The Italian Seduction. Mary Lyons
gave a heavy sigh of relief. She didn’t like admitting the fact, of course. But, just for a few seconds, she’d found herself feeling distinctly nervous. Which was, of course, totally ridiculous. Especially as she was used to handling far tougher, rougher-looking men than Lorenzo Foscari.
Waiting until Martin had taken his place in the front of the vehicle beside the driver, she took a deep breath before joining her client in the rear of the limousine.
Taking the radio receiver out of her handbag, she alerted the back-up car, waiting around the corner in Grosvenor Crescent, that they were about to leave, before giving the go-ahead to her own driver.
Preoccupied in making sure that her arrangements went smoothly, she gradually realised that Signor Foscari had so far remained remarkably silent.
Long may it last! Antonia told herself, glancing cautiously through her eyelashes at the profile of the tall, dark figure sitting at the far end of the wide leather seat.
The dying rays of the summer sun were casting a rosy glow over the tanned, hawk-like features of the man, who was staring straight ahead and was clearly buried deep in thought. From the enigmatic, inscrutable expression on his face, it was impossible for her to guess what was going through his mind. She could only hope that he’d begun to calm down, and regard the whole situation in a more reasonable frame of mind. But, the way her luck was going at the moment, he was just as likely to suddenly erupt, once again, in a violent storm of rage and fury.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the squawks issuing from the small black receiver in her hand.
‘It’s a nuisance, but it can’t be helped,’ she said, after listening to the message being relayed by the car in front. ‘I suggest that you take the next right turn, and we’ll go through the park, OK?’ she added, waiting until she’d received an acknowledgement of her instructions before turning to face Lorenzo.
‘There seems to be a bit of a traffic jam ahead. So we’re now making a slight detour through Hyde Park.’
‘Is that likely to delay my arrival at the Albert Hall?’ he asked quietly.
‘No.’ She shook her head, relieved to discover that her client now appeared to have calmed down. ‘We should still be in plenty of time for you to have a drink with your friends, before taking your seat for the opera.’
‘I’m glad to hear it!’ he murmured, giving her a surprisingly friendly grin, before querying the system she was using to communicate with her operatives.
‘I can understand the reasons why you need to be in touch with the vehicle in front of us. But I fail to see why, when you want to say something to our chauffeur, you cannot just slide apart that partition,’ he added, nodding towards the glass barrier between themselves and the men in front.
‘While you have a bodyguard in here with you, that glass partition is always kept firmly closed,’ she told him. ‘It’s made of bullet-proof glass—as are all the other windows in this vehicle. So, if anything should happen to the driver…’
‘Like getting shot?’
‘Well…er…something along those lines,’ she murmured, before adding quickly, ‘Although that’s very unlikely, of course. I mean, there’s no need for you to worry about details like that.’
‘Oh, I’m not at all worried, Miss Simpson,’ he drawled, turning his dark head to give her a warm, charming smile. ‘To tell you the truth,’ he added, ‘I’ve never believed that these so-called threats against my life were anything other than total nonsense.’
‘Once someone has issued threats, there’s always a risk that they will try and carry them out,’ she pointed out, finding it surprisingly hard to resist the almost beguiling warmth and charm of the man sitting beside her. Not to mention that low, positively toe-curling, sexy Italian accent of his—which appeared to be having a very strange effect on her whole nervous system.
‘You are, of course, quite right,’ he agreed with a heavy sigh. ‘In fact…’ he hesitated for a moment ‘…I now realise that I was, perhaps, guilty of behaving badly, back at the hotel. I was, of course, obviously tired…possibly the effect of jet lag…? You know how it is?’ he added, with a casual shrug of his broad shoulders.
‘Yes, well…’
‘Which is why, my dear Miss Simpson, I do hope that you will find it in your heart to forgive my lapse of bad manners?’
Phew! Talk about a volte face! Antonia told herself, almost reeling from the devastating impact of yet another warmly caressing, almost intimate smile.
Well! At least one thing was now as clear as daylight. This guy hadn’t just decided to be reasonable—he was obviously intent on mounting a full-scale charm offensive! And unfortunately, if the way she was suddenly having difficulty with her breathing, was anything to go by, it was proving highly effective.
‘I quite understand. There’s no need to apologise,’ she muttered, making an effort to pull herself together.
Which was surprisingly difficult. Especially as her mind, for some extraordinary reason, seemed to be temporarily out of order. But maybe that had something to do with the highly-disturbing sensual atmosphere which seemed to be rapidly filling the confined space of the vehicle.
Trying to ignore the tall, dark figure sitting beside her, Antonia tried to work out what the damned man was up to. Because there was definitely no ‘perhaps’ about his bad behaviour back at the hotel. He’d been an absolute swine—and well he knew it!
Her thoughts were sharply interrupted as the car in front abruptly slammed on its brakes. Leaning forward in her seat, she saw that its progress was being impeded by a group of young teenagers on roller-blades.
Swiftly scanning the area of the park through which they were travelling—which contained only a few courting couples, either sitting on the grass or strolling quietly amongst the trees—she quickly lifted her handset.
‘Relax…the kids are just having a bit of fun, and enjoying themselves. Ignore them—they’ll soon get bored and leave us alone,’ she instructed, almost envying the ability of the youths to control their thin steel blades as they swooped and dived between the two vehicles.
Her quick assessment of the situation proved to be correct, with the teenagers quickly growing tired of the game, and racing off down the road in search of new victims.
As the two limousines resumed their journey, Antonia leaned back in her seat, her eyes following the young kids as she wondered if she was too old—or, possibly, far too sensible—to take up the sport herself.
A silent spectator to the brief interruption of their progress, Lorenzo couldn’t prevent his lips twitching with amusement, having no problem in accurately guessing the thoughts going through her mind.
And why not? he mused. With her tall, athletic figure, she would undoubtedly master the art of roller-blading—just as smoothly and efficiently as she appeared to do everything else.
As soon as he’d entered this limousine, a few moments’ reflection had led him to realise that losing his temper with this imperturbable woman had achieved precisely nothing. However, he hadn’t climbed swiftly up the corporate ladder of the business world without learning a thing or two, he’d reminded himself grimly. And one of the chief lessons had been the need for flexibility.
Which was precisely why he’d swiftly come to the conclusion that, of all the options open to him, an attempt to drown the highly irritating young woman in honey might prove to be a better choice of tactics.
However, despite her apparent agreement to forget and forgive his loss of temper, back at the hotel, he’d been well aware of the cautious, wary glint in her smoky-grey eyes.
So…although he couldn’t recall ever having a problem in charming a woman out of her mind, it didn’t look as if he’d even got to first base with Miss Antonia Simpson.
Unfortunately, he knew absolutely nothing about