Читать книгу Mistresses: Blackmailed For His Pleasure - Линн Грэхем, Annie West - Страница 12

THERE was little chance she’d ever forget that Mr. Arrogant was in total charge of his father’s company. And her?

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Only temporarily.

“That’s less than twelve hours away,” she said, fighting the panic that left her trembling inside.

He gave another lazy shrug. “You’ve owed a first payment for months. Are you conceding defeat?”

“Not at all. I’ll have the money by tonight.”

Gemma just wished she felt half as sure as she let on.

She had a little money put back and hoped her brother could loan her the rest. It shouldn’t be a problem as he’d told her countless times of late that he’d had excellent luck at sea with his fishing business.

But even after that deadline was met, another one loomed in thirty days. And another after that. What a nightmare she’d entered into!

She couldn’t continue borrowing money from her family. No, her only recourse would be to take out a loan at the bank. At least then she could get more favorable terms. At least then she wouldn’t be subjected to Stefano Marinetti’s lurid suggestions.

There was no time like the present to appeal to Cesare’s banker, either. Being indebted to Stefano was simply too stressful for her. Being in the same room with him was nearly more than she could bear.

Since Signora Marinetti’s funeral when she’d first seen Stefano across the crowded room, she’d had trouble tearing her gaze away from the man whose bearing commanded her full attention. She’d known he’d bring trouble and change.

She just hadn’t dreamed it would touch her so personally. She hated the power he exerted over her as much as she hated the untenable position she was in.

“Your ability to meet the deadline deserves celebration,” he said, his voice a rich blend of arrogance and sensuality that whispered over her senses like silk on skin.

“That isn’t necessary.” Or wanted.

The less she was in his company the better.

He lounged back in his chair and stroked his lower lip with one long, blunt finger, the gesture masculinely contemplative and sexy as hell. “I insist.”

“Fine,” she said when this arrangement was anything but. “Is there anything else you need?” she asked in her most bland business tone, a contradiction to the riot of emotions going on inside her.

“No, bella, that is all,” he said.

She stiffened at the endearment, for it was just a phrase to him. Just a toss of words that meant nothing. He likely used it to charm women all the time.

And Stefano Marinetti certainly knew how to flirt!

She marched across the room on legs that trembled, refusing to give in to the urge to run from the man. He’d enjoy seeing her distress, her fear. She’d deny him both.

It was imperative that she maintain her dignity and go about her duties as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. As if her entire future didn’t depend on her meeting this damnable deadline at midnight.

“One more thing,” Stefano said the second she’d reached the door and freedom, the velvet timbre in his voice ensnaring her as tightly as a mariner’s net. “Make dinner reservations for us at Gervasio.”

“I already have dinner plans.”

“Cancel them,” he said in an obnoxiously imperial tone.

Everything was happening too fast as it was and quickly spiraling out of her control.

She wasted no time leaving the confines of his office where every breath she drew brought the taste of him to her tongue and the clean, spicy scent of him filled her head. The fact that he expected she would prostitute herself infuriated her. But then he believed she was more than his father’s personal secretary.

And she could only defend herself so far without revealing Cesare’s secret. Dear God, could this get any worse?

Her gaze flicked to the clock and her insides knotted. It wasn’t even close to noon and she already felt as if she’d put in a full day’s work. She’d be a jumble of nerves well before the deadline tonight.

She took a steadying breath and let it out slowly. Dinner with Stefano at Gervasio. At one time she’d have looked forward to dining in the elite restaurant. But now it loomed as the place where she stood to lose everything, including her pride.

But what choice did she have but to go through with this mad plan?

The money that Cesare withdrew every month was for Rachel’s care. But she couldn’t tell Stefano that. She couldn’t trust him to do what was right for the little girl.

So she’d blurted out that the money was a loan for the inn. Her inn. And now he’d set his eye on her half of that!

If only she could tell him the truth. But Stefano had abandoned his family before in their time of need. He seemed to possess no concept of family. He didn’t seem to care for anything but money and power.

Now he was taking charge of his father’s company and would certainly change Marinetti forever. Her heart ached for Cesare for he’d lost his wife, his health and now control of his own company.

In regards to Rachel, Cesare didn’t have any other family he could trust with her care. Nobody but her.

Their bond was so strong. So unshakable. She’d do anything for Cesare. Anything for Rachel. Anything.

Which is why she’d agreed to Stefano’s terms. If Cesare didn’t trust his son to ensure Rachel continued to receive the best care, then neither could she. Take care of Rachel until I am able to do so again, Cesare had told her.

