by Caro LaFever
She'd lost her cool and lost another battle last night. Instead of telling the Great Man to take a hike, instead of demanding he get her another room, or instead of insisting she would sleep on the couch downstairs—
“Daft cow.” Darcy glared at the mirror.
She’d fallen asleep, let down her guard, and found herself in a bed with him. Then to top it off, rather than telling him off for moving her, touching her, taking her in his arms as she slept, she’d stood like a git and drooled.
And he knew it. Damn it.
Safe? She must have taken some kind of crazy pill. Safe with this man? Wherever that feeling had come from, she needed to send it right back. Because the last word she would use for Marcus La Rocca was safe.
She yanked the borrowed nightgown off her and stomped into the shower, and punishing herself with cold water. Standing under the pounding spray, she lectured herself.
Keep your focus on winning.
Seduce this man with your charm.
Play your game. You know the game.
She stepped from the shower feeling more assured. Staring into the mirror again, she stuck out her chin and watched with satisfaction when the light of battle flickered in her eyes.
There she was. The girl she knew. The survivor. The fighter.
She’d lost the first few skirmishes between them. So what?
The war would still be won.
The Great Man was simply another person in a long line of people who had stepped into her life and thought, for whatever reason, she was a pushover. Maybe it was being short. Or skinny. Or maybe it was because she met everyone with a cheery grin. She was used to being underestimated. Hell, it often worked in her favor.
Being underestimated would work this time, too.
She slipped on a bulky bathrobe she found hanging behind the door. Much to her relief, it covered her from the top of her chin to the tips of her toes. The arms slid down to cover her hands.
She was ready to meet her adversary’s dimples and distractions.
The bathroom door swung open with a bang.
He was gone.
The sunshine drifted along his pillow and the cream sheets that had covered his body. The light seemed to make the bed glow and shimmer, as if it waited for the Roman god to once more grace it with his presence.
Darcy snorted at herself. What muck.
She was glad he wasn’t here. It left her in peace to dress and gird herself for their next skirmish.
For a moment, she thought about making a statement by dressing in her droopy old suit, but when she opened the wardrobe, the only items she found were the plush and pleasing pile of new clothes. The one item of clothing she owned had disappeared.
Her temper fired. How dare he sneak in here and take it away?
Still, she wasn’t willing to march downstairs in only this bathrobe, however much it covered. It would make her feel nervous, exposed, knowing she was naked underneath it. Knowing he knew she was naked under it.
What was a girl to do?
Do the practical thing. And what did it matter if she enjoyed the feel of the silver lace bra as she put it on? What did it matter if she ran her hand down the emerald green cashmere jumper before she slipped it over her head? He’d never know she turned and twisted in front of the mirror, admiring the way the grey linen slacks hugged her hips and butt making her feel like the classiest woman on earth.
Sucking in her breath, she stared at herself.
Charm, Darcy. Charm.
Play the game, lovey, her mum chimed in. Always play the game.
His gaze met hers as soon as she started down the stairs. Then it traveled over her body in lazy perusal, touching on the roundness of her breasts highlighted by the soft cashmere, making them tingle. It eased over her waist and hips, causing heat to rise under her borrowed clothes. It slipped to her legs and to the tips of her boots. She could swear even her pinky toes quivered under his inspection.
“It’s a good beginning.”
The quivering stopped short as her temper bubbled. Any thoughts of charm blasted out of her head. “I am not some doll you can dress.”
“I don’t wish to start the day as I ended the last.” Turning his back on her, he walked to a table laden with breakfast dishes. “Arguing with you.”
Her hands fisted at her sides at his dismissal of her words. “Too bloody bad. Where is my suit? I want it returned. It’s my best dress.”
“That thing?” He gave her an amazed look over his shoulder. “I’ve done you a favor and disposed of it.”
“You had no right.”
“If that is the best you have, it is a good thing I came into your life.”
“The worst day of my life was when you came into it.” No truer words could she have spoken and she hoped like hell they cut his hide.
To her irritation, amusement crossed his face. His eyes twinkled as he sat down and waved her to the other chair. “Let’s at least eat before you continue to harangue me.”
One hairy leg appeared as the duplicate of her bathrobe slid off his body. Her gaze unwillingly gravitated to the strong, flexing muscles, ending at his feet. The man had gorgeous feet. They were long, the arch graceful, the toes elegant.
Elegant toes?
Had she lost her mind?
His chuckle yanked her attention to his face. The silver eyes sparkled at her. The sunshine shone on his dark hair, turning the strands into a mix of gold and mahogany.
“You appear hungry for something besides food,” he teased.
“Not at all.” She met his gaze with a fierce glare.
“Then come.” He waved her toward the table. “Have something to eat and you’ll have the energy to snarl at me once more.”
Her tummy rumbled. It had been more than twenty-four hours since she’d eaten on the plane. And she’d been too tense with him by her side to do much more than nibble. The smell of bacon and coffee swirled around her.
A woman had to have sustenance if she was going to win with this man.
Eggs Benedict with hollandaise sauce to die for. Chunks of potatoes with dill and pepper. Freshly squeezed orange juice. She appreciated good food when she had it. Which wasn’t that often. But when she had a few extra coins, she enjoyed going to farmer's markets. She’d buy the best she could afford and then experiment in the kitchen until she created a new and exciting dish to try with friends.
“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 adv
ice. 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.
Chapter 5
Marcus 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 hi
m 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.
