Mistress By Blackmail: International Billionaires I: The Italians

by Caro LaFever

  Blake walked to the window and looked down. “There is a chance she’ll refuse.”

  “Not likely. But if she’s stubborn enough to say no, I’ll use the other key bit of information you found out about her.”

  The man stilled. “Her father.”

  “Si.”

  “You are one ruthless bastard.” Blake said the words as he shook his head, yet the undertone of respect told Marcus what he needed to know. The head of his security thought his plan was solid.

  “Do I detect judgment in your tone?”

  His friend waved the question away. They’d gone through too many tense situations not to know what the other really thought.

  He leaned back in his chair and contemplated what he had to do in the next few weeks. His voice hardened with resolve. “I do what I have to do to protect my family and my business.”

  “There is a chance she’s actually in love with him.”

  His sardonic chuckle filled the office. “Please.”

  Blake surveyed him with amusement. “At some point this cynicism of yours is going to trip you up.”

  “I doubt it.”

  The intercom crackled. “Mr. La Rocca?”

  “Yes, Angie.”

  “There’s a woman here to see you.” His PA’s voice held annoyance. “She’s not on your schedule, sir. Yet she’s very insistent.”

  Marcus threw a mocking grin at the other man. “I love insistent women.”

  “Sir?” Angie’s voice blurred into confusion.

  “Show her in.”

  “Yes, sir.” The intercom went dead.

  “Want me to stay?” Blake gave him an ironic smile.

  “I don’t believe I need your supervision to seduce a woman.”

  The head of his security snorted. “Then I’m out of here. I wish you luck.”

  “I don’t need luck. I merely need to follow through with my plan.”

  Shaking his head again, the blond man slid through the private side door leading into the conference room. At the same time, the main office door opened with a crash.

  To his PA looking irritated and flustered. Which was unusual.

  And behind her stood…

  A fairy sprite.

  A dainty nymph.

  A sublime elfin creature.

  She would barely reach his shoulder. Even in high heels. Certainly not in the clunky, plodding shoes she had on. The dress she wore did nothing for her—brown, ugly. Yet, it could not hide the body beneath. All lithe and elegant. Fine boned, but still with a delicious womanly curve to the hip and bust. The photos his mother had brought him had not done her justice. Had not shown the reality of her true beauty.

  Every inch of his skin tightened and a particular part of his anatomy hardened. A flashing thought crossed his mind. He was glad he was sitting.

  “Sir.” Angie regained some of her moxie and stepped forward. “This is—”

  “Darcy Moran.” The delicate nymph stomped into his office, her dark, feathered brows held in a frown. “I have something to say to you.”

  Struggling to regain his control, Marcus eyed his prey. “I can see that.”

  “Mr. La Rocca—”

  “You may go, Angie.” His gaze never left the tiny woman who’d stopped stomping and now stood inside the room in rigid anger.

  The door shut with a soft thump.

  Her face was a lovely oval, her chin slightly pointed. Her black hair was cut short and curled around her petite ears. Her mouth was pure perfection. Plump, pink, and lush. Her eyes flashed with fire. He couldn’t quite pick out the color across the length of the room, but they were light. Filled with the light of battle at the moment.

  Remarkable. The air between them sizzled. He would not have been surprised if electric shocks sprang from both of their bodies.

  Dio. He could almost forgive Matteo for moving this piece of art into his flat.

  The woman crossed her arms in front of her. “You have a lot to answer for.”

  “I usually do.” His tongue felt thick. His mouth dry.

  “You can’t force Matt to marry this Viola woman.”

  “Mmm.” He clamped down on his libido and focused on the task at hand. The task at hand that had become remarkably more desirable in the last few minutes. This was no longer a chore; it would be a pleasure to take this woman to bed. In fact, having sex with her was now his primary aim. How lucky for him this coincided with his ultimate goal of detaching her from his brother.

  “That’s all you have to say for yourself?”

