Blackmailed by the Italian Billionaire(3)

He forced himself to examine her objectively. Slightly over medium height, she had a slim, almost boyish figure and endlessly long legs. As he watched, she tugged self-consciously at the hem of the short, pink dress. Her blond hair hung straight to her shoulders, pushed back showing a classically beautiful face with high cheekbones and a wide mouth. She was nibbling on her lower lip, and her small pink tongue darted out. In a flash, the hatred was replaced with a stab of unexpected lust.

Relaxing in his chair, he savored the heat that coiled low in his belly. A woman hadn’t affected him this way in a long time, and he knew he would use it to discover what she was really after. He’d never had a problem getting any woman he wanted. Olivia Brent would be no different, and before long, she would be telling him anything he needed to know. He smiled to himself, and Harley laughed softly beside him.

“Would you like me to make a private lap dance part of the audition?” he asked.

“Piss off, Harley.”

“Sure?” Harley grinned. “Anyway, that’s definitely Jimmy’s girl and from the expression on her face, I don’t think it’s going to be difficult to persuade her that dancing isn’t the job for her.”





Chapter Two




Lia stumbled through the door into the murky nightclub, righted herself on her borrowed heels, and stood inside, blinking a little. For a moment, it was a relief to be in the cool darkness, then her eyes adjusted to the dim light.

“Holy crap.”

On the stage, right in front of her, an almost-naked blonde, with the most enormous breasts Lia had ever seen, was doing something obscene and definitely inadvisable with a stainless steel pole.

Her eyes widened, and she glanced away only to find her gaze dragged back. She’d spent all day with her best friend Kelly being transformed into Kelly’s idea of an exotic dancer. Now, staring at the woman on the stage, it was obvious Kelly had no more idea of what an exotic dancer looked like than she did.

Great job, Kelly.

Stiffening her back, she tried to remember Kelly’s instructions. Think bimbo, her friend had told her—nobody will expect you to have a brain. Unfortunately, if the woman on the stage was anything to go by, they were going to expect her to have breasts.

A truly horrible thought occurred to her. Would they want to see them? She went cold at the idea and sneaked another quick peek at the stage. They wouldn’t expect her to do anything like that, would they?

No freaking way.

Don’t think about it. Focus on the plan.

Trouble was, planning had never been one of her strong points. She was more of a “jump right in and worry about the consequences later” sort of person. But at least the plan was simple. All she had to do was meet Harley Watson, pretend she needed a job, and then casually slip in a question about her father’s whereabouts. After that, she could leave, and she need never come near the place again. So what if the club wasn’t quite what she expected? It wasn’t as though she actually wanted a job here.

Okay—step one: find Harley Watson. She peered around for someone to ask, finally spotting a waitress leaning on the bar. Lia moved over to her.

“Excuse me,” she said, tapping the waitress’s arm. “I have an appointment with Mr. Watson.”

“You do? With Harley?” the woman asked, giving Lia a far-from-flattering inspection. “He’s over there.” She nodded in the direction of a shadowed booth.

“Thank you.”



There were two men in the booth. One of them stood up and withdrew farther into the shadows as Lia approached. Lia tripped in the darkness, cursed, caught herself on the table, and found herself nose-to-nose with the biggest man she’d ever seen.

She knew she must have met Harley Watson as a child, but had no recollection. If she had, she was convinced she would have come up with a different plan—one that didn’t involve her being here. He was huge! Not merely tall, but broad and dressed entirely in black leather, with black hair pulled into a ponytail. His dark eyes lingered insolently on her breasts, or more likely lack of breasts. She resisted the urge to thrust them forward—it really wouldn’t do any good. Instead, she wiped a clammy palm down the side of her dress and held it out in front of her. He ignored the hand, and she let it drop to her side.

“So, you’re Jimmy Brent’s girl—Olivia?”

Lia plastered a smile on her face. “Yes,” she croaked, then cleared her throat. “Yes, Mr. Watson. But call me Lia—everyone does.”

“And you can call me Harley. So, how’s your mum, then?”

“Fine,” Lia said lying. “She sends her regards.”