will lose their jobs. That would be a devastating blow to Dessington, the town I grew up in, and I can’t let that happen.’
‘You have little choice. The factory just about breaks even, but makes very little profit for its partners and consequently is of no interest to this bank. We will be selling to Mr Johnson, who is offering a good return on our original investment.’ He could not resist turning the screw a little. ‘Bottom line—unless you can come up with a higher figure than that currently on offer to buy out my bank’s interest in the next couple of weeks the sale will go through.’
‘But I can’t—I only have my shares.’
‘And two houses, apparently. You could possibly raise money on those with your bank.’
‘No—just one and a half. Damien mortgaged his,’ Lucy murmured to herself. That was something else she had not known.
‘Somehow that does not surprise me,’ he drawled cynically and, rising to his feet, walked around the desk to stop in front of her. ‘Take my advice, Miss Steadman, and sell out. As you said yourself, you have no interest in plastics, and neither does this bank.’
She glanced up the long, lithe length of him, her green eyes clashing with hard black.
‘How old are you? Twenty—twenty-one?’ he asked.
‘Twenty-four,’ she snapped. At five feet two and with youthful appearance, it had been the bane of her life at college, when she’d continually been asked for proof of her age. Even now she still had to carry identification if she wanted to enter licensed premises.
‘Twenty-four is still young. Do as your brother did and have fun. Allow me to show you out.’
Throw her out, more like, Lucy thought, and panicked. ‘Is that it?’ She leapt to her feet and grasped his arm as he turned towards the door. ‘No discussion? At the very least give me more time to try and raise the money. I’ll do anything I can to save the factory.’
Lorenzo looked down into her eyes. They were an amazing green, he realised, big and pleading. He lost his train of thought for a moment.
He could do without Lucy Steadman and her persistence. He had known of her initial call to the bank, and that she had been sent the bank’s standard response. When he’d received her personal letter informing him she was visiting Verona he had told his secretary to arrange a meeting for two reasons. Firstly out of respect for his mother’s feelings, because she was the one who had given Antonio the money to buy his share in Steadman’s in the first place, without Lorenzo or the bank’s knowledge, and it seemed she had a sentimental attachment to the investment.
It had only been after Antonio’s death and the inquest, when Lorenzo had got around to dealing with his brother’s personal estate, that he’d actually discovered his brother was a partner in Steadman’s. He had queried his mother about the investment because the transaction had not been made through the Zanelli Bank but the Bank of Rome, and had suggested she sell. Her reply had astounded him.
Her own mother’s advice when she’d married had been to always keep a separate account that one’s husband knew nothing about, as it gave a wife a sense of independence. Obviously her account could not be at the Zanelli Bank, hence it was at the Bank of Rome. As for selling, she hadn’t been sure—because it still gave her great comfort to know that Antonio had not been the lightweight people had thought, but had made plans for the future and intended being a successful businessman in his own right.
Lorenzo didn’t agree. On finishing university Antonio and Damien had taken a gap year together, to travel around the world. That had spread into a second year, until their last mountaineering escapade that had seen Antonio dead at twenty-three. He doubted if either of them would have settled down to run a plastics factory … But he hadn’t argued with his mother, and she had agreed to his suggestion that he buy the investment from her and bring it under the control of the Zanelli Bank.
The other reason he had agreed to meet Lucy Steadman was in memory of his brother. Because if he was honest he felt guilty. He had been so involved with work and his own business affairs that he had not paid as much attention to Antonio as he should have done. He had loved his brother from the moment he was born, but Antonio had been only eight when Lorenzo had left home for university, and holidays aside he had never returned, going straight to America after graduating. When he did return on the death of his father, to take over the bank, Antonio had been a happy-go-lucky teenager with his own group of friends. At eighteen he’d gone to live in London, so they’d never spent much time together as adults. But he remembered Antonio had mentioned Lucy a few times and had thought her a delightful child. So, although he despised her brother, he had agreed to see her. But after what he had learned over lunch today any fleeting compassion for a member of the Steadman family was non-existent.
Suddenly the frustration that had simmered inside him since speaking with Manuel exploded inside him, and the woman hanging on to his arm was the last straw. Abruptly he hauled her against him, covered her softly pleading lips, and kissed her with all the angry frustrated feelings riding him.
Lucy did not know what had hit her. Suddenly she was held against a hard body, and his mouth slammed down on hers. For a moment she froze in shock. Then she became aware of the movement of his firm lips, the subtle male scent of him, and excitement sizzled though her heating her blood and melting her bones. She had been kissed before, but never like this. He fascinated, thrilled and overwhelmed her every sense. When he abruptly thrust her away she was stunned by the immediacy of her response, and stood in a daze simply staring at him.
Lorenzo never lost control and was shocked by what he had done—even more shocked by the sudden tightening in his groin. He looked down at the poorly dressed girl gazing at him and noticed the telltale darkening of the pupils in her big green eyes, the flush in her cheeks, the pulse that beat frantically in her throat. He realised she was his for the taking. He also realised he had definitely been too long without a woman to actually consider seducing this one.
‘No, there is nothing you can do to make me change my mind. You are not my type,’ he said, more harshly than was warranted.
Lucy blinked, snapping out of the sexual fog that held her immobile, and really looked at him. She saw the hard, cynical smile and realised he had actually thought she was offering him her body. Having kissed her, he wasn’t impressed, and humiliation laced with a rising anger flooded through her.
‘To be brutally frank, Miss Steadman, neither I nor the bank have any wish to continue doing business with a Steadman. You have wasted your time coming to Verona and I suggest you take the next flight out. Is that clear enough for you?’
Lucy saw the determination in his cold black eyes and knew he meant every word. She had the fleeting notion this was personal, and yet he didn’t know her. But then again she’d disliked him without knowing him. Antonio had told her his brother was known as a brilliant financier and ruthless at negotiating with a hint of pride in his tone.
He’d been absolutely right, but she doubted he would have been proud of his brother had he lived to see this day. Antonio had been a gentle soul, whereas the man before her did not have one.
‘Perfectly,’ she said flatly.
Lucy was an artist, but she was also a realist. Her mother had died when she was twelve, and her father had never recovered from the loss of the love of his life. And then her brother last November. Lucy had learnt the hard way there was no point fighting against fate.
She stepped back, straightened her shoulders and, willing her legs to support her, walked
