One Night: Sizzling Attraction: Married for Amari's Heir / Damaso Claims His Heir / Her Secret, His Duty
He was looking at her as if she was a possession, as if he owned her already.
And the fact was, he might. The longer she sat there, the longer she’d had to fully understand her potential fate and the circumstances she found herself in. She didn’t know what he would demand of her yet. But she knew the alternative.
Yet another thing he had accomplished by bringing her here. He highlighted the difference in their stations.
She was a waitress; she was a woman. Her ties to criminal activity were irrefutable, though she had never once been arrested. Her father was gone with the money he had taken from Amari Corporation, and he likely wouldn’t resurface even if Charity were brought to trial. Actually, if Charity were brought to trial he would be less likely to surface than ever. Because Nolan Wyatt would not stick his neck on the chopping block for anyone. Not even his only daughter. Not when it was between a life of luxury—albeit a temporary one—or life in prison.
Charity would be made the example. She would be brought to court, a scarlet woman who had stolen from a man who worked hard for his money. And she would go to jail. She could see it playing out now.
But he was prepared to offer her a deal. One that would mean avoiding jail.
Realistically, she wasn’t sure she could turn it down no matter what it was.
Even if it was the worst.
In that moment she hated herself for being such a coward. For entertaining the idea of selling herself in exchange for avoiding time spent in prison. But she was afraid. Jail was the big bad. Growing up, the law had been a terrifying prospect, men in uniform the enemy.
It was a fear that was bred so deeply into her that just thinking about it now made her break out into a cold sweat. She was afraid of the unknown, and while both options she was entertaining in her mind were unknown, one would be over much faster.
You don’t know that’s what he wants.
No, she didn’t know. But he had sent lingerie, and that said an awful lot.
And she wasn’t naive about men. Her father was a liar and a manipulator. And both in word and by example, he’d taught her how to identify other liars and manipulators. Charity wasn’t naive about anyone or their motivations.
She liked to be prepared for the worst. And in this case... Well, in this case it meant that Rocco had dressed her for the job he intended her to perform.
Another waiter appeared as soon as Rocco had cleaned his plate. “Dessert, Mr. Amari?”
“No—” the words left Charity’s mouth before she could reconsider them “—no dessert.”
“Please have dessert and coffee sent to my suite,” Rocco said, as though she hadn’t spoken. “Ms. Wyatt and I are ready to retire.”
“Of course, sir.” The waiter inclined his head, his bland expression not betraying any thought whatsoever, and scurried away to do Mr. Amari’s bidding.
Charity’s stomach sank to her toes, a sick feeling overtaking her. He wanted to take her somewhere private. He wanted to get her alone. Nothing good would come of that. “Are we going to discuss the deal?” She didn’t want to leave the dining room. She needed him to change his mind here.
“Of course. Up in my room. And this is the part where I will discover if you heeded my warning.”
Her heartbeat sped up, her pulse beating rapidly at the base of her neck. “What warning?” she asked, her throat dry. Because she knew which warning. She knew.
“If you are not wearing the lingerie I sent, I am about to find out.”
“I haven’t agreed to anything,” she said, her eyes meeting his. She tried to remind herself to dial it back. To appeal to him on an emotional level.
Challenging a man like him wouldn’t get her anywhere. He was all alpha male. If she tried to go at him head-on, he would push back. But if she played the weak, simpering female, she might just be able to arouse his protective instincts. She had to remember that. She had to stay in character.
“You will agree to whatever I ask. Because if we go to court, I will win. You know that to be true.”
She swallowed hard, not bothering to disguise it. She wanted him to see her every nerve. Every flicker of fear in her eyes. Being brave wouldn’t win any points with him. “I don’t understand how this would benefit you.”
“But you see, cara, that is not for you to understand. I do not have to explain myself to you. I merely have to present you with your options.” He put his hands on the table, his large fingers splayed over the pristine white cloth. “So you tell me, would you rather come to my suite or go to jail?”
