Mistresses: Blackmailed For His Pleasure
“Emilio, are you gambling again?” she asked, gripping the phone like a lifeline, but he’d already hung up.
Worry seeped into her bones like a cold mist rolling in off a winter sea. Were those casino bells? Had her brother reverted to the vice that had nearly destroyed him before?
No, she must be mistaken. He’d been fishing. Perhaps what she’d heard were the chime of bells on nearby ships. Yes, that had to be it.
All would be well. Emilio would lend her the money for the first loan, and she’d secure the rest from the banker. Perhaps once Cesare recovered from surgery he could lift this burden from her. And if he didn’t recover?
A chill swept through her blood and left her trembling. She had promised Cesare that she’d hold his secret and she would. She’d promised she’d take care of his daughter while he was unable to. But she hadn’t thought she’d have to come up with the money that Cesare had used for his daughter’s care each month!
It was a staggering sum, simply because Cesare insisted on the finest for Rachel. And Gemma couldn’t deny her, either. The child had been through so much pain in her short life.
If only Stefano put family first like his father did. But he’d been in charge less than a day and had already changed many things. She’d heard the department heads grumbling to themselves as they left his office.
No, she had no choice but to shoulder this alone.
“Did you take lunch?” Stefano asked.
She nearly jumped out of her skin to discover he stood right behind her. Realizing he was that close had her whole system going haywire again.
“No,” she said, tidying her already neat desk to keep her hands busy. “The time got away from me.”
He said nothing for the longest time, just stood behind her chair. She was intimately aware of each breath he took. Of the spicy scent that was subtle yet powerful all the same.
“Come and take a letter,” he said, laying a hand on the back of her chair and just barely grazing her spine with his thumb.
That’s all it took for a bolt of energy to hum through her and send her senses reeling again. She lurched to her feet and out of his reach, not caring if her aversion to him was obvious.
His hot gaze snared her for a moment and she flushed at the amusement dancing in those dark, fathomless eyes. My God, nothing got past this man. Nothing!
She grabbed her notepad and marched into his office, eager to take her dictation or notes and get the hell out of here when she was keenly aware of him as a man. And how could she be anything but?
He’d removed his jacket at some point and rolled up the sleeves on his crisp white shirt. She didn’t want to notice that his forearms were muscled and generously sprinkled with black hair. She certainly didn’t wish to appreciate the male power and beauty of his physique, but it was impossible not to.
She damned her gaze for returning to—no, for lingering on—the wedge of hair visible at the open V of his shirt. Was his chest hair soft? The muscles firm? The deep olive skin hot and smooth?
Again, she was reminded of the hard-muscled gods. Stefano could certainly have been a noble model. And when he chose to turn on the charm, he simply took her breath away.
How in the world was she going to work with this man when being close to him turned her into a weak-kneed ninny? She couldn’t. But she couldn’t afford to quit her job and search for another, either, not when she’d have a sizable debt hanging over her.
It was an untenable situation.
He was masculinely beautiful. Sexy as hell. But he was also domineering. Arrogant. And a man she dared not trust with Cesare’s deepest secret.
She hurried toward the desk only to find it laden with files. Clearly Stefano was going over every asset of Marinetti with a fine-tooth comb.
What had he said to the supervisors, managers and assistants today? She could only guess that those who’d left with smiles on their faces were assured of their position here. The others who’d scurried out with grim faces? She dreaded to imagine what had been said regarding their future with Marinetti.
“My apologies that so little food is left,” he said, successfully coming up behind her and trapping her between his desk and the chair.
With the day she’d had coupled with his commanding nearness her stomach was in knots. She couldn’t have tolerated the bruschetta, salamis, olives and cheeses anyway.
“That’s okay. A few grapes will suffice for now.”
She reached for a red grape, but he was quicker. And much, much too close.
Move, her mind screamed. But her legs refused to obey.
Frustrated, she shot him a sharp look and that was her undoing. His gaze captured hers and her mouth went dry at the naked desire blazing in his dark eyes. No man had ever looked at her like this. Ever.
