Mediterranean Tycoons

His dark eyes flicked over her, from the striking mass of her hair to her pink lips and the curve of her breasts, making her wince at the mixture of contempt and desire she saw in his eyes as they finally met hers.

‘This changes nothing. You will behave yourself tonight, stay silent on your brother and the accident, and I will put you on the plane myself tomorrow—is that understood?’

‘Yes. Message well and truly received,’ she said bitterly, and all the anger and resentment she had bottled up for so long came pouring out. ‘For your information, I loved my brother, and I believe he did his best on that mountain—unlike you, who would believe the worst of anyone without a second thought. Antonio said you were a ruthless bastard admiringly, almost with pride, but I bet he never realised you actually are. You hate my brother because of the accident. But Damien did what the experts and the coroner all agreed was the correct thing to do in the circumstances. He cut the rope to go and get help for Antonio and he succeeded. The fact that rescue was too late was nobody’s fault—just fate.’

She paused for a moment, remembering. ‘But that was not good enough for you. With your arrogance and superior intellect you decided they were all wrong. And you couldn’t resist taking a bit of revenge out on me, because I’m Damien’s sister.’ She shook her head in disgust, her hair flying wildly around her shoulders. ‘The irony of it is, if I was the one hanging over a cliff tied to you I’d bet my last cent you would cut the rope without hesitation. You make me sick,’ she said contemptuously.

Lorenzo reached out and, catching her shoulders, jerked her forward, crushing her against him. Ruthlessly his mouth ground down on hers, and he kissed her with an angry passion that had nothing to do with love—only dominance. She struggled to push him away, but her hands were trapped between their bodies. And to her self-disgust even now she could sense herself weakening, responding. In a desperate effort of self-preservation she kicked out with her foot and caught his shinbone, and suddenly she was free.

If she had hurt him Lucy was glad. He deserved a hell of a lot more than a kick in the shin for what he had done to her.

‘You are coming with me,’ he said and, catching her wrist, pulled her forward. ‘As for cutting the rope—I would never tie myself to you in the first place,’ he said scathingly, his eyes deadly. ‘Cutting the rope is not why I despise your brother. It is because I have proof that he could have saved Antonio and chose not to.’

Lucy drew in a sharp breath. ‘That is a horrible thing to say and I don’t believe you,’ she lashed back at him. ‘Maybe it is your own guilty conscience looking for a scapegoat. According to Antonio you spent most of your time in America with a string of different women and he rarely saw you.’

‘That’s it,’ he snarled. ‘I will show you the evidence and that will be the end.’ And he almost frogmarched her back to the house.

Oblivious to the surprised looks from the dozens of people in the hall, he marched her to the rear of the house, pushed open a door, and led her into the study.

‘Sit,’ he instructed, and shoved her onto a well-worn black leather sofa. He walked over to a large desk and, opening a drawer, withdrew something, then walked back to stand towering over her.

‘You need proof of what an apology for a man your brother was?’ He flung a handful of photographs down on the low table in front of her. ‘These are pictures taken on the day of the so-called accident that killed Antonio. Look at them.’

He leant over and spread them out in front of her. The first he pointed to was of Antonio and Damien, their faces almost as red as the jackets they wore, laughing. Moisture glazed Lucy’s eyes as she stared at the picture. They both looked so young, so vibrant, so full of life—and now they were both dead.

‘That is the pair of them arriving at the base camp to prepare for the climb the next morning. Note the date and time on all of them.’

Lucy didn’t see the point. The date of the accident was imprinted on her mind for all time. But she did as he said. Three more were general shots the same day, and within the same hour. Only the fifth—a landscape shot—was of the following day, at two in the afternoon.

‘So they look happy?’ She brushed a tear from her eye. ‘What am I supposed to see?’

‘See the small figure in red on the landscape shot that is your brother. These photographs were given to me by a friend, Manuel, who is an expert climber. Damien and Antonio were not at his level, but were experienced climbers. They joined the climbing club together at university, climbed regularly in Britain, in the Alps, and on other continents when they toured the world.’ He looked down at her, his black eyes blazing with anger. ‘According to Manuel, from the position of your brother on the mountain at that time any reasonably experienced climber could have made it to the base camp in three hours—four at the very most. But it was dark when your brother called the rescue service—seven hours after that photograph was taken—too dark to start the search. A complete novice could have got down faster. He let Antonio die.’

