Untamed Italian, Blackmailed Innocent - Jacqueline Baird Mills & Boon Modern

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walked straight into her father’s office and stopped. He was sitting behind his desk, his head in his hands, a picture of misery. Maybe she had misjudged him…Maybe he was more upset over his wife’s diagnosis than he showed.

      ‘Dad?’ she called softly, and he lifted his head.

      ‘Oh, it’s you.’ He straightened up, frowning. ‘What are you doing here? No, don’t tell me.’ He raised his hand. ‘You are on a holier-than-thou mission and want me to go and visit your mum, right?’

      He wasn’t upset. He was the same selfish bastard he had always been.

      ‘Silly me.’ Sally shook her head in disgust. ‘For a moment there I thought you were thinking of your wife…’ She glanced around the large room and through the open door to the secretary’s office beyond, which was empty, and then back to her dad.

      ‘Well, I have had enough of your lies and deceit, and for once in your life you are going to do the decent thing and come with me tonight.’

      ‘Not now, darling,’ he snapped, and stood up, straightening his tie.

      Zac Delucca had heard the woman’s demand that Paxton go with her as he entered the office, and he did not miss the darling, or the sardonic curl of the woman’s lips as she responded.

      ‘What’s the matter? Your latest Girl Friday deserted you? And I use the word girl deliberately,’ Sally goaded. And she must have hit the nail on the head as the colour seemed to drain from her dad’s face. Then she realised he was looking straight past her. The smile on his face did not reach the eyes that for an instant flickered with fear, quickly masked.

      Inexplicably, Sally shivered, despite the slight stuffiness of the office on the hot summer’s day, and she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Someone else had entered the room, probably his secretary, and she was now shooting daggers at her back, having overheard her comment. Not that Sally gave a damn about upsetting her dad’s latest mistress…

      ‘Mr Costa, I was not expecting you back again so soon.’

      Sally stiffened as her dad spoke and then stepped forward, ignoring her. Then she heard the Costa man introduce a Signor Delucca.

      ‘Mr Delucca, this is an unexpected pleasure. I am delighted to meet you.’

      Her father’s hearty greeting rang a little false to Sally. She knew every intonation of his voice, and he did not sound delighted. She certainly was not. His secretary she could handle, but she stiffened as she recognised the name Delucca.

      After her father had stated the man was taking over the company Sally had read an article about him in the business section of a newspaper. He was an Italian tycoon, incredibly wealthy, and renowned as the takeover king. His latest acquisition was Westwold. In a footnote to the article, it said that apparently he kept his private life very private, but it was known that he had escorted numerous statuesque models in his time.

      Unbelievable…Sally fumed silently. For years she had for her mum’s benefit kept the peace with her father, even if it had been mostly by ignoring him. But today, for the first time in years, she had decided to challenge him and demand he cut out the lies and the girlfriend for the weekend and do the right thing by his wife. Instead, for once it seemed he might have been telling the truth. The new owner Delucca was here. Perhaps her dad did intend working the weekend…

      But not if she could help it…

      Chapter Two

      ZAC DELUCCA walked forward and briefly shook the hand Nigel Paxton held out to him. ‘The pleasure is mine,’ he said suavely, and, turning, shifted his attention to the stunning woman.

      He studied her intently for a long moment. Her gaze was fixed on Paxton and never wavered. She did not even glance at Zac, and he was intrigued. Could this gorgeous woman actually be Paxton’s lover? Or maybe, by the sound of the conversation he had overheard, a discarded lover? Both scenarios he found very hard to believe. Firstly, she was too young for Paxton, and secondly, any man who had such a female in his bed would be a fool to let her go. With a face and figure like hers she could take her pick of the male population and probably did, he concluded as he noted the banked-down fire in her ice-blue eyes that to a man with his expert knowledge of women denoted a passionate nature.

      ‘Sorry to intrude. I was not aware you had company,’ he continued, turning his attention back to the accountant—the possible thief, he reminded himself. ‘You must introduce me to your charming friend, Paxton,’ he commanded, and waited, his dark eyes once again roaming over the woman’s lovely face and exquisite body.

      Sally barely registered the stranger’s smooth tones as her dad made the introduction.

      ‘Oh, she is not my friend,’ her father chuckled, and beamed down at her. He had got that right, she thought cynically. ‘This is my daughter, Sally.’

      She turned slightly and looked up, and up again, at a positive giant of a man—with black hair and black eyes, and no doubt a black heart, if his unashamed masculine scrutiny of her body was anything to go by.

      ‘Sally…May I call you Sally?’ he asked politely, then went on, ‘You are a beautiful young woman. Your father must be a very proud man.’

      Why did she get the feeling there was an underlying cynicism in his tone? Not that she cared. Overblown words of flattery from a man with a sexually explicit invitation in the dark eyes that met hers did not impress her, and she refused to be intimidated. Her mother was her only concern, and she shrugged off the unfamiliar tremor that slid down her spine.

      Straightening her slender shoulders, she held out her hand politely, and it was immediately engulfed in his much larger one. ‘Nice to meet you,’ she said flatly, and looked back at her father again. At the same time she attempted to slip her hand from Delucca’s, but outrageously his thumb slowly stroked the length of her palm and her fingers before setting her free.

      How predictable—another one like her dad, she thought bitterly.

      Zac Delucca did not miss the flash of distaste in her brilliant blue eyes as he finally let go of her hand. Maybe caressing her palm had been a little juvenile, but he had been unable to resist the temptation to test the softness of her skin against his. For a moment he imagined the brush of every inch of her skin against his naked body, and had to fight to control the surge of arousal the thought induced.

      He had definitely been too long without a woman, but now he knew it was not Lisa in Milan or any other woman he wanted. It was this woman he wanted, and he resolved to have her. He had no doubt he would succeed—he always did. It was simply a matter of negotiating the when and where, sooner rather than later, if his neglected libido had any say in the matter.

      Her voice was low, and ever so slightly husky. Her brilliant blue eyes had been cool as she glanced up at him and swiftly back to her father. Never had a woman so instantly dismissed him. Usually they hung on to his hand…Yet this beauty had done it twice. Her indifference rankled, and he was all the more determined to make her aware of him…

      He watched as her father introduced her to Raffe. She gave him an equally brief smile and turned back to her father yet again. But as she continued speaking, Zac sensed it was not so much that she was ignoring him, but that she was disappointed in her father for some reason. He noted the dark flush that stained the older man’s face and he felt the tension between them.

      Thinking fast, Sally spoke. ‘I hope you don’t mind, Mr Delucca,’ she said without actually looking at the man, her hard blue eyes fixed on the reprobate that was her father. ‘I called round to persuade my father to take me out to lunch. I am always telling him he works far too many hours. Isn’t that right, Dad?’ she prompted sweetly.

      She did not want to reveal her mother’s poor health to two virtual strangers, but she did need to get her dad by himself and extract a promise from him to go with her—if not tonight, then in the morning—to visit his wife. He was not fobbing

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