It was decadent. It was shocking. It was oh, so tempting.
Heat radiated off his big body while his spicy scent ribboned around her, as if to bind her to him. Her other senses exploded with sensual awareness and a want so keen she physically ached.
She’d never experienced anything like it. She certainly didn’t want to feel it now, toward him of all people.
“Allow me the pleasure, bella.”
“No, really, I’m not—”
He brushed a grape over her lips, slowly, sensuously. Her protest withered in her throat.
Her body tingled and pulsed with a need so powerful she feared her legs would fail her. She wanted to reach for him. To lean on him. To fall into the promise in his darkly mesmerising eyes and forget the world.
Part of her mind that wasn’t numbed by lust warned her that she was treading on dangerous ground. Yet she parted her lips and took the ripe fruit from his fingers anyway, unable not to do so.
“Succulent, hmm?” he asked, his thumb grazing her lower lip again and again, then sliding to her chin as his eyes danced with wicked lust and amusement.
She managed a weak nod as sizzling sensations exploded in her mouth and a pulsing need expanded between her legs.
This was a side of Stefano she hadn’t seen before, and he was even more devastating to her senses. Never mind that he was arrogantly sure of his sexuality and masculinity. Never mind that he was in a position to call all the shots. Never mind he was taking over Marinetti…and her.
“You must try more of the insalata di frutta,” he said, lifting a slice of strawberry to her mouth.
Protesting was out of the question, even if she had a thought to refuse. She took it, thinking to make short work of it. But as the sweet nectar of the fruit slid down her throat, the heat of his thumb brushed her lower lip again.
A fire exploded in her, foreign and thrilling.
She tried to tamp down her desire. Truly she did. But when he sucked the juice off his fingers while his hot gaze dueled with hers, she was lost.
This was passion. Raw and earthy.
She clutched her steno pad to her breast, heart hammering so hard she was certain that he could hear it. “You wanted me to take a letter?”
“I have changed my mind.” His eyes took on a dark opaque glint that tossed her nervous reflection back at her.
He rolled a shoulder in a careless shrug and checked his watch. “The workday is nearly over.”
A fact she’d looked forward to all day. Yes, she could escape Stefano’s dominating presence for a while. But it was a short reprieve, for she was expected to dine with him tonight.
“Is there anything you need me to do before I leave?” she asked, a question she’d posed to Cesare countless times.
“Leave? But our work is far from finished.”
“But you said the day was nearly over.”
“Here.” His smile was positively rapacious. “As I mentioned before, you’ll be taking over the role of my secretary as well. You’ll join me when I divide my time between Marinetti Shipyard and Canto Di Mare.”
Gemma bit her lip, wanting to refuse. But how could she?
Stefano’s secretary was away, and Cesare would not be needing her. Combining the positions made sense.
But it denied her a reprieve from Stefano. It forced her to remain in his company for longer hours and suffer this unsettling attraction that arced between them.
“How much later will we work?” she said, letting her annoyance sound in her voice.
“Two, three hours at the most.” He shrugged into his suit jacket and gave each sleeve a sharp tug in turn. “Is there a problem?”
A problem? There were too many for her to count.
She glanced down at the simple skirt and blouse she’d worn to work. “I will need to return home so I can change into suitable clothes for dinner.”
Deep lines streaked across his brow. “There won’t be time.”
“You expect me to wear this?”
Instead of answering, he gave her a long, slow appraisal that scanned her from head to toe. His expression was a combination of indignation and desire that she didn’t understand and certainly didn’t want. Not from him!
He checked his watch in that impatient way of his. “It is time for us to be off to Livorno.”
She didn’t bother to hide her annoyance as she retrieved her purse. Was this how it felt to be at his beck and call? To let him choose where you dined? What you wore?
Her gaze fell on her portfolio tucked beneath her desk. That tight, tingling sensation pulled at her stomach. She couldn’t go off and leave Cesare’s secret files there.
