A Deal Sealed By Passion. Louise Fuller

his stomach.

      She most definitely was not a little old lady!

      He studied her face in silence. With that disdainful tortoiseshell cat’s gaze and crooked crop of fine brown hair, she was an arresting, unorthodox beauty. But she was beautiful—there was no denying that.

      A muscle flickered in his jaw as he studied the photograph intently. Beautiful and greedy. Why else would a woman like that surrender her body to a man more than twice her age? Suddenly he tasted bitterness in his mouth. She might look the part, clinging on to her lover’s arm, her eyes lit with an oh-so-convincing adoration, but he knew from personal experience that appearances could be deceptive. More than deceptive! They could be damaging and destructive.

      Staring down into those incredible tawny brown eyes, he felt a spark of anger. No doubt a steely will lay beneath the misty softness of their expression. That and a gaping hole where her heart should be. His anger shifted into pity. But what man was truly going to care what lay beneath that satiny skin and curving flesh? And, although he might have been one of the greatest artists of his generation, Umberto Bassani had still been just a man. A sick, elderly, lovestruck fool.

      His face hardened. This girl must be quite something if she’d been willing to hook up with a dying man. A lot more than something if she’d lured him into letting her stay on in his home. He felt suddenly sick to his stomach. But was her behaviour so surprising, really? After all, who knew better than he how low a woman like that was prepared to sink in exchange for a share of the spoils?

      Or a footnote in a will.

      He snapped the folder shut. At least Bassani had had no children. Whatever Miss Golding’s malign influence had been over the old man, it had now run its course. Slowly, he ran a finger over the clean lines of his neatly trimmed stubble. Soon her little protest at the palazzo would be over too, and then denuded of her former powers, she would be homeless and destitute.

      Looking up, he studied the faces of the men and women seated around the table. Finally he said, almost mildly, ‘Perhaps you’re right. Maybe we do need a new approach with Miss Golding.’

      Clearly surprised by this volte face, Lisi nodded nervously. ‘We could use an intermediary.’ She glanced at her colleagues for support. The lawyer nodded. ‘I think distancing ourselves might be the solution. There are several companies here in Rome that specialise in these sort of negotiations. Or we can go farther afield—London, maybe—’

      ‘That won’t be necessary,’ Massimo said softly. ‘We already have someone working for the company who’s more than capable of convincing Miss Golding that our way is the only way.’

      Giorgio frowned. ‘We do? Who?’

      Massimo stared at him calmly. ‘Me!’

      There was a shocked silence and then Giorgio leaned forward, his forehead corrugated with confusion. ‘As your lawyer, I would have to advise you against such a course of action. Let’s do what Silvana suggested and find an intermediary. It won’t take long but it would be better to wait...’ His voice faded as his boss shook his head slowly.

      ‘I’ve waited long enough. And you know how I hate waiting.’

      ‘But, sir.’ Giorgio’s face was taut with shock. ‘You really shouldn’t get personally involved. This is business—’

      ‘Yes. My business. And it involves me personally.’

      ‘I understand what you’re saying, sir, but I really don’t think it’s wise for you to meet Miss Golding—’ The lawyer stopped, clearly horrified by the prospect of his uncompromising boss actually coming face to face with the shotgun-carrying, volatile Miss Golding. ‘Anything could happen!’

      Massimo felt his body stir. Yes. It could! His eyes flickered over the photographs of Flora, inexorably drawn to the beauty of her body and the challenge of her gaze. His chest tightened. She would be passionate at first, and then tender, those honeycomb-coloured eyes melting as she pulled him fiercely against her...

      Closing his mind to the tantalizing image of a naked, feverish Flora, he smiled and the tension around the table evaporated like early morning mist.

      ‘Don’t worry, Giorgio. I’ll be sure to wear my bulletproof vest,’ he said.

      His lawyer grimaced and slumped back in chair. ‘Fine. You can meet her. But only if I’m there to make sure you don’t say or do anything you or more importantly I will regret!’ He shook his head in frustration. ‘I would have thought that you would have had something better to do, today of all days.’

      Massimo pushed back his chair and stood up smoothly. ‘I do indeed. I have a surprise birthday luncheon waiting for me at La Pergola.’ His eyes gleamed beneath their dark brows. ‘Reschedule it for this evening! That should give Miss Golding more than enough time to sign on the dotted line. And now you and I have a helicopter to catch.’

      * * *

      Two hours later, Massimo closed his laptop with a decisive click. The file on Flora Golding had made an entertaining read, but she hardly offered anything in the way of a challenge. In his experience pretty, greedy young women simply needed the correct handling to help them towards the sticky end they so richly deserved.

      Leaning back against the plush upholstery, he stared at the Tyrrhenian Sea through the window of his private helicopter. Away from the coastline the water gleamed flat and bluer than a gemstone, while in the distance he could just make out where the waves lapped against the island’s famous ragged granite outcrops.

      He turned as the pilot leaned forward. ‘Beautiful scenery isn’t it, sir?’ he shouted over the whirring buzz of the helicopter’s rotors.

      Massimo shrugged. ‘I suppose so.’ He glanced down at his watch and then shifted round to face the lawyer who sat, eyes squeezed tightly shut, his face damp with sweat.

      ‘Open your eyes, Giorgio. You’re missing the scenery,’ he said mockingly. Frowning, he shook his head. ‘I don’t know why you insisted on coming. You know you hate flying. Just take deep breaths and we’ll be back on terra firma before you know it.’ He turned back to address the pilot. ‘How long before we land?’

      ‘Ten minutes, sir.’

      Massimo frowned. ‘That was quick!’

      The pilot grinned. ‘We made good time—but then this chopper’s the best on the market.’

      Massimo nodded. To him, the helicopter was simply a means of transport. He had no interest in the make or model. Nor did its stupidly high price tag excite him. In truth, all of his ‘toys’—the cars, jets and luxury yachts—left him cold. What truly excited him was the pursuit of some unattainable deal. He loved going head to head with an opponent. And the more he—or she—tried to outmanoeuvre him, the more single-minded and ruthless was his desire to bring them down.

      As Miss Flora Golding was about to find out.

      The pilot pointed out of the window. ‘That’s the Palazzo della Fazia, sir. If you don’t mind, I’ll probably bring her down over there.’ He gestured towards a large, flat patch of land at the end of the drive.

      Massimo nodded, but his eyes were fixed on the honey-coloured building in front of him. The helicopter touched down lightly and as the rotors slowed, he stepped onto the parched grass, his gaze continuing to rest on the palazzo. He owned many large and impressive properties, but he found himself holding his breath as he stared at the golden stucco shimmering beneath the Majorelle blue sky. He was transfixed not by its grandeur but by its serenity and its sense of reassuring immutability—as though the building had grown up out of the land itself.

      ‘Thank goodness that’s over!’

      Massimo turned sharply as Giorgio came and stood beside him, patting his pallid, sweating face with a handkerchief.

      ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked drily.

      The lawyer smiled weakly. ‘I feel okay.’

      Massimo