Читать книгу Mediterranean Tycoons - JACQUELINE BAIRD, Jacqueline Baird - Страница 48

LORENZO recognised the voice, and good manners dictated it was a request he could not ignore. With his hand on Lucy’s waist, he reluctantly turned.

A moment later Lucy, with Lorenzo’s arm still around her waist and a glass of champagne in her hand, was being introduced to Aldo Lanza, the bridegroom’s uncle from Italy, his wife Teresa, their two sons and their wives, and four grandchildren.

‘Trust Lorenzo to grab the beautiful bridesmaid before anyone else had a chance,’ Aldo said as he kissed Lucy’s hand. Casting a knowing glance at the man holding her, he added, ‘Don’t be fooled by his easy charm—he can be a hard devil when you get to know him.’ And he winked.

‘I already gathered that,’ Lucy said with a grin, enjoying Aldo’s easy banter and putting her glass down on the table. ‘We have met before.’

‘Ah—you have visited Verona, perhaps? A beautiful city, no?’

‘Yes, I have, and the architecture is stunning. The arena is amazing, too, but I did not have much time to look around as I was there on business.’

‘Beautiful and clever. What line of business are you in?’ he asked.

‘Enough questions, Aldo,’ Lorenzo interrupted. ‘I’m sure Lucy does not want to discuss business at a wedding.’ He had introduced Lucy without mentioning her surname, thinking the less Aldo knew the better—because his wife Teresa was the biggest gossip in Verona.

‘No, really—I don’t mind,’ Lucy said swiftly. The arrogance of Lorenzo speaking on her behalf had touched a nerve. Her father and brother, much as she had loved them, had had a habit of doing the same. Which was partly the reason she had decided to move to Cornwall after her father’s death, although Damien had been nothing but encouraging about her setting up her own business in Looe.

‘I own an art and craft gallery here in the town. But I specialise in painting portraits, and was in Verona to deliver a completed commission to my client—a charming Italian lady. You may know her—the Contessa della Scala? In fact, I met Lorenzo in the foyer of her apartment block,’ she said, giving Lorenzo a saccharine-sweet smile, reminding him he was not always as invincible as he thought.

Lorenzo’s dark eyes narrowed angrily on her mocking green. It was the worst thing she could have said, given his recent appearance in the gossip columns. The Lanzas knew Olivia Paglia had an apartment in the same building.

Suddenly Lucy was aware of a pause in the conversation, and she wondered if she had gone too far. Then Aldo said something in Italian to his wife, and Teresa frowned. Looking at Lorenzo, she spoke equally swiftly.

Lucy looked on in amazement as the conversation became animated between the three, with much waving of hands. She barely caught a sentence, but was enthralled by Lorenzo’s deep husky voice—and then she heard Aldo repeat the words ‘Contessa della Scala’ and all eyes turned on her.

‘You know the Contessa della Scala well? ‘ Teresa asked in English.

‘I wouldn’t say well, but I have met her couple of times and spoken to her on the phone. She is a lovely lady, and a delight to talk to.’

‘Oh, so clever and bella signorina … ‘ Teresa switched back into Italian, and the conversation went right over Lucy’s head again.

Lorenzo’s hand slowly tightened around Lucy’s waist. He thought he had covered well by telling them they had met a couple of times and he had known Lucy for a while—which wasn’t an outright lie. But then he’d had to field a dozen questions about his ‘artist friend’ and he’d realised he actually knew next to nothing about Lucy and had jumped to the assumption she did nothing. He also realised he had made an even bigger fool of himself than he had imagined, presuming Lucy had come to Verona specifically to see him about the Steadman deal when her main priority had obviously been her own business.

The chatter that had broken out at her comment and Lorenzo’s fingers biting into her waist surprised Lucy. His dark head was bent towards her, and he spoke softly against her ear.

‘You could have told me you are an artist, Lucy.’

His warm breath and the way he said her name did funny things to her tummy, and she wriggled out of his hold just as James appeared and saved her from answering.