Charity looked down at her untouched lunch, her lips cold. “If those are my options I would rather go to your suite,” she said, determination washing through her like a tide.
She could still turn this around. She would make him see that she was just a victim. She repeated the mantra over and over again. If she said it enough times, she might believe it. And if she believed it...all the better to make him believe it, too.
“Very good.” Rocco stood and walked toward her, extending a hand as though he were the perfect gentleman seeing to his companion. She didn’t accept the hand, standing up on her own, taking the hard glitter in his eyes as a personal triumph.
“I very much appreciate a strong-willed woman. But I also require compliance when it is demanded.” He straightened his cuffs, buttoned his jacket, then raised his focus to her, his dark gaze locking on to her. “I hope very much that you have given it where I have commanded. Otherwise, you will find my threats are not empty.” He held out his hand, and this time she took it. “Now, come, cara mia. It is time for us to adjourn to my room.”
CHAPTER TWO
THE SUITE WAS BEAUTIFUL. There were massive windows that overlooked Central Park, letting a generous amount of natural light in, bathing everything in warmth, in sunlight. For a moment, she simply stood in the doorway, pretending she was only taking in the sight of a beautiful room. One that was well out of her price range, one she would typically never even get to look at.
Unless she was running a con.
That’s all this is. You’re just running a con. And on the other side, lies freedom. You never have to do it again. You can be done.
She took a deep breath and kept examining the room, delaying the moment this became real. The floors were marble, rugs stationed throughout, beautifully appointed matching furniture with solid wood detail in the seating area, with a bed that boasted a matching frame in the bedroom. It was a large bed, with rich purple velvet coverings, and more pillows than she had ever seen in one place before.
For a moment, it was nice to look at. For a moment, it seemed innocuous.
But only for a moment.
Then Rocco came to stand behind her, the heat from his body intense, energy radiating from him and throwing everything inside of her out of alignment. As if he’d reached into her chest and moved everything around.
He had certainly reached into her life and done that. Moved everything around, put things on their ends.
“Dessert should be here shortly,” he said, breezing past her and walking into the room. “Make yourself at home.”
As if that was going to happen. “It’s difficult for me to feel at home here.”
“Oh yes, I imagine it is quite different to your little apartment in Brooklyn.”
Charity froze. Of course he would know all about her. He had sent the clothes to her home, after all. But hearing the details of her life spoken about by a perfect stranger just didn’t sit comfortably.
“Do you have to imagine?” she asked, her tone crisp. “Don’t you happen to have full walk-through photographs of my home available for your perusal? You seem to know a lot about me.”
“The art of war. One must know their enemies. Or so I have read.”
“And I’m your enemy?”
He closed the distance between them, curling his fingers around her arm, pulling her close. The contact of his skin against hers struck her like lightning. “You stole from me. People do not steal from me,” he said, his face close to hers, his tone deadly.
She could sense then that he was every inch the predator she had feared. And whatever she had been afraid he might ask of her, it would likely be that and more. Because there was no softness in him. No compassion.
He was the sort of man who only understood one thing. The cutthroat, black-and-white nature of revenge. Of killing or being killed, hunting or being hunted.
That would limit her ability to manipulate. But her strength would lie in him underestimating her.
He thought she was his prey. But he didn’t know that beneath this lacy monstrosity beat the heart of a beast. She had been brought up in a hard environment, with instability and poverty and all the rest.
She hadn’t survived by being weak.
“My father lied to me,” she said, putting her hand on her chest, feeling her heart beating hard beneath her palm. “I really thought he had finally gotten honest work. I had agreed to help him garner investments from reputable companies. I did not know he was going to take that information and siphon money out of your accounts. I promise I didn’t know.” The lie came easy, even looking into those flat, dark eyes. Because protecting her own skin was second nature. Was the most important thing. The only thing.
“Your name is on the wire transfers. Your name is connected to the bank account the money went into.”
