The Italian Seduction. Mary Lyons
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.