‘I see you have met the Italian side of my family, Lucy—and now it is my turn to dance with the bridesmaid, according to my wife Samantha.’ He said wife with such pride Lucy smiled. And, glad of the reprieve from Lorenzo’s constant presence, she let James lead her on to the floor.

‘They can be a bit overwhelming en masse, and Sam thought you might need rescuing.’

‘Not really—they all seem charming, if a little intimidating.’

She danced with James, and then threw herself into circulating and lost count of the number of men she danced with. With relief she accepted when Samantha asked her to accompany her back to the house and help her get changed into her honeymoon outfit. Her wedding dress, though fabulous, was killing her, she said, and as Lucy had stitched her into it in the first place, when a seam had split, she knew just what she meant.

Half an hour later she lined up with most of the guests along the drive as Samantha and James drove away in his treasured vintage green e-type Jaguar sports car.

Waving with one hand, Lucy wiped a few tears of joy for her friend from her cheek with the other.

‘Proof positive of my suspicion that you are a hopeless romantic.’ A long arm wrapped around her waist and she was spun round against a hard male body. ‘Here—use this.’ Lorenzo handed her a pristine white handkerchief.

‘It’s not necessary.’ She placed her hands on his chest and pushed herself free of his hold. ‘But thank you,’ she said politely.

She had been carefully avoiding him for ages, and if their eyes had met accidentally she had quickly glanced away. But she hadn’t been able to help noticing he’d had no shortage of dance partners all night. Not that she had been looking! And now he had caught up with her.

Lorenzo slipped the hanky in his jacket pocket and, taking her hand in his, said, ‘Walk with me, Lucy. I don’t feel like returning to the party just yet, and as Samantha’s friend you must know these gardens well. You can lead me around.’

In more ways than one, Lorenzo acknowledged wryly. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been so physically attracted to a woman he’d had to make a determined effort to prevent his body betraying him every time he looked at her.

Lucy was about to refuse when suddenly she remembered he had held out some hope for Steadman Industrial Plastics and agreed. Maybe she could talk to him sensibly and get him to agree to keep the factory open. The only slight problem with that idea was she simply had to look at Lorenzo for every sensible thought in her head to vanish. And the warmth of his hand holding hers seemed so right, so natural, she had no desire or will to break free.

They strolled down to where the garden ended at the cliff-edge, and looked out over the sea. The sun was just beginning to set over the far side of the bay.

‘Do you realise the twenty-first of June is the longest and lightest day of the year in the northern hemisphere—the ideal day for a wedding? And at midnight there is going to be a magnificent fireworks display.’ She was babbling, but Lorenzo made her nervous—and a lot of other things she wasn’t ready to face just yet.

She didn’t like the man. He was arrogant and rude, and a staid, boring banker was not high on her checklist of what she looked for in a man. Then again, she had never found any man who ticked her boxes … In fact after her one attempt at sex she had decided she was probably frigid and could happily stay celibate. But somehow Lorenzo Zanelli had the power to drive her senseless with only a kiss. She had dated a few men, but none had turned her legs to jelly the way Lorenzo did by simply holding her, and it frightened her.

‘Why didn’t you tell me you were an artist when we met?’

‘You never asked.’

‘I did ask why you were at the Contessa’s—you could have told me then.’

‘I could—but as you had just tried to have me thrown out of the building and called me a plump, brainless, badly dressed and mousy woman the day before, I didn’t think you deserved an answer.’

‘I’m sorry. I want to apologise for that day in my office. My comment was totally uncalled-for. I had a picture of you in my mind from the first time I saw you at my brother’s apartment in London. You were a schoolgirl in a baggy sweater and pigtails, and I didn’t really look past that.’

‘I thought there was something familiar about you!’ Lucy exclaimed, a long-forgotten memory surfacing of a big, dark frowning man in a dark suit once arriving at Antonio’s apartment as she was leaving.

