Mistress By Blackmail: International Billionaires I: The Italians

by Caro LaFever

  His mouth tightened in a grim line. No dimples in sight. “I don’t appreciate your sarcasm.”

  “Sorry.” She pouted, taking wicked delight at his frustration. “Can’t help myself.”

  With three swift steps, he rounded his desk and stood right before her. She braced, forcing herself not to step back. The move would be a signal of weakness in this battle of wills. And she wasn’t willing to give in. Not for Matt. Not for herself

  “You play with fire, Ms. Moran,” he muttered the words, a threat intwining through them.

  He stood so close. Too close. An overwhelming desire to touch swept through her. To spread her hands across those broad shoulders. To lean into his strength. To breathe in the scent of his skin. She struggled to remember his arrogance and ignore her lust. “I’m not playing at all, Mr. La Rocca. There is nothing playful about you forcing your brother to marry.”

  His low snarl made her jerk her head up from her contemplation of his broad chest. Her gaze met his. Stormy grey eyes threatened certain disaster. “Matteo is no concern of yours any longer. You will never see him again.”

  Darcy’s mouth dropped open. Not have Matt as a friend anymore? Not have his warm encouragement, his endless support, his unswerving belief in her talent, in her? Her mouth slammed shut. “No way.” She gritted her teeth. “I’m n-n-not going to lose him.”

  Silver fire flashed down on her like cracks of lightning. “From now on you will be too busy with me to have any time for my brother.”

  “With you? What are you talking about?”

  He pointed a long finger at her, then back at himself. “You. Me.”

  She stared at him blankly.

  “Us. Together.”

  Darcy was positive her eyes popped out of her sockets. “Are you crazy?”

  His gaze narrowed. “No.”

  “There is no us. You. M-m-me. Together.” Shame at her inability to control her tongue made the words rushed and touched with the beginning of hysteria. “There’s no way—”

  “I have decided,” he cut her off. “You are with me now. Not Matteo.”

  “What planet are you from?” Her heart rate soared. With outrage. Definitely outrage. “You can’t command people.”

  He gave her a solemn look through his thick lashes. “Actually, I can. I do.”

  “Not me.”

  A whiff of his cologne wrapped around her, a spicy mix of pure temptation overlaying the smell of the man himself. Innately virile, potent. His scent mocked her statement, mocked her resolution to win the battle with this man.

  The corner of his mouth lifted as if he could sense the struggle inside her. “There are different ways to command a person, Darcy.”

  Her name on his lips was soft, lilting, enchanting. The tone tugged and mocked, exactly as his scent had.

  Fight. Straightening her spine, she stared him down. “I didn’t give you permission to use my first name.”

  “Then what should I call you?” he murmured. “Mia regina di fata?”

  “What?” Unwillingly, she was mesmerized by the way the words slipped off his tongue.

  “Or perhaps il mio piccolo uno.”

  The movement of his mouth captivated her, the lips wrapping around each word, the roll of the accent, the slight slur as if he were under a spell also. “It’s rude to talk in Italian when I can’t understand what you’re saying,” she objected, trying to pull out of the web he was weaving.

  “My apologies.” He gave her a slight bow. “I will translate.”

  “Don’t bother if you’re calling me something nasty.”

  “They are compliments, I assure you.”

  Darcy wasn’t sure compliments from this man would be better than slurs. His impact on her body and brain was beginning to scare her. It was a bit too much. He was a bit too much. She inched away, putting some distance between them. “It doesn’t matter what you think of me or call me—”

  “Not true.” He took one step and came as close as before.

  “I came here for a specific reason and I refuse to be distracted.”

  “I am distracting you?” The slow, devastating smile came once more. Along with the disturbing dimples. His teeth were amazingly white and even. “I must admit this delights me. It will be fun to distract each other, si?”

  Dragging her attention from the smile, she tried to concentrate on her mission. “I’m here for Matt.”

