Mistress By Blackmail: International Billionaires I: The Italians by Caro LaFever Page A
Authors: Caro LaFever
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skin in the shadows of the bedroom.
He wanted to touch. He desperately wanted to touch.
Touch once more. Hold her like he had only moments ago, as he lifted her off the floor where he’d found her, and slipped her under the feathery duvet.
The woman’s stubborn determination astounded him and annoyed him.
Yet he'd given one promise to her. And he never broke a promise.
Not even to a woman.
Putting his hands beneath his head to keep them from straying, he stared at the ceiling and willed his erection to subside. He'd had the thought when he'd booked this room that sleeping with her would surely be a promising push towards addressing the sexual heat between them. He hadn't believed her silly declaration in his office.
No sex .
He'd chuckled under his breath as he'd instructed his PA to make the reservations.
He wasn’t laughing now.
The nymph had pluck and pride. She wasn’t going to go down without a fight. Much to his displeasure. Eventually, she'd give in to this desire running between them. The current, the electric pull, the demanding, drugging need…there was no way she wouldn't capitulate. Meanwhile, though, it appeared he was in for some long nights and some cold showers.
Why the hell was he putting up with this behavior?
Rolling over, he surveyed her once more. He could have done this another way. He could have paid her a sum which would ensure she stayed far from his brother. He could have thrown her father in her face and then trotted her off to be taken care of by his security team for the next month. Instead, he’d ensured she was in his presence, by his side, in his sights for the foreseeable future.
Why?
Sure, there was the sexual draw. Yet he’d been drawn to many women sexually. Sex was the only draw women ever had for him. None of the women he’d had were such a pain in the ass. Why the hell was he putting up with her screeching, her stomping? Why didn’t he shove her on the plane back to London and lock her away until after the wedding?
She murmured in her sleep, her plump lips parting to breathe. The driving desire for her lashed at his control and concentration. Without intending to, he lifted his hand, ran a finger down her cheek, then slid it across her mouth. She felt as soft as a kitten, as downy and plush as the ripest peach. He remembered with stark clarity the taste of her. The sweet mixed with zing and zest.
The woman moved restlessly, arching into his touch.
Her hair flowed through his hands, silken strands warmed by her skin. It curled around his fingers, tugging him closer. He leaned in, watching as her long, black lashes fluttered on her creamy cheeks and then, lay still. Her pointed chin, the one she seemed to be continually jutting into the air when she was yelling at him, the chin begged for a kiss. A touch of his mouth brought another sigh from hers. She moved, moved into his arms, snuggling into the curve of his shoulder. The smell of her wrapped around him, honey mixed with cinnamon and sunshine. Appropriate for a sprite who was sugary sweet one moment and all sexy spice the next.
His arm rested on her curving back, his hand on her slight hip.
Che diavolo . There was no way he was going to let this woman out of his sight until he’d touched every part of her, kissed every inch of her, been deep inside her. Then this unwilling fascination for her would disappear. She would become like all the other women he’d had in the years since Juliana.
Nothing special.
Nothing memorable.
Nothing he would allow into his heart.
----
S he was safe .
Swimming between sleep and wakening, Darcy hung on tight to the unfamiliar feeling. One she hadn’t experienced in so long… Well, she couldn’t remember when she’d ever felt this way.
What did it matter? Living in the moment was one of her best skills.
She snuggled into the cozy covers. Unlike the sheets and bedding she was used to that scratched and snagged, these were silky on her skin, velvety and light. A firm
He wanted to touch. He desperately wanted to touch.
Touch once more. Hold her like he had only moments ago, as he lifted her off the floor where he’d found her, and slipped her under the feathery duvet.
The woman’s stubborn determination astounded him and annoyed him.
Yet he'd given one promise to her. And he never broke a promise.
Not even to a woman.
Putting his hands beneath his head to keep them from straying, he stared at the ceiling and willed his erection to subside. He'd had the thought when he'd booked this room that sleeping with her would surely be a promising push towards addressing the sexual heat between them. He hadn't believed her silly declaration in his office.
No sex .
He'd chuckled under his breath as he'd instructed his PA to make the reservations.
He wasn’t laughing now.
The nymph had pluck and pride. She wasn’t going to go down without a fight. Much to his displeasure. Eventually, she'd give in to this desire running between them. The current, the electric pull, the demanding, drugging need…there was no way she wouldn't capitulate. Meanwhile, though, it appeared he was in for some long nights and some cold showers.
Why the hell was he putting up with this behavior?
Rolling over, he surveyed her once more. He could have done this another way. He could have paid her a sum which would ensure she stayed far from his brother. He could have thrown her father in her face and then trotted her off to be taken care of by his security team for the next month. Instead, he’d ensured she was in his presence, by his side, in his sights for the foreseeable future.
Why?
Sure, there was the sexual draw. Yet he’d been drawn to many women sexually. Sex was the only draw women ever had for him. None of the women he’d had were such a pain in the ass. Why the hell was he putting up with her screeching, her stomping? Why didn’t he shove her on the plane back to London and lock her away until after the wedding?
She murmured in her sleep, her plump lips parting to breathe. The driving desire for her lashed at his control and concentration. Without intending to, he lifted his hand, ran a finger down her cheek, then slid it across her mouth. She felt as soft as a kitten, as downy and plush as the ripest peach. He remembered with stark clarity the taste of her. The sweet mixed with zing and zest.
The woman moved restlessly, arching into his touch.
Her hair flowed through his hands, silken strands warmed by her skin. It curled around his fingers, tugging him closer. He leaned in, watching as her long, black lashes fluttered on her creamy cheeks and then, lay still. Her pointed chin, the one she seemed to be continually jutting into the air when she was yelling at him, the chin begged for a kiss. A touch of his mouth brought another sigh from hers. She moved, moved into his arms, snuggling into the curve of his shoulder. The smell of her wrapped around him, honey mixed with cinnamon and sunshine. Appropriate for a sprite who was sugary sweet one moment and all sexy spice the next.
His arm rested on her curving back, his hand on her slight hip.
Che diavolo . There was no way he was going to let this woman out of his sight until he’d touched every part of her, kissed every inch of her, been deep inside her. Then this unwilling fascination for her would disappear. She would become like all the other women he’d had in the years since Juliana.
Nothing special.
Nothing memorable.
Nothing he would allow into his heart.
----
S he was safe .
Swimming between sleep and wakening, Darcy hung on tight to the unfamiliar feeling. One she hadn’t experienced in so long… Well, she couldn’t remember when she’d ever felt this way.
What did it matter? Living in the moment was one of her best skills.
She snuggled into the cozy covers. Unlike the sheets and bedding she was used to that scratched and snagged, these were silky on her skin, velvety and light. A firm
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