Taken For His Pleasure. Carol Marinelli

due respect, you do look like a police officer,’ Anton said, impatience evident in his every gesture as his heavily accented voice filled the room.

      ‘We’re not that stupid, Mr Santini.’ Kevin gave a wry smile. ‘I can assure you that the detective shadowing you is going to blend in.’

      ‘How?’ Anton asked, more intrigued than annoyed now. ‘I can see that we could pass off Maria’s presence by explaining that Angelina needed some assistance, but…’

      ‘Do you remember the woman in the pool this morning?’ Maria asked, watching as Anton frowned. ‘She was there when Angelina and I arrived.’ When Anton’s frown deepened Maria assumed it was because he was trying to place her. ‘She had red hair, was doing some laps. You probably didn’t notice her, but she’s actually been in the hotel since yesterday, posing as a jewellery designer from Sydney here in Melbourne to showcase her work…’

      ‘She’s a detective?’ Anton’s voice was a hoarse whisper as realisation hit. Closing his eyes for a second, he replayed the morning’s events. With the benefit of hindsight, his mouth tightened in rage. ‘You are telling me that that woman is in fact a police officer?’

      ‘No, Mr Santini,’ Kevin answered patiently. ‘For the next couple of days, according to everyone she meets, Lydia is a jewellery designer visiting Melbourne and is here to target some new clients. However, given that the hotel is full, she’s checking out this morning. The bellboy is bringing her luggage down as we speak.’

      ‘I thought you said that she was staying with me?’

      ‘She is.’ Kevin nodded, enjoying seeing this supremely powerful man momentarily flailing as he explained the carefully laid plans. ‘Initially she was going to hang around the hotel until lunchtime but, given that you’ve arrived early, we’ve had to move things forward. You’re going to chat her up, and after a brief exchange you’ll invite her to stay with you. From our homework, sir, I don’t think any of your staff will be remotely surprised to find you with a young lady in situ by the time they get here. By all accounts you’re a pretty fast operator.’

      Anton pressed his lips together, fighting back a smart retort because, though it galled him to admit it, Detective Bates was speaking the truth—no one would turn a hair if they arrived to find a beautiful woman on his arms. After all, it had happened on numerous occasions before.

      ‘Once you’re alone, Lydia will give you more details and try and glean any information from you that might give us some insight as to who this person might be. She’ll also brief you about how the next few days are to be handled. But that conversation can only take place in your hotel room, and even then only when Lydia is satisfied that the room is secure and that you’re definitely alone. Whenever you are out of your room or there is another person present you are to act as if you’re lovers…’

      Kevin paused for a moment, giving Anton time to digest the instructions. He was slightly bewildered by the stunned expression on Santini’s face—the fact that his life might be in danger hadn’t initially evoked even a hint of reaction, but now, Kevin decided, clearly shock was setting in and the truth must be starting to hit him. The Detective’s voice was a touch gentler as he continued. ‘Now, to make your initial contact look accidental, we thought you could make your way over to the breakfast bar—’

      ‘What do you mean—initial contact?’ Anton sneered, desperately trying to regain some semblance of control, forcing himself to drag his mind away from Lydia and back to the conversation. What on earth was he talking about? Did this buffoon not realise it had already been made? That the initial contact had been well and truly taken care of?

      But just as he was about to correct him, he checked himself. Long ago Anton had learnt that any knowledge, however unimportant it might seem at the time, was a vital tool that could be used later. That to keep the upper hand one had to be constantly ahead of the game. So instead he changed tack.

      The sneer still in place, he voiced a different question. ‘Why on earth would I go over to the breakfast bar? I do not serve myself. Did you think of that when you were making your plans?’

      He didn’t get an answer. The room fell quiet as Kevin’s mobile phone trilled. ‘She’s ready.’ Kevin nodded, quickly ending the call and nodding to Maria. ‘Okay, Mr Santini, there are two detectives coming up in the lift. Their names are Graham and John. Don’t talk to them—just treat them as you would any strangers—they’re going to take the lift down with you and watch until you’re in the restaurant. Once you’re there, Lydia will walk in. Perhaps you could—

      ‘I do not need to be told by you how to chat up a woman,’ Anton sneered, appalled now by what had taken place this morning, and more than ready to face this undercover detective and give her a piece of his mind. ‘Come.’ He snapped his fingers impatiently. ‘Let’s get this over with. Let’s make this initial contact!’

      CHAPTER FOUR

      ORDERING his breakfast Anton glanced around the room, bracing himself for her entrance. To anyone watching he would look supremely in control as he flicked open the paper and read through the business section, but inside he was seething.

      She had used him, had been playing a mere game with him; she was the one who had been in control this morning, and it stung like hell to admit it. A bitter taste of his own medicine had been served, and it was almost choking him to swallow it down.

      What the hell had he been thinking anyway? Anton demanded of himself—aside from the fact she was a detective, what the hell had he been doing, practically making love to a stranger in a pool with no thought to birth control, no thought to the consequences?

      She could have been anyone!

      Anton’s jaw tightened.

      She was a damned detective!

      He looked up from his paper and his racing mind stilled as a pale woman walked into the restaurant. His anger momentarily faded as he watched her cross the room. Maybe the bright early-morning Australian sun that streamed through the windows had dipped behind a cloud for a moment, shadowing the bright skylights of the restaurant because all of a sudden the vast sun-drenched restaurant seemed to dim. Even the noise seemed to fade—the clatter of knives and forks against plates, the rustle of newspapers, the chatter of his fellow diners, all blurring in the distance as Lydia became the sole power source.