Mistress By Blackmail: International Billionaires I: The Italians by Caro LaFever
Authors: Caro LaFever
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whether he was speaking in his lightly accented English or in his native tongue, the words wrapped around her, making her feel hot and bothered.
But lust was not the only thing she struggled with now.
Darcy stared at the crowds of people swarming on the sidewalk and wished with a sudden, harsh desperation that she could join them, fade into them, walk away from him. Walk away from the lust for him and his distrust of her.
The man thought he welded one almighty weapon against her. He thought she only wanted his body, wanted his sex. Yet during the last few days, exactly as she feared, she’d come to feel more for him.
She’d seen and sensed what she’d already known. What Matt had already told her. The man had no time for friends, much less family. The man was all about business. No one they met slapped him on the shoulder or asked him about his day. Every one of them, from the smart board members to the society ladies to the business types, every one of them saw Marcus La Rocca as a money machine.
Her heart ached for him.
Silly her. The man wasn’t asking for her compassion. He would laugh in her face if she succeeded in articulating what was in her heart; a tumbling mass of reluctant passion and unwilling affection. Nevertheless, it was clear why she’d been using every ounce of her charm to make his day easier, his deals smoother.
She cared. She really, really cared about him. Somewhere along the way, the swamp of lust churning inside her had turned into a deepening pool of…
Darcy clutched the door handle and stared down at her white knuckles.
Run lovey , her mum whispered. Run before you turn out like me.
----
T he sprite was sitting over there looking as if she were about to jump from the car. Marcus watched her from the corner of his eye, trying to understand what the hell was going on inside her head. It was an impossible task. Every other woman of his acquaintance was an easy read for his cynical gaze.
Darcy Moran was not.
Juliana Calvi was. Now.
He stared through the limo window, remembering the moment she’d walked across to him at the ball two nights ago. Her lovely dark hair now dyed a harsh blonde. Her gleaming brown eyes, the eyes he thought the most beautiful in the world years ago, now filled with lust. Not for him. But for his money and power.
Her husband had died , she hummed.
She was free , she purred.
He’d felt nothing except distaste and a violent urge to run, not walk, away from her.
Juliana was not a fool. She’d left before she was told to.
Release, a strong sense of release had rushed through him. Then he’d glanced over and seen his supposed mistress surrounded by her adoring crowd. And another, entirely unexpected emotion had burned through his blood.
The same emotion welled in him now.
Not jealousy, per amor di Dio.
Merely irritation.
An irritation he felt every time he saw Darcy. Irritation at her continued stubborn holdout in the bedroom. Irritation at how easily she caused every man in any room she entered to fall all over themselves to get to her side. Dio , even the women she met fell right under the nymph’s spell.
Which had worked in his favor several times in the past few days, he had to admit.
Why the hell had he decided to drag her around New York with him? It had been impulse the first day. She’d come down the stairs dressed in a smart pantsuit, lovely and lush. He’d been about to leave for a series of meetings, about to walk out the door and get on with what was important in his life. Long, black lashes had batted across her wide eyes when he announced he was leaving. Pink bow mouth had pouted at the news she was to stay put.
Somehow, she’d ended up in the limo with him.
His phone buzzed. He took the call, watching her as she peered through the window at the city. He’d been surprised at how easily she landed on her feet in every situation. Surprised at how quickly she had people eating from her hand. For all her humble circumstances, Darcy
But lust was not the only thing she struggled with now.
Darcy stared at the crowds of people swarming on the sidewalk and wished with a sudden, harsh desperation that she could join them, fade into them, walk away from him. Walk away from the lust for him and his distrust of her.
The man thought he welded one almighty weapon against her. He thought she only wanted his body, wanted his sex. Yet during the last few days, exactly as she feared, she’d come to feel more for him.
She’d seen and sensed what she’d already known. What Matt had already told her. The man had no time for friends, much less family. The man was all about business. No one they met slapped him on the shoulder or asked him about his day. Every one of them, from the smart board members to the society ladies to the business types, every one of them saw Marcus La Rocca as a money machine.
Her heart ached for him.
Silly her. The man wasn’t asking for her compassion. He would laugh in her face if she succeeded in articulating what was in her heart; a tumbling mass of reluctant passion and unwilling affection. Nevertheless, it was clear why she’d been using every ounce of her charm to make his day easier, his deals smoother.
She cared. She really, really cared about him. Somewhere along the way, the swamp of lust churning inside her had turned into a deepening pool of…
Darcy clutched the door handle and stared down at her white knuckles.
Run lovey , her mum whispered. Run before you turn out like me.
----
T he sprite was sitting over there looking as if she were about to jump from the car. Marcus watched her from the corner of his eye, trying to understand what the hell was going on inside her head. It was an impossible task. Every other woman of his acquaintance was an easy read for his cynical gaze.
Darcy Moran was not.
Juliana Calvi was. Now.
He stared through the limo window, remembering the moment she’d walked across to him at the ball two nights ago. Her lovely dark hair now dyed a harsh blonde. Her gleaming brown eyes, the eyes he thought the most beautiful in the world years ago, now filled with lust. Not for him. But for his money and power.
Her husband had died , she hummed.
She was free , she purred.
He’d felt nothing except distaste and a violent urge to run, not walk, away from her.
Juliana was not a fool. She’d left before she was told to.
Release, a strong sense of release had rushed through him. Then he’d glanced over and seen his supposed mistress surrounded by her adoring crowd. And another, entirely unexpected emotion had burned through his blood.
The same emotion welled in him now.
Not jealousy, per amor di Dio.
Merely irritation.
An irritation he felt every time he saw Darcy. Irritation at her continued stubborn holdout in the bedroom. Irritation at how easily she caused every man in any room she entered to fall all over themselves to get to her side. Dio , even the women she met fell right under the nymph’s spell.
Which had worked in his favor several times in the past few days, he had to admit.
Why the hell had he decided to drag her around New York with him? It had been impulse the first day. She’d come down the stairs dressed in a smart pantsuit, lovely and lush. He’d been about to leave for a series of meetings, about to walk out the door and get on with what was important in his life. Long, black lashes had batted across her wide eyes when he announced he was leaving. Pink bow mouth had pouted at the news she was to stay put.
Somehow, she’d ended up in the limo with him.
His phone buzzed. He took the call, watching her as she peered through the window at the city. He’d been surprised at how easily she landed on her feet in every situation. Surprised at how quickly she had people eating from her hand. For all her humble circumstances, Darcy
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