Mistress By Blackmail: International Billionaires I: The Italians by Caro LaFever Page B
Authors: Caro LaFever
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warmth permeated from underneath her pillow. It smelled delicious, musky with a touch of something she couldn’t describe. Something oddly familiar.
The comfort of her covers and pillow was intensified by the heat along her back. Had she gone to bed with a heating pad? She didn’t even own one. Again, what did it matter? Her brain musty with sleep, she burrowed deeper into the covers, arching her whole body into the heat.
Safe. I’m safe.
Sunshine filtered across her face. She’d have to get going soon. She had things to do. Matt wouldn’t put her up forever. Getting her own place was a priority. Still, just a few more minutes of this bliss. Just a few more minutes. She purred in contentment.
“ Piccola carita ,” a deep, humor-filled voice rumbled in her ear. “If you make noises like a kitten and arch into me like one, I must assume you wish to be petted.”
Her eyes popped open. An antique painting of some Renaissance king glowered at her from the opposite wall in arrogant disdain. Sudden memory slapped away her feelings of being safe.
The panic rushed in right behind.
Yanking herself out of his arms, she jumped from the bed like the proverbial scalded cat.
La Rocca chuckled behind her.
How could she have fallen asleep last night? She’d been sure when she marched up the stairs—tight with the familiar fear and intense anger at his arrogance—she’d been positive there’d be no sleep for her. Not until he rose from the bed and left for one of his inevitable business meetings. She’d pulled off one of the covers from the massive bed and lay on the floor, promising herself she’d be far too uncomfortable to miss his appearance in the room.
She hadn’t even heard him come in.
She hadn’t even felt him pick her up.
She hadn’t even noticed his arms encircling her.
How could this have happened? She never let anyone touch her. Never for long. Certainly never for a whole night.
“You have an amazing figure.” The husk was deeper, richer in his voice. “The sunshine through your nightgown makes for an astonishing display.”
Gasping, she twisted to face him, wrapping her arms around herself in a vain attempt to conceal.
“As I’m sure you know.” Irony laced his words.
He was naked. At least, his chest was naked. The sight of his male gloriousness froze her in her tracks. Rather than running for the bathroom and a good set of clothes, she turned into a twit who could only gaze at perfection and lose all sensibility.
His shoulders were broad and thick with muscle. In his business suits, he exuded a sleek, lithe grace. Naked, though, he showed his true colors. A warrior body, ready for battle. Ready to conquer. Ready for action.
Action you aren ’ t willing to give him , her brain yelled.
Why not? her body hummed.
His skin was dark olive, a rich, satin covering for those fabulous muscles. It glistened in the sunlight as if he were sweating slightly. The hint of moisture only increased the urge she had to reach out and touch. Glide the tips of her fingers over the warm flesh and feel his life flow pumping through his body.
A swirl of dark hair graced his pectoral muscles and the center of his chest, then thinned into an arrow pointing down, down, down. For a desperate, depraved moment, she was quite angry at the sheets for hiding where that arrow ended.
“Do you like what you see?” He smiled, the dimples appearing. “I do.”
Taking her lust by the throat, she turned and hurried into the adjoining bathroom. She slammed the door on his chuckle and muttered a very dirty word.
What the hell was wrong with her?
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
The comfort of her covers and pillow was intensified by the heat along her back. Had she gone to bed with a heating pad? She didn’t even own one. Again, what did it matter? Her brain musty with sleep, she burrowed deeper into the covers, arching her whole body into the heat.
Safe. I’m safe.
Sunshine filtered across her face. She’d have to get going soon. She had things to do. Matt wouldn’t put her up forever. Getting her own place was a priority. Still, just a few more minutes of this bliss. Just a few more minutes. She purred in contentment.
“ Piccola carita ,” a deep, humor-filled voice rumbled in her ear. “If you make noises like a kitten and arch into me like one, I must assume you wish to be petted.”
Her eyes popped open. An antique painting of some Renaissance king glowered at her from the opposite wall in arrogant disdain. Sudden memory slapped away her feelings of being safe.
The panic rushed in right behind.
Yanking herself out of his arms, she jumped from the bed like the proverbial scalded cat.
La Rocca chuckled behind her.
How could she have fallen asleep last night? She’d been sure when she marched up the stairs—tight with the familiar fear and intense anger at his arrogance—she’d been positive there’d be no sleep for her. Not until he rose from the bed and left for one of his inevitable business meetings. She’d pulled off one of the covers from the massive bed and lay on the floor, promising herself she’d be far too uncomfortable to miss his appearance in the room.
She hadn’t even heard him come in.
She hadn’t even felt him pick her up.
She hadn’t even noticed his arms encircling her.
How could this have happened? She never let anyone touch her. Never for long. Certainly never for a whole night.
“You have an amazing figure.” The husk was deeper, richer in his voice. “The sunshine through your nightgown makes for an astonishing display.”
Gasping, she twisted to face him, wrapping her arms around herself in a vain attempt to conceal.
“As I’m sure you know.” Irony laced his words.
He was naked. At least, his chest was naked. The sight of his male gloriousness froze her in her tracks. Rather than running for the bathroom and a good set of clothes, she turned into a twit who could only gaze at perfection and lose all sensibility.
His shoulders were broad and thick with muscle. In his business suits, he exuded a sleek, lithe grace. Naked, though, he showed his true colors. A warrior body, ready for battle. Ready to conquer. Ready for action.
Action you aren ’ t willing to give him , her brain yelled.
Why not? her body hummed.
His skin was dark olive, a rich, satin covering for those fabulous muscles. It glistened in the sunlight as if he were sweating slightly. The hint of moisture only increased the urge she had to reach out and touch. Glide the tips of her fingers over the warm flesh and feel his life flow pumping through his body.
A swirl of dark hair graced his pectoral muscles and the center of his chest, then thinned into an arrow pointing down, down, down. For a desperate, depraved moment, she was quite angry at the sheets for hiding where that arrow ended.
“Do you like what you see?” He smiled, the dimples appearing. “I do.”
Taking her lust by the throat, she turned and hurried into the adjoining bathroom. She slammed the door on his chuckle and muttered a very dirty word.
What the hell was wrong with her?
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
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