“Because I agreed to help him set the accounts up.” And she knew, even as she tried to explain, that it was going to do nothing to move him. But she wasn’t going to simply stand here and allow him to level accusations at her. Not when they weren’t true. Not while she still had a chance to get him to understand.
“Then you are a fool. Because everything I can find about Nolan Wyatt says that he is a con man. Now and always.”
“He is,” she said, her throat tight. “But I—”
There was a knock on the door to the suite and Rocco released his hold on her, stalking to the entryway.
“Room service, Mr. Amari,” the man on the other side of the door said. “Where would you like me to put the tray?”
“I will take the tray.” Rocco took control of the tray and closed the door, wheeling the coffee and two pieces of chocolate cake to the center of the room.
If she couldn’t eat a light meal of vegetables and salmon, she was hardly going to be able to eat this.
“Haven’t you ever wanted to believe the best of someone?” She hoped he had. She hoped he did.
“Never. I only want the truth.”
“I’m giving it to you. And I can only explain away the fact that I helped my father by saying I wanted to believe the best in him when I shouldn’t have. He’s the only family I have. I just wanted him to be telling the truth this time.”
She found herself very convincing. She would be shocked if he didn’t.
“So much that you were willing to take a chance on helping him with another fraud?”
“My dad is small-time. I didn’t expect anything like this from him.” That much was true. She’d had no idea his designs were quite so grand. A million dollars. He’d overplayed his hand. The idiot. Anything smaller and Rocco wouldn’t have noticed, much less pursued her like this. “Yes, he’s stolen fairly large amounts of money before, and I know it. I didn’t live with him most of the time I was growing up, but when I did, we would always have times where we would move, and then we would have something for a while. A house, food, money, clothes. But it would always disappear very quickly. We would find ourselves dodging landlords, dodging police. Then, we would move again. Dad would get jobs, he called them. Then we would move again, and have things for a while. And the cycle would repeat. Eventually, he stopped taking me with him when he moved.”
“I see. Is this meant to make me feel sorry for you?”
“I only want you to understand...I’m a person like you are,” she said, a pleading note lacing her voice. “I made a mistake in who I trusted. Surely you understand?”
He chuckled, a hollow sound that echoed in her chest. That made goose bumps spread over her arms. “The problem with trying to appeal to my humanity, Charity, is that I don’t have any. I can understand why you would assume differently. But let me be the one to inform you definitively that I’m not burdened by conscience. Nor am I burdened by compassion. Every cent I have, I have earned. Getting to this position in life cost me in blood and I will not allow myself to be taken advantage of. I will set an example if I must.” He moved to her again, not touching her this time, merely standing so close she could feel the heat coming from his body. “I will make an example of you if I must. Do not think I will lose sleep over throwing a beautiful woman like you in prison when it is deserved.”
“So, is this my last meal?” she asked, indicating the food on the tray.
Overdramatic, perhaps, but she was starting to feel desperate.
“Either that or it is fuel to help you keep up your strength for the next couple of hours. You might find you need it.”
Adrenaline spiked through her blood. “So, you get off on forcing women into bed?” The words came out slightly harsher than intended.
A smile curved his lips. “Absolutely not. I never force women into my bed. I will not force you. You will come to me, because you want me.”
“How would you know I wanted you? When it’s you or a jail cell it seems as though my choices are limited.”
“I’m comfortable with that,” he said, his smile growing wider. He looked like the Big Bad Wolf, ready to devour her. “Would you like some coffee?”
“No.”
“Very well. Then it is time for me to see if you have kept your end of the bargain.”
She swallowed hard, her hands shaking, her fingers cold. “The lingerie?”
“Did you do as you were instructed, cara mia?”
She couldn’t believe it. She had lost.
Her stomach sank into her feet, the intense weight of defeat crushing her before she was able to process all the implications in front of her.
This was the moment of truth. Either she threw the coffee on his face and stormed out of the room, and took what came, later—charges, an arrest, a trial.