  “Matteo has been whining? In his usual way?”

  “He isn’t whining. He’s upset.” Her graceful hands lifted and sliced the air with curt, angry movements. “He’s in despair. Because of you.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it.” He watched, fascinated as her whole body vibrated with energy.

  “No, you’re not. Or you’d do something about the situation.” She began to pace. “Whatever I have to do, I’ll stop you from doing this to him.”

  The passion in her voice when she talked about his brother sliced fury right through his lust. The sudden picture of Matteo and this nymph in bed together pulsed through his brain, sending him into a full-throttled rage. Which astonished him. He rarely lost his formidable temper. But it was definitely temper knotting in his throat. He couldn’t help the biting words spitting from his mouth. “You are close to Matt.”

  Her eyes widened at the tone of his voice. “Definitely.”

  “My brother is a lucky man.”

  Something, a spark of shrewdness or cunning, flashed across her face. “Yes,” she said slowly. “He is lucky to have me.”

  “So you have come to plead for your love.”

  Her body stilled. A pause of breathless silence passed between them. Then she finally nodded. “That’s right. That’s exactly right.”

  The knot in his throat grew, still he couldn’t help tightening it further. “You love Matteo.”

  “Yes.” She walked to the edge of his desk, staring at him across the shiny surface. “And for the sake of this love, I’m asking you to call off the marriage.”

  Her eyes were blue. The deep, vibrant blue of a Tuscany night sky. They were filled with emotion. Love. Something he long ago stopped believing in.

  “No.” He stared right into her eyes. “Never.”

  “Please,” she whispered. “This would make me very happy.”

  “I will make you happy.” He stood with an abrupt jerk. “But in an entirely different way.”

  Chapter 2

  The Great Man was…well…great.

  Darcy took in a deep breath and tried to suppress every quivering cell in her body. Every female cell. Yet this was impossibly hard to do. The man before her was the epitome of male perfection. She’d expected an older version of Matt. Rather lanky, rather messy, and definitely non-threatening in the sexual department. Instead, she confronted every woman’s dream.

  Well, certainly hers.

  A revelation in and of itself. She had blissfully assumed she was immune to desiring or dreaming. Never, in her entire life, had she gone gaga over a guy. Not once in her entire existence had she thought she’d die if a man didn’t want her. When other women went on and on about some bloke, she wondered what the big deal was about any of the male species.

  Clearly her mum had left her another important gift.

  The gift of not losing her head over a guy.

  She’d kissed guys, naturally she had. She’d had sex. She’d figured she should find out what all the fuss was about. Prove she wasn’t scared, she wasn’t scarred. So she’d done it. Once. She’d been proud of herself. Proud she’d muddled through the incident without gagging or losing her control. The experience had been rather untidy, but not anything she couldn’t handle. And she’d been ultra-proud of herself for not suddenly thinking she’d fallen in love with the man.

  But standing before her right now stood the contradiction to her smug conclusions about her immunity to lusting after a ma
n.

  Her entire body hummed. Sparked. Buzzed. Tingled.

  He was tall, several inches over six feet.

  Who would have known she yearned for tall?

  He was broad. His shoulders pressed against the grey Italian-silk suit, filling it with muscles galore. The man must work out every day. Or maybe he got his exercise by pummeling his competitors and cracking the whip on his subordinates.

  Why did all of those hard-earned muscles turn her on?

  His dark-brown hair was clipped short, yet a hint of a curl made it wave around his classically handsome face and ears.

  She had this horrible compulsion to reach out and wrap one of those curls around her finger. Reach up and nibble on one of those perfect male ears.

  Then there was his face. Proud jut of a prominent nose. Strong edge of a jaw ending in a square, determined chin. Cheekbones carved by a master. Wide forehead and dark slashes of eyebrows that lifted at the end, giving him a faintly satirical look, even when he frowned.

  As he was doing now.