Lucy looked up at him. For a second she thought she saw a glimmer of anguish in his eyes, and then it was gone, and he was watching her, waiting, supremely confident in his belief, his dark gaze challenging her to deny the evidence he was presenting her with.

Should she bother? Lucy asked herself. She knew Lorenzo. When he made up his mind about something nothing changed it. He was always right. He had decided she was a promiscuous woman the first time she went to bed with him for no other reason than that she had … He looked at a few photographs and decided they were proof her brother was a murderer, though he had not used that term.

‘You really believe that?’ Lucy said quietly.

‘Yes—the proof is in front of you. Antonio is dead. I lost a brother, and Damien cost my mother her son and devastated her life.’

Lucy’s eyes widened. She’d been devastated at Antonio’s death, maybe, but Anna still had Lorenzo—her life was hardly over. And she was fed up with being the bad guy—or girl, in her case.

‘It didn’t do a lot for my life, either, or I would not be sitting here listening to this,’ she said sarcastically. ‘I have finally realised everything is black and white with you, Lorenzo. Good or bad—no in between. You are always right. Does it ever occur to you not everyone is as strong as you are? Perhaps after hanging onto Antonio for over an hour Damien was weak? Perhaps he passed out and didn’t remember? Or maybe the clock was wrong? ‘ she ended facetiously.

‘No, there can be no other explanation, Lucy. The evidence is all there in the coroner’s report. Your brother said he thought it had taken him four hours to reach the camp, not seven. The coroner’s report states Antonio had died not of his injuries but of hypothermia, after spending the night on the mountain, only one or two hours before he was found. He could have lived if it wasn’t for your damned brother. So now you have seen the proof, and now you know why Steadman is a dirty word to me.’

Lucy thought of arguing and looked at him. His face was set hard and she shivered. What was the point? Lorenzo was a strong man—not the type to accept weakness in others.

‘Have you nothing to say?’ he asked, his dark gaze resting on her.

‘Thank you for showing me the photos.’ She stood up. ‘Can I go now?’

Lorenzo watched her. Damn it, she looked like a schoolgirl in her flat shoes—but he knew she wasn’t. Her head was slightly bowed, her beautiful face pale, her expressive eyes guarded. Her hair was falling in a tangle of waves around her shoulders, and she was wearing denim jeans and a soft blue sweater that clung to her every curve. He felt his body stir, and he hated himself and her for his weakness. With a supreme effort of will he forced himself to relax. It was almost over. After tonight he would be free of Lucy and would never have to see her again. So why was he not relieved?

His mouth hardened along with his resolve. ‘Yes, go,’ he snapped. ‘I’ll see you in the hall at seven—and wear something appropriate. The black you wore the other night will do.’ And, picking up the photos, he strolled over to the desk and returned them to the drawer.

What did he think she would do? Lucy wondered. Turn up in a pair of shorts and a shirt? For a second she was tempted, but quickly dismissed the idea and walked out of the study. She owed it to herself not to disgrace the Steadman name.

Contrary to what Lorenzo seemed to think, she had been well brought up. She had attended a prestigious boarding school and art college. Her family had been reasonably wealthy by any standards, and their home—while not as spectacular as this—lovely. Not overflowing with staff, but there had been a housekeeper who’d arrived at eight every morning and left at four. Her husband had been the gardener, and the acres of grounds had been well tended. When her parents had entertained extra staff had been hired. Her mother had been a beautiful, loving and elegant lady, whom everyone had adored—especially Lucy. But everything had changed after her mother died.

No, she wasn’t going to dwell in the past—she had done too much of that already. And, flicking her wayward hair back, she ran up the stairs to her room.

Lucy stopped at the top of the stairs and drew in a long, steadying breath. The huge hall looked more like a ballroom, with exquisite floral arrangements and a small raised platform at one side, where a quartet were arranging their music. Already quite a few guests had arrived, the men all wearing tuxedos and the woman glamorous in designer gowns, some short, some long, and all probably costing a fortune.

