Mary Lyons - The Italian Seduction Read online

  MARY LYONS

  The Italian Seduction

  The Latin lover

  Wealthy Lorenzo Foscari had received threats against his life. But he was outraged when his insurance company assigned him a bodyguard—­especially since they'd sent him the sexiest woman he's ever seen!

  Antonia Simpson knew it would be a tough assignment, but the rcal challenge was resisting Lorenzo's seductive Italian charm. Because, once he'd kissed her, Lorenzo seemed quite happy to let Antonia guard his body-day and night....

  Contents:

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

  CHAPTER ONE

  ‘LORENZO—you really must be sensible! You could be in grave danger.’

  ‘Nonsense!’

  Standing behind his large desk, Lorenzo Foscari gave a brief, slightly irritated shrug of his broad shoulders as he continued to toss files and papers into an open briefcase. ‘Quite frankly, Matteo, I consider that you, and the other directors of this company, are taking these foolish threats far too seriously.’

  Matteo Barocci gave a heavy sigh, before once again trying to persuade the younger man to see sense.

  Unfortunately, it clearly wasn’t going to be an easy task. Which was hardly surprising. After all, no man of thirty-­eight—let alone a good-looking, wealthy bachelor with a host of glamorous girlfriends-was likely to welcome hav­ing his private life seriously curtailed.

  However, as a director of a large industrial corporation—­of which Lorenzo was chairman and managing director­—Matteo could only agree with the firm’s insurance company when they’d insisted that action must be taken immediately.

  ‘In the event of anything happening to Signor Foscari, we would be called upon to pay out a huge sum of money to your company. Which is why we cannot afford to take any risks, and are insisting that he has close protection, at all times, until there is no longer any threat to his life.’

  But it was one thing for the insurance company to lay down the law, Matteo told himself with another, heavy sigh and quite another to persuade Lorenzo to accept measures designed to protect him. All the same ...he had no choice but to try.

  ‘Now, Lorenzo—you must listen to reason,’ he pleaded. ‘Because, however “foolish” it may seem to you, once someone has written letters threatening your life, it would be the height of folly to take no notice of such a warning.’

  ‘Si, d’accordo ... I agree. You are quite right to insist that I take sensible precautions,’ Lorenzo said, placing his pass­port in the case, before firmly closing the lid. ‘And that’s precisely what I intend to do.’

  ‘So, you’ll agree to have a bodyguard, and...’

  ‘Absolutely not.’ Lorenzo shook his dark head as he pressed down the intercom, asking his secretary to notify the chauffeur that he was about to leave the building. ‘While I am quite prepared to be careful, I refuse to believe that I am in any immediate danger. Certainly not enough to warrant the appointment of a bodyguard!’

  ‘But our insurers and the other directors of the company are insisting that...’

  ‘Damn it, Matteo!’ Lorenzo grated, his blue eyes glinting with anger and frustration. ‘We both know that the man was nothing but a thief. A loathsome little man who, in his role of chief accountant, betrayed our trust by stealing tens of millions of lire from this company, before I sacked him. Right?’

  ‘Quite right. But...’

  ‘Yes...Yes, I know that he’s apparently made threats against my life,’ Lorenzo added impatiently. ‘But I fail to understand why everyone seems to be taking him seri­ously.’

  ‘I’ve already explained that...’

  ‘Oh, come on! Giovanni may have been a crooked, greedy man, who had no scruples about robbing this com­pany. But the idea that he’s suddenly become a dangerous assassin is totally absurd!’

  Continuing to ignore the older man’s protests, he picked up his briefcase from the desk, moving swiftly across the thick carpet towards the door of his large, spacious office.

  ‘For instance, I very much doubt if Giovanni would even recognise a gun when he saw one—let alone know how to fire it. Which is why the idea that I now need a body­guard—to protect me from such a puny, insignificant little man—is utter nonsense!’

  ‘But ...but the insurance company is insisting that you ...you must take precautions,’ Matteo protested breath­lessly, almost having to run to keep up with the other man’s tall, slim figure as Lorenzo left his office, and began strid­ing quickly down the marble-floored corridor, towards his personal elevator.

