Mediterranean Tycoons. JACQUELINE BAIRD
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hotel, but a centre where cancer sufferers and their families could have a holiday. Lorenzo knew her mum had died of cancer, and James had done it for Samantha.
They two were arriving any minute, with their son Thomas, and with one last look at her reflection in the mirror Lucy dashed downstairs just in time to welcome them.
Lorenzo stopped the car under the portico, leapt out and dashed into the house—and stopped dead. A huge banner was strung around the balcony, with ‘Happy Fortieth Birthday’ written on it, and the hall was full of people. His dark eyes went unerringly to Lucy.
She was walking towards him, a brilliant smile on her face, her eyes sparkling with love and laughter. The gown she wore should have been censored, was his second thought. His first was wow … A shimmering gold, the dress had a halter-neck and no back, he noted, as she turned for a second to speak to someone, and the bodice plunged between her breasts—slightly larger now, since she had breastfed their son. It nipped in at her tiny waist, then fell smoothly over hips to her feet. And he was in danger of embarrassing himself—but then Lucy always had that effect on him.
She reached up and looped her arms around his neck. ‘Surprise, surprise—happy birthday, Lorenzo darling.’
He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her as the crowd started cheering. ‘You will pay for this,’ he murmured in her ear. ‘I had plans for an intimate dinner for two in Venice. We have to communicate better—starting now.’
And then Antonio came, hurtling to his feet, and he picked his son up and spun him around, and kissed his mother on the cheek. Then he was shaking hands and greeting people, but he put a hand around Lucy’s waist and kept her by his side as he made for the stairs, telling Gianni and various others that he needed to get changed. And huskily telling Lucy she was going to help him.
‘Lorenzo, we can’t,’ Lucy said, eyeing him with loving amusement as he shed his suit and shirt, dropping them on the bed room floor as usual.
Wearing only boxers, he caught her to him. ‘Yes, we can, Lucy. I love you more and more each day. You have given me a wonderful son and you have made me the happiest man in the world. But it has been four days, and right now I ache to be inside you.’ And gathering her close, a hand curving around her nape, he kissed her long and deep, his fingers deftly loosening the haltertop.
Lucy closed her eyes. He was right. She could feel the passion, the desire vibrating between them, and when he slipped her dress down to pool at her feet and carried her to the bed she wanted him with a hunger that could not be denied. She always did and always would.
Later, she slipped off the bed and told Lorenzo to wait. She crossed to the dressing room and, taking the parcel she had hidden there, returned to the bed. ‘Happy birthday,’ she said, and handed him her gift.
Grinning, he ripped off the paper—and stopped, his dark eyes fixed on the painting. He stared for so long in silence, she began to worry.
‘I thought it was time there was a portrait of you above the fireplace in the lounge, and your father’s was relegated to the hall,’ she said. ‘But if it’s not good enough.’
He turned his head, and she saw the moisture in his eyes. ‘Good enough? It is magnificent—the best gift, after our son, you could possibly give me. The days. the hours you must have spent … I am humbled and flattered that you see me so well.’ And, slipping the painting gently to the floor, he reached for her.
Lorenzo Zanelli’s surprise fortieth birthday party was talked about for months afterwards in the homes of Verona—mainly because it had taken him three hours to get changed for the party, particularly as his wife was helping him!
ZAC DELUCCA stepped out of the chauffeur-driven limousine and glanced up at the four-storeyed Georgian-style building in front of him: the head office of Westwold Components, a company he had finally acquired two weeks ago. He had left Raffe, his top man, in charge of the changeover, so he had not expected to be needed in London in June, and he was not pleased…
He was ruggedly attractive, with black hair and shrewd dark eyes, and the navy silk and mohair suit he wore was a testament to the expertise of his tailor. The jacket stretched taut across shoulders as wide as a barn door, and at six feet five he was a powerful, impressive figure of a man in every respect. Not a man anyone could overlook, though the fierce frown at present marring his bold features would scare all but the bravest into glancing the other way.
Orphaned at a year old by the tragic death of his young parents in a car crash, Zac Delucca had spent his early years in a children’s home in Rome. He had left at fifteen, with nothing but the clothes he stood up in and a burning ambition to become a success in life.
Tall, and looking older than his years, he had by sheer guts, determination and keen intelligence dragged himself up from the gutter that beckoned. He had studied by day and used his physical strength in the testosterone-fuelled world of the fighting game at night to earn money and build up a stake to set up his own company: Delucca Holdings.
He had fought masked, under an assumed name, because he’d had total belief in his ability, mentally and physically, to be a winner in life. From a young age he had known he was destined to succeed on a worldwide scale…never mind in a canvas ring…
His first purchase at the age of twenty had been a rundown farm in southern Italy that had included three cottages, a large farmhouse and a thousand acres of neglected land. A few weeks later the government had bought a chunk of the acreage to build a new runway to expand a local airport for the increasing tourist trade.
Some people said he’d had inside information. He had said nothing and recouped the money he had invested and more besides. He’d converted the farm house, which was situated on the coast at the southernmost tip of Italy, with stunning views over the sea, and kept it for his own use.
The remaining land had included an overgrown olive grove he had tried to cultivate himself, but he had quickly realised agriculture was not for him and finally hired an expert in the field to restore, enlarge and manage the farm, while converting the cottages for the staff. Eventually he’d marketed the produce as Delucca Extra Fine Virgin Olive Oil, and Delucca Oil was today the choice of the connoisseur and priced accordingly…
It was the first business Zac had bought and kept.
Now, fifteen years later, Delucca Holdings was an international conglomerate that owned a vast array of companies, including mines, manufacturers, properties and oil of the petroleum variety as well as from the olive tree. Nothing was out of Delucca’s grasp.
Ruthless, arrogant, and merciless were some of the terms used by his enemies, but none in the business world friend or enemy could deny he was a financial wizard, and basically honest…A master of the universe who went after what he wanted and always succeeded.
‘Are you sure about this, Raffe?’ Zac demanded of the man who had exited the car to join him on the pavement.
Raffe Costa was his right-hand man and his friend. They had met over a decade ago, when Zac had applied for funding for a deal from a bank in Naples, where Raffe had been working in the commercial loan office. The pair had hit it off immediately, and two years later Raffe had joined Zac’s swiftly expanding company as an accountant-cum-PA. The title was not important. Zac trusted him completely, and knew him to be shrewd and rarely wrong.
‘Sure…?’ Raffe responded slowly. ‘No, I am not absolutely sure, but enough to want you to check it out,’ he qualified as they walked towards the entrance. ‘It wasn’t noticed in the due diligence we conducted before buying, because the siphoning off of funds—if that is what it is—has been done very cleverly, and been deeply hidden in the accounts for years.’
‘You’d better be right. Because I had