Mistress By Blackmail: International Billionaires I: The Italians (6 page)

“You eat well.” His gaze never left her as he wolfed down his own portion. “I like that in a woman.”

She cut into the last part of her Benedict. His arrogance stirred the temper she’d managed to squelch as she ate. “I don’t care what you like in a woman.”

His lazy grin was her only response.

Laying her utensils on her plate, she fired the next shot in their ongoing war. “What? Not working? Why it must be nearly eight o’clock in the morning.”

“I have a meeting in an hour and then several after that.” He leaned back in his chair. “Don’t worry,
carita
. I’ll make plenty of money on this trip to keep you in style.”

“Well, gosh.” Her tone was all sweetness and light. “That will mean you’ll be busy throughout the day, won’t it? Keeping me in style will cost you a pretty penny. Keeping me happy will cost you more than you can give.”

The dimples flashed. “I believe I am
up
to the task in both areas.”

Fighting her blush down at his double entendre, she plowed on. “I guess that means I have quite a bit of time by myself. I have several sights I’d like to see.”

A frown replaced the dimples. “I’m afraid your day is already planned and it does not involve walking around New York City alone.”

His phone buzzed. He flicked it on. A line of tension made his forehead furrow as he read the text. If only the man had a clue about what was important about life.

Still, she wasn’t here to enlighten him, even if he paid her any attention. Which was doubtful. No, she couldn’t allow herself to soften towards him and give him some much-needed advice. She had a war to win. “I can plan my own day.”

His words were distracted, his gaze centered on his phone. “You’ll be spending the day at the hotel salon. The clothes are good, yet only the first step.”

“The first step to what?”

Her tone must have alerted him. There were problems. His focus swung back to her and his gaze grew icy. “I thought we had resolved this last night. I don’t appreciate this attitude you exhibit with me.”

“I don’t want to spend my day being slathered with lotions and potions,” she spat at him. “I would much rather explore New York City.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you.” His tone told her the exact opposite. “I’m afraid you need further assistance before appearing as my woman this evening.”

Her pride rebelled, as memories echoed. “I look fine without a ton of makeup plastered on my face.”

A dark brow arched. “You have a very odd idea of what will be done to you. I have told them what I want and I believe you will be pleased.”

“I won’t be.”

“Is that so.” He cocked his head with an air of disdain and disbelief. “But that is not the point. The point is for me to be pleased and I have every assurance I will be.”

Before she could punch him in the nose, he stood. His presence, the potent power of his body, silenced her for exactly long enough for him to get a list of his commandments announced before she could respond to his last salvo. “I’ll return at seven. Wear the red gown. We’ll be attending a formal event.”

She finally found her tongue. “I don’t want—”

“Your wants are immaterial.” He prowled to the stairs, his mobile in hand, his attention already distracted again. “It is mine that are paramount.”

“You are the most arrogant—”

“Again, I must remind you.” He glared over his shoulder, his gaze stormy with irritation. “Your father, Darcy. Your father.”

He turned once more and ascended the last steps, disappearing into the bedroom. The man used his weapon against her well. Another win added to his column.

She could run up the stairs and fight with him some more. That would mean risking seeing him naked, though. Which would only exacerbate this unfamiliar lust she wrestled with.

There was the crux of the problem. Why he kept winning this battle of wills. She’d come down here and promptly fallen into that pesky swamp of lust by ogling his feet for God’s sake. She’d let herself get distracted and boom. Any thoughts of charming him disappeared when he did his usual arrogant routine. Rather than letting his arrogance roll off her, she’d let her agitated lust turn into pugnacious demands.

Which only irritated the man.

A new approach was what was needed to win the day. It was up to her to master this new and frightening response to this man. She merely needed to figure out how to quash the lust once and for all.

“He’s just a man,” she whispered to herself. “Like every other man on the planet.”

This was how she had to view him. Simply another guy. And apparently, she had the entire day to drill this into her skull. So, she’d sit and get slathered and plastered and use the time wisely.

Focus. Focus.

There would be no more swampy lust no matter how many dimples or feet he flashed. There would be no more attitude from her no matter how egotistical he was. As a substitute, she would deploy her own weapons.

Memories of her mum washed through her.

