Mistresses: Blackmailed For His Pleasure

She wouldn’t have to like it. She just had to lay there and suffer his touch for a month.

As if his touch would bring her anything but pleasure the likes she’d never known before!

“I want it in writing,” she said, disgusted her voice trembled. “I won’t sleep with you until then.”

A muscle tensed in his lean cheek and she braced herself for an argument. “Agreed. It is after all a solid business proposition.”

It was a personal proposition to settle a vendetta, to bend her to his will because he simply could. Because he believed she had been his father’s mistress first and had bled Cesare of his fortune. What would happen when the truth did come out?

Truths, she amended.

She’d never been with a man before, and he was sure to realize that. How long could she put him off?

Not long, she feared. What in the world would she tell him then regarding the jaunts to Milan?

He set his glass down and strode toward her, nudging her chin up with a finger that sent a new wave of awareness crashing through her. She hated that her body responded so readily to him.

“You look dead on your feet. Come, let me show you to your stateroom.” He guided her across the salon with a hand to her back, a hand that left her burning hot as if he’d left his brand on her skin.

She broke contact with him as soon as she walked into the suite. But the effort drained her and the soft lighting, the quiet, all tempted her to curl up on the first sofa she came to and sleep.

But before she did, she had to appease the final thing that would rob her of rest. “Have you spoken with your father?”

His shoulders snapped taut for a moment, as if her query had been a stinging lash. “I talked with his nurse earlier. He’s resting and his surgery is scheduled for tomorrow.”

“I gather you’ve instructed your crew to travel through the night,” she said.

“They have their orders.”

He pushed through double doors into a large bedroom that was dominated by a sumptuous bed. “The rooms are well stocked for impromptu visits. I trust you will find everything you need.”

Did he entertain off-the-cuff often? Or was he speaking of his feminine conquests and the provisions he kept on hand for them?

Jealousy slammed into her, blocking everything but the fact that she couldn’t bear to envision Stefano with anyone else. He was the last man she dreamed of making love with, and yet the only man who had invaded her dreams with lusty temptations and promises of forbidden pleasure.

Would reality prove half as wonderful?

“I’m sure I’ll manage,” she said, too weary to drum up genuine annoyance at him at this point.

What’s done was done.

“If you require anything, my suite is right across the salon,” he said, seeming in no hurry to leave her quarters.

His tie hung loose around the strong column of his neck. He’d unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a teasing glimpse of his sculpted chest dusted with black hair.

The contrast between stark white shirt and deeply tanned olive skin fascinated her. She’d spent her life around fishermen whose skin had baked a dark brown working in the sun. Her papa had had skin like leather.

Not so for Stefano. His skin looked smooth and soft, stretching taut over hard, unyielding muscles. Soon she’d know what he looked like without clothes. She’d feel that strong hard body moving on hers.

She clasped her hands together to still their trembling. And instantly noticed something very wrong.

“No!” She stared at her ring finger. Her bare ring finger.

“Bella, what troubles you?” he asked, his voice a rich baritone that stroked over her skin and left her trembling.

“My ring,” she said, and quickly described the marquise cut aquamarine flanked by two tiny diamonds that matched her necklace. “I’ve lost it somewhere.”

“I’ll have the servants search the boat and helicopter for it,” he said “D’accordo?”

She nodded, even though it was not okay. Her papa had given her that ring when she’d gotten her degree. Losing it was like losing her papa all over again.

She hugged her waist when she ached for someone to hold her. No, not someone. Stefano.

She’d lost too much. Her parents. The inn. And now Cesare’s life hung in the balance.

“I would like to accompany you to the hospital tomorrow,” she said, desperately needing to see the older man.

Again that abrupt tightening of his shoulders and back. “The doctors have stressed he is not to think of work.”

“I won’t mention the shipyard except to say all is fine,” she promised, not about to be dismissed so easily. “Please. I am worried about Cesare and will be a nervous wreck waiting at the office for news.”

