Mistresses: Blackmailed For His Pleasure

“I won’t stand by and do nothing.”

The tendons in his neck stood out and his dark eyes blazed with anger at her defiance. Not that she cared what he thought.

It was her family who would suffer.

But even if Stefano had any concept of family, he’d not care about the turmoil she suffered. She had to talk sense into her brother and get him help before he was in debt so deeply he’d never get out.

“I will not allow you to do this.”

Gemma gaped at Stefano. Was he serious?

“You can’t stop me.”

She knew that was the wrong thing to say when his eyes darkened to that feral black again. But he held his thoughts and she suspected that was because they were surrounded by people.

But she knew a cauldron of anger boiled within him. Anger at her brother, at her. At his father?

It was the reason why that puzzled her.

Then she recalled what had started this all. He’d mentioned the vast sum Cesare had spent the past year. Money he’d used for his daughter’s care as well as the generous gift he’d insisted she have.

Her nest egg for a better tomorrow though she’d spent it all on the inn. Her nonna had lived long enough in squalor.

Gemma wasn’t about to let her continue to do so, not when she finally had the means to make the necessary repairs. If Cesare hadn’t needed her, she would have returned to Manarolo and taken over the inn herself. It wasn’t as if she’d be usurping her sister-in-law’s duties!

But she couldn’t tell Stefano any of that, for to do so would reveal the secret she’d swore to hold for Cesare. Now seeing how little regard Stefano held for family, she didn’t dare trust him with the truth.

“You can’t meet the deadline for the loan,” he said as he escorted her to his car. “Which means I will own your half of the inn. If you hope to negotiate a means to regain the title, you would be wise to do as I tell you to do.”

Gemma’s heart stuttered, aware that domineering threat wasn’t a mere boast. But was he serious about giving her a chance to regain her half of the inn? “What are you suggesting?”

“We’ll discuss it later.” He motioned for her to get in the car, his expression carefully devoid of emotion again. “You want to go to Monte Carlo tonight, then I will take you.”

“Then neither of us will be back at work in the morning,” she said as she got in the car.

“Work can wait.”

In moments he’d slid behind the wheel and cut into traffic with the expertise of a Formula 1 driver and she realized he was dead serious.

She didn’t relish the idea of racing over the mountains in the middle of the night with Stefano Marinetti. But she couldn’t waste another second reaching her brother, either.

“How long will it take to drive there?”

“Too long. We are taking my helicopter.”

He couldn’t be serious.

But as he turned onto the main road and sped back toward the shipyard, she knew that Stefano Marinetti wasn’t jesting.

An hour later, Stefano set down the helicopter in the executive heliport at Monte Carlo. Gemma hadn’t said a word since they’d lifted off, even though he’d fitted her with earphones.

But then he hadn’t felt obliged to strike up a conversation, either. For one thing, the night-flight had demanded all his concentration. For another he didn’t trust himself to remain impassive when the very air they breathed pulsed with tension.

Though he’d expected it, he still found it galling that she’d asked for an extension on the damned loan. “Cesare would’ve granted it,” she’d said, and he was certain she was right.

That was all the reminder he’d needed to believe that she’d appeal to his father as soon as she could. She’d get back in Cesare’s good graces and his bed.

But the possibility of her taking her position further loomed large before him, especially now that she stood to lose her shares of the inn. Marriage would cement her place in his father’s life and grant her the power to do whatever the hell she wished with what little money remained.

And considering her devotion to her brother, that money would likely find its way to Monte Carlo.

No, he couldn’t let her near his father. Instead he must make a more attractive proposition to her, and he must give her little chance to refuse.

As soon as it was safe to exit the helicopter, he hurried her across the helipad and into the waiting limo. His blood heated from the light scent that was uniquely hers and the excitement that crackled in the air. From the fact that when this nasty business was concluded here, he and Gemma would form a new arrangement.

That she’d be his.

Flashes of lights confirmed the paparazzi were out in force, leading him to believe that more celebrities than usual were partaking of the games of chance or just visiting on the chance to be noticed partying among the ultrarich.

