Taken For His Pleasure. Carol Marinelli

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she could pull it off.

      Stare at Anton and tell him that he didn’t move her.

      Tell him that the scorching intimacy they had shared hadn’t been pleasure but merely a duty—a cross she’d had to bear.

      She would get through this!

      And because she was supposedly rich, a mere detail like payment shouldn’t even enter her head—with a swish of her fragranced hair Lydia should stalk out. But, rummaging in her bag, she peeled off a note and pressed it into Karen’s hand. She shared a tiny smile as the woman’s fingers gleefully closed around the crumpled paper before heading out into the massive foyer, staring at her luggage being wheeled through the foyer by the bellboy. A concierge was juggling a telephone call and two rather irate Americans and attempting to catch her eye—no doubt wanting to inform her of the reservation he’d made on her behalf. But Lydia deliberately ignored him, heading over to the restaurant instead, ready to face Anton again. But on her terms this time—not as the woman he had witnessed earlier, but as the detective she was.

      CHAPTER THREE

      ‘SHE OVERREACTS!’ Anton’s words were like pistol shots shooting across the Presidential Suite. Showered and dressed now, he wanted to get on with his day, wanted to end this ridiculous conversation and get on with his work. ‘Angelina had no business calling the police without consulting me.’

      ‘She tried to contact you, sir, but your telephone was turned off.’

      Kevin Bates faced Anton and tried to bring the situation under control—Maria’s attempts to explain things had been greeted with scorn, but it was hoped the more authoritative air of an inspector might calm things down. ‘Sir, you don’t seem to understand the seriousness of the situation. As Maria has tried to explain to you, we have serious concerns about your safety…We have reason to believe that there is going to be an attempt on your life—’

      ‘Because of some flowers?’ Anton snapped.

      ‘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

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