‘Yes, well—now I know my view of you was totally false,’ he said, with a self-derisory smile. ‘But you caught me on a really bad day. My business lunch had gone on for far longer than it should have and I was badly delayed. I was running hopelessly late—unheard of for me. I’m not usually so.’

‘Insufferably arrogant? Opinionated? Superior?’ she offered cheekily. ‘I may not be a whiz with numbers, like you, but when it comes to physical figures I am really good.’

One look at her walking down the aisle of the church had told Lorenzo that, but he bit back the sexual innuendo that sprang to mind. ‘I really am sorry for my boorish behaviour.’ He gently squeezed her hand. ‘Please can we forget our first meeting and begin again?’

It was the please that did it. His apology sounded genuine, and Lucy glanced back up at him and was lost in the warmth of the sincerity in his deep brown eyes. ‘Yes, okay,’ she agreed, and suddenly shivered.

‘Here—take my jacket,’ Lorenzo offered, letting go of her hand to open his jacket.

‘No, really—I’m fine.’

His lips twisted in a slow smile and, catching her hand again, lacing his fingers through hers, he cradled her hand on his chest. His other arm encircled her waist to pull her pliant body into the warmth of his. ‘Then let me warm you.’

His dark head bent, and Lucy knew he was going to kiss her. When his lips brushed lightly against hers she felt her heart turn over. Never in her life had she experienced the dizzying sensations swirling around inside her that his kiss evoked. Her lips parted beneath his and the subtle invasion of his tongue into the moist heat of her mouth had her closing her eyes. Her free hand reached up to clasp his broad shoulders and cling as he folded her closer still. The blood bubbled in her veins and she was wildly, gloriously aware of sensations she had never experienced before. When she felt his hand stroking up her spine, finding her bare back under the tumbling mass of her hair, she trembled.

‘Ah, Lucy!’ He sighed, and broke the kiss, his dark eyes gleaming down into hers. He dropped soft kisses on her brow, her glowing cheeks, and then bent his dark head to say huskily against her ear, ‘This is the time, but not the place. I think—’

Lucy never did hear what he thought, as they were once more interrupted by the booming voice of Aldo Lanza, calling out his name.

‘I think I could kill that man,’ Lorenzo ground out, but straightening up, held her lightly against his side as he responded.

The rest of the evening took on a dream-like quality. At Aldo’s insistence they rejoined his party in the marquee. Lorenzo swirled her around the dance floor in his arms and she felt as if she was floating on air. Between dances he told her he had an apartment in Verona and one in New York, and he split his time between the two. His mother lived in the family home on Lake Garda, and he visited as often as work allowed. Apparently she suffered from angina and was quite frail. Lucy told him about art college in London and starting her business here in Looe, and how much she loved being her own boss.

For Lucy the night took on a magic all of its own as Lorenzo, holding her to his side, took her to gather with all the other guests in the garden to watch the fireworks display on the stroke of midnight.

How had she ever thought she disliked him without knowing him? So Lorenzo had lost his temper with Damien after the inquest? In fairness, it had to have been a traumatic time for him, and she could not really blame Lorenzo for Damien going off the rails afterwards. Lucy had sacrificed a lot for Damien, given him much more help than most sisters ever did, and yet his reckless behaviour had negated her help and ultimately led to his tragic death.

And how had she ever thought Lorenzo was boring? she wondered as he laughed and joked with the other guests as they said their goodbyes. She was totally captivated, her eyes shining like stars as she looked up at him as he turned back to her.

‘The party is almost over, Lucy. Can I take you home now?’ he asked, and the question in the glittering dark eyes said so much more.

‘I am staying here tonight—to help with the clearing up,’ she said reluctantly.

‘Do you have to?’ His long fingers curled about her wrist, his thumb carelessly caressing the soft underside, sending shivers of awareness through her body. ‘I could tell our hostess you are too tired and I’m taking you home for some much needed rest.’

