Mistress By Blackmail: International Billionaires I: The Italians (5 page)

“Have I made myself clear?” He continued down his relentless path.

“I’ll play your game,” she acknowledged. “Still, sharing a bed is going too far.”

He tapped his finger on the desk in exasperation. “Maids talk. My new lover will be of interest. Do you think I’d take a chance of word getting out we had separate bedrooms? This would defeat the entire purpose of you being with me.”

“I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

He gave her figure a long perusal from head to toe. A panicked thrill shivered over her skin. “You are small, but not that small. You’ll be very uncomfortable.”

“I don’t care.” She forced the frantic tears back. No matter what, she would not cry in front of this man. Ever.

“I do,
carita
. I promised you pleasure. Not a painful night on a sofa.”

“I can’t do this,” she cried. “I can’t.”

“You will. Or your father will be in quite a bit of trouble.”

She stood there, breathing in, breathing out. The jumble of emotions and thoughts brewing inside threatened to overwhelm her. The only other time she'd felt this sense of shock, fear, confusion surging in her was when she was seventeen. Seventeen and so, so scared. The memories swirled through her, sweeping over the current emotions in a maelstrom.

“The woman’s complaints have stopped.” Cynicism and scorn oozed from his every word. “I’m relieved.”

She wouldn’t allow herself to walk away from this latest confrontation a loser once more. She had to get at least a piece of his hide. Poke him enough to draw pain. Or she’d never forgive herself. “You don't like women do you?”

“I like them just fine.” He turned and began typing. “In certain areas of my life.”

“I'll rephrase. You don't respect them.”

His gaze landed on her. His eyes were cool, cloaked. “No. In my experience, there is nothing much to respect about a woman.”

Her hands fisted at her sides. The urge to smack him on the side of his head was hard to control. She’d teach him a lesson about respect. If it was the last thing she did, she’d teach him. “What woman did this to you?”

His laugh was harsh. “I'm not talking to you about my past, Ms. Moran. It has nothing to do with you.”

“It certainly—”

“Let's get this straight.” His silver eyes turned to ice. “You are here for one purpose. To keep you away from my brother until he is safely married. We are not in a relationship. I do not have to care what you think of anything I do. You will do what I tell you to do for the next month, and then you can go and do any damn thing you want.”

“What I want is to see Matt. A man who’s ten times the man you are.” She hoped this barb would bite. Bite hard.

“No.” The ice turned to storm clouds, threatening her with certain calamity. “You will never be with Matteo anymore. I’ll make sure of it.”

The bite had clearly bitten him, but he’d struck back with deadly intent. His words cut her heart out of her. Nausea and tears welled in her throat. “Y-y-you can’t stop me.”

The childish lament mixed with the awful stutter only made her feel worse. Feel powerless. Feel like she was a kid all over again.

“I can and I will.” He stated the claim with utter confidence. Turning, he effectively dismissed her. “I will always have your father's criminal activities to keep you in line. Even after we have long parted company.”

The maelstrom inside her roared. She wrapped her shaking arms around her.

“Go to bed, Ms. Moran.” The ice now resided in his voice. “Tomorrow you will start your new role and you better be prepared to please.”

S
he slept like a child
.

Marcus watched as she slipped one hand under her cheek and whimpered. She was curled on her side, the covers gracing her shoulders, the pink of her silk nightgown highlighting the cream of her neck. Her inky-black hair was a startling contrast to the milk-white of her petal-soft skin in the shadows of the bedroom.

He wanted to touch. He desperately wanted to touch.

Touch once more. Hold her like he had only moments ago, as he lifted her off the floor where he’d found her, and slipped her under the feathery duvet.

The woman’s stubborn determination astounded him and annoyed him.

Yet he'd given one promise to her. And he never broke a promise.

Not even to a woman.

Putting his hands beneath his head to keep them from straying, he stared at the ceiling and willed his erection to subside. He'd had the thought when he'd booked this room that sleeping with her would surely be a promising push towards addressing the sexual heat between them. He hadn't believed her silly declaration in his office.

No sex
.

He'd chuckled under his breath as he'd instructed his PA to make the reservations. 

He wasn’t laughing now.

The nymph had pluck and pride. She wasn’t going to go down without a fight. Much to his displeasure. Eventually, she'd give in to this desire running between them. The current, the electric pull, the demanding, drugging need…there was no way she wouldn't capitulate. Meanwhile, though, it appeared he was in for some long nights and some cold showers.

Why the hell was he putting up with this behavior?

Rolling over, he surveyed her once more. He could have done this another way. He could have paid her a sum which would ensure she stayed far from his brother. He could have thrown her father in her face and then trotted her off to be taken care of by his security team for the next month. Instead, he’d ensured she was in his presence, by his side, in his sights for the foreseeable future.

Why?

Sure, there was the sexual draw. Yet he’d been drawn to many women sexually. Sex was the only draw women ever had for him. None of the women he’d had were such a pain in the ass. Why the hell was he putting up with her screeching, her stomping? Why didn’t he shove her on the plane back to London and lock her away until after the wedding?