“Of course.” His smile was tight, and a hardened glint sparked his eyes now. Anger?

Yes, he was likely annoyed that she’d insisted on coming to the hospital. He must know he couldn’t stop her, that her being there was simply a show of support.

She was first and foremost Cesare’s personal secretary! This unsavory agreement she made with Stefano fell below that—as he’d said, it was simply business.

“Sleep,” he said. “I can promise you that you won’t get much rest tomorrow night.”

And with that predictive remark he was gone.

She stared at the closed door a long moment, but the subdued light and luxurious bed called to her. He was right. She needed rest.

Gemma found a silk gown in the bureau, one of a dozen that still had tags on them. A good deal of her pique drained away knowing she wouldn’t be wearing his lover’s castoffs.

Yes, morning would come far too soon, she thought as she crawled into bed and doused the light. She sank into the down topper and sighed.

All she needed was a few hours’ sleep.

But she couldn’t close her eyes for when she did, she saw Stefano’s arrogant face and the dark desire that lit his eyes, which stirred an unsettling restlessness within her. So she paced the large bedroom in the velvet hush of night and prayed for exhaustion to overtake her.

How appropriate that he was as difficult to remove from her thoughts as he was from her life! When her mind grew too crowded with imaginings of what he expected of a mistress, she peeked out into the salon.

It was empty. All was quiet, and why shouldn’t it be since it was nearly four o’clock in the morning.

Gemma slipped into the salon and paused, her brief silk nightgown cool against her bare skin. She debated going back to find a robe or coverlet, then decided not to bother.

She was alone here. Stefano was asleep, and hopefully if she paced between the porthole and exterior door another thirty minutes she’d grow too weary to keep her eyes open, too.

“You should be in bed,” Stefano said, his deep voice reaching her from the dark recesses of the room.

She stopped and stared at him bathed in shadows. How long had he been standing there watching her?

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said. “A problem I’ve had for years.”

“Does nothing help?”

“If I grow tired enough from pacing and fretting, I will usually fall asleep for several hours.”

“You need a better diversion than pacing.”

She was tired and cranky and in no mood to spar with Stefano tonight. “What do you suggest?”

“Facciamo l’amore.”

Making love was not a good idea, not without her new contract in hand.

“We agreed to begin tomorrow night.”

One broad, masculine shoulder lifted in a lazy shrug, and as the faint moonlight played over his olive skin she realized he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Her throat went tight as her gaze lowered, admiring his taut belly ribbed with muscle, lean hips that would make a god proud and the evidence of his desire that jutted hard and long toward her.

Gemma’s legs turned to jelly, refusing to support her. Or maybe the heat from his gaze and the fire now sparking to life within her melted whatever usually held her upright.

She managed a weak, “Oh,” as she crumbled.

But she never hit the floor.

No, Stefano moved like lightning to catch her up against him. Gemma pushed against his chest, but the effort was halfhearted.

Her palms skimmed that unyielding masculine wall she’d longed to touch and she simply forgot how to breathe.

He was hot and strong and oh so sexy. Even in the dim light she could see his eyes weren’t a solid brown but dusted with flecks of gold.

Right now those specks were molten, melting any reser-vation that dared to cross her mind. Not that much was crossing her mind except how wonderful it felt to be held this close to this man.

“I can’t let you do this,” she said, the words tumbling from her in a breathy whisper as she realized that he was going to kiss her.

Or was she simply seeing what she wanted to see?

The seductive slant of his smile warmed her more than a full sun. “Why try to stop what we both want?”

His mouth captured hers, the kiss long and deep and drugging. Passion sang through her veins in a virtuoso’s concerto, bringing tears to her eyes for the sheer beauty and power that flowed from him into her.

She didn’t know how a kiss could muddle her so, but she was lost in his embrace, in this moment. He pressed her into the bed without breaking the kiss and she started. How had he carried her to her bedroom without her being aware of it?

