged in air, forced her face into a smile and, tossing her long red mane, she faced him. She registered with a surge of triumph the flicker of confusion in his eyes at her confident response and yet this newly found confidence almost instantly dissolved as the beauty she had witnessed earlier seemed multiplied now. His thick jet hair was still damp, and the heavy, opulent scent of his cologne filled her nostrils. The near naked body that she had been pressed against was dressed now, but even a sharp, exquisitely tailored charcoal-grey suit did nothing to detract from the body beneath. If anything his clothes accentuated his perfection—the heavy white cotton shirt a contrast against his olive skin, the luxurious gold tie expertly knotted around his neck the only splash of colour apart from his eyes—dark, liquid navy, a perfect deep blue. The colour was as dense as a bottle of ink—no silver flecks, no flashes of green, just a velvet blue that caressed her.

  The sharp, sculptured planes of his bone structure, from the straight Roman nose to the almost Native Indian slant of his cheekbones and the jaw that had bruised the tender flesh of her face, was smooth now, with just a smudgy shadow beneath the skin—a subtle, powerful hint of what lay beneath…the beauty of this man in the morning.

  In a flash of self preservation Lydia flicked her eyes away, forced herself to look downwards. But there was no solace there from the brutal masculinity of him, and her eyes worked the length of his body, from the wide shoulders and broad chest to the flat, lean planes of his stomach, the long, muscular legs encased in superbly cut trousers. She was the predator now, flecks of gold sparkling in her amber eyes and her voice even when she spoke, the nerves that had threatened to drown her abating now as with relish she delivered a question. ‘Did you enjoy your swim?’

  For a beat he didn’t answer. Two vertical lines formed between his eyes—her detached stance was clearly not what Anton Santini was used to. ‘I did.’ He gave a curt nod, his voice deep and confident. The telltale frown between his eyes was gone now, but Lydia knew she had confused him, knew he had been expecting a different reaction entirely. ‘Aren’t you supposed to throw a glass of water over me?’

  A smile parted her lips a fraction, her eyebrows darting up at his questionable humour. If she’d had any more money in her purse she’d have cheerfully handed it all over to Karen. Whether or not the make-up had worked she still wasn’t sure, but the confidence an impossibly expensive jar of make-up gave was proving invaluable—coupled with the assurance in her mind that her hastily formed plan would work.

  ‘That was before…’ Lydia said in a low voice, enjoying the confidence of her alter ego, enjoying playing the part of a beautiful spoilt woman used to dealing with rich men.

  ‘Before what?’

  ‘Before,’ Lydia repeated, watching his harsh expression soften momentarily and feeling her own aloof façade recede a touch as the intimacies they had shared just a short while ago reared in their minds. ‘We can’t talk about it here.’

  ‘Where can we talk about it?’

  He was back in control now, taking the loaded plate from her with one hand and guiding her towards his table with the other. She was infinitely grateful that he’d taken the small breakfast plate. Even that tiny task would have been too much for her now. She could feel the heat from the palm o
f his hand in the small of her back as he led her across the room like a puppet on a string, dancing to his tune again. As he pulled back a chair for her, as a waiter appeared and spread a thick napkin across her lap, Lydia glanced across and saw Graham and John just a few feet away, seemingly engrossed in their newspapers. But she knew they were watching, knew that their eyes were on her and Anton and the seemingly initial contact they were making, and it gave her the impetus to centre, to focus on the task in hand instead of the man opposite…to face her burning shame with clear, unwavering eyes.

  Nodding a vague thanks as the waiter filled up her coffee cup and melted into the background, Lydia waited till they were alone before answering his loaded question.

  ‘Before the plans changed,’ she responded. ‘Before I realised that you’d come on an earlier flight and contact had to be made sooner.’

  ‘Contact!’ His word cracked the air like a whip, but Lydia deliberately didn’t flinch.

  ‘Convincing contact,’ she elaborated with a hint of wry smile. ‘I was merely following procedure.’

  ‘Procedure?’ Jet eyebrows shot into his hairline, his accent thick, every word loaded with menace. ‘Is making love to your subject part of your job? Is this what you expect me to believe? I was told you were a police officer, not some prostituta.’

  As vile as his words were, Lydia swallowed them. His version was far safer than the truth. If Anton even glimpsed the effect he had on her then both their lives could be in danger.

  Selecting the plumpest, ripest strawberry, Lydia drizzled a spoonful of sugar over it, watching as the white crystals dissolved, refusing to jump to his impatient command. Taking her time to ensure her answer to his accusation was the right one.

  ‘I was following your procedure…’ Gold eyes glittered as she confronted him. ‘To make it look convincing I was following yours—see a girl and pick her up…’ Lydia’s voice had a taunting ring. ‘I’m not the easy one here, Anton—it’s you.’