  ‘For how long would I be expected to put up with this bodyguard? One month? Six months? A year?’

  ‘Well ...er...I really don’t know,’ Matteo muttered help­lessly. ‘It could be for some time, I suppose.’

  ‘That is precisely the conclusion I’d come to,’ Lorenzo snapped as the elevator doors opened and he entered the steel cage, closely followed by his colleague. So as far as I’m concerned you can forget it! Because I’m damned if I’ll put up with being forced to live---for who knows what length of time?—with some empty-brained, muscle-bound gorilla!’

  It was now far too late, of course, Lorenzo told himself grimly, his lips tightening with exasperation as the lift hur­tled down, towards the ground floor of the large office building. It was far too late to regret not calling in the police when he’d first been informed by the auditors of a serious problem in the company’s financial department. Prompt and swift action, at that point, would undoubtedly have saved everyone a considerable amount of time and trouble.

  Unfortunately, instead of being sensible, he’d allowed his compassion to overcome his better judgement.

  After calling the chief accountant, Giovanni Parini, into his office and tearing him off a strip, Lorenzo had been disconcerted and embarrassed when the man had broken down—not only admitting his guilt, but weeping with dis­tress about the future welfare of his wife and many small children. Which was why, very stupidly, Lorenzo had merely called Security to have the man immediately es­corted from the building.

  What an idiot he’d been! Because it had soon become evident that there was no wife and definitely no small chil­dren. In fact, Giovanni, who’d been living alone with his comfortably off, elderly mother, had now disappeared and was on the run. But not before leaving behind him a letter, threatening to kill Lorenzo—the one person who’d been foolish enough to show him some clemency.

  Which only serves you right, for being such a soft touch! Lorenzo told himself grimly. However... if he now had the opportunity to get his hands around the thin, scrawny neck of the company’s late and entirely unlamented chief ac­countant, he’d have great pleasure in cheerfully squeezing the life from the wretched man!

  ‘You really cannot continue ignoring the demands of our insurance company.’

  ‘Hmm...?,

  Preoccupied in cursing himself for having been so leni­ent, Lorenzo realised that he’d missed part of what his com­panion had been saying.

  ‘What demands?’ he queried as the elevator doors opened, and he began walking across the foyer, towards the main doors of the large office block.

  ‘You clearly haven’t been listening to what I’ve been saying!’ his colleague protested, hurrying after the taller man as Lorenzo swept through the glass doors to where his uniformed chauffeur was standing beside a large black lim­ousine.

  ‘Our insurers are adamant that you must have the pro­tection of a bodyguard, at all times, until Giovanni Parini is caught,’ Matteo continued breathlessly.

  ‘What nonsense!’ Lorenzo grated as he came to an abrupt halt, spinning around on his heels to glare down at the other man. ‘Are you seriously trying to tell me.
..?’

  Matteo nodded quickly. ‘They say if you don’t take their advice—especially as you will be travelling abroad for the next couple of weeks or so-they will immediately with­draw your insurance cover.’

  ‘This is totally ridiculous!’ Lorenzo exclaimed angrily. ‘How can they seriously believe that Giovanni is likely to be dogging my footsteps around Europe? My schedule has not yet been finalised. So where and how would he get the information about my business meetings in Switzerland, Germany and Britain? How could he know where I will be on any one, particular day—when I don’t yet have that information myself?’

  Matteo shrugged. ‘It seems they regard you as being vi­tally important for the future of this company. Which is why they are not prepared to take any risks whatsoever­—and will cancel the policy unless you agree to their terms.’

  Swearing violently under his breath, Lorenzo stared grimly down at the other man for a moment, before quickly glancing at the slim gold watch on his wrist.

  ‘If I don’t hurry, I’m going miss my flight to Zurich. Which means that I’ve no time to hang around arguing about this subject any longer,’ he grated angrily, handing his briefcase to the chauffeur before climbing into the pas­senger seat at the rear of the vehicle.