  Even the ominous frown could not deflect her fascination with him. She tried to pull her attention back to what she’d come for, but it was no use. His features wove into complete and utter male flawlessness.

  She was dazzled.

  Hopefully, she wasn’t drooling.

  All purposes and plots were wiped from her head by the hazy, heated glow welling inside her. A glow of sexual lust she’d only read about in books or seen on TV. A glow she’d never thought to feel. A glow which threatened everything she’d decided about herself.

  No. No. Not true.

  No one ever beat her. This man wouldn’t either.

  Forcing herself, she turned her focus away from his bountiful physical gifts. Forced herself to meet his eyes with a determined glare of her own. When she met his gaze, though, shock zipped through her body and along her spine, blasting her rising determination to bits. She’d expected another version of Matt’s soulful, brown, puppy eyes.

  Instead, she confronted two silver-grey flashes. Like swords of old.

  The eyes were glaring at her.

  “M-m-make me happy?” Instant shame twisted inside. She never stuttered anymore.

  The shame only fed the astonishing lust. Against her will, she still ogled the Roman god before her, trying to make sense of his words amongst all the rest of her rioting reactions. Marcus La Rocca stated he wanted to make her happy and yet he frowned at her as if she’d committed a cardinal sin? Confusion mingled with her shocking lust and embarrassment.

  A man can be deadly. Her mother’s years-old warning whispered along her nerve endings.

  All at once, the man shielded the stunning eyes with his thick lashes. When he glanced back at her, all the anger had disappeared. In its stead was steel determination. “Correct. The past is the past and we must move beyond it. I must remember what is important in this situation.”

  “Making me happy is im-m-mportant?” Stuttering again. This had to stop. Darcy fumbled for her brain without success. The Great Man had scrambled her mind into a frenzied froth of desire and disorientation. Not a good combination given she was here to take a strong, principled stand against him.

  “Certamente. This will be my primary purpose for the foreseeable future.” His mouth firmed as if he were making some grand commitment.

  “But,” she blurted, “I don’t understand. Why would you care if I’m happy?”

  “Matteo will no longer have time to cater to your needs.”

  “My needs?” An unwanted thrill shivered across her skin.

  “He will be too busy with the wedding preparations.”

  His confident words about the wedding-that-wasn’t-going-to-happen immediately drained the sexual swamp and wiped away the old shame about her stuttering. Ice-cold reality slapped her awake.

  No more lust.

  No more stuttering.

  No more distractions.

  Focus, Darcy, Focus.

  She needed to remember why she’d come here and not get caught in this male’s erotic allure. She needed to stop acting like a scared, cowed kid. She needed to remember she was here to bend this man to her will.

  Why spend innumerable moments trying to understand what this man meant by talking about making her happy? This had nothing to do with her happiness and everything to do with Matt’s. That’s what she needed to keep her focus on.

  Leaning across the desk, she tried to ignore the buzz in her blood as she got closer to him. “There isn’t going to be any wedding. I’m here to make you stop it.”

  “Make me?” His tone iced with immediate disdain. “You?”

  His blunt dismissal of her capabilities fired her blood in an entirely different way than lusting after him had. A swift surge of relief swept through her as her fighting spirit reappeared. Slamming her fists on her hips, she pierced him with another worthy glare. “I’ll do anything for Matt.”

  “The best thing you could do for Matteo is leave him alone.”

  “Never!”

  “Then it will be I who makes you do it.”

  This wasn’t going exactly how she’d expected. When she’d marched into this office, her hackles were already crackling at the scorn she’d received from this man’s PA. She’d lost any ability to play it sweet because she was so consumed with indignation.

  Wheedling would have been better or pleading. Especially with this man.

  The abrupt fury continued to grow, though, fed by her shock at the physical reaction he caused in her and the arrogant words he kept uttering.

  The heat of battle flushed her skin. “Try. You’ll regret it.”

