Mistress By Blackmail: International Billionaires I: The Italians Page 5

  She should say something. Something witty and sharp and nasty. Something that would make him lose his temper to the point he couldn’t put one cognitive thought together.

  Sitting, he stared at the screen and began to type. “Go to bed.”

  She cursed him under her breath. But what could she do? She couldn’t wear this same droopy dress for days on end. Plus, she couldn’t go to bed nude…

  Wait a minute.

  She ran to the stairs and up the steps to gape at the bed.

  The one bed.

  Turning around, she opened every door. The door to the bathroom, with its gold fixtures and swirling leaf pattern on the floor. The door to the outside terrace, with the cold wind whipping and the lights of Manhattan spread out before her.

  There was only one bedroom.

  She flew down the stairs and into the study.

  “Dio,” he said, his gaze never leaving the laptop’s screen. “What now?”

  “Where are you sleeping tonight?” she gasped.

  “In the bed upstairs.” Leaning back in his chair, he eyed her quivering figure.

  “No, you’re not.” Pure panic flared. She’d never slept with anyone before. Never since the horrible night when she’d forced the male away. And been forced to run away.

  He sighed. “I don’t enjoy all this drama.”

  “I’ll get another room.”

  “Do you know how expensive this place is? I doubt you have the funds.”

  “I’ll find another hotel.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” He swiveled, his focus again on his computer screen as if everything which could be said had been said. “We will sleep in the bed together like adults.”

  “I’m not having sex with you.”

  “I do not appreciate screaming women,” he observed with exasperation. “In fact, I don’t allow them in my presence if I can help it. Also, no one said anything about sex.”

  “I’m not getting into that bed with you.” A well of nausea slid in her throat.

  “Let’s get something clear.” The silver sword of the glare he gave her sliced into her words, her emotions. “For the next several weeks, you have agreed to be my willing mistress.”

  “In public only.”

  “No.” He cut her another icy look. “The only thing I agreed to was not making the first move as far as our sexual relationship goes.”

  “We have no sexual relationship and we never will.”

  “You can say whatever you like, but we both know what’s going to eventually happen between us.” He lifted his hand to silence her next words. “My goal is to make sure everyone knows you are my woman.”

  “For God’s sake—”

  “This means you will be on my arm in public, smiling at me, allowing me to touch you—”

  “I never agreed—”

  “There will be numerous parties we will attend. All of them will have paparazzi who will take pictures. Those photos will land in the tabloids.”

  Another bolt of horror shot through her. She didn’t want her name in the papers. This could draw attention. Unwanted attention. Sure, it was unlikely he’d be reading the New York tabloids. Still, she didn’t want to take the chance. “I didn't think of that.”

  “You can think about it now. I usually avoid tabloid coverage, yet in this case it is necessary.”

  “Why?”

  “My mother loves the tabloids. She will see the pictures of us and will most certainly share them with my brother.”

  This whole situation was insane. She’d played her hand wrong from the very start and now look where she was. Dealing with threats she couldn’t ward off. Quarreling with a man who tied her in knots. Facing a situation she couldn’t face. All because of a misunderstanding she’d first thought would help her. Instead of destroy her.

  She had to stop this now. She had to make this man understand. “You n-n-need to know Matt and I are not together.”

  “I do know this. I’m the one who made sure of it.”

  “N-no. You don’t understand.” She tried to keep her tone level, but her breathing kept hitching in her throat. The stuttering only made her agitation worse. “We’ve n-n-never been together. Ever.”

  He swung around to frown at her, a curl of disgust on his lips. “Don’t take me for a fool.”

  “It’s true.” Her voice wobbled as she forced the words out and she cursed at herself internally. It was imperative she made him believe her. “It’s n-never been like that with your brother and me.”

  A snort of disbelief came from the man sitting before her. “What happened to the grand passion you confessed to me only yesterday? The great love of your life which you tried to use to manipulate me into releasing Matteo from his obligations?”

  “Well.” She stumbled through her head for the correct words. “I d-d-do love Matt. Just not in that way.”

  “Right.” The word dripped with contempt, as he turned back to his all-consuming work. “It is of no consequence to me what your feelings are about my brother.”

  “You have to see this makes all the difference in the world.” Her hands flew in the air, panic making them flutter in a furious dance. “You can let me go home to London.”

  “Not a chance.” His words landed between them like stone pellets.

  “Matt won’t believe we’re together if he sees a dozen, a thousand photos of us.”

  Glancing over his shoulder, he gave her a grim smile. “Si, he will believe we are together. I’ll make sure of it.”

  “This is so unnecessary—”

  “You will also make sure to leave the impression to everyone we meet that we are lovers.”

  A shiver of tremulous fear mixed with excitement slipped through her. “I can’t—”

  “Listen.” He pinned her with another of his steely glares. “The bottom line is I don’t believe anything you say. I only believe in one thing.”

  “What’s that?” She stamped down on the pain his words caused her.

  “My plan,” he replied. “The plan you agreed to in order to get care for your father.”

  “I don’t think if M-matt sees us together—”

  “This is the purpose of our current relationship. I want to let Matteo know you are now with me.”

  She stared into his narrowed gaze and realized her protestations were hopeless. He was never going to believe she and Matt hadn’t been a couple. He was never going to let her out of the deal she’d agreed to.

  “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 hi
s 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.”

  Chapter 4

  She 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.

  * * *

  She 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 he
rself 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?