Mistress By Blackmail(28)

She scowled at him.

Chuckling, he moved away from her, back to his side of the limo seat. “I like your spirit. It will be infinitely enjoyable when you bring it to my bed.”

Breathing in a shaky breath, she tried to pull herself together. Tried to put on a brave face. “You’ll b-be waiting a long time.”

“But eventually the wait will be over,” he returned the volley without missing a beat.

She turned her head away from him.

Yet there was no escaping him, was there? No escaping the press who followed his every move. No escaping her lust for him. No escape for the next month.

Fear wrapped around the lust, making her sick.

Icy rain began to fall. Darcy watched as the rivulets of water slid down the window.





Chapter 6





The lavender velvet brushed on her hand. It shimmered in the sunlight shining through the limo windows. For November, the day was surprisingly warm. She hadn’t even worn a coat. Instead, she’d opted for the most beautiful garment in her expanded wardrobe. A tight velvet jacket paired with a matching short skirt. Tall black heels and fancy black silk stockings with matching garters finished the attire with flair.

Darcy felt like a movie star or a member of the royalty.

Or the mistress of a very rich man.

His voice spoke Italian beside her. Into the phone, of course. They were on their way to another of his interminable business meetings. This must be…she thought for a moment…at least the tenth meeting she’d attended over the last two days. He hadn’t allowed her from his sight. She’d been dragged to luncheons with old men. Board meetings with alarmingly smart men and women. There’d been the charity brunch were the Great Man had given the keynote speech in front of a group of swooning ladies. Plus, the trips to the theatre and opera in the evening.

She hadn’t had a moment to herself. Not a moment to see some of the sights she’d promised herself.

She was having a fabulous time.

Amazing. She’d never seen herself as a wine-and-dine kind of gal. She’d never pictured herself enjoying the company of some of the richest people in the planet. She’d certainly never imagined herself understanding most of what was discussed around a long, impressive table in a corporate boardroom at a public meeting.

She’d loved every minute of it. Charming the old men into telling her stories of their grandchildren. Smiling at everyone in the boardroom until she saw the tension ease, replaced with cordial talk and occasional laughter. The gaggle of women, who had first scrutinized her as if she weren’t worthy of the La Rocca; well, even they had succumbed to the Darcy Moran magic. One of them had even hugged her as they had left the brunch, pleading with her to return next year.

Now that had finally gotten a reaction from him. He’d lifted his dark brows.

At least, it was a reaction.

Because all the while she’d cut a swath through New York society, Marcus La Rocca had stood by her side and gave no real acknowledgment of her accomplishment. Rather than giving her her due, he’d demanded and dictated. He announced where they were going next. Told her what to do.

Her hand fluttered across to grip the door handle.

Remembered irritation simmered inside her. He hadn’t complimented her after the old men had at first said no to his proposal, but then after a lunch with her, had said yes. He hadn’t noticed when she’d eased the way for him in the stuffy boardroom. He certainly hadn’t uttered a word about how she could charm women as well as men.

Nope. She’d only gotten a raised eyebrow for all her efforts on his behalf.

Why the hell was she doing it? Why was she exerting herself to smooth his path before him? Why did he keep dragging her with him if he barely paid her any attention?

Darcy flattened her fingers on the plush velvet.

She’d asked. Questioned him on why she had to trot behind him. Stated her desire to take off on her own. To no avail. He waved her words and desires away, intent on getting his way. Which was typical. Still, what could she do?

Your father, Darcy. Your father.

He’d said it so many times during the last few days she heard it in her sleep.

Smoothing her hand on her skirt, she sighed.

“Stop doing that.”

Her hand froze. “What?”

“You are driving me crazy.” His eyes blazed. With anger?

She was simply sitting here minding her own business. On her way to another of his meetings where she’d probably have to, once again, save the day. But was the man appreciative? Obviously not. Why should she expect anything different than his usual chilly manner towards her?

“What are you talking about?” she said. “I’m sitting here because you demand it. I am going to another meeting because you wanted it. I am dressed the way you—”