Blackmailed by the Italian Billionaire(13)

Cupping one breast, he rubbed his palm over her nipple. It stiffened under his touch and he knew she was awake. He breathed against her skin, kissed the soft spot where her neck met her shoulder. A quiver ran through her as his hand drifted down over her satin smoothness of her belly, to the sweet curve of her hips. He curled a hand around one slender thigh, raising her leg so he could slip his fingers between the drenched folds of her sex. As he eased into her from behind, a small sigh escaped her throat—he was lodged deep inside her, her slick muscles surrounding his shaft.

One arm held her still, his palm on her breast, fingers toying with her taut nipple, the other teased the swollen flesh between her thighs, rubbing and massaging, feeling her hovering on the edge and backing off until she was shivering in his arms. And all the while, he filled her with slow, controlled strokes, until his own orgasm tightened his balls, tugged at his mind, and he knew he couldn’t last much longer. Taking her clit gently between his finger and thumb, he squeezed lightly until she came with a small scream, her internal muscles clenching him tight, so his own release washed through him, and pleasure flooded his cock, his balls, and raced up his spine.

…





Luc awoke relaxed and satiated, his whole body filled with a delicious sensation of well-being. It didn’t last for long. He reached for Lia and found her gone. A wave of loss washed over him—already he missed her. Then he remembered who she was, and he swore softly. Dragging himself up, he glanced at the clock by the bed—it was after midnight.

When was the last time he had fallen asleep with a woman? And why the hell did he have to choose this one?

He got out of bed and stretched; his body felt good, even if his mind was raging, hunting for a reason she would have crept out in the middle of the night, a reason other than that she was up to no good. He didn’t want to accept that could be the case. How had she gotten beneath his skin so fast and so deep?

After pulling on a pair of black, loose linen trousers, he padded barefoot through the sitting room and into the office. There was no sign of Lia, not that he expected one. He knew she was long gone.

Picking up the phone from the desk, he rang the security guard at the gate. “Carl, the woman I came in with, what time did she leave?”

He ended the call, sank into the leather chair behind his desk, and thought for a moment. She’d left around eleven thirty. Switching on the monitor, he pressed a few buttons. The CCTV cameras had been installed in his office a couple of years ago; it was useful to go over meetings afterward and study his “opponents’” expressions. Now, he sat back and watched. The screen flickered to life, and he fast-forwarded until he saw Lia come out of the apartment. Wearing his white shirt, the sleeves rolled up, the hem skimming her thighs, she looked beautiful, rumpled, and sexy.



And decidedly shifty.

For a minute, she stared around the room, obviously searching for something before moving to where her pink dress lay discarded on the floor. Glancing at the door, she wriggled into the dress before slipping the shirt from her shoulders. She peered around the office, her eyes fixing on the bank of cabinets lining one wall. After another nervous glance at the door, she edged over then tried to open one. Luc swore; he’d known her innocent act was too good to be true.

His eyes narrowed on the screen as he considered the possibilities. Maybe this had nothing to do with her father; maybe she was a setup, an industrial spy. Someone who knew his past could have set it up easily, known exactly who to use to bait the hook. Hell, she might not even be Jimmy Brent’s daughter. But Harley had recognized her, and frankly she was too inept to be any sort of spy.

Maybe she was just curious. He shook his head in disgust. He couldn’t believe, even now, with the evidence in front of him, that he was hunting for excuses for her, anything to convince himself she wasn’t in league with her treacherous father.

Now, she was tugging futilely at the handles, only giving up when she’d tried each and every one. Standing back, she glared in frustration then kicked the cabinet with her bare foot, scowling and hopping for a moment.



Luc smiled grimly; all the locks in this room were controlled by thumbprint, his thumbprint. There was no way she was getting access to any information. Obviously, coming to the same conclusion herself, she gave up and returned to the desk. After staring at the computer, she shook her head, turned to the chair and seemed to consider it for a minute. Sitting down, she winced slightly; she closed her eyes and twirled.

She got up and headed toward the rest of her things, picking up her jacket but then peering back to the door that led to the living quarters, where he was aware he’d lain blissfully sleeping in post-coital satisfaction, oblivious to the world around him. Dropping her jacket, she tiptoed across the room, through the door, and disappeared. Luc swore again. What was she doing? Probably deciding whether it was safe to murder him in his bed. He shook his head in self-disgust; he must have been out of his mind to let his guard down around Jimmy Brent’s daughter.