Mistress By Blackmail: International Billionaires I: The Italians (4 page)

The Great Man stepped back.

A shudder of something she didn’t want to admit feeling rippled through her, but she was a realist. The blackmail had not doused the lust for him. “Bloody hell,” she muttered.

“
Vene
.” He barked the word over his shoulder again as he strode towards the elevators.

His arrogance doused the last remaining spark of lust in a flash. Okay, she knew the danger now. So she would tease from a distance. She would cajole from several feet away. She would make sure she never got close enough to be tempted.

And she would win. She would come out of this situation with the win.

“Darcy.” His voice now vibrated with irritation. He turned to glare at her from the elevator doors. The concierge gave her a look of astonishment. The apparent fact she was accompanying the Great Man had managed to crack his smooth facade.

Never let it be said that Darcy Moran wasn’t worthy of being anywhere she wanted to be. Thrusting up her chin, she swept towards them as if she were Queen of England.

La Rocca smirked.

The other man’s eyes widened.

She reached them just as the doors of the elevator hummed open and she stepped in. The men followed. She positioned herself on the other side of the concierge near the wall. Looking at the man, she gave him her best smile. He stiffened and then smiled in a stunned sort of way.

Typical.

It was always this way when she used her finest weapons. Let the Great Man put that in his hat and stew on it. She glanced over to see his reaction.

La Rocca met her gaze from the other side of the man, and drat him, chuckled.

Fine, let him continue to underestimate her. She swung her focus to the front and watched the lights flash as they climbed the floors.

He’d be sorry, very sorry when she won.

Within minutes, they were being ushered into a room filled with Louis XV furniture, Persian rugs, and antique paintings. Her frustration and irritation seeped away when she stepped into the beautiful room. As the two men talked, she circled the living room, slipping her hand across the plush upholstery, admiring the downy carpet with its splashes of vibrant red mixed with muted green and gold. She walked to the fireplace and scanned the oil painting of a Renaissance lady dressed in a vivid purple, her serene visage ruling all she surveyed. Pulling her gaze from what was clearly a masterpiece worth thousands, she noticed the staircase arching to another floor.

This was a hotel? Her mind boggled. The only kind of hotel she’d ever experienced was when her pop and mum got thrown out of their flat and they’d been forced to stay in a hotel room with only one bed. She’d slept on the floor that night, breathing in the smell of cigarette smoke.

“The bedroom is upstairs.”

The words jerked her attention from her surroundings and put it solidly on him. The concierge had left.

They were alone.

He lounged on the doorframe, looking impossibly handsome and polished. His suit showed not one tiny wrinkle. His hair swept back from his face in perfect formation. His eyes were clear and alert, even though they’d left London late in the night and it was now close to midnight here. She had slept on the plane, yet as far as she’d seen, he'd never stopped working.

She felt like a wet rag in front of a crisp linen handkerchief.

“You’re tired.”

“A little.” She stepped behind an antique velvet sofa feeling a need for some protection from his perfection.

“Why don’t you go upstairs and sleep.” He took a quick glance at his watch. “I have some work to do.”

“Work. Again.” She stared at him. “At this hour?”

“I can put work aside,
carita
, if you wish to indulge in my other pursuit.” His lazy grin teased her. “Pleasure.”

“No.”

“Much to my regret. However, I’m a patient man.” He waved to the stairs. “Go on. I’ll be here in the study.”

A sudden thought flashed in her brain. She’d been so caught in the whirlwind which was Marcus La Rocca she hadn’t thought, hadn’t remembered. She glared at him with resentment. “I don’t have any clothes.”

“I took care of it.” He turned and walked toward the study.

“What?”

Glancing over his shoulder, he pointed skyward. “Go and see.”

What overconfidence. The man went ahead and got her some clothes without consulting her? She marched to the elegant stairs, vowing to hate every article of clothing and throw them right in his face.

The upper floor was dominated by the bedroom and bath. Her focus went to the armoire. Throwing open the doors, she gasped. The closet was stuffed full of scarlet satin flounces and frothy cream creations. She couldn’t help herself, her artist hands slid over the gorgeous fabrics. There were dresses and suits, even a long gown in ruby red which fluttered through her hands. She opened the drawers and found cashmere jumpers in a riot of colors along with elegantly cut slacks in fine wool. Another drawer provided a lacy bounty of panties and bras.

A heated blush rose up her throat at the thought of him ordering these for her.

Then she lost her temper.

She stomped down the stairs and zeroed in on the computer light edging from the study.

“You can’t possibly be serious,” she snarled at the man whose back was to her.

He turned and gave her an annoyed glare. “I believe I have informed you of my seriousness in all things.”

Holding up a bra, she nailed him with a glare of her own. “I can pick my own underwear.”

“But it is not necessary. I have already done so.”

“Without my consent.”

He shrugged. “I didn’t think you would mind a whole new wardrobe.”

“I do mind.”

“Tough.” He stood and sauntered over to her. “No woman of mine is going to appear like a bag lady.”

No woman of mine
.

The words shot through her like an arrow, leaving a trail of unwanted enchantment behind.

Bag lady
.

That stung and infuriated her.

“I’m not your woman. I’ll dress any damn way I want to.”

“You agreed to be my woman for the next month.” His silver eyes flashed. “You’ll dress in a manner fitting to your new role.”

“I’m here with you only because you forced me—”

“I gave you a choice.” His accent became more pronounced. “You chose me.”

“I chose the lesser of two evils, but that doesn’t mean I have to bow down to all your commandments.”

“Actually, it does.” Leaning in, his every word brushed her skin. “It means exactly that. With one exception.”

At the mention of their bargain about sex, a blush stained her cheeks. Embarrassment fired her temper higher. “I’m not going to tart myself up for you.”

“Tart?” His satanic eyebrows rose. “I was quite clear about what I wanted in your wardrobe. I don’t believe Bergdorf Goodman does tart.”

Her mouth dropped at the mention of the high-class store. She was poor, still she’d read, dreamed, heard how the rich lived. She’d simply never thought of herself experiencing the lifestyle. She should be enjoying this. Why was her temper getting in the way of taking what was offered?

Because she had principles. She wasn’t like her mum.
She wasn’t.

“I finally have you speechless. How delightful.”

“You must have spent a fortune.”

“I had a feeling the silence wouldn’t last long.” His hand slapped onto the doorframe, effectively pinning her to the wall. “What I spent is no concern of yours. Go upstairs, put on one of the dozen nightgowns I bought you, and enjoy. Like any other woman would.”

“I don’t—”

“Remember your father, Darcy?” he whispered in her ear. “Remember your poor father who is even now getting treatment for his addiction?”

She sucked in a hot breath and met his threatening frown. “I hate you.”

Pushing himself off the doorframe, he paced to the desk and his ubiquitous computer. “It is a surprise when a woman is given a brand-new wardrobe and says she hates the man who gave the clothes to her. Nevertheless, I will survive the shock. And your stated feelings for me.”

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.