  ‘I’m sorry...’ Matteo sighed. ‘Believe me, I have tried to reason with the insurers. But, while they aren’t prepared to take even the slightest risk of anything happening to you, they have agreed to make the arrangements regarding your bodyguard. Apparently they expect to have someone in place by the time you reach London. And they have also agreed to pay all the fees involved.’

  ‘I should damn well hope so!’ Lorenzo retorted through clenched teeth. ‘Especially when I think of the huge sums we’ve paid our insurers over the years. Nothing short of daylight robbery!’ he exploded, before taking a deep breath and making an effort to calm down.

  ‘I want you to make something very clear to our insur­ance company,’ he continued grimly, slamming the car door shut with a bang, before lowering his window to de­liver a parting shot. ‘If they’re twisting my arm, and forcing me to have a bodyguard, they’d better make certain that he’s the very best in the business!’

  Over six hundred miles and many light-years away from the sophisticated city of Milan, Antonia Simpson gave a heavy sigh as she leaned back in the front passenger seat of the chauffeur-driven Rolls-Royce.

  Gazing longingly out of the window at the bright sun­shine, and the light breeze rustling the leaves of the trees at the edge of the airfield, she found herself thinking that it was about time she had a break.

  It was all very well running one’s own business. And she certainly was making a considerable amount of money. But the unrelenting pressure of always having to be totally alert and aware of danger, at all times, was beginning to wear her down.

  Which was ridiculous, really, because she’d spent the last eleven years thoroughly enjoying all aspects of her job—­eleven years into which she’d packed more adventures than most people experienced in a lifetime.

  She’d always been a tomboy, of course. Which wasn’t exactly surprising, since following her mother’s death, when Antonia was only a few months old, her father had raised her in exactly the same way as he’d done her three older brothers. And he’d been delighted to discover, as the years went by, that she was the only one of his children to inherit his natural aptitude for sports.

  There was a downside to her happy, comfortable child­hood, of course. For instance, it had been a shock, at the age of sixteen, to discover that men preferred girls who wore frilly frocks. And as she’d grown older she’d been confused to discover that most of her brothers’ male friends—however nice they might be—didn’t take kindly to being beaten hollow at tennis. Nor did they like being told not to be ‘sloppy’—and quickly tossed, judo-style, over her shoulder whenever they tried to kiss her.

  However, on leaving school and training as a fitness in­structor, it was when she was asked to help look after one of her students—who’d suddenly achieved unexpected fame as a rock star—that she’d discovered her true voca­tion, taking up ‘close protection’ as a permanent job. By which time, of course, she’d also discovered that being kissed by the opposite sex wasn’t really quite so bad, after all! Which hadn’t been much of a help when she was cho­sen to join a training course with the SAS.

  Antonia still shuddered at the memory of those harsh, desperately exhausting few weeks, which she’d spent at a secret location in Herefordshire. The only woman on the course, she was never quite sure how she’d managed to survive the brutally tough regime—a postgraduate course in advanced security techniques, which had dramatically changed her life—and resulted in her becoming a highly valued member of her chosen profession.

  But... well, there had been many times, lately, when she had found herself wondering what it would be like to live an ordinary, normal, everyday life.

  Which was one of the reasons that she’d recently formed her own, private security firm. Specialising in various train­ing courses—both for members of the general public, as well as employees of various security firms-she also pro­vided clients with surveillance teams for an assortment of mundane problems, such as internal theft and the preven­tion of industrial espionage.

  It was certainly a lot quieter and more peaceful than some of the jobs she’d had in the past. But Antonia was beginning to think that maybe, somewhere along the line, she’d somehow managed to miss out on something vital.

  Most of her friends were married, and had happily settled down to enjoy family life. And, although she was definitely not looking for a husband—and hadn’t even begun to think about having any children of her own—she was becoming increasingly aware of strange feelings of dissatisfaction with her life, which she had absolutely no idea how to combat.