She murmured in her sleep, her plump lips parting to breathe. The driving desire for her lashed at his control and concentration. Without intending to, he lifted his hand, ran a finger down her cheek, then slid it across her mouth. She felt as soft as a kitten, as downy and plush as the ripest peach. He remembered with stark clarity the taste of her. The sweet mixed with zing and zest.

The woman moved restlessly, arching into his touch.

Her hair flowed through his hands, silken strands warmed by her skin. It curled around his fingers, tugging him closer. He leaned in, watching as her long, black lashes fluttered on her creamy cheeks and then, lay still. Her pointed chin, the one she seemed to be continually jutting into the air when she was yelling at him, the chin begged for a kiss. A touch of his mouth brought another sigh from hers. She moved, moved into his arms, snuggling into the curve of his shoulder. The smell of her wrapped around him, honey mixed with cinnamon and sunshine. Appropriate for a sprite who was sugary sweet one moment and all sexy spice the next.

His arm rested on her curving back, his hand on her slight hip.

Che diavolo
. There was no way he was going to let this woman out of his sight until he’d touched every part of her, kissed every inch of her, been deep inside her. Then this unwilling fascination for her would disappear. She would become like all the other women he’d had in the years since Juliana.

Nothing special.

Nothing memorable.

Nothing he would allow into his heart.

S
he was safe
.

Swimming between sleep and wakening, Darcy hung on tight to the unfamiliar feeling. One she hadn’t experienced in so long… Well, she couldn’t remember when she’d ever felt this way.

What did it matter? Living in the moment was one of her best skills.

She snuggled into the cozy covers. Unlike the sheets and bedding she was used to that scratched and snagged, these were silky on her skin, velvety and light. A firm warmth permeated from underneath her pillow. It smelled delicious, musky with a touch of something she couldn’t describe. Something oddly familiar.

The comfort of her covers and pillow was intensified by the heat along her back. Had she gone to bed with a heating pad? She didn’t even own one. Again, what did it matter? Her brain musty with sleep, she burrowed deeper into the covers, arching her whole body into the heat.

Safe. I’m safe.

Sunshine filtered across her face. She’d have to get going soon. She had things to do. Matt wouldn’t put her up forever. Getting her own place was a priority. Still, just a few more minutes of this bliss. Just a few more minutes. She purred in contentment.

“
Piccola carita
,” a deep, humor-filled voice rumbled in her ear. “If you make noises like a kitten and arch into me like one, I must assume you wish to be petted.”

Her eyes popped open. An antique painting of some Renaissance king glowered at her from the opposite wall in arrogant disdain. Sudden memory slapped away her feelings of being safe.

The panic rushed in right behind.

Yanking herself out of his arms, she jumped from the bed like the proverbial scalded cat.

La Rocca chuckled behind her.

How could she have fallen asleep last night? She’d been sure when she marched up the stairs—tight with the familiar fear and intense anger at his arrogance—she’d been positive there’d be no sleep for her. Not until he rose from the bed and left for one of his inevitable business meetings. She’d pulled off one of the covers from the massive bed and lay on the floor, promising herself she’d be far too uncomfortable to miss his appearance in the room.

She hadn’t even heard him come in.

She hadn’t even felt him pick her up.

She hadn’t even noticed his arms encircling her.

How could this have happened? She never let anyone touch her. Never for long. Certainly never for a whole night.

“You have an amazing figure.” The husk was deeper, richer in his voice. “The sunshine through your nightgown makes for an astonishing display.”

Gasping, she twisted to face him, wrapping her arms around herself in a vain attempt to conceal.

“As I’m sure you know.” Irony laced his words.

He was naked. At least, his chest was naked. The sight of his male gloriousness froze her in her tracks. Rather than running for the bathroom and a good set of clothes, she turned into a twit who could only gaze at perfection and lose all sensibility.

His shoulders were broad and thick with muscle. In his business suits, he exuded a sleek, lithe grace. Naked, though, he showed his true colors. A warrior body, ready for battle. Ready to conquer. Ready for action.

Action you aren
’
t willing to give him
, her brain yelled.

Why not?
her body hummed.

His skin was dark olive, a rich, satin covering for those fabulous muscles. It glistened in the sunlight as if he were sweating slightly. The hint of moisture only increased the urge she had to reach out and touch. Glide the tips of her fingers over the warm flesh and feel his life flow pumping through his body.

A swirl of dark hair graced his pectoral muscles and the center of his chest, then thinned into an arrow pointing down, down, down. For a desperate, depraved moment, she was quite angry at the sheets for hiding where that arrow ended.

“Do you like what you see?” He smiled, the dimples appearing. “I do.”

Taking her lust by the throat, she turned and hurried into the adjoining bathroom. She slammed the door on his chuckle and muttered a very dirty word.

What the hell was wrong with her?

She'd lost her cool and lost another battle last night. Instead of telling the Great Man to take a hike, instead of demanding he get her another room, or instead of insisting she would sleep on the couch downstairs—

“Daft cow.” Darcy glared at the mirror.

