Mediterranean Tycoons. JACQUELINE BAIRD
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heart pounded in her chest, and she pulled in some deep breaths to control the anger and—if she was honest—the excitement the sound of his deep-toned voice aroused so easily.
The kettle boiled, and she made a cup of coffee with a hand that was not quite steady. What was happening to her? Exhaustion—that was the problem. It had probably lowered her immune system and sent her emotions haywire. Satisfied with the explanation, she made a cheese sandwich with stale bread, but ate most of it anyway and drank her coffee.
She crossed to the bed area, slipping out of her skirt, and she hung it in the closet and headed for the bathroom. She stripped naked, and, dropping her blouse, bra and briefs into the wash basket, turned the shower on to warm. She picked up a bottle of shampoo from the vanity unit and stepped under the soothing spray.
She washed her hair and then, placing the shampoo on the chrome rack, she let her head fall back. She closed her eyes and let the water wash away the grime and hopefully the grimness of the weekend.
Her mother had been pleased to see her, and had declared she was perfectly content, but Sally knew different. No matter how good the nursing home, how great the staff were or how beautiful the gardens, it was still a nursing home. The patients were there out of necessity, because they needed constant care. She doubted anyone, given a choice, would choose it over their own home.
She shrugged off her morbid thoughts, and, switching off the shower, grabbed a large fluffy towel from the towel rail and rubbed her body dry. She towel-dried her hair, deciding not to bother with the hairdryer, and letting it hang down her back to dry naturally. She cleaned her teeth at the basin, and, taking her towelling robe off the hook on the back of the bathroom door, she slipped it on, tying the sash firmly around her waist.
The telephone rang as she walked back into the living room. Surely not Delucca again? Moving to the kitchen, she answered it with a curt, ‘Yes?’
‘My. Sally, who has rattled your cage?’ an old familiar voice demanded.
‘Al!’ She laughed. ‘I thought it was someone else.’
‘Not the guy you were having lunch with, I hope?’
‘Got it in one.’
‘Sally, be careful. I mentioned I had met Delucca to my dad. According to him the man is not the type to get involved with. Apparently, he is an extremely powerful man, admired by a few, but feared by most. He is known as the takeover king and he’s a brilliantly astute businessman. Delucca Holdings is one of the few companies that the recession has barely affected—mainly because he is ruthless at closing down failing companies and selling off their assets. But he’s equally as clever at retaining and expanding the profitable ones. He owns mines in South America and Australia, a couple of oil companies, land and a lot more besides. As my dad pointed out, all tangible assets that, unlike stocks and shares, in the long term can’t fail. As for his private life, not much is known about him except that he has dated quite a few top models.’
‘I know all that—and don’t worry. I refused his offer of dinner. The lunch was a one-off, never to be repeated.’
‘Great. So have dinner with me tomorrow night? I have a table booked for nine at the new in place, but the girl I had high hopes of turned me down.’
‘That is a back-handed invite if ever I heard one.’ She laughed, but agreed, and after ten minutes of talking to Al she felt revived and almost human again.
She switched on the television, and an hour later was curled up on the sofa, watching the ending of her favourite crime programme and contemplating going to bed, when the doorbell rang.
The building had a concierge, and the intercom had not rung to announce anyone’s arrival, so it had to be Miss Telford from across the hall, Sally guessed. She had met her the first week she had moved in, when the elderly spinster had locked herself out. Since then, at Miss Telford’s request, Sally had kept a spare set of keys for her apartment, just in case she did it again—which she did quite frequently…
Standing up and stretching, Sally switched off the television and padded barefoot across the floor to open the door.
‘Forgotten the key…? You!’ The surprised exclamation left her lips before she could prevent it.
Sally was struck dumb, her incredulous gaze sweeping over the man before her. Zac Delucca was standing in the doorway, with what looked like a large cooler box in one hand and a bunch of roses in the other.
‘An honest woman—you actually were washing your hair,’ he drawled, eyeing the damp tousled curls falling around her shoulders. ‘But washing your hair or not, Sally, I figured you still need to eat. These are for you.’ He held out the roses and she took them, too shocked to refuse, and then, brushing past her, he strolled into her apartment. ‘Nice place,’ he opined, and set the box on the occasional table before turning round to look at her.
Still speechless, Sally let her eyes roam in helpless admiration over his impressive form. Gone was the designer suit. In its place he was wearing a white cotton shirt, and denim jeans that hung low on his lean hips and faithfully moulded his strong thighs and long legs. The designer label was a discreet signature on a side pocket.
Involuntarily her gaze was drawn back to his broad muscular chest, outlined by the obviously tailor-made shirt, the first few buttons of which were unfastened, revealing the strong column of his throat and a tantalising glimpse of black chest hair. Sally gulped, and for a moment had an overwhelming urge to run her fingers through the curling body hair. She took a step forward, the basic animal magnetism of the man, drawing her like a moth to a flame…
But the door slamming shut behind her brought her to her senses, and she ruthlessly squashed the impulse and found her voice.
‘The doorman never called, so how the hell did you get in?’ she demanded, and lifted her eyes to his face; now he was grinning broadly, and looked even more devastatingly attractive, Sally thought helplessly.
‘I told him you were my lover and it was our one month anniversary. I said I wanted to surprise you with champagne and roses and an intimate dinner for two. The man is clearly a romantic at heart—he could not refuse. Plus the tip helped,’ he added cynically.
There it was again. No one ever refused Zac Delucca. And Sally had a sinking sensation that if she was not very careful she might fall into that category too.
She went on the attack. ‘Then the man is going to lose his job, because I did not invite you here. I want you to leave now—get out or I will throw you out…’ She raised angry blue eyes to his and caught a golden flame of desire in the dark depths so fierce she imagined she felt the heat—before his attention was diverted from her face…
LOOKING at Zac, towering over her Sally had the wild desire to laugh at her own audacity in threatening to eject him. But as the silence lengthened a desire of a different kind whipped any thought of laughter from her mind. She saw he was scrutinising her slender body with an intensity that made her feel as if he was stripping her naked.
Suddenly, tension thickened the air between them, and it became hard for Sally to breathe. She felt a ripple of heat run through her, and it had nothing to do with the heat of the day.
Zac seemed to fill the small studio with his presence, and however unwillingly she was being drawn towards him despite all her best efforts to deny the fact. His dark eyes lingered on the open lapels of her robe, and jerkily she pulled the belt tighter, remembering she actually was naked underneath…
Embarrassment and the hot flush of arousal combined to make a tide of pink stain her pale face.
He stared at her for a long moment, and she wished she had done something with her hair instead of leaving it to dry in a mess of curls—ridiculous, she knew, but he had that effect on her.
‘You would not cost the man his job. I know you are not that mean-spirited,