Claimed by the Sicilian Tycoon (3 page)

“What’s
the ballpark figure?” he asked after a few minutes.

Carl
raised an eyebrow at being cut off. “You don’t want me to go over the rest of
the information? I have some files in my case.”

“There’s
no need.”

Carl
gave a sum, and grinned when Andros nodded slowly. “You don’t even blink at
that figure, Andros?”

“I’ve
been asked for a lot more.”

“I
don’t doubt it.”

“The
amount is not an issue,” Andros said, lifting his espresso cup. “But I do want
to know, why come to me with this? Your family has plenty of money, no? You
were still on the
Times Rich List
last year, I noted.”

Carl’s
grin widened. “The family certainly does not want for funds, that is true. But
it is a different situation than you would find yourself in.”

“Explain.”

He
shrugged. “Most of our money, the family’s I mean, is tied up into the estate.
We have only specific amounts that we allow into creative ventures such as these.
Whilst your funds…”

Andros
nodded. “Are for me to use as I see fit.”

“Exactly.
The joys of being a self-made man and not from old money.”

“I
do not doubt that you will eclipse your family’s fortune in time,” Andros said
and Carl smiled even as he shook his head.

“I’m
not sure about that. I had some impressive ancestors.”

“Either
way we will shake hands on this now, and arrange a meeting with my wider team
next week to iron out the details.”

“Excellent.”

They
clicked glass to espresso cup, and Andros leaned back in his chair again,
satisfied to have the deal wrapped up in under ten minutes. Ainsley was a good
man; they would work well together, and for once, he had a small window of free
time. Andros took a small sip of the rich coffee and eyed the menu on the
table. Did he have time enough to eat? Probably not, but one thing Club Belmont
did
do was decent food.

“Are
you dining?” he asked Carl.

“Actually,”
Carl said, downing the last of his whisky, and grinning. “I thought I’d follow
up my initial offer, actually.”

“Offer?”

“Before
you arrived I made my opening salvo. I think it is now time to make sure the
lady in red does not refuse a second drink.”

Lady in red?
Andros turned
in his chair, following Carl’s gaze. It rested on a woman sat at the bar, her
long, long legs crossed. One foot was dangling in midair, and attached to it
was a shoe that made him raise an eyebrow. Bright, bright red, with a heel at
least five inches in length, and deadly sharp at that. Those shoes shouldn’t
have worked at all with her red hair, Andros thought, red hair that was pinned
in an elaborate twist on top of her head, with just a few wavy strands falling
down her back and shoulders. And the dress…he shifted a little now, the
familiar ache in his groin grabbing his attention. It too was bright red, short
but not too short, falling mid-thigh, and molded to every single curve.

Signora in Rosso…

“Beautiful,
is she not?” Carl asked, and Andros nodded slowly.

She
was
gorgeous, stunning. After just a
very brief look Andros knew that the entire package worked in every single way,
and felt himself pause as he accepted that. Accepted the fact that he hadn’t
seen anyone quite as sexy in a very long time, if ever.

 
How had he not noticed her the moment he
entered the room? More to the point, what the hell was she doing here? Few
women came to Club Belmont, and when they did, they
never
looked like her.

“Who
is she?” he demanded.

Carl
shrugged. “Not sure. She’s been here since I arrived what, about an hour ago? I
noticed her the moment I came in.”

“She’s
just been sat at the bar?”
How could he
have failed to notice her?

“Yes.
It’s odd,” Carl said. “I’m not the first to have sent a drink over. James
Withers and Peter Whitting Prior both sent her champagne—typical move on their
part, never mind the fact that she is not the sort of girl to drink
champagne—and she refused them regardless.”

“Why
is she not the sort to drink champagne?” Andros asked, curious.

“Come
on, old chap,” Carl laughed. “That is the sort of girl to have you downing Tequila
and Sambuca, one after the other.”

“And
yet she is here. Not the sort of place one can find such drinks.”

A
pause and Carl frowned. “I never thought of that.”

“Perhaps
she’s waiting for her husband?” Andros asked, shifting a little at that
thought. He did not, as a rule, steal other men’s women. Such behavior was not
something he would feel comfortable with, and why would he want a woman who
would willingly drop a man she’d given vows to the moment another demanded? No,
even for the lady in red he would not make that exception.
 

“Not
a husband. She isn’t wearing a ring,” Carl said, and Andros was surprised by
the relief those words made him feel. “She might have a boyfriend, though. I
intend to find out either way.”

Andros
shook his head slowly, and placed his cup down on the table. The decision, it
seemed, already made. “I would prefer that you did not.”

Carl
laughed softly. “Ah, of course. I should have known she would catch your eye.”

“Because
of her beauty?”

“No,
because there is something about her.” Carl paused for a moment, and drummed
his fingers on the table. “I can’t work out what it is, but something
is…unusual…”

Andros
couldn’t help but agree. Apart from the body, and the hair, and the little he
could see of her face, she
did
have
an indescribable air to her. Her foot was dangling back and forth, her fingers
tracing the outline of the frosted tumbler sat between her hands, and as he
watched, she laughed softly at something the bartender said.

His
stomach muscles clenched, his dick hardened. Andros was standing before he
thought to do anything else.
 

“If
you’ll excuse me?”

He
did not wait for Carl to reply, simply strode over to the stand at the entrance
of the dining room, and nodded at the elderly man stood behind it.

“The
woman at the bar,” he demanded. “Who is she?”

