Mistress By Blackmail: International Billionaires I: The Italians by Caro LaFever Page A
Authors: Caro LaFever
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Moran could hold her own with the richest and most powerful.
Which only made her more dangerous.
The woman was a master at her game. He’d underestimated her power. For two days now, he’d watched the charming Darcy operate her magic during the day and dealt with the cuddly Darcy at night.
Why the hell was he letting this woman become a part of his business? Why had he taken her to all these functions, clearly giving the impression she was important to him? He’d never allowed any woman in his personal life to attend any business function. His sex life was entirely separate from his business.
What sex life? His libido rumbled.
Within minutes of climbing into bed, he found himself with an armful of sleeping, sexy woman. A woman who never reached for him while she was awake. And his damn pride wouldn’t allow him to be the first to make a move. Make a move, and then have her crow at his defeat.
The situation was driving him insane.
Which was exactly her aim, wasn’t it?
She wouldn’t touch him outside of the bed, yet she touched everything else surrounding her. She patted an old man’s cheek. She hugged the women at the brunch. She slid her hand along the limo seat every time they got in. Worse, far worse, she constantly touched herself. Twirling a curl around her finger. Brushing her mouth with her hand. Smoothing her palms across her legs.
He snapped at the manager on the phone. Ended the call. Seethed inside.
“Blimey.”
The yearning lilt in her voice tugged at something inside him. Glancing across the seat, he noticed her face was alight, her hands fluttering in the air rather than lying fisted on her lap.
“What?” he growled, still aggravated that this tiny woman was leading him on a merry dance.
“This is one of the places I wanted to see.”
He glanced out of the window. Cobblestone streets competed for attention with tall, cast-iron buildings. Staircases and railings ran up and down every building creating a sense of movement, of action. The sidewalk teamed with vendors selling purses, jewelry, and art.
“It’s merely another New York street,” he dismissed.
“No, it’s not. It’s SoHo.” She said the words as if she were speaking to a slightly demented moron.
He’d heard of the place. Artsy, new age, that kind of thing. He’d never had the time or inclination to visit this part of the city. Glancing through the window once more, he noted the sizable crowds bustling in and out of the line of bistros and art galleries. Storefronts blazed the names of high-end fashion.
He finally got it.
“You want to shop.” This he could understand. This was predictable.
“Not at all.” She gave him another one of her endless pitying looks. “It’s the art I’m interested in.”
Art. He’d forgotten. It was supposedly what she did for a living. Moreover, according to his reports, she didn’t do it very well. She hardly had a pence to her name at any given time. However, he supposed he could see the draw of this place for a wannabe.
She sighed and peered through the window with a wistful gaze.
The thing inside him tugged once more. He didn’t know what it was, but it twisted inside. Staring at his mobile phone, he noted the meetings on his calendar. Examined the agendas he’d outlined for each of them.
The sprite beside him sighed once more.
Placing a call, he barked instructions in Italian to his PA. He instructed the driver to stop. He opened the door and got out. Extended his hand. “ Vene. ”
Her eyes, wide with surprise, stared at him. “What?”
“Do you want to see this or not?”
“Yes!” She gave him a smile that lit a spark deep inside him.
That thing, the thing he couldn’t define inside him, untwisted.
----
L ondon was dreary and cold .
The city fit her mood.
Darcy folded her arms around her as she peered at the skyline. They’d left New York three days ago as abruptly as they’d arrived. Marcus had announced they were leaving and within an hour they
Which only made her more dangerous.
The woman was a master at her game. He’d underestimated her power. For two days now, he’d watched the charming Darcy operate her magic during the day and dealt with the cuddly Darcy at night.
Why the hell was he letting this woman become a part of his business? Why had he taken her to all these functions, clearly giving the impression she was important to him? He’d never allowed any woman in his personal life to attend any business function. His sex life was entirely separate from his business.
What sex life? His libido rumbled.
Within minutes of climbing into bed, he found himself with an armful of sleeping, sexy woman. A woman who never reached for him while she was awake. And his damn pride wouldn’t allow him to be the first to make a move. Make a move, and then have her crow at his defeat.
The situation was driving him insane.
Which was exactly her aim, wasn’t it?
She wouldn’t touch him outside of the bed, yet she touched everything else surrounding her. She patted an old man’s cheek. She hugged the women at the brunch. She slid her hand along the limo seat every time they got in. Worse, far worse, she constantly touched herself. Twirling a curl around her finger. Brushing her mouth with her hand. Smoothing her palms across her legs.
He snapped at the manager on the phone. Ended the call. Seethed inside.
“Blimey.”
The yearning lilt in her voice tugged at something inside him. Glancing across the seat, he noticed her face was alight, her hands fluttering in the air rather than lying fisted on her lap.
“What?” he growled, still aggravated that this tiny woman was leading him on a merry dance.
“This is one of the places I wanted to see.”
He glanced out of the window. Cobblestone streets competed for attention with tall, cast-iron buildings. Staircases and railings ran up and down every building creating a sense of movement, of action. The sidewalk teamed with vendors selling purses, jewelry, and art.
“It’s merely another New York street,” he dismissed.
“No, it’s not. It’s SoHo.” She said the words as if she were speaking to a slightly demented moron.
He’d heard of the place. Artsy, new age, that kind of thing. He’d never had the time or inclination to visit this part of the city. Glancing through the window once more, he noted the sizable crowds bustling in and out of the line of bistros and art galleries. Storefronts blazed the names of high-end fashion.
He finally got it.
“You want to shop.” This he could understand. This was predictable.
“Not at all.” She gave him another one of her endless pitying looks. “It’s the art I’m interested in.”
Art. He’d forgotten. It was supposedly what she did for a living. Moreover, according to his reports, she didn’t do it very well. She hardly had a pence to her name at any given time. However, he supposed he could see the draw of this place for a wannabe.
She sighed and peered through the window with a wistful gaze.
The thing inside him tugged once more. He didn’t know what it was, but it twisted inside. Staring at his mobile phone, he noted the meetings on his calendar. Examined the agendas he’d outlined for each of them.
The sprite beside him sighed once more.
Placing a call, he barked instructions in Italian to his PA. He instructed the driver to stop. He opened the door and got out. Extended his hand. “ Vene. ”
Her eyes, wide with surprise, stared at him. “What?”
“Do you want to see this or not?”
“Yes!” She gave him a smile that lit a spark deep inside him.
That thing, the thing he couldn’t define inside him, untwisted.
----
L ondon was dreary and cold .
The city fit her mood.
Darcy folded her arms around her as she peered at the skyline. They’d left New York three days ago as abruptly as they’d arrived. Marcus had announced they were leaving and within an hour they
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