He’d never found this jet-set lifestyle appealing. Staying on the cutting edge of his business and promoting it to its fullest kept him on the go. Unlike a good number of his contemporaries, he preferred to celebrate his successes with a select few or in private with a beautiful woman.

Like Gemma?

He shoved that thought from his mind and concentrated on what had brought him here tonight. Gemma.

How ironic that just two weeks ago Jean Paul had goaded him to come gamble. Buying Cardone’s old trawler had made it worth his time.

And now?

The last text message he’d received from Jean Paul hinted at a repeat of the last time he’d been pitted against Cardone. Only this victory tonight would be over Gemma.

It would be all the sweeter. When she saw her brother fail this time, she’d have no choice but to accept what Stefano offered. No choice at all.

“How in the world will I find Emilio here?” Gemma asked, her voice so low he wondered if she was talking to herself.

The hand he had pressed to her spine slid to her side—all to get a better hold on her as they wended their way through this throng. It had nothing to do with offering her comfort for the turmoil she’d face in the next hour. Nothing!

“Cardone is in the poker room engaged in a high stakes game,” he said. “He has lost the last two hands.”

“How do you know that?” she asked.

“My friend sent me a message some time ago,” he said.

She stopped and stared at him. “Did you hire your friend to gamble against Emilio?”

“No, Jean Paul is a billionaire with a talent and desire to gamble on his off time.” He didn’t bother to mention Jean Paul was a celebrated Formula 1 driver, for what was the point?

“Come. We’ll join the audience, but you must remain quiet,” he said. “Any disruption will have you removed.”

She glared at him for the longest time with nothing short of hatred. With a huff, she turned and strode down the hall, back impossibly rigid.

Fine. He would rather she hate him; he could deal with that better than coping with the desire and empathy she’d stirred to life in him earlier. If she raised a ruckus, she’d find herself hustled from the room.

It would only make the tension between them all the more stronger later when they sat down to business. Yes, they were waging their own high stakes games. But he would win.

He could make her want him. He could make her wild with desire. He would have his vengeance!

Because he intended to blackmail her into his bed? His cheeks burned, a rarity to be sure.

But for all his shrewd business sense, he’d never mistreated a woman in his life. Never! Not even the one he’d brought home to meet his parents and who set her sights on his brother.

But that anger that always roared to life failed to come.

In its place was a new emotion. Stronger. More volatile.

This business between him and Gemma had meaning. This fired his blood.

This was archaic thinking. It was something he’d never done and never thought to do with a woman.

But he couldn’t back down. Not now. Not when the scent of her filled his senses, when the brief kiss they’d shared inflamed his desire.

“Marinetti,” he told the guard at the door.

The man nodded and stepped aside without a word.

Gemma hesitated, but Stefano’s hand to her back hurried her inside. A row of plush chairs cast in shadow faced the tables.

She eased onto a chair and stared at him with eyes that were too huge and too filled with an emotion he couldn’t grasp. The deep sense of hurt that dimmed her eyes charged the tension-filled air and raised the hair at his nape.

“Call,” said the Russian mogul playing against Cardone.

The last chips where thrust forward. The cards revealed. Cardone lost.

She looked at Stefano and asked in a whisper, “Is it over?”

He nodded in answer, and her narrow shoulders bowed. In fact her entire body seemed to cave in on itself.

Damn her brother for doing this to her. Then he damned himself for letting her get to him. For wanting to take her in his arms and comfort her.

“All players must purchase the required chips before the start of the next game.”

Cardone pushed from the table and stalked to the bank, a trip he’d undoubtedly made countless times. “I have title to property. Will you take that as surety for a stake in the next game?”

“Yes, if you have it with you.”

“What is he doing?” Gemma said, her tension so acute Stefano felt it abrading his nerves.

Cardone produced a document and handed it to the bank. “The inn on Manarolo is in good condition and makes a modest profit.”

The bank took the paper. “One moment to verify this, sir.”