  “No. You are here for me.” He trailed one long finger across her cheek. “You are delicate as a flower petal.”

  The electricity of his touch sent a frisson of raw power through her entire body. He took her breath away. He took her words away. He took her ability to move away.

  “I believe I promised I would translate. My fairy queen.” His voice twisted around her, inside her. Warm and melting as butter. He caressed the words with his faint Italian drawl. “Or my little one. Which do you prefer?”

  “Yours?” Her heart thumped into a gallop at the thought of being his. But her brain jerked to life at a faster clip.

  You’re mine.

  One male had claimed she was his a long time ago and she’d barely escaped. The man before her might be potent stuff, but her teenage memories superseded even the Great Man. She stepped back, away from him. “I’m not yours. I never will be.”

  The silver gaze never left her face. “I’m afraid I must disagree.”

  “And I disagree totally with what you’re doing to your brother, Mr. La Rocca.” He’d been able to derail her like no other man ever had. She wasn’t going to be distracted anymore, though. Not by his words nor his potent appeal. “I’m here to point—”

  “Why you came here initially is immaterial.” He continued to smile his impossible smile. “What is important is how we handle things going forward.”

  “There is nothing immaterial about forcing Matt—”

  “What you must see is I am much more capable of making you happy than Matteo.”

  “I don’t need you to make me happy. I’m perfectly happy right now.”

  “You will be happier with me.” His big body loomed over hers, encircling her in his presence. “I promise you, I have much more to offer than my brother.”

  “You have nothing to offer that I want.”

  Really? her body questioned.

  “Really?” He leaned down, his face mere inches from hers. His breath whispered across her mouth, mint and man. “I think I have many things you want. I will take pleasure in giving you every single one.”

  She stared over his shoulder and tried to think. Tried to pull her brain back to normal. But once again, her mind filled with a cloudy haze of pure desire. The man was seduction personified. She couldn’t quite believe he was serious, yet it didn’t seem to matter to her blurring brain or her burning body. “You can’t be serious about all this.”

  His finger smoothed across her jaw and pushed her chin so her eyes met his. His shone, glowed a hot pewter. Somehow, he’d moved closer. “I am always serious. You will come to know this.”

  “You…you…”

  “I have decided on what I will call you. Carita suits you the best.” Both of his hands lifted, slipping across her cheeks and through her hair. Melting her where she stood. Sending tingles of sensation across her skin, into her soul. “Little darling.”

  The words became muffled as his mouth moved softly, slowly over hers.

  * * *

  She smelled like sunshine.

  She tasted like a tart cherry.

  She felt like warm silk.

  All of it mixed with sweetness and spice. And nothing very nice.

  Grazie a Dio.

  He liked her spunk, liked her feisty spirit. Her fiery temperament would add zest to their bedroom adventures. He relished the thought of taming her. His body hardened as he pulled her toward him. Dio, he was really looking forward to it.

  Slipping his tongue across her mouth, he tasted her, sipped her. “Open your mouth, carita,” he whispered on her lips. “Let me in.”r />
  Her lashes lifted. Her night-blue eyes met his, glazed with the passion he’d created inside her. The sight filled him with a fierce delight. This next month would be no chore at all and she would derive as much pleasure during this time as he. He would drive every memory of his brother out of her head and her body. The thought of her with Matteo burned in him. He relished the thought of claiming his prize and vowed she would never think of any other man except for him for at least this next month.

  “Open for me,” he commanded, his words harsher than he’d meant them to be. But he suddenly had a driving need for her to acknowledge his claim on her.

  Her eyes cleared and sharpened. Two small hands slapped his chest. “Let me go.”

  Startled at her sudden change, he stared at her piquant face. His hands tightened on her waist. “You were with me all the way.”

  “You grabbed me.” She pushed him, and the feel of her hands on his chest drove his blood into a frenzy.

  “You kissed me.” His temper, his well-controlled temper, roared to life once more.

  “No.” Blue lasers of rejection met his gaze. “You kissed me.”

