“Or deliver him to a recovery facility.”
Dead silence answered his words.
“A very expensive, successful recovery facility.”
She stood rigid: her face white, blue eyes stark in contrast to her skin. He had a sudden desire to pace to her, sweep her in his arms, tell her he would protect her.
However, this was not his goal or his duty. His duty was to his business, his family, his brother. She was merely an object of his fleeting desire.
And his adversary.
“Well, Ms. Moran? Which will it be?”
Chapter 3
Being treated like unwanted baggage was nothing new.
As a kid, she’d always been treated this way.
Still. It rankled.
Darcy glanced across the long length of the limo seat. The Great Man ignored her. As he’d ignored her in the limo that drove them to Heathrow. As he’d ignored her on the long flight to New York. As he ignored her now. He’d been far more interested in his phone, which he was currently talking into, or his laptop, which he’d had in front of him the entire eight hours on the plane.
She shouldn’t care. She should be thankful his attention wasn’t on her. It was pretty damn scary to think this man and his goons had rifled through her life enough to find out about dear old dad. What else did he know about her?
Not that she had anything much to hide.
Except herself.
Her hands trembled and she stuck them between her legs to warm them. The chill running through her body couldn’t be warmed by the heat seeping from the vents. Trying to recover her composure after coming through the whirlwind of dictates, plans, and commands issued by this man was a decided chore. Within seconds of her capitulation, he’d barked orders into his phone.
His brother was to be sent to Italy, to spend the next month cozying up to his fiancée. Her meager belongings were to be immediately packed and delivered to his penthouse. Her mobile phone and passport were handed over at his bidding. And she, the unwanted baggage, was going to New York with him.
As his blackmailed mistress.
In name only.
She’d been able to get a couple of words in. One demand.
No sex.
He’d looked at her, quirked an eyebrow and then laughed. His demeanor had changed from impatient dictator to wicked tempter. Carita, he’d caressed the word as he murmured it. His silver eyes had gleamed with humor. I will allow you to make the first move.
He’d stated the words with absolute arrogance and complete confidence.
He would allow. Her.
Darcy threw a glare across the length of the seat, but he was staring out the window as he talked into his phone in rapid Italian. Her glare bounced right off him and back onto her.
For several hours she had been overwhelmed, so what?
It was understandable. Also, forgivable.
But it was time to find her courage and reinstate it. Time to resurrect her fighting spirit. Admittedly, he’d gained the upper hand and had forced her into this situation. Yet she’d learned well over the years—every situation had a silver lining. The silver in this situation was not his eyes, but the fact she had a month where apparently she was going to be spending a lot of time following him around. A month to charm, cajole, and change his mind about Matt and the damn wedding-that-wasn’t-going-to-happen.
There was every reason to hope she could do what she’d originally set out to do.
Feeling a bit more cheerful, she looked through the window and watched as the city lights glistened and glowed through the icy sleet dripping down the pane.
There was another silver lining.
She could enjoy her first trip to New York.
Her first trip anywhere outside of England.
The Great Man hadn’t thought it worth telling her how long they’d be in the city, still it would be at least a day or two, wouldn’t it? He’d be busy with his all-important business meetings, so odds were she’d have a chance to see some of the sights. She’d read about the art galleries in this city. If a girl focused on this situation in the right frame of mind, this was brilliant.
A man she despised would foot the bill for something she adored.
My, my, how she loved irony.
Now she was downright cheerful. Giving her window reflection a jaunty grin, she promised herself she’d find a way to make this new situation work to her benefit and Matt’s.
“What is so funny?”
His dark growl rolled across the seat and straight up her spine. It reminded her there was a big bad wolf in her plot line and she was going to have to use all her skills to charm him if she wanted to succeed in bending him to her will. She hadn’t handled it well in his office, true. For the last few hours, she’d sunk into a numb zombie state, also true. Maybe he thought this was how she usually acted—either screeching like a banshee or stumbling behind him like a dumb animal.