“No! He doesn’t own the inn.” She rushed to her brother, drawing all eyes to her.

Stefano followed on her heels, wanting to believe that Gemma had lied all along about the ownership of the inn. But her reaction was too genuine to be staged.

She was shocked by her brother’s actions to the point of hysteria.

Cardone whirled on her then, eyes widening with surprise before narrowing in anger. “What are you doing here?”

“Stopping you from making a mistake,” she said. “How did you get Nonna’s shares of the inn?”

Her brother let out a smug laugh. “Nonna is already heart-broken that you lost your half of the inn to Marinetti.”

“You told her about that?” she asked, her voice dropping to a choked whisper.

“Of course. She signed over her half of the inn to me, the family who has stayed by her side this past year.”

“The family who is about to gamble away our heritage!” She clasped trembling hands over her mouth and stared at her brother as if he were a stranger. “What are you thinking? The inn is your home. It’s our family’s livelihood. You live there. Your wife works with Nonna and affords you a modest income off the guests.”

“Peasant wages,” Cardone spat. “I want more for my family and myself.” He flicked a damning glower at Stefano. “I want the kind of life your rich boss enjoys.”

“Then work for it!”

“Trust me in this, mio serella,” Cardone said to Gemma, the endearment sounding false to Stefano’s ears. “When I win this pot you’ll never have to bow and scrape for a mili-onario again,” he said, inclining his head Stefano’s way. “You would be independently wealthy.”

“You can’t risk our home,” she said, and Stefano realized the source of her fear.

He owned her shares now, and if her brother sold his, then their family would be cast out on the street. The inn that had been handed down from generation to generation would be lost.

Cardone grasped Gemma’s upper arms and drew her close. Her startled gasp touched something inside Stefano, something that smacked of jealousy. Something that spurred him to protect her any way he could.

He just barely stayed the urge to shove Cardone aside and take Gemma into his arms. Just barely. And that admission enraged him for he had just proven he was no better than his father around her.

“Your home,” Cardone repeated, the biting sarcasm in his voice hushing those in the room again. “You would do anything to hold on to that crumbling pile of stones, even sell yourself to an old man.”

“Apologize to the lady,” Stefano said, barely restraining himself from physically hauling Cardone outside and laying into him.

Never mind he had accused Gemma of the same thing. He had not voiced such crudities in public.

“Defending her?” Cardone asked, setting his sister aside.

“In this attack? Sì”

Which made no sense because Stefano had wanted to publicly humiliate her. He’d wanted to ruin her and recover as much of his father’s property and money as he could.

Cardone sneered at Gemma. “You go from doting on one Marinetti to the other and turn your back on your brother.”

“You don’t want my help. You just want what money I can spare so you can toss it away on the turn of a card.”

She turned to Stefano but didn’t look him in the eyes, seeming shamed and weary and oh so vulnerable. “Please, take me away from here. I can’t bear to watch anymore.”

This was his chance to walk away and complete her humiliation. This was the time to put her in her place once and for all and defend his family’s honor.

Honor.

To an Italian, honor was everything. But the timing felt wrong. This wasn’t the place or time.

“The title is verified,” the bank said to Cardone.

“Take her away from here,” Cardone said, then turned to accept the casino’s offer.

Nobody noticed Gemma’s distress and obvious depression. Nobody but Stefano.

“I’ll give you five hundred thousand euros for the title,” Stefano said, doing this for himself for he had no desire to have a stranger as his partner.

It had nothing to do with Gemma’s crushing defeat. Nothing to do with revenge. He did not want to feel anything for this woman but disgust. She’d all but stolen from his father, yet she portrayed the injured party so well now that he almost sympathized with her.

Cardone smirked and snatched the title from the bank. “I accept your offer, Marinetti.”

“Think of what this will do to Nonna,” Gemma said, her voice rough with emotion now.

But Cardone merely shrugged. “Perhaps the new owner will allow her to stay on there, if given the proper incentives.”

