Mistress By Blackmail(44)
“Sure you don’t.” Her pop’s laugh sounded rusty, scratching down her spine in an irritating grind.
His mocking take blazed a path of fury inside her. She’d never seen Marc as a mark. Never. In fact, as she’d gotten to know him, his money had turned into an obstacle. Or rather, his damn need to make more and more money had been the problem.
A sudden thought struck her. Is this how he'd become so cynical? Did everyone approach him as a potential sugar daddy? Did he see the same gleam of greed in the eye of every woman and man who approached him?
No wonder he was so cool and contained. No wonder.
“He could be poor as a church mouse and I wouldn’t care.” Fiery truth scorched her
words.
“Hell.” Her father eyed her with immediate distaste. “Don’t be like your stupid mother.”
“Don’t talk about her.” The old rage bubbled in the pit of her stomach.
“Darcy, lass.” His wiry hand tapped a beat of disgust on the covers. “Your mum did some stupid things—”
“Stop—”
“But the stupidest thing she ever did was fall in love.” His voice was laden with rueful resignation. “With me.”
“Look where that got her.” The words shot from her mouth before she could stop them.
“Exactly.” His one word cut through her soul.
She took a deep breath. “I’m not in love with him.”
“Good,” her father stated. “That’s good.”
“I’m simply grateful for what he’s done for you.”
“Keep it that way.” Her pop’s eyes burned bright. “Don’t be a fool and fall in love and give everything of yourself to him. He’ll only use it and you. Then discard you. Keep control of the situation and you’ll come out on top.”
“What top would that be?”
“Walk away with your dignity,” he snickered. “And a big pot of money.”
“Bye, Pop.” She jerked herself off the bed. A slick coating of humiliation slid up her throat as she confronted what she’d come from, who she called family. “I have to go get something to eat.”
As she marched down the hospital hallway, she clenched her fists and bit her lip. She was not. Not after Marc for his money.
She was not like her pop.
She was not like her mum.
She was not.
Chapter 9
“Put it on.” Marc’s accented voice made her shiver inside.
Darcy inspected the dress hanging in the walk-in closet of her temporary bedroom. It shimmered in the light from overhead. Deep blue mixed with aqua and turquoise. The tiny straps clung to the hanger and the long, flowing silk called her name.
“The color made me think of your eyes.”
She turned, instant surprise rising inside. “You picked this out yourself?”
Leaning on the door frame, he arched a brow. “Si.”
“You didn’t have one of your minions pick it out?”
“No.” He shrugged. “Is there a problem?”
“No problem at all.” Turning back to the dress, she couldn’t resist sliding her hand across the cool silk. A flash of joy exploded inside her at the thought of Marc actually taking time away from his busy business schedule to go shopping.
A low growl came from behind her. “Touching. Always touching.”
A smile whispered across her lips. It had been a long ten days since her pop’s heart attack. And it had seemed even longer during the last five days when Marc had left her side to return to work. She’d hardly seen him since. She'd spent every minute at the recovery center, often sleeping in the chair beside her pop’s bed. It had only been last night she'd felt secure enough in his condition to come back to the penthouse for a good night's sleep. By the time she'd rolled from the bed this morning, Marc had already left for work.
She glanced over her shoulder as she slipped her palm across the silk once more. “It feels lovely.”
His silver gaze glowed with hot heat. “The dress will feel even lovelier with you in it.”
Her smile widened and she took pleasure in watching the muscles of his shoulders tighten in reaction. She’d missed him. The memory of where they’d been, what they’d been about to do before her father’s crisis had stopped them, returned.
The want for him had not dissipated.
Exactly the opposite.
The want had grown from a sexual need she was afraid of into a driving desire to make this man happy in every way. During the past days—as he stood by her side, held her in his arms, did whatever needed to be done to make her more comfortable and her pop more secure—every wall inside her had fallen. The lust swamp which had bubbled inside her even during the grimmest moments of waiting for news, that swamp had now turned into a warm, willing lake of need and desire.