She didn’t dare take her bag with her now, not when she was going to be gone half the night with Stefano. Quickly she stuffed it in the back of her file cabinet and locked the door. Nobody had the key but her.
Cesare’s secrets and her own would be perfectly safe in there tonight. Tomorrow she’d remove it to her flat.
Tomorrow she’d start off on better footing with Stefano. Tomorrow, he’d have no hold over her.
CHAPTER FOUR
STEFANO guided Gemma to his Alfa Romeo, the sleek silver contours of the 8C Competizione glistening like a diamond in the setting sun. But the luxurious car paled in comparison to the flaxen-haired beauty on his arm.
He suspected the tension he felt eddying off her petite form came from her aversion at being forced to remain in his company. Guilt. It had to be guilt on her part, for he was a generous man who had simply stepped in to manage his father’s business.
Women loved him. He loved women.
But he detested manipulative primadonne.
Gemma Cardone definitely fit that description indeed. She’d charmed Cesare Marinetti into her bed and took him for thousands.
So far she hadn’t attempted to get in Stefano’s good graces. In fact, she’d seemed horrified over assuming the role of his secretary. Had he been right and she’d thought to flee instead of repaying her “loan”?
How easily lies spilled from her pretty mouth. There’d been no loan, yet she’d said there was instead of admitting the truth of being his father’s mistress.
Perhaps she realized that he wouldn’t be an easy mark like Cesare Marinetti. Or maybe she was wily enough to avoid an overture because she knew he’d not accept his father’s leavings.
Then again perhaps neither of those reasons applied.
In hindsight, Stefano had stormed into Marinetti Shipping with one thing on his mind—retaliation. Instead of portraying himself in his typical charming manner, he’d been brusque and demanding. What woman would want to warm the bed of such a tyrant?
His only excuse was that his heart was still heavy over his mamma’s passing while his blood roared with the need for vengeance. Why had his father’s heart failed when he had been driving with his wife? Why hadn’t that attack occurred on one of those trips to Milan?
Why had his mamma died instead of this scheming mistress?
There was no answer. He knew that. Quel che è stato è stato.
It was his duty to protect his father against Gemma’s schemes and honor what was his mamma’s last wish. Get rid of Gemma Cardone!
That was the only interest he had with his father’s mistress. He did not wish to gain her favor. So why had she wormed her way into his thoughts for most of this day with her big sad eyes and wary smile? Why was she commanding his attention now? Why did his body leap whenever she was near?
Maledizione! He didn’t give a damn what Gemma thought about him. She’d gotten all she could for herself.
Now he’d see she paid back a portion of the debt. Once his revenge was sated, he’d fire her. She’d be nothing then but an unpleasant memory.
Sì, it was up to Stefano to rebuild the empire his father had once loved and allow him to heal and cope with his grief. He’d systematically collect what was due Marinetti Shipyard and ensure that Gemma Cardone never approached a Marinetti again.
Pride and honor. He understood both well. He lived by that silent code.
Yet when Gemma slid onto the supple leather seat and gave him a teasing glimpse of long, creamy thighs, his body jerked with a sudden bolt of lust. And why wouldn’t he find her attractive?
He was a hot-blooded Italian male and she was a provocative woman. He loved and respected women. He loved to make love to them. He ached to make love with this one!
Though he could neither respect nor like Gemma for the heartache she’d brought his family, she did appeal to him on a purely physical level.
Okay, maybe it was more than that. He was moderately impressed that she had carried on an affair with his father for nine months and managed to cloak their assignations under the guise of business trips. Her cunning was ample reason why he must end this nasty business with her as soon as possible.
He’d stepped in to save Marinetti Shipyard from his father’s lapse of good judgment and a calculating woman’s machinations. He would not fall victim to her charms, too.
Stefano shut the car door a bit harder than he had intended and swore as the sound echoed his annoyance in the nearempty parking lot. But she barely flinched.
His anger mounted as he rounded the sleek front of his car and threw himself behind the wheel, barely sparing her a glance. She raised an eyebrow, as if chastising him for his show of temper.
And that made his blood boil.
