Mistress By Blackmail(45)

Don’t be a fool and fall in love and give everything of yourself to him.

She shoved her pop’s words aside and the sea of emotions threatening to rip her apart. Time enough to take them out and analyze them half to death. Right now, she wanted to do something entirely different while she had the guts. Taking her courage into her hands, she took the few steps to reach Marc’s side.

He eased off the doorframe and stared into her eyes. “What?”

Placing a hand on his hard chest, she smoothed her fingers on the sleek silk shirt covering his pectorals. “I like to touch you.”

He took a deep breath in. “You pick a damnable time to do it.”

“You don't like it?” Taken aback at the unexpected rejection, she started to snap her hand away.

He grabbed it and tugged her closer. “I like it too much, but now is not the time.”

Relief surged through her at his words and gave her the license to play with him just a bit. A pout was one her favorite weapons to get the reaction she wanted. It was an effective weapon if his reaction had anything to say about it. His gaze immediately zeroed in on her mouth. She swore she felt his temperature rise. His chest expanded once more with a heavy breath and the heat of him blasted against her hand.

Then he laughed, dimples flashing. With one swift tug, he’d turned her back to the dress and stepped out of the closet. “You are temptation personified, piccola carita. However, I’m afraid I must insist you put on the dress. We have somewhere we need to be tonight.”

“Where?” Curiosity warred with lust. Still, she dutifully slipped the dress off the hanger.

“You’ll see.” His voice carried across the bedroom as he paced to the hallway door. “Be ready in a half hour.”

Dress in hand, Darcy strolled into the bathroom and shut the door.

She'd been tired when she'd arrived at the penthouse this afternoon. Yet now a vibrant energy pulsed through her. It washed away the long hours consulting with doctors, monitoring her father's care, and most especially, the times she'd had to listen to her pop's explanations of things long past. There were no apologies, naturally. She'd long ago abandoned any hope of that. It would have been nice to hear at least once that something had been his fault, but dear old dad kept to his party line.

Her mum had forced him to marry when she'd been pregnant.

Her mum had been the one to start the fights with her constant flirting.

Her mum was the reason he'd become addicted to heroin—she'd been the one who'd introduced it to him. It had been her mum’s decision to start taking customers in order to foot the drug bill. He’d had nothing to do with it. In fact, he’d objected to it.

The biggest line of them all—it was her mum's fault for dying. Her death had forced him to give her to foster care. A man couldn't be expected to care for a young twelve-year-old girl, now could he?

The long days listening to her pop had definitely been a trial.

She made a face in the mirror. She'd survived, as usual. Plus, she had something to look forward to at this moment. Marc was taking her out once more, like he had in New York City. Somewhere spangly and sparkly. Somewhere with a spot of champagne and new people to meet. This is what she needed to focus on. She deserved a bit of fun after listening to endless ridiculous excuses.

Excitement bubbling inside her, she turned on the shower. A quick wash. A fluff of her hair so it spiked and curled around her head. A touch of mascara and lip gloss, and she was ready for the dress. Slipping the slinky gown over her head, she tugged it into place. The silk wrapped lovingly around her breasts, slicked down across her waist, and hugged her hips.

My, my.

Every move she made was going to get her noticed.

She glanced into the mirror. Her slight smile turned into a wide grin. She was going to swing her hips in honor of her dear mum and also swing them to catch a certain man's attention.

Swish, swish, swish.

She sauntered into the bedroom and stopped.

“You’re ready,” the certain man said from the opened doorway.

She met his gaze, remembering another time where she'd presented herself for his inspection and been shot down.

A ping of sudden anxiety made her straighten her spine.

The fighter inside made her lift her chin.

His perusal leisurely slid from her wide eyes down to her mouth, making it tingle. The scrutiny continued over the skin of her neck across her silk-covered breasts, making them tighten. The silver gaze turned molten as he continued to concentrate on her. Sliding across her waist, the curve of her hips, down the length of her legs. To her silk-covered toes, making them curl.

He gave her a wry grin, dimples flashing. “No shoes. Are you planning on playing the part of Cinderella tonight? Or perhaps you wish me to carry you to your ball?”