Her eyes locked with his, and the sexual tension that had sparked between them all evening heightened almost to breaking point. They both knew it was not a rest he was suggesting. Lucy’s pounding heart wanted to say yes, but her head and her conscience was telling her to say no. She couldn’t—she had promised. And then Samantha’s mum interrupted them.

‘There you are, Lucy. I was looking for you.’

Ten minutes later Lucy was seated in the passenger seat of Lorenzo’s car on the way home, not sure how it had happened.

Lorenzo walked around the bonnet of the top-of-the-range BMW he’d rented and opened the passenger door. Reaching for her hand, he helped her out of the vehicle. He had sensed Lucy mentally pulling away from him as they had made the short journey to the outskirts of the town, and he needed to keep physical contact with her.

He wasn’t about to strike out now. It had occurred to him, as the evening wore on and he’d watched her dance, smile and flirt with a variety of men, that far from being too young and not possessing the traits he looked for in a lover—as he had thought when they’d met in Verona—the opposite was true. She was the perfect sexual partner for a weekend.

Lucy Steadman was no ordinary little small-town girl but an artist, accustomed to a bohemian lifestyle from her years at art college in London, and now living in Cornwall—the most popular county in England for artists and latter-day hippies. She was a free spirit and, judging by her response when he held and kissed her, and her body that oozed sex appeal, she had to be a woman well-versed in the pleasures of the flesh.

‘Here—let me take the key.’ He took the key she had taken from her purse and opened the door.

Lucy turned to close the door and found Lorenzo doing it for her. ‘Would you like a coffee?’ she asked, glancing up at him.

Slowly he shook his head and reached out one long finger, stroking her cheek in an intimate gesture.

‘You know what I want—what we both want—and it isn’t coffee,’ he husked. ‘I’ve been aching to do this again for hours.’ And his arm wrapped around her waist, his mouth found hers, and she was lost in the wonder of his kiss.

Her mouth was warm and eager for his, and it never occurred to Lucy to resist. Her purse fell unnoticed to the floor as she reached for him, her hands clinging to his broad shoulders, her lips parting to the probing demand of his tongue, and she closed her eyes and gave herself up to the exciting sensations rioting around her body.

‘The bedroom,’ he groaned, and she indicated the stairs with her hand. He swept her up in his arms and with unerring accuracy found her bedroom.

He lowered her down onto the white coverlet of the queen-sized bed and straightened up, swiftly shrugging off his jacket and removing something from the pocket. He dropped it on the side table as his jacket fell to the floor, followed by the rest of his clothes.

Lucy’s eyes widened in awe as, lit by the light of the moon shining through the window, she saw his magnificent body naked.

She had seen naked men before, in life class at college, but the models had been mostly grey-haired elderly men, carefully posed. And she had made love once with a boy—Philip, who had shared an apartment with her and two other girls at college. It had been the same night that she’d seen a newsflash on the television about two climbers in an accident on Mont Blanc, giving Damien and Antonio’s names. One had been thought seriously injured but it hadn’t been stipulated which. She had been terrified for both of them. Philip had tried to find out more, without any success, and then taken her in his arms to soothe her fears. They had ended up making love. With hindsight it had been comfort sex, with both of them half clothed and he as inexperienced as her. She had been thoroughly ashamed afterwards, and wary of men ever since.

But nothing had prepared her for Lorenzo, standing boldly in the flesh … She could not take her eyes off him. His shoulders were wide, his chest broad, with a shadow of black body hair that tapered down to a narrow waist, flat stomach, lean hips and long legs. He was also mightily aroused, and she swallowed hard suddenly, slightly afraid.

‘Are you waiting for me to undress you or admiring the view?’ he asked, with the confident grin of a man totally at ease in his naked masculinity. Not waiting for an answer, he knelt on the bed and pressed fervent little kisses on her face, her throat, while his hands, with a deftness she could only wonder at, removed her dress.

Beneath, she was wearing only white lace briefs, and a thousand nerve-endings sprang to life as he hooked his fingers in the lace and slowly pulled them down her legs.

