Read Online Mistress By Blackmail: International Billionaires I: The Italians by Caro LaFever - Free Book Online
Authors: Caro LaFever
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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
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
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