The long red nails. The blue sparkly eye makeup and bubblegum-pink lipstick. The high laughter, the inevitable glass of wine as she readied herself, the glazed eyes.

A little girl picked up a lot if she only watched and listened.

She usually shied away from it all. Used other skills. Yet some memories didn’t fade.

He wanted her glamorized like a pretty doll? She could do that in spades. He wanted her dressed in a fancy new gown, ready and waiting for her lord and master? She could do that. And much to his surprise, bring him to his knees before her.

Today, she would climb out of this swamp of lust.

Tonight she’d push him into it. He would be the one distracted and disturbed.

She’d win this battle and then the war with the Great Man using the ploys she’d learned so well from her mum. Ploys that had driven Lucy Moran to her death would be used well by her daughter. Darcy Moran would be a winner, not a loser.

Thanks, Mum. Really. Thanks.

M
arcus slipped
his phone into the pocket of his suit coat and eased back on the limo seat. Darkness had descended on the city, but the lights of Times Square blazed as if it were day.

The day that had seemed as long as a month.

Raking his hands through his hair, he cursed under his breath.

He’d wondered. All day.

Dannazione
. Worried.

The sprite had appeared horrified at the thought of spending an entire day being pampered. What kind of woman was she? Any other woman of his acquaintance would have purred a thank you.
Dio,
maybe even given him a kiss.

Not Ms. Darcy Moran.

No, just as with her brand new wardrobe, she’d thrown it right back into his face. He’d had to put his foot down so many times in the last twenty-four hours, she should be nothing more than a squashed bug.

A chuckle escaped him.

He was always good at sizing up the competition. Or in this case, the enemy. So he figured he shouldn’t hold his breath about finding a submissive doormat waiting for him at the Plaza.

Instead, he’d likely be dealing with a hellcat ready to fight.

She’d been gone by the time he’d showered and dressed this morning. Yet the sizzle of her anger hung in the air over their breakfast dishes. He’d called to make sure she’d obeyed instructions. Once he’d made sure she was where he wanted her to be, he’d put her out of his mind.

Or tried to.

It was merely to ensure she was following orders that he’d made the calls to the salon through the course of the day. He was only checking to make sure she hadn’t taken flight. This was the only reason he’d quizzed his security team regarding her whereabouts a few times.

Okay, several times.

What mattered was she’d stayed put and did what he told her.

But he could predict what would happen when he got to his suite. The little sprite would stomp and screech. She had her pride so she would make her point by hurting his ears and irritating him. He’d end up putting his foot down once more. Perhaps he would even have to stuff her into a gown and shoes before carrying her through the door.

His body burned in excitement as images of his opponent in lacy panties and bra slid through his brain. Fighting him as he slipped a dress over her head. Tiny fists waving in his face. Eyes blazing defiance. Plump pink lips pouting, while that damn pointed chin of hers jutted out in bold rebellion.

He tugged at his tie, loosening the stranglehold around his neck.

Why was the thought of another row with her making him excited?

His phone buzzed against his chest. Sliding it open, he scanned the message. Good. The deal was done. The one he’d negotiated during the day with half his brain tied around all things Darcy.

Satisfaction coursed through him. As well as annoyance.

No woman distracted him from business. Not since he’d been twenty-one. He’d learned a hard lesson then, one he’d mastered well. No woman was worth taking his attention from what was truly important. Making the next deal. Amassing more power. Ensuring there would always be plenty of money.

Yet Darcy had.

He tapped the phone on his knee. It would not do and this would not happen again. He would make sure of it. All he had to do was remind himself of the fool he’d been with Juliana.

Si
. Juliana.

The ugly memory washed through him and settled like a hard mass in the center of his chest. It felt right in some way, familiar. It was good he remembered. Remembered everything and how it had changed him for the better.

He was now no longer trusting. Instead, he was thorough. A man who didn’t assume something was done to his satisfaction until he’d checked on it himself. A man who didn’t take someone, man or woman, at their word. He listened to what someone promised or proposed and then tied them to it using his power and money. It was one of many reasons why he was so successful. He never left anything to chance or luck. He was always prepared for whatever an adversary tried to use to oppose him. He’d seen and experienced every trick in the book and knew how to overcome each one.

The nymph clearly knew quite a few tricks.