  “Maledizione.” He gripped her tighter.

  “You can bellow in Italian at me all you like, Mr. La Rocca.” Her chin thrust out with her words. “But you will release me or I’ll scream.”

  The determination in her voice finally speared through his throbbing need to pin her to the floor and teach her what she honestly wanted. It also cut right through his temper—the temper he never allowed himself to lose.

  Irritated surprise flashed through him.

  He stepped away from her, lifting his hands up in a sign of compliance. “Perdono.”

  “If that means you’re apologizing, apology not accepted.” Tugging on the edge of her ugly brown suit jacket, she pretended to ignore him.

  His temper bubbled behind the steel wall he always contained it with. This woman had a knack for cracking through his control. Which he didn’t appreciate. “Then I will retract the word. It was not needed anyway. I did nothing to you that you did not want.”

  “That’s not true—”

  “Nothing you weren’t a full participant in.”

  Her gasp of outrage fed his growing ire. He itched to grab her, shake her into compliance. Rather than making that strategic mistake, he stalked to the window and scowled down at the seething traffic. “Let us get to the bottom line,” he snarled. “I don’t have any more time to waste on you.”

  “Fine. Give me what I came for—your commitment to release Matt from this marriage—and I’ll be gone from here in a flash.”

  Turning, he glared at her. Her hair was mussed by his hands. Her eyes were huge and blue in her delicate face. Her lips were plump and puffed from his brief kiss. His burning anger mixed with an aching lust. She forced him to use his last cruel card. So be it. Why was there some primal part of him taking delight in breaking her to his will? “You leave me no choice.”

  Her dainty eyebrows frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I am done trying to reason with you.”

  “This is your idea of reasoning with me?” She huffed. “Issuing commands I’m supposed to follow? Stealing a kiss when I don’t want anything to do with you?”

  “I am afraid I will have to disappoint you on your wish to have nothing to do with me.” He stepped behind his desk and lifted the folder. Slapping it down, he pinned her with an icy glare. “For the near future you will be with me all the time.”

  “I will not.” Her pointed chin jutted.

  A harsh laugh escaped him. “From this point on, Ms. Moran, you will do exactly as I say.”

  “Ha!”

  “I will take great pleasure in seeing this happen.” He shoved the folder towards her. “Some light reading for you.”

  She eyed it with distrust. “What is it?”

  “You wish me to translate once more?” He sat down in his leather chair, his eyes never leaving her. “The report is about your father.”

  Her lithe body froze. “How do you know my father?”

  “I don’t know him. I know of him.”

  She gave him a nonchalant wave of her petite hand. But he was not deceived. She vibrated with unease and she no longer met his gaze. “So?”

  “Sooo.” He drawled out the word. “He is in trouble.”

  “Oh, no.” Her head jerked up from her contemplation of his carpet.

  “This is not the first time, is it, Ms. Moran?”

  She stared at him as if he were a rattlesnake ready to strike.

  He obliged her.

  “My security team has determined your father is neck deep in a heroin ring.”

  “Bloody hell. I told him I would give him some money—”

  He snorted in disgust. “You are naïve if you think the tiny amount of money a starving artist can give is going to be enough to feed a heroin addiction. Your father is dealing to feed his habit.”

  “I thought he’d finally made a decision—”

  “Don’t be a fool.” His tone was overly harsh yet he couldn’t seem to help himself. Frustration and anger still simmered in his blood. He craved her submission, her defeat, with a ferocity that surprised and stunned him. Yet the craving compelled him forward. “Your father has two destinations. The one he takes will be determined by you.”

  “Me?” she squeaked.

  “Si.” Lust and fury roared in his head, in his heart, in his body. The passionate mix drove him to conquer. “My security team will either turn your father over to the police—”

  “No!”

  “Or deliver him to a recovery facility.”

  Dead silence answered his words.

  “A very expensive, successful recovery facility.”