She’d fallen asleep, let down her guard, and found herself in a bed with him. Then to top it off, rather than telling him off for moving her, touching her, taking her in his arms as she slept, she’d stood like a git and drooled.

And he knew it. Damn it.

Safe? She must have taken some kind of crazy pill. Safe with this man? Wherever that feeling had come from, she needed to send it right back. Because the last word she would use for Marcus La Rocca was safe.

She yanked the borrowed nightgown off her and stomped into the shower, and punishing herself with cold water. Standing under the pounding spray, she lectured herself.

Keep your focus on winning.

Seduce this man with your charm.

Play your game. You know the game.

She stepped from the shower feeling more assured. Staring into the mirror again, she stuck out her chin and watched with satisfaction when the light of battle flickered in her eyes.

There she was
.
The girl she knew. The survivor. The fighter.

She’d lost the first few skirmishes between them. So what?

The war would still be won.

The Great Man was simply another person in a long line of people who had stepped into her life and thought, for whatever reason, she was a pushover. Maybe it was being short. Or skinny. Or maybe it was because she met everyone with a cheery grin. She was used to being underestimated. Hell, it often worked in her favor.

Being underestimated would work this time, too.

She slipped on a bulky bathrobe she found hanging behind the door. Much to her relief, it covered her from the top of her chin to the tips of her toes. The arms slid down to cover her hands.

She was ready to meet her adversary’s dimples and distractions.

The bathroom door swung open with a bang.

He was gone.

The sunshine drifted along his pillow and the cream sheets that had covered his body. The light seemed to make the bed glow and shimmer, as if it waited for the Roman god to once more grace it with his presence.

Darcy snorted at herself. What muck.

She was glad he wasn’t here. It left her in peace to dress and gird herself for their next skirmish.

For a moment, she thought about making a statement by dressing in her droopy old suit, but when she opened the wardrobe, the only items she found were the plush and pleasing pile of new clothes. The one item of clothing she owned had disappeared.

Her temper fired. How dare he sneak in here and take it away?

Still, she wasn’t willing to march downstairs in only this bathrobe, however much it covered. It would make her feel nervous, exposed, knowing she was naked underneath it. Knowing he knew she was naked under it.

What was a girl to do?

Do the practical thing. And what did it matter if she enjoyed the feel of the silver lace bra as she put it on? What did it matter if she ran her hand down the emerald green cashmere jumper before she slipped it over her head? He’d never know she turned and twisted in front of the mirror, admiring the way the grey linen slacks hugged her hips and butt making her feel like the classiest woman on earth.

Sucking in her breath, she stared at herself.

Charm, Darcy. Charm.

Play the game, lovey,
her mum chimed in
. Always play the game.

His gaze met hers as soon as she started down the stairs. Then it traveled over her body in lazy perusal, touching on the roundness of her breasts highlighted by the soft cashmere, making them tingle. It eased over her waist and hips, causing heat to rise under her borrowed clothes. It slipped to her legs and to the tips of her boots. She could swear even her pinky toes quivered under his inspection.

“It’s a good beginning.”

The quivering stopped short as her temper bubbled. Any thoughts of charm blasted out of her head. “I am not some doll you can dress.”

“I don’t wish to start the day as I ended the last.” Turning his back on her, he walked to a table laden with breakfast dishes. “Arguing with you.”

Her hands fisted at her sides at his dismissal of her words. “Too bloody bad. Where is my suit? I want it returned. It’s my best dress.”

“That thing?” He gave her an amazed look over his shoulder. “I’ve done you a favor and disposed of it.”

“You had no right.”

“If that is the best you have, it is a good thing I came into your life.”

“The worst day of my life was when you came into it.” No truer words could she have spoken and she hoped like hell they cut his hide.

To her irritation, amusement crossed his face. His eyes twinkled as he sat down and waved her to the other chair. “Let’s at least eat before you continue to harangue me.”

One hairy leg appeared as the duplicate of her bathrobe slid off his body. Her gaze unwillingly gravitated to the strong, flexing muscles, ending at his feet. The man had gorgeous feet. They were long, the arch graceful, the toes elegant.

Elegant toes?

Had she lost her mind?

His chuckle yanked her attention to his face. The silver eyes sparkled at her. The sunshine shone on his dark hair, turning the strands into a mix of gold and mahogany.

“You appear hungry for something besides food,” he teased.

“Not at all.” She met his gaze with a fierce glare.

“Then come.” He waved her toward the table. “Have something to eat and you’ll have the energy to snarl at me once more.”

Her tummy rumbled. It had been more than twenty-four hours since she’d eaten on the plane. And she’d been too tense with him by her side to do much more than nibble. The smell of bacon and coffee swirled around her.

A woman had to have sustenance if she was going to win with this man.

Eggs Benedict with hollandaise sauce to die for. Chunks of potatoes with dill and pepper. Freshly squeezed orange juice. She appreciated good food when she had it. Which wasn’t that often. But when she had a few extra coins, she enjoyed going to farmer's markets. She’d buy the best she could afford and then experiment in the kitchen until she created a new and exciting dish to try with friends.