For a woman who stood to lose her historic inn, she seemed suspiciously calm. She must have arranged for the first payment to be met.
Fine! He would take her money tonight. He’d let her win this round, but that would be her last victory.
Annoyance thrummed his nerves as he turned over the powerful engine and steered the car into traffic. The pleasure he usually gained behind the wheel of the luxury automobile was absent.
Gemma occupied his thoughts. He was certain she’d been the reason his parents had launched into a vicious argument—an argument that ended with his father suffering a heart attack and losing control of his car on that fateful night.
He would do well to remember that.
He tightened his fingers on the supple leather steering and for a brief moment wondered if he’d made a colossal error in judgment. When he confronted her about the money she’d taken from his father—the “loan” as she called it—he’d expected her to beg for lenience. He’d thought she’d proposition him into forgiving the debt, or at the least take it out in trade.
He’d never dreamed she’d agree to repay the loan, or that she’d actually come forth with any money. If she did honor that agreement, it would take years for her to repay the debt. He’d never be free of her conniving ways!
And where was the taste of vengeance in that? There would be none.
No, he would not let her off easy. He had to hurt her as she’d hurt his family. The inn seemed to be the key.
The inn that she’d elaborately redesigned with his papa’s money!
But even that wasn’t enough.
No, he wanted to publicly humiliate her. He wanted all to see her for what she was—a scheming wanton.
Then maybe he’d feel vindicated. Then his mamma’s honor would be appeased.
Yes, he’d retain her as his secretary, even if it meant generously extending his own secretary’s vacation. From there it should be a simple thing to give the impression that Gemma was much more than an employee.
All he had to do was be less circumspect in his dealings with Gemma and more attentive to her. He had to tamp down his anger and openly flirt with her.
The gossips would do the rest, creating a romance and thereby diverting attention away from his parents’ scandal. If she began to believe she was charming him, then all the better.
Watching her hopes rise and then plummet would be a far more satisfying revenge.
“A friend of mine owns a boutique in Pisa,” he said as he sped down the coastal autostrada. “I am sure you will find a cocktail dress there.”
“I see no reason to buy something new when I have perfectly suitable clothes in my flat,” she said, her chin lifted in challenge.
Designer clothes that his papa had purchased, or more of the same demure garments like she wore now? Since nobody claimed to have seen his papa and her out on the town, he suspected she hadn’t been treated that lavishly.
And of course since she shunned the trappings of a mistress, the liaison had continued with nobody the wiser. Sly. Very sly.
“Consider the dress a gift for your dedication to my father and Marinetti Shipping,” he said, forcing a warm smile that he didn’t feel.
She didn’t voice a protest, but the pinched look on her face said she didn’t like this at all.
Stefano’s smile deepened. When he was through with her, everyone would know she was his paid paramour.
Gemma stared at herself in the dressing room mirror, trying without success to block Stefano’s rich laugh as he chatted with the designer and flirted with any female who ventured near. She’d looked out earlier to find him lounging in a chair with a glass of wine dangling from his long tanned fingers.
Every move he made was fluid, like a maestro conducting an orchestra. The silent music was a sensual caress that left her skin tingling. Left her restive yet compelled her to sway to the rhythm pounding in her blood.
His aura was so powerful to her senses that she had to literally tear her gaze from him to break the spell.
Mio Dio! How could she find such a callous man attractive?
It vexed her that Stefano had given everyone here the impression they were an item. Protesting would have only drawn more attention to her and the arrogant billionaire, so she closeted herself in the dressing room to try on the selection of dresses that Stefano had chosen.
He’d laughed and said it wasn’t necessary to test the fit. And he had been annoyingly right!
The teal cocktail dress fit her to perfection. The color emphasized the blue-green of her eyes and complemented her fair complexion that she’d inherited from her English mother.
The plunging neckline gave more than a teasing peek of the deep valley between her bosom. It also exposed the dainty necklace that her papa had given her.
A sad smile tugged at her mouth as she ran a finger over the pendant suspended on a fine gold chain. How long had he saved to buy the aquamarine surrounded by tiny diamonds? Months? Perhaps a year?
