Jacqueline Baird - Mediterranean Tycoons

‘Even after the fiascos with Margot and Nigel were sorted out and we went to Kos…’ Their eyes met and clung for a long moment with memories shared. ‘Even then I could not admit to myself that I loved you. In my conceit I didn’t think it mattered, because I knew you loved me. On our honeymoon, you delighted me with your unabashed enthusiasm, both physically and verbally. But after I returned from New York it slowly dawned on me you no longer said the words. You became a silent lover. I told myself it did not matter, but it did,’ he admitted with a self-mocking smile.

Alex was right; she had withdrawn slightly, out of insecurity, but she hadn’t thought he’d noticed. The hope expanded to every part of her as he went on.

‘I found myself growing more and more suspicious. I was jealous of the time you spent E-mailing your friends. Then, on the night I got back from Singapore, I went into your study to get the fax from the pottery chap.’ Pain clouded his expression, and involuntarily Lisa’s hands stroked comfortingly up over his chest.

He gave her a crooked smile. ‘I found a printout of an E-mail with the address of a hotel in London and it was like a knife in my gut.’ He paused. ‘I have absolutely no excuse for following you, or grabbing your friend Jed. It was sheer rage, primitive male jealousy; the man was touching my woman.’ He said it with such possessive arrogance Lisa had to mask a smile. It was so Alex… He could not remain humble if he tried.

‘In that moment I knew the sheer agony of love and betrayal.’

‘Not betrayal,’ Lisa interjected swiftly.

‘You were close to Jed mentally. Is a betrayal in the mind any less harmful than a physical betrayal, Lisa?’ he asked, and she did not know how to answer him. His eyes never left her face as he bent his head, and brushed her lips gently with his own. ‘Forget I said that. Just know I love you, Lisa. I think I always have, but I was too arrogant to admit it,’ he murmured against her mouth.

‘But you still insisted it was over…’

‘Hush, Lisa.’ Alex lifted a finger and placed it over her lips, and she marvelled at the slight tremor in his touch. ‘I will regret to my dying day the way I behaved. You are my wife, and I will love and treasure you in this world and the next, if you will let me.’ His dark eyes gleamed with the fierce burning light of love. There was no mistaking it, and Lisa’s lips parted in a brilliant smile of pure joy, her shimmering blue eyes reflecting the love she found in his. ‘Will you?’ He repeated huskily.

Lisa had a million questions to ask, but they could wait. Swaying towards him, she moved her hands up to his wide shoulders, and then trailed her fingers through his hair, bringing his head down to hers. ‘Yes, I will. In fact, I will insist,’ she teased, and placed her lips on his. Delicately probing with her tongue, she initiated a kiss that was tender and passionate, loving and giving, a kiss like no other they had shared. Finally, so he would be in no doubt, she looked up at him through her thick lashes and murmured, ‘I believe there is a bedroom next door. It would be a shame to waste it. After all, you have paid for it, partner.’

Alex’s husky laugh contained an element of relief, and he bent and curved an arm beneath her knees and lifted her high against his chest. ‘Your wish is my command,’ he groaned, as her hands slid around the nape of his neck and she nuzzled his neck.

They fell on the bed, clothes discarded haphazardly, and finally, when they were both naked, Alex reared up over her, his eyes dark and feverish as they roamed over her slim curves and the luscious fullness of her breasts. ‘I do love you, Lisa.’ She felt her breasts grow heavy beneath his gaze.

‘Then love me,’ she whispered, and he did…

Mediterranean Tycoons Untamed & Unleashed

Picture of Innocence

Untamed Italian, Blackmailed Innocent

The Italian’s Blackmailed Mistress

Jacqueline Baird

LORENZO ZANELLI, owner of the centuries-old Zanelli Merchant Bank, originally bankers to Italian principalities and now a global concern, exited the elevator at his office suite on the top floor of the magnificent old building in the heart of Verona, a frown marring his broad brow.

His business lunch with Manuel Cervantes, the head of an Argentinean conglomerate whose family had been valued clients for years, had gone well, but Lorenzo was not a happy man … His secretary had called to warn him he was going to be late for his next appointment as his lunch had severely overrun—despite the fact that they had completed their business quite quickly.

As soon as work was out of the way Manuel had turned to a more personal topic: the necessity of giving up his career as a mountaineer and keen photographer to take over the running of the company after the death of his father five years ago and his subsequent marriage and two children. Then finally he had shown Lorenzo some shots he had belatedly got around to printing from his last trip to the Alps.

They were pictures taken at the main base camp on Manuel’s final expedition to Mont Blanc, and included by sheer chance a few shots of Lorenzo’s brother, Antonio, and Damien Steadman his friend, wearing bright red jackets and even brighter grins, just arriving as Manuel’s team were about to start their ascent.

The next morning Manuel’s team had been on the last stage of the climb to the summit when he had received news that his father had suffered a heart attack. He’d been airlifted off the mountain by helicopter, and his last shot was a view of the mountain as he was flown down to base camp for the dash back to Argentina to be at his father’s bedside. He had heard much later of Antonio’s tragic death, and had thought Lorenzo would like to have what were probably the last pictures of his brother. Lorenzo was grateful, but it brought back memories he had spent years trying to forget.

Lorenzo had been looking through the photos as he’d walked back to his offices, taking in the implications of the detail in the landscape shot Manuel had pointed out to him, when he’d literally bumped into an old friend, Olivia Paglia, which had delayed him even further.

His frown deepened as he saw the fair head of a woman seated in the reception area, obviously waiting for him. He had almost forgotten about Miss Steadman, and now was not the best time to deal with her …

‘Lucy Steadman?’ he queried, casting a dark glance her way. He remembered seeing her years ago when, on a business trip to London, he had called briefly at Antonio’s apartment to check in on his little brother. She had been a plump, plain-faced little schoolgirl in a baggy sweater, with long fair pigtails, who had been visiting her brother and was leaving as Lorenzo arrived. Her brother Damien had met Antonio at university in London, and they’d become firm friends and flatmates. A friendship that had ended tragically, and one he certainly did not need reminding of for a second time today.

‘Sorry for the delay, but it was unavoidable.’ She rose to her feet and he noted she had scarcely changed at all. Small—she barely reached his shoulder—with her hair scraped back in a knot on top of her head, her face free of make-up. The baggy sweater had been replaced with an equally voluminous black suit, with a long skirt that did her no favours at all. Slender ankles, he noted, and tiny feet, but the flat shoes she wore had definitely seen better days. She obviously cared little for her appearance—not a trait he admired in a woman.

Lucy Steadman looked up and up at the man standing in front of her. Antonio had told her once his brother was a lot older than him, and a staid, boring banker who did not know how to enjoy life, amongst other similarly harsh comments, and now she could see what he had meant …