The peeks from beneath her long lashes. The husk in her voice. The drama of last night’s screeching demands to get his attention one way. The curling into his arms in bed to gain his attention in another. The pretend horror when he’d called her on the sunshine pose.

The woman was trying to play him.

He chuckled.

He had to give her some credit. She was good. Not good enough to win against him, but hell, he was a hardened warrior in the game-playing arena.

Now that he thought about it, the fact she’d gone to the salon and stayed was no surprise. Without a doubt, she’d had no real intention of denying herself the luxury. Why should she? She’d hit the jackpot. No, the entire confrontation this morning had been a sham. A way to jerk his chain and keep his attention. She was playing a game, saying one thing, wanting another. For all her flat denials, she’d slipped on the clothes he’d given her. For all her pretend shock, she’d slept by his side, snuggling into him. For all her fake outrage, she’d spent the day right where she wanted to be.

Si,
the woman was playing her game.

He answered a few texts and emails. Called his manager in London and then placed another call to his Rome office. He finally snapped the phone off. Glancing out the window, he caught a glimpse of a billboard, high above the street. A model pouted and posed in a slinky pink nightgown.

The memory of her, this morning, filled his mind.

The sunshine had shot right through the filmy cloth gracing her body. The firm roundness of her bottom, the surprising length of her legs, the slender back and dainty shoulders. Then she’d turned to face him, her arms trying to pretend to hide her delights from his perusal. He’d seen enough, though. The lush thrust of her delectable breasts, the tiny waist, the petite hips.

Sei bella
.

His erection pressed along the zipper of his pants, pulsing and pounding. Exactly as his blood did.

Si
, so beautiful.

With grim determination, he stared at his phone. He would not allow her this control over his thoughts. The strength of his response to her mere memory was not acceptable. He clamped down on both the irritation and his libido.

The only problem with the woman who waited for him at the Plaza was he needed to bed her. This was the only small hold she had on him, the only fascination he carried for her. That was all. This was easily taken care of. She would capitulate soon. He’d seen it in her eyes this morning. She wanted him. It would have been so easy to sweep her off her feet, into the bed. However, he had his pride.

He could wait.

Wait for her first touch. Prove his point and win once more.

The limo eased to a stop at the hotel stairs.

As he strode through the lobby and into the elevator, he prepared himself. Set his shoulders straight, slipped his tie into place, buttoned his suit coat. Arranged his expression into one of forbidding resolve.

He opened the door expecting an immediate battle cry.

No one met his entrance with words or missiles. He shut the door behind him with a thump. Glancing around, waiting for an attack, he found himself standing in the middle of the living room.

She was upstairs. He could hear her humming.

Humming
?

Pacing to the crystal decanter of brandy he’d ordered last night, he poured himself a shot. He swirled the liquor in the glass, watching as it sloshed against the side.

She was happy? She wasn’t meeting him at the door with an ax?

The husky, low voice above continued to hum. The sound slid across his skin and soaked into his soul. He threw his head back and swallowed the shot in one gulp.

This was only another version of her game. He could play along.

“You’re here.” She was using the husk in her voice again for good effect.

Turning, he looked to the stairs.

Despite his determined conclusions he’d made in the limo, his breath caught in his throat. His blood turned to heated oil. His cock hardened into a hot thrust of lust.

The ruby-red dress wrapped around her body like a caress, highlighting her pocket Venus figure to perfection. A tight sash emphasized her tiny waist, the round curve of her hips. Her breasts were pushed high, displaying a surprisingly impressive cleavage to his ravenous inspection.

“You fancy?” Her eyes danced as she spread her arms wide, showing herself off.

The makeup had been expertly applied. He’d known it would be well done. What he hadn’t realized, hadn’t been prepared for, was how it deepened her eyes into mysterious pools of deep-night blue. How the bright-red color on her lips highlighted the plump appeal.

She smiled.

It hit him. A womanly weapon that nearly brought him to his knees. The smile lit her face with vivacity, filled her eyes with excitement.

A giggle escaped her. “I think you like it.”

A cold wash of alarm jerked him from her power. He turned his back on her, poured another shot of brandy and drank it down. “You’ll do.”

A tense silence fell between them.

“That's good,” she finally said, her tone cool. “I would hate to think the money you’ve spent would leave you disappointed.”

