Mediterranean Tycoons - JACQUELINE BAIRD

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and of course he had to leave—it didn’t mean she would not see him again. She looked at him. His attention was centred on the road ahead, his hands resting lightly on the steering wheel as he manoeuvred the car through the narrow roads with ease and speed. At this rate she would be home in a few minutes, she realised.

      ‘So, when will I see you again?’ she asked, and without thinking rested her hand on his leg.

      Lorenzo tensed. Originally he’d had no intention of seeing Lucy again. But as he looked down at her hand, her small soft fingers, then lower to her shapely legs curved towards him, suddenly a picture of those same legs locked around him and her cries of pleasure as he thrust into her hot, tight little body filled his mind. Somehow the weekend affair he had planned didn’t seem such a great idea after all.

      He had been without a woman for months, he was a free agent, and the two nights he had spent with Lucy had been incredible. He could not remember ever having such great sex or such fun with a woman, and he was reluctant to give her up. In fact, he mused, keeping Lucy as a lover, quietly tucked away in a corner of England, held a lot of appeal. He visited London occasionally, usually flying in and out in a day, but that could be altered.

      He decided to leave his options open.

      ‘Soon, I hope. But, like you, I do have to work, I’ll try and get back next weekend—if not the week after. But I’ll give you a call.’

      Lucy sighed with relief as Lorenzo stopped the car and after walking around the bonnet helped her out. The summer dress she wore was no protection against the cool night air and she shivered. Lorenzo looped an arm around her shoulders and walked her to the front door. Taking the key from her purse she looked up at him. ‘Would you like to come in for a nightcap? ‘ she asked hopefully, reluctant to see him go.

      ‘I won’t, if you don’t mind,’ he said with a rueful smile. ‘Because if I do I’ll kiss you, and it won’t stop there.’

      ‘No … I don’t mind now I know you are coming back again,’ Lucy responded blithely.

      ‘Good.’ Dropping a brief kiss on the top of her head—he didn’t dare do anything more—he said, ‘Now, lock the door behind you.’

      Lorenzo’s arm fell from her shoulders and she turned and put the key in the lock. Then she suddenly remembered why she had met him in the first place, and spun back.

      ‘Wait a minute, Lorenzo—we never got around to discussing Steadman’s, and we need to before Tuesday.’ Then she remembered something else. ‘You don’t have my number. I’ll give—’

      ‘No need. The bank will have it,’ Lorenzo stated.

      Her words were a timely reminder. He had her number in more ways than one, he thought, his dark eyes narrowing cynically on her face. Her head was turned towards him, her green eyes incredibly large and luminous, the light of the moon making her pale skin almost translucent. Her long hair, swept back behind her small ears, seemed to fall in a shimmering mass down her back. Beautiful, and temptation personified, but not to him … not any more.

      ‘Oh, yes—of course.’ She turned completely around and smiled up at him. ‘But about the factory … Tuesday is the deadline, and I need to know before I speak to my lawyer if you are going to reject the offer to sell and keep the factory open. Maybe later, if we ever do decide to redevelop,’ she continued, warming to her theme, ‘perhaps it could be shops and a recreation centre—something that could provide other work in the community. Dessington is in a pretty part of Norfolk—not far from the coast—and it could bring in tourists much like here.’

      Lorenzo listened to her with deepening distaste as she rambled on about what ‘they’ might do if the factory eventually did close. Enthralled by her lush body, he had almost forgotten her hated name, and the business that had brought them together. But—typical female—Lucy had not, and though she took the high moral ground, wanting to save the workers, basically she was out for every penny she could get. He had learned his lesson years ago, when he’d lived in America and found the girl he had been going to surprise with an engagement ring in bed with another man—a man she’d imagined was wealthier than him—and it was not one he would ever forget.

      Women always had an agenda, and Lucy was no exception. There was no denying sex with her was incredible, though she was not as adventurous as some women he had known—sometimes even seeming shocked—and she did have a tendency to blush, which was amazing given her lifestyle. Or maybe it was just a ploy to give the impression of innocence. He didn’t care, because her last appeal had confirmed his original decision. The weekend affair was over, and he had no intention of seeing her again.

      ‘Your ideas sound admirable, Lucy, but totally misguided. There is no we,’ he said with brutal frankness. ‘I told you the first time you asked I had no intention of doing business with a Steadman again, and that has not changed.’

      Lucy couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She stared at him, tall, dark and remote, his eyes cold and hard, and felt as if she was looking at a stranger. ‘But you said … ‘ She stopped. It had been his suggestion they might keep the factory … She didn’t understand what was happening—didn’t want to. ‘I thought … ‘ What did she think? That they were friends? More than friends …? ‘We made love—’

      ‘We had sex,’ Lorenzo cut in, and she was silenced by his statement. ‘Something I consider more pleasure than business, but if you want to mix the two fair enough,’ he drawled with a shrug of his broad shoulders. ‘I will postpone selling for a month, to give you time to make other arrangements if you can.’ The light, conversational tone of his voice belied the cold black eyes looking down at her, devoid of any glimmer of light.

      ‘You will?’ she murmured, but inside her heart shrivelled as the import of his words sank in. To Lorenzo they’d had sex, nothing more. Whereas she, in her inexperience, had begun to imagine it was a whole lot more—something very special—and she was halfway to falling in love with him. How could she have been so wrong?

      ‘Yes. I don’t like weddings, and avoid them whenever possible, but thanks in the most part to you, Lucy, I have rather enjoyed the weekend. In fact I’ll delay the sale of Steadman’s for two months,’ he offered. ‘You were really good, and cheap at the price.’

      Lucy stared at him with wide, wounded eyes and dragged in a deep, agonising breath. His words sliced at her heart. She had never been so insulted in her life, and she fought back the pain that threatened to double her over. That he could actually think she had made love to him simply to get him to agree a deal over Steadman’s horrified her—but then she recalled Lorenzo had thought the same the first time he had kissed her in his office. His mindset had never altered. He was still a power-wielding, cynical banker, to whom money was everything and everything had a price—including her. His insinuation that he might hang onto the factory had been nothing more than a ploy to soften her up and get her into bed, but if he thought she would be grateful that he was postponing the sale he had got the wrong girl.

      When not blinded by love—no, not love, sex, Lucy amended, she was a bright, intelligent woman. Suddenly the pain gave way to fury, and she started to raise her hand, wanting to lash out at him, then stopped. Violence was never an answer, but his insinuation that he was paying for her services had cut her to the bone. Lorenzo had used her, but it was her own dumb fault for letting him. He actually was the ruthless devil his brother had said, and yet she still could not quite believe it.

      ‘Why?’ Lucy asked. ‘Why are you behaving like an immoral jerk?’

      ‘Oh, please—don’t pretend you are Miss Morality, Lucy. You enjoyed the sex as much as I did,’ he informed her, with an arrogantly inclined head, his glittering dark eyes looking down at her contemptuously. ‘You are exactly like your brother—up for anything at any cost. And your brother cost mine his life.’

      ‘But it was an accident,’ she said, confused by the change of subject.

      ‘So the coroner said—but I believe what your brother did was contemptible … tantamount to manslaughter,’

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