Mistress By Blackmail(49)

“I’m not your girl.” She stated every word as if she meant it. But the sure knowledge of what lay within her, what she would find if she even took one peek into her deep emotions, ate into her like acid. The realization edged each of her words with a brutal, hard tone.

One male hand slammed down on the wall behind her. The finger sliding across her jaw was as light and supple as a feather, though. It slipped to her curls, gently sliding through her hair. His words, however, were ruthless and harsh. “I will not fight any more battles with you. They have all been won by me. Except for this last one.”

She turned her head away from him, observed the laughing crowd swirling in the outer room, mere meters from where they stood. Yet it felt as if the two of them were alone, on an island of desire and anger. An isolated place filled with conflicts, contradictions, and confusion.

Leaning close to her, his lips touched her ear as his words came. “I will win this last one too, carita,” he said. “The next time you make a move, and we both know you’ll make one, there will be no going back.”

With a gasp, she turned her head and stared right into his blazing eyes. “What do you mean, n-n-no going back?”

His lips barely moved, but her skin felt every word. “We will finally have sex,” he promised, his tone sibilant. “I’ll give you exactly what you've wanted from me since the first moment we met.”

Fearful excitement rippled over her body. She wanted, and yet, dreaded. She tried to find some cheeky words to throw him off and gain a measure of control. Nothing tripped off her tongue or stirred in her mind.

“Nothing to say?” He stepped away, never taking his gaze off her face. “Then let us return to my original plan for this evening. Attending your first gallery opening.”

His big hand reached out and took her elbow in a tight grip.

And pulled her into her future.





Chapter 10





His seductive sprite was at the top of her game.

Which was remarkable. Only hours before she'd been a big-eyed waif, shaking with fear, slumped on the wall of the alcove where he'd tried to penetrate her secrets.

Without success.

Irritation welled in him. He sipped his champagne, nodded in response to some comment from the circle of admirers surrounding her as she held court.

She threw her head back and laughed. Her eyes sparkled. She glowed.

Frantic. Desperate. Sick with fear. It had been written all over her. Panic had screamed from her even as she denied it. Tried to pretend it wasn't real. Attempted to make him believe it was nothing.

Endeavored to trick him into believing her with her kisses.

Marc signaled for another glass of champagne as he noted the sprite accepting another compliment on her paintings with aplomb. A reluctant admiration for her courage, her pluck came over him. His piccola carita had more than spirit. She had guts.

You don't like women very much do you?

I like them just fine. In certain areas of my life.

I'll rephrase that. You don't respect them.

He stood in the swirl of the crowd and realized those words he’d exchanged with the nymph mere weeks ago were no longer true.

He respected Darcy Moran.

Respected her decision to care for her father. A man who didn’t deserve what she’d done for him. Respected her artistic talent shining on every wall of the gallery. More than anything, he respected her fighting spirit—her determination to stand tall. To take the world on all on her own.

It was something he could identify with. The driving need to prove yourself. The absolute resolve to make your way in the world without anyone’s help. He’d done it himself, years ago. Been justly proud of what he’d accomplished.

So why did it eat away at him when she would not lean on him? Would not trust him with her secrets and let him take care of her?

She’d allowed him in a bit with her father’s situation. She’d leaned for a time on his shoulder in the hospital. She’d grumbled a bit about him paying the bills, however, he hadn’t heard much about that issue since he’d put his foot down.

This was different, though. Instinctively, he knew it. This secret she held inside her was much more personal. This went deeper and it cut him that she wouldn’t share it with him.

The champagne was cool on his hot throat. But it curdled in his stomach as he realized he was in a bit deeper than he wanted to be with this woman. Faint nausea welled at the thought of being ensnared in another woman’s web.

Juliana.

The memory made his throat clutch.

The sound of Darcy’s laughter tugged him away from his thoughts. The chandelier light gilded blue highlights into her curls. Her skin glowed like pale milk. Her graceful hands lifted in the air and danced as if every word she uttered prompted them to play.