  He leaned over his desk and she involuntarily stepped back. The mocking twist of his mouth should have stoked her anger. Instead, it made her heart flutter. When he planted his hands on the desk, his wide shoulders bunched beneath the silk and her heart went from fluttering to pounding. “Do not issue challenges, Ms. Moran. Not to me.”

  The glare he gave her was fierce. Rather frightening, if she were a frightening type of girl. Which she was not. “It wasn’t a challenge. It was a warning.”

  The air grew still, yet hummed with energy. She held her breath, waiting for the next clash of swords, the next swift strike she’d be ready to parry.

  Abruptly, he turned away to stare out the floor-to-ceiling windows behind the desk. She felt as if an invisible string between them had broken. Her breath chopped through her in a mini-gasp.

  “Santo cielo,” he growled, as his hand ran through his hair.

  Her gaze slipped along the long line of his back and down his powerful legs. Her mind flipped away from the righteous fight she waged for her friend and landed again in the swamp of sexual heat pulsing deep within her. The heat inside burned and blistered her determination to win. She sucked in cool air, praying it would bring back her pride.

  “This is counterproductive.” His words were low, husky. “It does us no good to fight.”

  “I agree.” An olive branch. She grabbed the peace offering eagerly. She didn’t want to fight with this man at all. She wanted to do something entirely opposite. The realization shot a lance of fearful anticipation down her spine.

  Turning back to her, he gave her a wry grin. And two dimples popped on the sides of his mouth. Two disarming, distracting dimples. The sex swamp threatened to swallow her whole. The impact this man had on her. It was enough to make an un-frightened girl terribly frightened.

  “We will begin again,” he stated.

  “Um.” Her mouth went dry. “Sure.”

  Slipping his hands in his pockets, he rocked back on his heels. “We will agree not to speak of my brother anymore.”

  Uh-oh. So much for olive branches. “I can’t agree to that.”

  “You must.” Storm clouds immediately threatened in his eyes. “Matteo is now irrelevant.”

  “Matt is the reason I’m here. He certainly isn’t irrelevant.”

  “You will have nothing more to do with him.” His tone turned deadly wi
th—jealousy? Nah, not that. Maybe the Great Man didn’t think she was worthy of being with his brother? That seemed more likely.

  Her hackles vibrated once more. But her brain had finally kicked into gear.

  Okay, time to change course. She’d picked up on the fact he thought her and Matt were an item. She figured this would be a card to play. Except now the tactic was backfiring on her. It was earning her hostility from this man rather than cooperation.

  Sugar rather than vinegar, lovey. Her mother’s words echoed in her memories. Men always respond better to sugar.

  First, she’d set him straight on the nature of her relationship with his brother. Then she’d start to apply the sugar. In large quantities. “Listen. About me and Matt—”

  “We will not speak of him anymore.”

  He issued commands like a seasoned potentate. Yet she hadn’t grown up rough without realizing how to stand her ground with the best of them. “I came here to specifically speak of Matt. I’m afraid you’re out of luck.”

  “I do not operate with luck.” His dark brows furrowed in distaste. “I make a plan and proceed to carry it out.”

  “Well, bloody good for you,” she muttered. “Listen, you need to know Matt and I—”

  “You will soon find that all my plans are successful. As my plan for you will be.”

  Her hackles burned under her skin. All thoughts of sweetness and light snapped out of her in a crackle of outrage.

  The man might ooze sex and testosterone which called to the very core of her female body, yet he was insufferably, utterly too arrogant for belief. They’d just met. He knew nothing about her. Still, he instantly made a plan which involved her and assumed she’d merrily dance to his tune? He needed to be cut off at the knees by somebody.

  Who better than Ms. Darcy Moran? Fighter extraordinaire?

  “How lucky for you.” She gave him her best, absolute best, fake smile. “I’m breathless with anticipation to find out what your plan is for little old me.”

  She watched with satisfaction as his entire body tensed. Yes, yes. She was good at knocking people down a notch when it was needed. Sugar might be her best weapon, but it wasn’t her only one.