But when would Cesare return? How could she possibly satisfy that staggering loan every month? And the bigger question, how would Cesare continue to care for Rachel if he was indeed close to bankruptcy?

He couldn’t, which meant that, too, passed to her.

With a curse, she crossed to her desk and phoned her brother. Since her association with Cesare and her move to Viareggio, she’d rarely seen Emilio.

Though they’d spoken on the phone, even that was difficult to arrange for her brother was at sea for long stretches of time, often out of range of his mobile. That must be the case now for the phone rang and rang.

She hung up and thought it ironic that she was contacting him to beg for a loan. How the tables had turned!

Two years ago it was her brother who was constantly asking her for money. Neither she nor her papa had realized then that Emilio had adopted the Machiavellian lifestyle.

His reckless gambling had caused their papa untold grief for years. But after the last bout of rehabilitation, her brother had finally settled down and married.

After their father’s death, Emilio had taken great interest in the shipping business he’d inherited. His wife helped Nonna with the reopening of the inn and day-to-day management.

Why, her brother had boasted that the money she’d sent home to refurbish the inn had made a tremendous difference in their lives. She could hardly wait to see the changes made to the old inn, but her obligations to Cesare had prevented her from visiting all these months.

Now because of her promise to Cesare, she could lose half of the inn she’d struggled to save. Without pausing to consider the ramifications, she phoned Cesare’s banker.

As expected, the man was more interested in Cesare’s health than her business, but she managed to gain his promise that he’d assess the market value of the refurbished inn and get back to her on the particulars of a long-term loan. It was a good start, and she’d have thirty days to finalize the details.

Just thinking of the sum left her light-headed. She cradled her head in her hands and fought off a wave of stress-induced nausea. She’d never get out of debt!

But bringing Rachel’s image to mind was all it took to convince her she was doing the right thing. Never mind it was the only thing she could do and keep her word.

The intercom came to life and she swallowed a startled squawk.

This wasn’t the short zing that Cesare often used to alert her. No, the intercom made a continual buzz like a swarm of angry bees, a sound made possible only if a finger was held on the button to make a noise she couldn’t ignore. And God knew she wanted to ignore Stefano at this moment.

“Yes,” she answered when the buzzing finally stopped and she could respond.

“I will be meeting with the yard supervisors, managers and assistants throughout the day,” Stefano said. “Alert me when the first employee arrives.”

“Of course,” she said, relieved to know she’d be spared his company.

“I have ordered appetizers for the meeting,” he said. “Send the caterer in the minute he arrives.”

“I will,” she said with gritted teeth, and moments later she did just that.

The caterer had no more than left when the production supervisor strode in. Treating the workers to appetizers was a generous touch and she didn’t want to think of Stefano as generous, not when he was being anything but with her.

Gemma shoved thoughts of Stefano’s smile and imposing demeanor and heated gazes from her mind. The man had commanded far too much of her time. And wasn’t that an ingenious ploy of the playboy billionaire to keep her off balance?

She grabbed the chance alone to ring her brother again. But like before, Emilio didn’t answer then or any of the times she tried during the next four hours while Marinetti managers and assistants took their individual meetings with Stefano.

Frustration nipped along her nerves as she tried to contact her brother one last time. If she couldn’t reach him and secure the money for that first installment, she’d lose the inn!

Just when she feared all was lost, Emilio answered with his typically effervescent, “Ciao!”

Relief that she’d finally caught him left her trembling and she got a two-handed grip on the phone. “I’ve been trying all afternoon to reach you. Were you out to sea?”

A long pause pulsed over the line. “Sì, I was out. Is something wrong?”

She nearly laughed, for the list was too long to go into, even if she was so inclined. Less was more, she told herself.

“How has business been?”

Emilio cursed, but it was the vehemence in his voice more than the words that gave her new cause for worry. “I have had bad luck. You know how it is.”

She did know, for there had been times when their papa had barely managed to put food on their table due to a poor day’s catch. It had been worse after their mamma died and their papa had seemed so alone and adrift.

“Yes, I haven’t forgotten,” she said, and screwed up her courage to do the thing she’d never done. “Emilio, I have a loan that is due and I can’t pay it. I need your help in this, and I will repay you in full in a month. Maybe less.”

And she would somehow, even though she’d supported her brother and his wife while he struggled to pick up the reins of their father’s fishing business. She’d never asked for recompense. Never. Surely her brother would help her now.