‘You are beautiful—so beautiful, Lucy.’ He dropped a kiss on her stomach and she trembled in helpless response as his hands palmed her breasts, his thumbs gently grazing the burgeoning nipples, bringing them to rigid points of aching pleasure.

Lucy’s response was a low moan as quivering arrows of sensation shot from her breasts to her pelvis.

‘Perfect,’ he murmured, and his mouth closed over a pert nipple, his tongue licking and suckling.

Her back arched involuntarily, and little whimpering sounds of pleasure escaped her as with frightening expertise Lorenzo delivered the same erotic torment to the other breast, before he found her mouth again and kissed her long and deep as his hands caressed her skin, shaping her waist, her hips, her thighs …

She reached for him, her small hands clasping his shoulders, stroking around his neck, holding him closer, her fingers raking through the thick black hair of his head, desperate for more.

Suddenly he reared back. ‘I want you, Lucy. Dio, how I want you.’ He groaned and nudged her legs apart, to settle between her thighs, and she could feel the hard pressure of his erection against her pelvis as he pinned her to the bed, kissing her with a deep, demanding passion that aroused an answering passion in her—a need, a longing that banished any faint doubt from her mind.

The rough hair of his chest rubbed against her swollen breasts, and her body felt electrified by the heat, the power of him. He kissed her throat, her shoulders, his mouth hard, and one hand curved under her hips to lift her slightly.

His mouth found the rigid tips of her breasts again, suckling first one and then the other, while his other hand dipped between her thighs, his long fingers exploring the hot moist centre of her with devastating skill.

She writhed achingly beneath him, her nails digging into the satin-smooth skin of his shoulders. She was white-hot with wanting, her need for him shuddering through her, the emotion so intense it was almost pain.

He lifted her hips higher, her legs involuntarily parted wider—and he was there, where she ached for him. She groaned as she felt him ease into her. There was the slightest twinge of pain as her moist sheath stretched to accommodate him, then exquisite hot, pulsating power as Lorenzo thrust slowly deeper and then withdrew.

Her body screamed with tension and she locked her legs around him, frantic for him to continue. He thrust again, deeper and faster, possessing her completely, and she cried out as her body convulsed in a million explosive sensations so intense her breath actually stopped with the sheer ecstasy of it all. She was aware of one last mighty thrust as her internal muscles still convulsed around him, and gloried in the great shudders that racked Lorenzo’s huge frame. She was filled with a sense of oneness, a completion she had never imagined existed.

Lorenzo rolled off Lucy, his breathing ragged, his heart pounding and his head spinning. She was everything he had expected and much more. She was so responsive … He couldn’t remember losing control so completely ever before in his life. Of course he had been without a woman for a while, he rationalised, and, turning, he looped an arm around her shoulders and tucked her pliant body against his side.

‘Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you?’ he asked. She was so small, so tight, that for a fleeting moment he had wondered if she was a virgin, but had quickly dismissed the thought. Lucy was obviously a woman of the world.

‘No—quite the reverse,’ she murmured softly, in a voice full of emotion at the wonder of him. She laid her hand on his broad chest. ‘I am better than okay—sublime.’ Rising up on one elbow, she leant over him and pressed a kiss on his chin—the highest she could reach. ‘You, Lorenzo, are nothing like the staid banker I thought.’ She looked up at him, her green eyes dazed with love, and gave him a languorous smile. ‘You’re brilliant, the most perfect lover in the … ‘ She was about to say world, but a wide yawn stopped her.

‘Glad to be of service,’ he said softly. Running his hand through the tumbled mass of her hair, he smoothed it from her face and dropped a gentle kiss on her brow before folding his arms around her.

Lucy buried her head on his chest and, safe in the cradle of his arm, fell asleep.

Lucy slowly opened her eyes and blinked as the early-morning rays of the sun shining through the window dazzled her. For a moment she was disorientated and, yawning, stretched her slender body. She felt aches in places she had never felt before and, dreamlike, the events of the night fluttered through her mind.