Then the question was lost as he stroked her arms, her back, her breasts, taking his time with each. The glide of her silk gown was a barrier she loathed and an aphrodisiac that heightened her pleasure.

Oh, and what pleasure he gave!

His mouth moved over hers with ravenous passion and she trembled, starving for more. Each bold thrust of his tongue parried with hers sent an answering throb to the very core of her.

She writhed against him, wanting something she could only imagine. It was as if she’d slumbered all her life and just came awake now.

“Kiss me, bella,” he murmured against her lips. “Kiss me like you want to.”

Dare she? Her experience was laughable, but her desire was great.

Her small hands glided up his bare chest, awed and emboldened by the telling tremors that passed from this tall, muscular man into her. His hands weren’t passive, either, and those long fingers gliding over her sensitized skin adored and teased in turn. How could she have thought this man hard and cruel?

They were chest to breast, yet she ached to be closer. She hooked her legs around his lean hips, the movement pressing her sex to the hard length of his.

The silk of her gown sheathed his penis, yet each shift of their bodies created a delicious friction that shocked and emboldened her. She wanted skin on skin, wanting to know this man as intimately as a woman could.

The desire was bold and totally unlike her. Yet she felt no shame. Just want.

Her mouth played over his, treating him to the same sensual torment he’d afforded her. A deep moan of satisfaction rumbled from him, melding with the blissful sighs she could no longer hold back.

“You are made for loving,” he said, his lips trailing over skin he’d just bared.

Her skin pebbled under his knowing touch, but old promises and new fears threatened to dampen her amorous mood. He made a growling sound of protest and continued his exploration of her neck, her breasts.

“You deserve a lifetime of amorous pleasure, mio caro.”

She tried to summon up anger that Stefano only wanted an affair with her. But his mouth settled over one bare nipple and a maelstrom of new sensations exploded within her.

What would be quickly faded into oblivion. Her life suddenly hinged on this sensual fever he ignited in her.

She arched against him and breathed a sigh of relief when he rid her of her gown, the sound of tearing silk more erotic than she could have imagined.

She gloried in those strong, masculine hands that played over her skin, amazed that he knew what she liked, what she craved, more than she knew herself.

In this there were no barriers between them. At least not physical ones.

They were a man and woman in the throes of a passion that was far too intense for her to imagine. Mio Dio, if Stefano was that passionately aggressive for an entire month, she’d never purge him from her mind.

No, don’t think on those terms! Don’t think of falling in love with Stefano.

But how could she not imagine giving her heart to this man when he whispered a litany of love words in her ear. When he made her feel desirable and wanted and loved.

“Bella,” he breathed as his sex filled her.

She gasped more from surprise and pressure than any pain that she’d been warned she’d feel this first time with a man. No, any pain she felt was in her mind—for what could never be between them.

He went still, his dark eyes registering a moment’s shock as well. And she knew that he recognized she’d been a virgin.

She could almost read the second doubts he was warring with himself. The surprise that she wasn’t what he’d accused her of being.

She arched against him. “Please, don’t stop.”

His expression became more intense, more possessive. Then his mouth captured hers in a long, drugging kiss that left her awash in pleasure and need.

She raked her fingers down his back and melted against him, reveling in the new sensations. So this was how it felt to be joined to a man.

She hadn’t imagined she’d feel so free. That this moment would feel so right.

Stefano cupped her face in his palms and locked gazes with her, and she marveled that even in the dim light she saw her need reflected in his dark eyes. “You are mine now. Do you understand?”

She nodded, but she refused to read anything into that arrogant comment besides the fact she was now his mistress.

Then he sank into her fully and withdrew before she could catch her breath, only to do it again and again. His mouth dipped to hers and she met him midway, the kiss going as wild and frenzied as his thrusts.

There were no more words, just an explosion of sensations and pleasures that their bodies understood.

She matched his strong, sure movements, clinging to him in helpless abandon. The sensations building within her were too huge, nearly too intense to bear. Just as she feared she’d faint from the sheer joy of finding completion in his arms, they climaxed together.