“When is your loan due?” he asked.

“Tonight,” she said. “Can you manage it?”

Again, another long, uncomfortable pause that did nothing to ease Gemma’s doubts.

“Sì. I’ll bring you the cash, but it may be late,” Emilio said. “Okay?”

“Yes, fine. The deadline is midnight.” She bit her lip, debating where to meet her brother for the exchange. There was really only one option. “I’m dining with Stefano at Gervasio at ten. If you can’t make it by eleven, please call.”

“I’ll meet you there around that time,” he said just as bells sounded in the background—bells that she associated with casino jackpots going off.

“Emilio, are you gambling again?” she asked, gripping the phone like a lifeline, but he’d already hung up.

Worry seeped into her bones like a cold mist rolling in off a winter sea. Were those casino bells? Had her brother reverted to the vice that had nearly destroyed him before?

No, she must be mistaken. He’d been fishing. Perhaps what she’d heard were the chime of bells on nearby ships. Yes, that had to be it.

All would be well. Emilio would lend her the money for the first loan, and she’d secure the rest from the banker. Perhaps once Cesare recovered from surgery he could lift this burden from her. And if he didn’t recover?

A chill swept through her blood and left her trembling. She had promised Cesare that she’d hold his secret and she would. She’d promised she’d take care of his daughter while he was unable to. But she hadn’t thought she’d have to come up with the money that Cesare had used for his daughter’s care each month!

It was a staggering sum, simply because Cesare insisted on the finest for Rachel. And Gemma couldn’t deny her, either. The child had been through so much pain in her short life.

If only Stefano put family first like his father did. But he’d been in charge less than a day and had already changed many things. She’d heard the department heads grumbling to themselves as they left his office.

No, she had no choice but to shoulder this alone.

“Did you take lunch?” Stefano asked.

She nearly jumped out of her skin to discover he stood right behind her. Realizing he was that close had her whole system going haywire again.

“No,” she said, tidying her already neat desk to keep her hands busy. “The time got away from me.”

He said nothing for the longest time, just stood behind her chair. She was intimately aware of each breath he took. Of the spicy scent that was subtle yet powerful all the same.

“Come and take a letter,” he said, laying a hand on the back of her chair and just barely grazing her spine with his thumb.

That’s all it took for a bolt of energy to hum through her and send her senses reeling again. She lurched to her feet and out of his reach, not caring if her aversion to him was obvious.

His hot gaze snared her for a moment and she flushed at the amusement dancing in those dark, fathomless eyes. My God, nothing got past this man. Nothing!

She grabbed her notepad and marched into his office, eager to take her dictation or notes and get the hell out of here when she was keenly aware of him as a man. And how could she be anything but?

He’d removed his jacket at some point and rolled up the sleeves on his crisp white shirt. She didn’t want to notice that his forearms were muscled and generously sprinkled with black hair. She certainly didn’t wish to appreciate the male power and beauty of his physique, but it was impossible not to.

She damned her gaze for returning to—no, for lingering on—the wedge of hair visible at the open V of his shirt. Was his chest hair soft? The muscles firm? The deep olive skin hot and smooth?

Again, she was reminded of the hard-muscled gods. Stefano could certainly have been a noble model. And when he chose to turn on the charm, he simply took her breath away.

How in the world was she going to work with this man when being close to him turned her into a weak-kneed ninny? She couldn’t. But she couldn’t afford to quit her job and search for another, either, not when she’d have a sizable debt hanging over her.

It was an untenable situation.

He was masculinely beautiful. Sexy as hell. But he was also domineering. Arrogant. And a man she dared not trust with Cesare’s deepest secret.

She hurried toward the desk only to find it laden with files. Clearly Stefano was going over every asset of Marinetti with a fine-tooth comb.

What had he said to the supervisors, managers and assistants today? She could only guess that those who’d left with smiles on their faces were assured of their position here. The others who’d scurried out with grim faces? She dreaded to imagine what had been said regarding their future with Marinetti.

“My apologies that so little food is left,” he said, successfully coming up behind her and trapping her between his desk and the chair.

With the day she’d had coupled with his commanding nearness her stomach was in knots. She couldn’t have tolerated the bruschetta, salamis, olives and cheeses anyway.

“That’s okay. A few grapes will suffice for now.”

She reached for a red grape, but he was quicker. And much, much too close.

Move, her mind screamed. But her legs refused to obey.