  Possibly the answer to her problems was simply that she needed a holiday. While she was not someone who enjoyed lying around on a sandy beach for any length of time, the idea of renting a villa, high in the hills of Greece or Italy, was definitely appealing.

  Antonia was just anticipating the future delights of en­joying fresh mountain air, and of strolling through fragrant pine woods, when her thoughts were interrupted as the Rolls-Royce came slowly, and sedately, to a halt.

  ‘Get a grip, Harold! You really must try to do better than this! How many times do I have to tell you: at the first sign of a deliberate obstruction you immediately slam the gear into reverse—and stamp down hard on the accelerator?’

  ‘Yes, I know, miss,’ the chauffeur muttered unhappily. ‘But I can’t seem to bring myself to harm the car, some­how.’

  ‘OK...’ Antonia sighed. ‘I know it’s hard to break the habits of a lifetime. But if it’s a case of worrying about your vehicle, or saving the life of your passenger—there’s really no choice, is there? So, let’s try it again, shall we?’

  Harold sighed heavily. He was clearly hating every min­ute of the course, designed to teach chauffeurs of rich and influential businessmen how to escape from tricky situa­tions.

  ‘That was much better! You’re really getting the hang of it,’ Antonia told him encouragingly some minutes later as the large vehicle juddered abruptly to a halt at the sight of a car, suddenly blocking its path, before racing backwards down the tarmac at a rate of knots.

  ‘Now, I’m going to let you continue on your own,’ she added, unbuckling her seat belt. ‘I want you to keep going around the circuit until you can instinctively react to a prob­lem, without having to stop and think what to do. And then one of my assistants will give you some practice in con­trolling a skid on roads which have been deliberately sprayed with oil. OK?’

  He nodded, looking far more cheerful than he had earlier as she got out of the car, and began walking over the long grass towards a large, decrepit building on the far side of the old East Anglign airfield—an ancient relic of World War II.

  When the sun was shining, England in June was just about perfect, Antonia tol
d herself, taking off her crash hel­met and shaking free her shoulder-length blonde hair. However, just as she was relishing both the smell of new­-mown hay from a nearby field and the chirping of birds, wheeling and diving in the sky, far above her head, she was recalled to more mundane matters by the imperative buzz of her mobile phone.

  Recognising the number on the back-lit display as that of James Riley, an old colleague who was now running a top security agency, Antonia took a deep breath before an­swering his call. James could be very persuasive, but there was no way she was going to allow him to cajole or sweet­-talk her into taking on another of his rotten jobs.

  ‘I’m definitely not interested in guarding any more Arab princesses,’ she announced grimly, before he had a chance to say anything. ‘Your last client was a totally manic sho­paholic! In fact, if I never have to visit Knightsbridge or Bond Street again, as long as I live, that’s just fine by me!’

  ‘Hang about, Tony!’ he protested. ‘It’s nothing like that.’

  ‘Oh, yeah? Well, just as long as you’ve got the message,’ she told him firmly. ‘Besides, I’m running my own business these days. And I’ve got more work than I know what to do with. So...’

  ‘Hey—relax. You’re quite right,’ he murmured sooth­ingly. ‘I’ll admit that I shouldn’t have lumbered you with that job. It was just a mistake, OK? Definitely not right for someone of your experience and expertise. After all, you’re one of the best in the business. Right?’

  ‘Uh-oh...this is beginning to sound like some of your usual, lousy soft-soap, James!’ she retorted warily. ‘When you start paying compliments, I just know that you’ve got a dirty job lined up for me. So, what is it this time? Going undercover to track down industrial espionage in a smelly chemical factory? Or tailing a suspect in a particularly nasty and brutal drug syndicate? Come on—spill the beans!’

  ‘You’ve got it all wrong,’ he told her in an aggrieved tone of voice. ‘In fact, what I’m offering you is a really cushy, very simple job. Merely looking after a high-profile client, in a London hotel, for about ten days. Absolutely nothing to it. As easy as falling off a log,’ he added quickly. ‘And the fee you’ll be getting is pretty spectacular, as well.’