Taken For His Pleasure. Carol Marinelli

it was an easy mistake to make. ‘You soon get used to it.’

      ‘Sorry!’ He said it again, only in English this time. Lydia actually preferred the more spontaneous response he had used earlier, but there were other things on her mind now. Her shrewd amber eyes focussed, and there was a nervous swallow in her throat as she realised that, way before schedule, the man she would be spending the next few days with, the man she should be ‘accidentally’ meeting in a few short hours, was actually here.

      Her mind raced for an explanation and her helpless eyes darted around. She was half expecting to see her colleagues Graham and John appear at the doorway, or for Anton Santini to formally introduce himself, explain that there had been a mix-up in the schedule and that this in fact, was their accidental meeting.

      That would explain it, Lydia decided in a split second. That would explain why he had swum so directly towards her—would explain why she had been so acutely aware of his presence, why his eyes were boring into her as if he knew her—he knew who she was!

      But, far from introducing himself, he gave her a small nod before pushing away from the edge and swimming off, leaving her standing there clinging to the edge, her heart racing, her breath coming in small shallow gasps. Only it had little to do with the exercise and everything to do with the man who shared the pool. Her skin stung from the brief touch of him, and goose bumps appeared on her arms as she recalled the feel of his strong legs brushing against hers. Her mind raced to calm itself, to turn off the energy he had released, to switch off the adrenaline that was pumping through her veins right now. She didn’t know what to do, unsure now if Anton actually did know who she was, if her lack of response when he had tried to approach her had confused him.

      Taking a deep breath, even though her body was tired now, Lydia knew that she had to swim on, to give Anton another chance to talk with her, mindful that if Anton was here then anyone could be watching. Her eyes glanced up to the security cameras. Even though it was only the two of them in the pool this meeting had to look accidental; the biggest threat to Anton Santini’s safety was the fact that no one yet knew who the enemy was—no one knew how sophisticated the plans that were intended to bring him down might be.

      Swimming a couple more lengths should have been easy, but her effortless stride eluded her now, and Lydia tried to fathom why she couldn’t resume the simple strokes. She decided that the work-out, the swim, and then the surge of energy when she had realised that Anton was in the pool had left her depleted. Her body was heavy and leaden as she dragged it through the water, and her mind was spinning like a stuck CD—whirring furiously for a moment before playing aloud the single track she didn’t want to hear…

      He’d aroused her.

      It had nothing to do with the fact it was Anton Santini—the man she was engaged to protect for the next few days—in the water with her. Instead it had everything to do with the man who had dived in just a few moments ago—a man she had been attracted to even before she had realised his identity. It was that thought that panicked Lydia, made every supposedly natural movement a chore, made this chance meeting all the more difficult.

      ‘You must swim a lot?’

      He was waiting for her at the other end, as she had known he would be, and his voice was deep, husky and heavily accented when he spoke. Heart hammering in her mouth, Lydia nodded.

      ‘Most days,’ she breathed. ‘Though I think I’ve done too much this morning. I was working out before, and then I had a sauna…’

      Lifting her hand, she gestured to the gym behind them, but Anton’s gaze didn’t follow where she was pointing. Instead she felt his dark navy eyes drag the entire length of her slender arm, scorching her pale flesh from her fingertips to her creamy clavicle. He took in every facet of the subtle muscle definition, of the pale tea-coloured freckles, then slowly worked his way up her long slender neck, searing her with his eyes. The flicker of her pulse in her neck, his nervous swallow, every tiny movement was accentuated until finally he looked directly at her. But there was no relief, only recognition—a jolting recognition, not of familiarity but of attraction. It was a powerful, faint-making emotion, terrifying exhilarating, and Lydia felt her panic multiply. She struggled to retract what her eyes had just stated, to tell this man that this was strictly business—that she was only here because it was her job. She was supposed to be meeting him in the hotel lounge in two hours, as she pretended to check out of the packed hotel—was supposed to spill a glass of water over him. Their attraction was meant to be mutual—so much so that Anton Santini would overcome the problem of a full hotel, would fall so much in lust with this stranger that he would, within a matter of a few hours, install her into his bedroom. That was the plan.

      At this very moment Anton Santini was supposed to be being pulled over by customs officers, and John and Graham would deliver those very instructions.

      What had happened?

      Lydia didn’t have time to guess—didn’t have time to go through the hows and whys. She had to swing her mind away from the delicious distraction of his eyes and force herself to operate—not as a woman, but as a detective. If the plans had changed then so must her approach—there wasn’t exactly a glass of water handy to spill over him right now!

      ‘I’m Lydia,’ she managed, forcing a small smile to lips that didn’t seem to want to obey. ‘You are…?’

      He didn’t answer, just gave her a small, slightly superior smile, his full mouth twisting upwards slightly, his dark eyes still shamelessly staring. Lydia knew that he didn’t want to play along, and considered introductions completely unnecessary when they both knew who they were dealing with—but anyone could be watching, Lydia reminded herself. They had to act as if they were strangers meeting, had to keep appearances up at all times. She would reiterate that fact to Anton later, when they were alone.

      Alone.

      Her stomach tightened at the mere thought. A knot of anticipation gripped deep within, a blush spread over her chest as a thousand inappropriate thoughts played in her mind. She understood now how it happened—understood how so many powerful, beautiful women had fallen for him so completely and utterly—how they had ignored his appalling reputation and thrown caution to the wind. The sheer, raw sensuality of the man was devastating, his presence overwhelming, blocking out reason, dimming rationality with the power and force of a solar eclipse. And right now, even if it was all engineered, that energy was focussed entirely on her.

      Lydia struggled to reflect it. She struggled to keep a level head as her body begged a more primitive response. Angrier with herself than at him, her voice was more demanding, her eyes holding his boldly, as she insisted that he introduced himself. ‘You are…?’

      ‘I am…’ His smile bordered on the cruel now, like a predator eyeing his victim. His gaze was inescapable as the massive room suddenly closed in around them, as the steamy warm air seemed set to suffocate her, the atmosphere so throbbingly sensual Lydia could almost hear the hiss of the temperature rising as he moved in closer ‘…going to kiss you…’

      She didn’t know what to do. Her head was telling her to pull back, reminding her that this level of intimacy wasn’t in her job description. But instead she stared up at this stunningly beautiful man, her eyes wide, her body rigid with a curious dizzy expectation as his face moved towards her, sheer unadulterated lust drenching her far more than the water.

      The morning shadow on his chin was almost as navy as his heavy-lidded eyes, his cheekbones exquisitely sculptured in his haughty face. Truly, Lydia decided, he was the most beautiful man she had ever borne witness to—such strength, such arrogance, even, etched in every feature. Yet his eyes were gentle as they held hers, soothing her terror and multiplying it at the same time. She didn’t want to move, didn’t want to back away from the pleasure that was surely to follow. Even if it was orchestrated, even if it was just for show, a tiny voice was telling her to go with it—a tiny, dangerous voice she’d never heard before was telling her that she didn’t want to miss the feel of this beautiful man close to her, that never again in her lifetime was she likely to be kissed, to be held, by someone as supremely divine as Anton Santini.

      Her eyes closed in