Or she did this.
She took control. She pushed him as he was pushing her. Called his bluff.
She would not stand here and wait to be undressed.
Before she could think it through, her shaking fingers found the zipper to her dress and began to tug it down.
He would stop her. He would stop this. She was sure of it. And it was that certainty that kept her going.
She could feel the fabric separating, exposing skin. Could feel the dress getting loose in the bodice. Then the top fell exposing her breasts, clad only in the whisper-thin lingerie. It was the same color as her skin, a kind of milky coffee color. It made her appear almost bare.
She knew, because she had spent a fair amount of time looking at herself in the mirror wearing this, that he would be able to see the shadow of her nipples beneath the fabric.
No man had ever seen this much of her body before. She didn’t know if she was in shock, if she was still convinced he would put an end to it, or if the moment was simply too surreal for her to absorb it all. But she felt cushioned by something, by a gauzy curtain that had been pulled around her vision, making things seem hazy. Making them seem a little less harsh.
Whatever it was, whatever magic this was, she needed it. Because the character, the nervous ingénue, wasn’t a refuge here. Not now.
It was too close to the bone.
Too close to who she was in this setting.
In life, she had very little in the way of innocence. But here? In the bedroom? She’d never trusted a man enough to be this intimate with him. Had never wanted to.
And she didn’t trust him. But she didn’t need to. For some reason, right now, she realized trust didn’t matter. This was all about power. And he had underestimated hers.
She finished pulling the zipper down the rest of the way and pushed the dress down her hips so that she was standing there in nothing but the high heels and the matching bra and panty set. The panties were as sheer as the bra, and she knew he could see the shadow of dark hair at the apex of her thighs.
She stared straight ahead, not looking at him, her eyes fixed on a blank spot on the wall. She was still in this chess game and her new revelation was adjusting her strategy. Putting her in view of Rocco’s queen.
Power. Control. That was the game here. It wasn’t sex.
All she had to do was take his control.
“Look at me,” Rocco said, his voice laced with steel, the command impossible to ignore.
She redirected her gaze, her eyes clashing with his, and all the breath rushed from her lungs.
There was an intensity to his dark gaze that was unmatched by anything she had ever seen before. It could never be said that Rocco looked passive, at least not in her very brief experience of him. But this was different. There was a fire burning beneath this that set something ablaze low and hot inside of her.
He moved toward her, reaching out and touching the silken strap of the bra, sliding his thumb and forefinger over the fabric. “You were a very good girl. I must confess I am surprised.” He never took his eyes off hers, and the heat inside of her intensified.
What was happening to her? Why was he touching her? Not her skin, but beneath it? Why was he making her feel all this heat?
She could still leave. She could still pick up her dress, put it back on and go.
But she didn’t. Instead she stood, frozen, as fascinated as she was terrified by what might happen next.
He leaned in slowly and she held her breath. He pressed his lips against the curve of her neck, just beneath her ear, and a shiver went through her body.
She wasn’t cold at all anymore. But she was still shaking. And it wasn’t from fear.
“I will make you beg for me,” he said, his voice a dark whisper that wrapped itself around her mind.
She angled her head slightly, pushing down every bit of insecurity. She hated this man. This beautiful, horrible man. And she didn’t care what he thought about her. She didn’t care what he thought of her body. What he thought of her soul.
He was her enemy and after today she would never see him again.
For some reason that realization sent a shock wave through her. Confidence, pleasure, a rolling feeling of satisfaction that she couldn’t have explained if she wanted to.
She leaned in, her lips a breath away from his. “Not if I make you beg for me first.”
His lip curled and he leaned in, tracing the line of her jaw with his forefinger. “Do you think you could make me beg?”
“Can you walk away?” she asked, taking the roughness in his formerly smooth and cultured voice as evidence of the effect she was having on him. “Right now, could you leave this room?”
“I am not finished with you yet,” he ground out.