She glanced across the bed and saw the indentation in the pillow and realised it wasn’t a dream but reality. She had made love with Lorenzo Zanelli not once but twice … The first time had been incredible, and she’d thought nothing in the world could be better, but Lorenzo had proved her mistaken.

She had fallen asleep, exhausted, and it might have been minutes or an hour later when she’d awoke to find the bedside light on—just as a naked Lorenzo had strolled out of her en suite bathroom. What had followed had been a revelation in eroticism.

With a skill and an expertise she could only marvel at he had kissed and caressed her, encouraging her to do the same to him, and she had in the process discovered a sensual side of her nature she had never known she possessed. Finally Lorenzo had made long, slow love to her, almost driving her out of her mind as he’d taken her to the brink of paradise over and over again, until in the end she’d been begging for the release that only he could give her.

She looked around the room. No sign of his clothes—he was gone.

She closed her eyes and groaned, blushing at the thought of how wantonly she had behaved. Lorenzo probably thought she behaved that way with any man and considered her nothing more than a one-night stand. Mortified, she pulled the coverlet up over her naked body.

‘A little late for modesty,’ a deep, dark voice drawled, and she opened her eyes to see Lorenzo walking towards her.

‘I thought you had gone,’ she blurted, pulling herself up into a sitting position and tucking the coverlet under her arms while her eyes drank in the sight of him. He was dressed in the same grey suit, slightly crumpled now, and his white shirt was open at the neck, revealing the slightest glimpse of his dark chest hair. In his hand he held a mug of coffee.

‘As if I would, after what we shared and I hope we can share again,’ he prompted and, crossing to the side of the bed, deposited the mug of coffee on the bedside table. ‘For you—I thought you might need the caffeine.’ And he gave her a wicked smile that made her blush.

‘Thank you,’ she said, and picked up the mug and took a long drink of coffee. Lorenzo hadn’t walked out on her, and he obviously did not think of her as a one-night stand. He wanted to see her again—he had said so—and his words warmed her heart and squashed all her doubts. ‘You are right—I did need that.’ She grinned up at him. ‘But you should have woken me. You’re the guest—I should have made it for you.’

He sat down on the bed and, leaning forward, lightly brushed her lips with his. ‘No, it was my pleasure, Lucy. You are one very sexy lady. And you had a long day yesterday and an even longer night.’

His dark gaze met hers and she could not look away. The latent sensuality in his eyes was mesmerising her. A heated blush coloured her cheeks, and other parts of her were equally warm. ‘Even so … ‘

‘No, don’t argue. I thought you needed to sleep, but then I remembered you told me Sunday was one of your busiest days in the tourist season, and you open at ten. So I decided to leave before anyone turns up.’

‘What time is it?’ Lucy demanded, panicking. Her head had cleared of the sensual haze Lorenzo’s presence seemed to cause.

‘Nine—you have plenty of time.’ And, standing up, he looked down at her, his expression suddenly serious. ‘I hope you don’t mind but I had a look around. It is a nice place you have here—living accommodation upstairs and the gallery on the ground floor. But I couldn’t help noticing you only have one lock on the front door. Your security is very poor—especially for a woman living on her own.’

Lucy drained her mug of coffee and placed it on the table. There was nothing wrong with her security, but she was thrilled by the thought that he was concerned for her safety. It had to mean he cared. She glanced up at him, her eyes sparkling with humour. ‘Lorenzo, you are beginning to sound like a stuffy banker again.’

‘If we had time I would show you I am not.’ He chuckled, and reached down to clasp her head between his strong hands and kiss her senseless. ‘Unfortunately we don’t have time.’ He straightened up. ‘But I’ll come back this evening and take you out to dinner. What time do you close?’

Breathless, Lucy said, ‘I close at four—but if we are going out.’

‘I’ll see you at seven,’ he husked and, planting a swift kiss on her head, he left.

Lucy watched him leave with a beaming smile on her face. Lorenzo didn’t just want sex. He was actually taking her on a date. That had to be a good sign.