Gemma had heard the saying of two becoming one, but she hadn’t understood what it meant until now. She felt his heart beat in every pore in her body, felt the tension and power of the man rippling through her in sultry waves.

He rolled to his side and took her with him, still inside her, still holding her close to his heart. She nestled against the solid wall of his chest, his heartbeat loud and steady against her ear.

He was as much a part of her as she of him. She felt branded by his touch, his possession. She felt wanted and desirous and loved.

A delicious, drowsy warmth spread over her. She yawned, her last coherent thought was she’d be content to spend every night just like this.

This was heaven.

This was a delicious dream from which she never wanted to awaken. But she knew before she closed her eyes that it would end all too soon.

For the morning he was sure to pepper her with questions that she still couldn’t answer.

The whomp-whomp of the helicopter snapped Gemma from her euphoric dream. She lay in the bed a tense moment, disoriented by the splendor surrounding her.

The yacht.

Stefano.

This bed where they’d made love last night.

His masculine, spicy scent that lingered on the sheets and her skin. The tenderness other breasts and the flesh between her legs.

She reached to his side. The sheet and pillow were cool. Not even an indentation remained to prove he’d been here.

The helicopter!

She bounded from the bed and winced, her body protesting the sudden movement in the wake of the erotic pleasure she’d gained last night. Her gown lay in a wad of torn silk on the floor.

Impatiently she tore through the closet to find a thick velour wrapper. She bundled up in it and rushed into the salon, still feeling cold inside.

A maid started from straightening the room. “Scusi.”

Gemma shrugged aside the woman’s apology. “Where is Stefano?”

The maid looked to the window. “He left.”

“In the helicopter?”

“Sì. May I bring your breakfast?”

Gemma shook her head and rushed out the door. She paused a second to get her bearings then darted down the hall toward the large room at the end.

Gaining the upper deck proved easy enough, but she was too late to stop Stefano or even catch his attention. Not that he’d have paid her any heed anyway.

No, he’d loved her to distraction last night and then left her here on his yacht this morning while he went to the hospital to be with Cesare. He’d lied to her!

The reason was clear to her. He didn’t trust her to stay away as he’d asked. He’d brought her here last night to ensure she’d not be able to get to land until he decreed it so. The yacht was so far at sea she couldn’t even see land!

Gemma stormed back to her stateroom and slammed the door. If he’d lied about this, could she trust him to keep his promise regarding the inn?

A cold emptiness expanded in her, freezing any pleasure she’d felt in his arms. The suite where she’d made such passionate love with Stefano now felt like a silken prison.

You are mine now, he’d said.

But he hadn’t meant it in the sense of them being closer as a couple. No, it had been a possessive comment and nothing more.

He had her under his thumb. Or so he thought.

She was a fisherman’s daughter. She knew the sea and these people. Somehow she’d find a way to get back to Italy.

Gemma had to return today to see Cesare, if only to assure herself he was healing after his surgery. Then she must travel to Milan for there was a little girl waiting impatiently for her visit. And what would she tell her about Cesare’s absence?

The truth.

It’d been hidden long enough.

CHAPTER EIGHT

STEFANO paced the near empty waiting room and damned the time that seemed to crawl by—unlike this morning which had flown by in a rush. He’d not wanted to leave Gemma’s side. He’d wanted to get lost in her lush body again.

She’d been a virgin. Virgin!

If not for his strong will, he’d have shaken her awake at dawn and demanded to know what the hell she and his papa had been doing all those weekends in Milan. But he didn’t have the time to delve into it now.

And he didn’t trust her to do as he ordered once they reached land. He didn’t want to hear any more of her lies. No, he wanted to hear his papa’s side of this now.

But he’d gotten to the hospital too late thanks to his reluctance at tearing himself from Gemma and then a traffic snarl after he landed in Viareggio.

Now he would have to wait for his papa to recover before he could get answers. That wasn’t something he was even marginally good at doing.