She forced a smile to curve the corner of her mouth. “I guess that says it all. You’re the one who can’t walk away. And I don’t even have prison to threaten you with.”
He gripped her chin tight, and she stared him down. His dark eyes were blazing and she was certain hers matched. Then he slid his thumb across the edge of her lower lip.
And closed the distance between them.
The fire in her stomach ignited, sending flames roaring through her. It was no longer contained, no longer content to merely burn in the hearth. And she realized her fatal mistake too late. She might have taken his control, but hers was gone, too. Whatever this heat was had taken over everything, threatening to reduce all that she was to ash.
She’d never been kissed like this. Had never been held close to a man like this, his arms so tight around her, his body hard and muscular against hers.
This was the last thing she had expected. For him to kiss her as if he was a man dying of thirst and she was an oasis. She had expected him to be cool. She had expected him to hurt her, humiliate her. She hadn’t expected him to make her want.
Make her feel.
Wanting him was almost scarier than the alternative. Because she was only here for one reason, for him to extract the debt she owed from her body. She meant nothing to him beyond that. In fact, he hated her. Saw her as an enemy.
She had a feeling that right at that moment, neither of them had the control. She wasn’t even sure if they were fighting for it. If each brush of his lips against hers was a press for more dominance, or if they’d both given up altogether.
She was forgetting. Forgetting everything but his lips against hers.
He shifted, cupped her face, tilting his head and deepening the kiss, his tongue sliding against hers. The delicious friction sent a shiver through her. It shocked her, sent a wave of pleasure through her and, for a moment, she could only process how good it felt.
How could he touch an enemy like this? How could he hate her and taste her so deeply? With such care?
No one else ever had. Only this man. This man who despised her.
That should make her want to run, but she didn’t. She stayed. Rooted to the spot. Anchored to him.
When they parted, he was breathing hard, his fingers going to the knot of his tie, loosening it with startling efficiency, before casting into the ground. “Yes, you are a very good girl indeed,” he said, his voice ragged.
He pulled her back to him, kissing her again. She wanted to fight him. Wanted to fight this. The way it felt as if he was stripping her bare without ever touching the silken undergarments that covered her skin.
But she couldn’t. She felt so small, but she didn’t feel weak. She felt protected. And as things started to crumble and fall inside her; as the walls, the anger, the fear, started to crack, in the deep, empty well that lived inside of her, an insatiable and hungry thing that had craved this simply opened up and allowed itself to be filled.
Oh, it hadn’t been sex she desired specifically. But touch, attention. To have someone look at her as though she mattered. As though it had to be her standing there in front of them and no one else.
To have someone pay attention to what she wanted, what she liked. To have someone lavish pleasure on her. Because that was the only way she could think of it. She was entirely bathed in sensation, the singular focus of this large, powerful man.
He wasn’t handling her roughly, not with anger. He was in supreme, complete control and he was exercising that control to make her feel...good.
It wasn’t what she had expected and it made her feel vulnerable. Strange.
No one had ever wanted her. No one had ever needed her.
And even if it was naive, she felt in this moment that Rocco needed her. And it made her want to give in to him. It made her want to give him everything.
He hates you. And you are trading your body to keep yourself out of jail.
You can’t do this.
She could still leave. She could walk out the door and damn the consequences. He wouldn’t physically stop her. She was confident in that.
But you don’t want to.
No. Because she’d never had the courage to touch a man like this. To kiss a man like this. And now there was nothing holding her back. Nothing stopping her. Why not have this? Why not have him? She pressed her palms to the hard muscle of his chest, and leaned in deeper for the kiss.
Rocco growled, tightening his hold on her waist, and backing them both across the room, and to the bed.
Yes.
This wasn’t about money, or jail, or freedom or fear. This wasn’t about control. Not now. This was about him. About everything she’d spent her life too afraid to grab. She was so tired of it. So tired of herself. Of being a ghost that no one could touch or connect with because she was hiding her past.