He heard the click of her heels as she descended. He continued to stare at his empty glass.

“Are you changing before we go?” There wasn’t any inflection in her voice to tell him what she was thinking and feeling.

“
Si
.” Without looking her way, he paced to the stairs.

“I hope you’ll take some care with your clothes.”

He stopped at her words.

“I wouldn’t want to be disappointed either.”

Allowing himself to glance at her, he ignored the desire lacing through his body. “
Carita
, since I have never given you any expectations, how could you possibly be disappointed?”

The blast of her fuming scowl heated his neck as he ascended the steps. The resumption of their battle felt good, felt safe. What did it matter if he also felt irritated once again?

And also deprived.

W
ho was that woman
?

Darcy peered around one of several tuxedoed men surrounding her. The men she’d charmed and corralled as soon as she’d arrived at the charity ball.

To be left to her own devices.

For all the talk about being seen together, Marcus La Rocca had promptly dropped her like a stone when they’d entered the lavish ballroom. He’d disappeared into the large crowd, leaving her standing alone. A million miles away from anyone she knew. A thousand miles away from anything familiar. In the middle of a seething mass of elegantly dressed, rich people. The type of people she knew nothing about.

Driving to the ball, she’d worried and fretted over the paparazzi they were sure to encounter entering. Profound relief had swept through her when the limo had dropped them off in the underground parking lot.

But the relief had disappeared along with La Rocca. A different kind of fear had attacked, trickling down the back of her throat, making it hard to breathe. How could she cope in this strange environment, with these polished, fashionable people?

Then, like always, the fighter in her appeared to save the day.

Grabbing a glass of champagne, she’d stuck out her chin and jumped right into the crowd. Within minutes, she’d flirted and charmed and laughed and teased with everyone surrounding her. She’d become the life of the party. It was inevitable. Did her blackmailer think she’d turn into some kind of wallflower, pitifully waiting for him to come to her side? He was in for a shock if that was the case.

She watched as the woman slid a hand down his arm. The Great Man looked at the hand and then straight into the woman’s eyes.

Something clutched at Darcy’s gut. Jerking her attention away from the interplay, she focused on the men before her. Who all smiled back when she smiled and flirted with her when she flirted. Who appreciated how beautiful she was. Much to her satisfaction, they were all charmed and with infinite ease she’d wrapped them right around her pinky finger within minutes.

Unlike La Rocca.

You’ll do.

The words stung and burned, even hours later.

Darn it. The words hurt.

Which made her mad at herself. Why the bloody hell should she care what he thought of her? Clearly, her new façade was a brilliant hit with every other man she’d encountered at this charity ball. The makeup, the haircut, the lotions and potions had done their job. She’d rather enjoyed it if she had to confess. Surprise, surprise. The gown—the beautiful dress she’d fallen in love with as soon as she’d slipped it on—well, it was also perfect by the amount of attention she was receiving. She fit right into this crowd of the rich and famous. Like a duck to water.

Who cared if one man didn’t think much of her?

She couldn’t help herself. She glanced across the room once more. The woman kept pawing him. He was letting her. Darcy eyed the woman, noting the lush figure, the long, blonde hair, the height. A high-fashion model, maybe. Or a past lover? Or perhaps both.

Something ugly twisted inside her.

She scanned his face. No dimples. No grins. He looked the same as when he was stressed about some business email or text. Still, she would lay odds on the fact this wasn’t a business deal being negotiated between the couple.

But there was something important happening. Of that she was sure.

Darcy Moran knew her body language. It had been a matter of survival when she’d been a kid. One peek at her mum’s face and she’d known when to hide. One peek at her pop’s and she’d known when to run. Being an artist had only sharpened those skills. There was something going on over there. Something odd. It was almost as though she could feel the tension in his body.

Glancing back at her gaggle of men, she threw them a tease and laugh, got them chuckling, and then swung her focus back at the couple across the room.

She knew. Knew the tension streaming through him. It had only been forty-eight hours since they met and yet she sensed the taut tension radiating from his body. The woman touched him again, and he finally smiled. But it wasn’t the smile she’d seen this morning when he’d been in bed showing off his gloriousness. She’d swear his eyes weren’t sparkling.