Suddenly Lucy was really glad that she had at the last minute packed the dress the Contessa had given her. It was perfectly appropriate for this sophisticated party. And no way was she wearing the black dress Lorenzo had suggested. After this afternoon, she was never doing anything he said again.

The dress was by an Italian designer, and a classic mini from the nineteen-sixties. Not too short, ending two inches above her knees, it had a curved neckline that revealed the upper swell of her breasts and skimmed perfectly over her hips and thighs. But it was the fabric that made it sensational—a fine silk jersey almost completely covered in white sequins from neck to hem, except for the dazzling psychedelic pattern of silver sequins down the front. On her feet she wore high-heeled sequined shoes.

Lucy made it down the stairs without stumbling, and heaved a sigh of relief when she got to the bottom safely and glanced around. Lorenzo was walking towards her, his dark eyes blazing. Whether he was angry or something else, she didn’t know. She had seen him conservatively and casually dressed, but wearing a black tuxedo, a white dress shirt and bow-tie he looked more stunningly attractive than any man had a right to, she thought helplessly, unable to take her eyes off him.

‘You are late,’ Lorenzo said.

He had watched Lucy walk down the stairs, a shimmering vision in white and silver, and she took his breath away. Her hair was swept up into a swirl on top of her head, with a few long tendrils left to fall down the back of her neck and either side of her face. She was wearing make-up, understated but perfect, and her big green eyes fringed with thick curling lashes looked even larger somehow. Her lips were a glossy deep pink that made him want to taste them—taste her. No, not any more, he reminded himself.

‘Sorry,’ Lucy murmured, and raised her eyes to his. She saw the desire, the hunger he could not disguise, and knew hers were conveying the same emotion. She caught the hint of regret before the shutters came down and Lorenzo spoke.

‘Very eye-catching dress, but what happened to the black I suggested? ‘ he demanded, and offered her his arm.

Consigned to the bin, along with all her foolish hopes, Lucy thought bitterly, and took his arm, thankful that tonight was the last act of this ridiculous drama.

They joined his mother, Anna hugged and kissed her, and Lucy lost count of the number of people she was introduced to. Teresa Lanza almost squeezed the air out of her and most of the other guests seemed very pleasant.

Then suddenly there was a hush, and Lucy watched as a stunning, tall and dark-haired woman in red on the arm of a much younger man made an entrance, pausing and looking haughtily around for a second or two.

Lucy felt Lorenzo tense beside her, and caught the slight frown on Anna’s face as the couple walked over.

Anna introduced the pair of them to Lucy. ‘Signora Olivia Paglia and her son Paolo.’

With the briefest of acknowledgments in her direction, Olivia wrapped her arms around Lorenzo’s neck and kissed him on both cheeks. It would have been his mouth if he had not moved his head, Lucy thought, her gaze flickering between the two of them as the woman began speaking.

She gathered from her limited understanding of Italian that Olivia was reminding him of his friend, and how much her poor disabled Fedrico would have loved to be here. It was not possible any more, and it was hard for her on her own, but how grateful she was for Lorenzo’s support.

Was Lorenzo really that clueless about what Olivia was doing? Lucy wondered. The only person Olivia was interested in was Lorenzo. It was blindingly obvious. She was playing on his sympathy for his friend with the hope of moving on to him. Or maybe she already had, if the rumoured affair the Contessa had told her of was to be believed. Well, they looked about the same age, and they obviously knew each other very well—they certainly had plenty to say to each other.

As if she wasn’t hurting enough already, another thought struck her. Maybe the reason for Lorenzo insisting she meet his mother and play the lover had nothing to do with his fear of Anna contacting her but was a deliberate ploy to use Lucy as a smokescreen to deflect talk of his affair with his friend’s wife. She wouldn’t put anything past him, and it would explain why except for one lapse he wanted nothing to do with Lucy now she was in Italy.

She glanced at Anna, who was greeting someone else, and then back at Lorenzo and Olivia, who were still talking. She moved to one side, totally disgusted. Then she caught sight of the latest arrival, and a genuine smile slowly curved her lips as she walked forward to meet her.