Frustrated, she shot him a sharp look and that was her undoing. His gaze captured hers and her mouth went dry at the naked desire blazing in his dark eyes. No man had ever looked at her like this. Ever.

It was decadent. It was shocking. It was oh, so tempting.

Heat radiated off his big body while his spicy scent ribboned around her, as if to bind her to him. Her other senses exploded with sensual awareness and a want so keen she physically ached.

She’d never experienced anything like it. She certainly didn’t want to feel it now, toward him of all people.

“Allow me the pleasure, bella.”

“No, really, I’m not—”

He brushed a grape over her lips, slowly, sensuously. Her protest withered in her throat.

Her body tingled and pulsed with a need so powerful she feared her legs would fail her. She wanted to reach for him. To lean on him. To fall into the promise in his darkly mesmerising eyes and forget the world.

Part of her mind that wasn’t numbed by lust warned her that she was treading on dangerous ground. Yet she parted her lips and took the ripe fruit from his fingers anyway, unable not to do so.

“Succulent, hmm?” he asked, his thumb grazing her lower lip again and again, then sliding to her chin as his eyes danced with wicked lust and amusement.

She managed a weak nod as sizzling sensations exploded in her mouth and a pulsing need expanded between her legs.

This was a side of Stefano she hadn’t seen before, and he was even more devastating to her senses. Never mind that he was arrogantly sure of his sexuality and masculinity. Never mind that he was in a position to call all the shots. Never mind he was taking over Marinetti…and her.

“You must try more of the insalata di frutta,” he said, lifting a slice of strawberry to her mouth.

Protesting was out of the question, even if she had a thought to refuse. She took it, thinking to make short work of it. But as the sweet nectar of the fruit slid down her throat, the heat of his thumb brushed her lower lip again.

A fire exploded in her, foreign and thrilling.

She tried to tamp down her desire. Truly she did. But when he sucked the juice off his fingers while his hot gaze dueled with hers, she was lost.

This was passion. Raw and earthy.

She clutched her steno pad to her breast, heart hammering so hard she was certain that he could hear it. “You wanted me to take a letter?”

“I have changed my mind.” His eyes took on a dark opaque glint that tossed her nervous reflection back at her.

He rolled a shoulder in a careless shrug and checked his watch. “The workday is nearly over.”

A fact she’d looked forward to all day. Yes, she could escape Stefano’s dominating presence for a while. But it was a short reprieve, for she was expected to dine with him tonight.

“Is there anything you need me to do before I leave?” she asked, a question she’d posed to Cesare countless times.

“Leave? But our work is far from finished.”

“But you said the day was nearly over.”

“Here.” His smile was positively rapacious. “As I mentioned before, you’ll be taking over the role of my secretary as well. You’ll join me when I divide my time between Marinetti Shipyard and Canto Di Mare.”

Gemma bit her lip, wanting to refuse. But how could she?

Stefano’s secretary was away, and Cesare would not be needing her. Combining the positions made sense.

But it denied her a reprieve from Stefano. It forced her to remain in his company for longer hours and suffer this unsettling attraction that arced between them.

“How much later will we work?” she said, letting her annoyance sound in her voice.

“Two, three hours at the most.” He shrugged into his suit jacket and gave each sleeve a sharp tug in turn. “Is there a problem?”

A problem? There were too many for her to count.

She glanced down at the simple skirt and blouse she’d worn to work. “I will need to return home so I can change into suitable clothes for dinner.”

Deep lines streaked across his brow. “There won’t be time.”

“You expect me to wear this?”

Instead of answering, he gave her a long, slow appraisal that scanned her from head to toe. His expression was a combination of indignation and desire that she didn’t understand and certainly didn’t want. Not from him!

He checked his watch in that impatient way of his. “It is time for us to be off to Livorno.”

She didn’t bother to hide her annoyance as she retrieved her purse. Was this how it felt to be at his beck and call? To let him choose where you dined? What you wore?

Her gaze fell on her portfolio tucked beneath her desk. That tight, tingling sensation pulled at her stomach. She couldn’t go off and leave Cesare’s secret files there.

She didn’t dare take her bag with her now, not when she was going to be gone half the night with Stefano. Quickly she stuffed it in the back of her file cabinet and locked the door. Nobody had the key but her.

Cesare’s secrets and her own would be perfectly safe in there tonight. Tomorrow she’d remove it to her flat.

Tomorrow she’d start off on better footing with Stefano. Tomorrow, he’d have no hold over her.