“Stefano, please sit,” his aunt had said, her usually radiant face looking haggard. “You are making me nervous with your endless pacing.”

Maledizione! He certainly didn’t wish to cause anyone any more grief.

He plopped on the stiff chair beside her and stretched his long legs out. “My apologies. You know patience isn’t one of my strong suits.”

“Sì, I know. But I also know my nephew and recognize when something is deeply troubling him.”

“It has been a long morning without word how Papa is doing.”

She clamped a hand on his arm and her tension vibrated into him. “Did you expect them to stop the surgery and deliver a report?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“What is troubling you, Stefano?” his aunt asked.

Gemma. She invaded his thoughts. Sweet, beguiling Gemma. Sweet, innocent Gemma.

But he couldn’t tell his papa’s sister that. Not now when her stress was palpable for she would ask questions that he didn’t wish to address, either. He sure as hell couldn’t tell her he’d blackmailed his papa’s secretary into his bed!

“There are things at Marinetti that require my attention today,” he said.

She stared at him through narrowed eyes. “What about the secretary? Have you dismissed her yet?”

He heaved a sigh, wishing his mamma hadn’t told her sister-in-law about Cesare’s infidelity. Wishing to hell his mamma hadn’t told him her suspicions at all.

“No. It is more complicated than I thought.”

The color drained from her face as she pressed a hand to her generous bosom. “Addio! Please tell me this woman is not with child.”

“Nothing of the sort,” he said, and hoped to hell that proved true.

Maledizione! He hadn’t used protection.

He hadn’t thought it was necessary since she was his father’s mistress.

Except she wasn’t. He only hoped she was on the pill or used some type of birth control. But how likely was a virgin to do that?

Stefano drove his fingers through his hair and called himself ten kinds of an ass. Taking Gemma’s virginity had robbed him of the vengeance he’d sought. It changed everything that he’d planned to do with her.

It forced him to reassess her role in his life and his future. He wanted to blame her for lying to him, except in this she’d told the truth. She wasn’t his father’s mistress—she was his by coercion.

Imbecile!

He’d never bedded a virgin before. Never wanted to.

He didn’t want to think that he could have fathered a child with Gemma. He didn’t want to think of her at all.

But as the day wore on and his worry for his papa increased, his thoughts continued to turn to Gemma. In his bed. Loving her and knowing that he was the first man to introduce her to sex.

Her sweet scent filled his head. He hungered for another taste of her honeyed mouth. To suckle the pert breasts until the rosy nipples budded on his tongue. To settle between her soft thighs and sup at the erotic essence of her, to drive her wild with ecstasy before covering her and making them one.

Unbidden came an overwhelming swell of possessiveness. She was his now. His.

Up until the time he took her virginity, he’d not been tied to her. He could have sent her on her way without repercussions.

He should never have set out to ruin her for in doing so he’d only tangled their lives together.

There was no going back.

He couldn’t walk away. He wouldn’t desert her until he knew if she carried his child.

What was done was done. If his seed grew in her, he’d accept his responsibility. He’d marry her without hesitation.

And if there was no child?

Stefano would honor the agreement they’d made for thirty days. Then he’d let her go.

By then this fierce possessiveness he felt toward her would have waned. He wouldn’t be filled with rage over the thought of her moving on to a new lover. Of marrying one day. Of having children.

“I do not like that she is still on the payroll,” his aunt said. “Your mamma’s memory deserves more respect than that.”

He heaved a sigh, vexed that his aunt was still brooding about Gemma. He certainly couldn’t let his aunt go on believing the worst of Gemma but he did not relish telling her the truth, either.

“Mamma was mistaken about her,” he said.

His aunt gaped at him. “Do not tell me she has woven you around her finger as well?”

He refused to dignify that with a denial and settled on facts instead. “Gemma Cardone wasn’t Papa’s lover.”

“I suppose she told you that.”

“She did and I refused to believe her.”