And again Stefano wanted to throttle the man for his crude innuendoes hurled at Gemma in public. It went without saying that the old woman could live out her days in her home. But he refused to comment now.

Far too much had been said already.

A quiet hum resumed in the room with gamblers taking their places for the next game. He caught the questioning look in his friend’s eye, but didn’t attempt to engage in conversation.

This wasn’t the time.

He wanted out of here before he truly did lose his temper with Cardone. Just one more insult to Gemma was all it would take, and wasn’t that a thorn for Stefano to contend with?

The transaction went swiftly with Cardone signing his name with a flourish and Gemma standing stiff and solemn beside Stefano.

He tucked the title in his suit pocket then pressed a hand to her back. “It is time to leave, bella.”

She simply nodded and walked out with her head high.

He caught himself admiring her pride in the face of such adversity.

It was over. He owned the inn now.

But he felt no victory. Not yet.

He controlled what she wanted most. The inn. The question was what would she agree to do to gain back the title.

CHAPTER SEVEN

SHE shouldn’t have left Monte Carlo with Stefano. She should’ve taken the train back home.

Home.

She didn’t have a home any longer, just a flat in Viareggio. She’d let her nonna down in the worst possible way.

What would happen next?

Gemma had to ask Stefano about his plans for the inn. For if he intended to sell it, there was the slim chance she could still secure a loan from the bank.

It was a slim thread to hang onto as she sat beside him in the helicopter, the lights of the casino fading as they flew out over the Ligurian Sea that lay black and fathomless at night. If only that emotionally draining scene with Emilio in the poker room would diminish as well.

But it didn’t. It remained clear and garish.

She’d failed to help her brother. In fact she didn’t know how to reach him anymore. She didn’t know if she had the heart to try, and that only heaped more guilt on her already tired shoulders.

Emilio knew exactly what she’d done to get the money to refurbish the inn, yet he twisted the truth into something ugly. He insinuated that she had been Cesare’s mistress and that she was now Stefano’s lover.

She hadn’t even had the heart to deny it for what good would it have done? Stefano hadn’t said anything in his defense, either, just stared at her with those dark, smoldering eyes like he had right before he’d kissed her.

Mio Dio, even hours later she could still taste him on her tongue. Still feel the steely strength in the arms that had held her close. Still remember the evidence of his desire against her belly.

Oh, yes, they had given the gossips plenty of fodder to feed on this night. She just hoped news of it wouldn’t reach Cesare soon.

The day for his open-heart surgery had arrived. The last thing he needed was the stress caused by these vicious lies.

Stress.

Her life was a total disaster now. She’d never felt this adrift. This separated from everything she’d known and loved and trusted.

She wanted to know what Stefano’s plans were for the inn. But even with the headphones, the roar of the blades dissuaded conversation.

So she held her thoughts and fears to herself and settled in for the long ride back to Viareggio. That thought had barely crossed her mind when she spotted the lights of a big ship dead ahead. The helicopter circled it once and then began descending.

Her mind ran away with dire reasons why Stefano would set down in the middle of the sea. And wasn’t this dangerous to attempt at night?

Never mind he was landing on a small cruise ship. He was doing so nearly blind at night.

Before she could work herself into a full-blown panic, he’d landed the helicopter. Her heart stopped its frantic pounding so she could hear him speaking to someone over his radio.

She immediately thought of Cesare. “Is something wrong?” she asked before they both removed their headphones.

“It is late and I didn’t wish to fly back to Viareggio tonight when my yacht was so close by.”

She stared out on the deck of the large ship. “This huge boat is yours?”

He slid her a devilish grin that had her seeing him as a desirable man instead of the man who’d just gained control of all she held dear. A very handsome man with an odd glint in his eyes that roused her suspicions.

If he thought she’d tumble into bed with him now, he was sorely mistaken. There had to be plenty of rooms on board. Hopefully there was one far from his domain.

“This is the starship of my new fleet,” he said with pride ringing clear in his tone. “I can work from here as easily as I can on land.”