  She stood rigid: her face white, blue eyes stark in contrast to her skin. He had a sudden desire to pace to her, sweep her in his arms, tell her he would protect her.

  However, this was not his goal or his duty. His duty was to his business, his family, his brother. She was merely an object of his fleeting desire.

  And his adversary.

  “Well, Ms. Moran? Which will it be?”

  Chapter 3

  Being treated like unwanted baggage was nothing new.

  As a kid, she’d always been treated this way.

  Still. It rankled.

  Darcy glanced across the long length of the limo seat. The Great Man ignored her. As he’d ignored her in the limo that drove them to Heathrow. As he’d ignored her on the long flight to New York. As he ignored her now. He’d been far more interested in his phone, which he was currently talking into, or his laptop, which he’d had in front of him the entire eight hours on the plane.

  She shouldn’t care. She should be thankful his attention wasn’t on her. It was pretty damn scary to think this man and his goons had rifled through her life enough to find out about dear old dad. What else did he know about her?

  Not that she had anything much to hide.

  Except herself.

  Her hands trembled and she stuck them between her legs to warm them. The chill running through her body couldn’t be warmed by the heat seeping from the vents. Trying to recover her composure after coming through the whirlwind of dictates, plans, and commands issued by this man was a decided chore. Within seconds of her capitulation, he’d barked orders into his phone.

  His brother was to be sent to Italy, to spend the next month cozying up to his fiancée. Her meager belongings were to be immediately packed and delivered to his penthouse. Her mobile phone and passport were handed over at his bidding. And she, the unwanted baggage, was going to New York with him.

  As his blackmailed mistress.

  In name only.

  She’d been able to get a couple of words in. One demand.

  No sex.

  He’d looked at her, quirked an eyebrow and then laughed. His demeanor had changed from impatient dictator to wicked tempter. Carita, he’d caressed the word as he murmured it. His silver eyes had gleamed wit
h humor. I will allow you to make the first move.

  He’d stated the words with absolute arrogance and complete confidence.

  He would allow. Her.

  Darcy threw a glare across the length of the seat, but he was staring out the window as he talked into his phone in rapid Italian. Her glare bounced right off him and back onto her.

  For several hours she had been overwhelmed, so what?

  It was understandable. Also, forgivable.

  But it was time to find her courage and reinstate it. Time to resurrect her fighting spirit. Admittedly, he’d gained the upper hand and had forced her into this situation. Yet she’d learned well over the years—every situation had a silver lining. The silver in this situation was not his eyes, but the fact she had a month where apparently she was going to be spending a lot of time following him around. A month to charm, cajole, and change his mind about Matt and the damn wedding-that-wasn’t-going-to-happen.

  There was every reason to hope she could do what she’d originally set out to do.

  Feeling a bit more cheerful, she looked through the window and watched as the city lights glistened and glowed through the icy sleet dripping down the pane.

  There was another silver lining.

  She could enjoy her first trip to New York.

  Her first trip anywhere outside of England.

  The Great Man hadn’t thought it worth telling her how long they’d be in the city, still it would be at least a day or two, wouldn’t it? He’d be busy with his all-important business meetings, so odds were she’d have a chance to see some of the sights. She’d read about the art galleries in this city. If a girl focused on this situation in the right frame of mind, this was brilliant.

  A man she despised would foot the bill for something she adored.

  My, my, how she loved irony.

  Now she was downright cheerful. Giving her window reflection a jaunty grin, she promised herself she’d find a way to make this new situation work to her benefit and Matt’s.

  “What is so funny?”

  His dark growl rolled across the seat and straight up her spine. It reminded her there was a big bad wolf in her plot line and she was going to have to use all her skills to charm him if she wanted to succeed in bending him to her will. She hadn’t handled it well in his office, true. For the last few hours, she’d sunk into a numb zombie state, also true. Maybe he thought this was how she usually acted—either screeching like a banshee or stumbling behind him like a dumb animal.