“Mr.
Casstellini, a pleasure to see you again. Let me see…” The clerk
clicked—painfully slowly—a few keys on the small laptop discreetly hidden on
his stand, before frowning. “Ah, that was easy enough. She is the only woman to
have visited today.”

“Her
name?”

“A
Miss Lyra Matthews,” the clerk said.

“And
who recommended her?”

“Bear
with me, sir…”

Andros
shifted, flicking a glance behind him as he did so. It went straight to
her.
 
Lyra
.
The word ran off his tongue, and he shuddered slightly. His erection was
uncomfortable, would be noticeable if he didn’t do something about it soon…

He
frowned slightly. He wanted her. There was no question at all of that.

Andros
looked down at his wristwatch, his mind racing. He had another meeting directly
after this one—hadn’t the email said it was urgent? Was planning to travel up
to Leeds tomorrow. Hell, he had plenty to be getting on with. Did he even have
time to make a go of seducing the lady in red?

“It
says here…” The clerk looked up at him, seeming to shift a little on the spot.
Andros recognized uncertainty when he saw it, and gestured for the man to
continue.

“Well,
it says…”

“What?”
Andros asked, scheduling conflicts working through his mind. “Spit it out,
man.”

“It
says here that you did.”

Chapter Three

Lyra
knew the moment he entered the room. It was like an awareness. The very air in
the room changed, the skin on the back of her neck prickled, and she felt her
heart race.

Andros
Casstellini had arrived.

Finally.

A
few moments later and muted voices reached her. Club Belmont wasn’t exactly
busy. The majority of its patrons sat alone, reading their papers, eating their
meals, or simply drinking their wine. One of the low voices she heard
had
to be his, and Lyra found herself
shivering at the thought. After all the months she and her sisters had spent
planning, the time had finally come…

She
paused for a moment with that thought, wondering exactly where each of her
sisters were now. Rachel would have caught the eye of Dominic Rimeria already.
She was so sweet, so perfect, and though Lyra had worried about her little
sister’s ability to pick the pocket of one of the richest men in the country,
Rachel had insisted she was up to the job. Who was Lyra to say otherwise?

And
Penny. She’d be getting ready soon to make her way to Sebastian Demetrious’
house. Once there she would use her finely honed skills to get the money they
needed to start their project—a project which was of the utmost importance,
which would make a difference to so many people who needed help. No, she
corrected herself with a slight sigh, not people, girls, teenagers at risk. She
and her sisters had been in that position and they’d all agreed, the moment
they were old enough to realize how lucky they’d been to escape relatively
unscathed, that they had to do whatever they could to ensure others were
equally as lucky. And it had all seemed so simple when they’d sat down to plan
it out.

No
bank would lend them a penny, no private investors, no charities. If they
wanted the money to make a difference, they would have to find it themselves. A
billionaire for each sister.

Sebastian
Demetrious, Dominic Rimeria and Andros Casstellini.

All
men with too much money for their own good, money that could make a real
difference in the sisters’ hands.

Three
marks.

Three
plans.

Three
deceptions.

Lyra
repeated it all in her mind now, both to remind herself, and to stop from
looking over to confirm that Andros
was
actually
sat in the dining area. After all, it would do her no good if she sat there
gawking at him, like practically every woman no doubt did. No, she had to play
it cool. It was essential to her scheme that he came to her. That he was the
one to chase.

And
her sisters? She thought of Penny, black haired, lithe, so much like the cat
they called her. She was going to lift the money to buy The Point—a huge
building that they planned to turn into a shelter—straight from Demetrious’
safe. Then she and Rachel were going to get the money needed to convert it into
something habitable. Somewhere safe.

Rachel
would get her money through her innocent ways. Charming Dominic Rimeria, making
him burn until his back was turned, so that she could help herself to the key
from his safe.

And
she? Lyra knew her sisters assumed that she would follow a similar plan to
Rachel, making Andros ache for her until the time came to thieve some of his
riches. She had let them assume that—because the truth of the matter was, she
knew that Penny and Rachel would never approve of her
actual
plan, that they might even have gone as far as to stop the
whole mission.

Lyra ‘the man eater’ Matthews
,
she thought with a smile, watching the lights glint off her tumbler. That was
what they called her because she had never had any trouble getting men to do
what she wanted. One after another, they ran around after her like puppy dogs,
desperate to get in her pants. Her sisters never even considered that she’d
have any trouble making Andros act the same way.

The
trouble was they hadn’t considered other things.

Hadn’t
realized that the moment she’d looked down at Andros’ picture her heart had
skipped a beat, and her panties had drenched themselves. Fact of the matter was
Lyra wanted some excitement, wanted to be chased by a man like Andros. Oh, she
knew how important the mission was. She knew she had to get a set amount of
money in order for the project to be completed, and she would—that was not in
question—but Lyra saw absolutely no reason why she couldn’t have some fun at
the same time.

Besides,
she had never excelled at deception. She was too blunt, too honest, and too
goddamn reckless. Penny could break into someone’s home and rob him blind.
Rachel could use her virginal wiles to pick the pocket of every man in the
room, but her? All she’d ever had was her looks, her explosive, ‘tie a man in
knots’ beauty. In order to complete her mission Lyra had every intention of
getting down and dirty. She was going to be perfectly honest about what she
wanted, and at the end of it, she would make sure she got it.
 
She might not be catching Andros like Mitch
had said, but she was going to hold him on the end of her hook for as long as
she possibly could…