“Have you done that often?” she said in an attempt to make idle conversation.

“Many times of late. Come.”

He stepped from the helicopter and rounded it to assist her down. An odd thing to do since there were plenty of men who had jumped to attend to the helicopter and its billionaire pilot.

A refreshing breeze greeted her as she crossed the deck with her hand tightly clasped in Stefano’s. Possessive. Sensual.

The last sensation thrummed her nerves in an erotic melody she couldn’t deny. She didn’t want to feel anything toward him but animosity.

Though she was helpless to stop the swift stab of desire, hell would surely freeze over before she acted upon it. With that thought in mind, she was able to draw a decent breath as he led her belowdecks.

If Gemma didn’t know better, she’d swear she’d just entered a sunken palace. Marble floors and pillars, plush Brussels carpets that her feet sank into, crystal light fixtures that caught the light and reflected it back in a rich rainbow of color.

Servants rushed to attend to Stefano’s needs but he waved them off. “I need nothing more tonight,” he said as he tugged Gemma down a hall and into a large suite.

“It’s gorgeous,” she said as she took in the massive stateroom.

The lighting was subdued. The furnishing modern yet masculinely opulent.

“This is the salon where we meet clients.” He crossed to a bar. “May I get you something?”

This was one of those occasions when she needed alcohol.

“Chianti, please.”

Stefano obliged and handed her a glass. “I imagine you are close to exhaustion.”

“It’s been an extremely taxing day.”

He nodded agreement. “But there is one more bit of business I wish to discuss now.”

The inn. She was sure of it.

He had her where he could punish and torment her and they both knew it. It was a matter of how much blood he wanted from her for not confiding in her personal affairs.

She drank her wine too fast and felt a wave of dizziness engulf her. “Very well,” she said in her most businesslike tone. “What is it that is so urgent?”

“I gather the inn means a great deal to you.”

“More than it could possibly mean to you. I want the opportunity to buy it back,” she said, her chin lifting for the argument she was sure would come.

“Fine,” he said so quickly she nearly reeled. “I have no wish to delve into the hotel business at any level.”

“Then why did you buy Emilio’s shares?” she asked.

He poured an equal amount of wine in his glass and took a sip. “Because I didn’t want a third party to have any say over my plans for the inn.”

His answer left her more confused than before. “You just said you had no wish to manage an inn.”

“I don’t. But I didn’t want to divide the shares, either.”

A fact she appreciated even though it forced her to appeal to him solely now. “Then do you agree to sell the inn to me?”

His firm lips curved into that wicked smile again. “Selling is a lengthy process I’d prefer avoiding.”

“I planned to get a loan—”

He raised a hand and she fell silent. “I don’t want money, bella. I want you.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, though she feared she knew where this was leading.

“I want you to be my mistress.”

She set the glass down though she was tempted to hurl it at his hard head. “I won’t prostitute myself for you or anyone.”

One devilishly dark eyebrow lifted in mock questioning. “Not even for sole ownership of your inn on Manarolo?”

Damn him! “I can get a loan and pay you—”

“Don’t bother,” he said. “You will not work for Marinetti beyond another month.”

“You’re firing me?”

He shrugged. “I am extending you one offer, bella. In addition to your duties as my personal secretary, I want you to be my mistress for one month.”

“You’re vile.”

“Think what you like. In exchange for your companion-ship for one month, I’ll give you the title to the inn on Manarolo free and clear.”

She hadn’t thought she could hate him more than she did at this second, but a fury like she’d never felt before surged through her. She wanted to pummel his chest, kick him. She wanted to walk out of his life and never look back.

But he had her in a vulnerable position.

Unless she was willing to break her promise to Cesare, or see her inn sold to a stranger and her nonna displaced, she had no choice but to agree to Stefano’s outrageous demands. The fact that her body did respond to the power and erotic pulse of his was moot—and if she told herself that enough, just maybe she’d believe it.

The cold fact remained that he was dangling the prize before her eyes. All she had to do to gain her heart’s desire was be his mistress.