Her fingers tightened around the necklace. It looked insignificant paired with this dress that cost more than two months’ wages. But then Stefano’s friend was Vanni—a new yet much desired designer!
“Ah, I see you do have jewelry,” Stefano said from the doorway of her dressing room, startling her by his boldness. “I hadn’t noticed earlier.”
“How dare you barge in here!”
His sculpted lips curved into a devilish smile. “You will find I dare many things.”
She dreaded to imagine what else he had in store for her.
“The dress fits you to perfection,” he said.
She refused to warm to the compliment. “I don’t wear daring necklines.”
“You should,” he said. “It is a shame to cover such beauty.”
“Such flattery,” she said, trying to sound glib though she trembled inside with anger and that damning sensual pull. “I’m sure you flirt outrageously with every woman you meet.”
“Sì, but I only compliment the ones who justly deserve it.”
She couldn’t think of a thing to say to that remark so she just affected a calm she didn’t feel and smiled up at him. Meeting his gaze head-on was a mistake.
His dark eyes glittered with amusement and passion, and the firm line of his mouth curved into a disarming smile, transforming him from the hard resolute man into a devilish charmer. Her knees went weak and her insides trembled in an erotic hum of desire.
He reached out and stroked a finger down her cheek, and the control she’d fought to maintain shattered into a billion shards of new sensations. “You are beautiful, mio caro.”
She reached behind her and grasped the dressing room curtain to steady herself when every fiber in her body ached to reach out to him. What was happening to her?
Yes, he was devastatingly attractive, but she hated what he stood for. She hated the power he wielded over her. She hated him for storming into her peaceful, quiet life and turning it into a maelstrom of emotions in just one day.
“Thank you, but I’d like to try on something else.” Something less revealing. Something that wouldn’t make her feel sophisticated and desirable.
“There is no time. Come.”
She bit her lip, torn between protesting or going meekly along as a lamb to the slaughter. “I refuse to leave here in this dress.”
“Very well, but make it a short moment.” He backed from the dressing room, but the spice of his cologne remained to tease her senses.
Gemma drew in a shaky breath and then another, angry and aroused and confused in turn. She felt vulnerable. Alone.
Silly emotions to feel since they’d be surrounded by other people in the restaurant. It wouldn’t be long and her brother would join them and she’d meet Stefano’s first payment.
And if Emilio didn’t show up?
She refused to think that as she donned her sensible clothes and left the dressing room with the new dress hanging on the hook.
Stefano was waiting for her, but instead of hurrying her out the door, he waited until the assistant hurried forward with his purchase carefully covered in an opaque garment bag.
She certainly didn’t want him buying anything for her. This dress far exceeded any bonus she’d earned from her job and was far too revealing to wear to work. And what was he thinking anyway by buying her clothes when she was already indebted to him?
“You should have foregone this bit of shopping,” she said as Stefano escorted her to the sleek silver car that had attracted a small crowd. “The delay will make you late for your business meeting.”
“It’s nothing that can’t be made up in driving time,” he said as he helped her into the butter-soft leather passenger seat and then quickly slid behind the wheel.
The thought of racing to their destination sent alarm zinging along her nerves. But as the car sped along the highway, she found herself enjoying the view of the islands strung into the Ligurian Sea like emeralds floating on the foam-edged blue waters.
She supposed to any passerby they looked like a couple out enjoying the evening. But that was just an illusion.
There was nothing casual about her being with Stefano tonight. This was pure business. The question was where would the night end? With her free of his hold, or more firmly caught in his grasp?
She instinctively lifted a hand to her neck, a gesture that had become habit when she was anxious. But toying with the necklace would only draw attention to her nervousness and Stefano would surely use that to his advantage.
Her hand fluttered back to her lap. “Did you say your company offices are in Livorno?”
“The offices and the shipyard,” he said. “The hull on Canto Di Mare’s new thirty-five meter yacht is finished and waiting for my approval.”