Mistresses: Blackmailed For His Pleasure. Annie West
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her cheek, and the control she’d fought to maintain shattered into a billion shards of new sensations. “You are beautiful, mio caro.”
She reached behind her and grasped the dressing room curtain to steady herself when every fiber in her body ached to reach out to him. What was happening to her?
Yes, he was devastatingly attractive, but she hated what he stood for. She hated the power he wielded over her. She hated him for storming into her peaceful, quiet life and turning it into a maelstrom of emotions in just one day.
“Thank you, but I’d like to try on something else.” Something less revealing. Something that wouldn’t make her feel sophisticated and desirable.
“There is no time. Come.”
She bit her lip, torn between protesting or going meekly along as a lamb to the slaughter. “I refuse to leave here in this dress.”
“Very well, but make it a short moment.” He backed from the dressing room, but the spice of his cologne remained to tease her senses.
Gemma drew in a shaky breath and then another, angry and aroused and confused in turn. She felt vulnerable. Alone.
Silly emotions to feel since they’d be surrounded by other people in the restaurant. It wouldn’t be long and her brother would join them and she’d meet Stefano’s first payment.
And if Emilio didn’t show up?
She refused to think that as she donned her sensible clothes and left the dressing room with the new dress hanging on the hook.
Stefano was waiting for her, but instead of hurrying her out the door, he waited until the assistant hurried forward with his purchase carefully covered in an opaque garment bag.
She certainly didn’t want him buying anything for her. This dress far exceeded any bonus she’d earned from her job and was far too revealing to wear to work. And what was he thinking anyway by buying her clothes when she was already indebted to him?
“You should have foregone this bit of shopping,” she said as Stefano escorted her to the sleek silver car that had attracted a small crowd. “The delay will make you late for your business meeting.”
“It’s nothing that can’t be made up in driving time,” he said as he helped her into the butter-soft leather passenger seat and then quickly slid behind the wheel.
The thought of racing to their destination sent alarm zinging along her nerves. But as the car sped along the highway, she found herself enjoying the view of the islands strung into the Ligurian Sea like emeralds floating on the foam-edged blue waters.
She supposed to any passerby they looked like a couple out enjoying the evening. But that was just an illusion.
There was nothing casual about her being with Stefano tonight. This was pure business. The question was where would the night end? With her free of his hold, or more firmly caught in his grasp?
She instinctively lifted a hand to her neck, a gesture that had become habit when she was anxious. But toying with the necklace would only draw attention to her nervousness and Stefano would surely use that to his advantage.
Her hand fluttered back to her lap. “Did you say your company offices are in Livorno?”
“The offices and the shipyard,” he said. “The hull on Canto Di Mare’s new thirty-five meter yacht is finished and waiting for my approval.”
“Another hulking superyacht to crowd the Mediterranean?”
He laughed, a rich baritone that had the power to soothe her tense nerves. “I see you have adopted my father’s view on big pleasure ships.”
“We held much the same beliefs,” she admitted.
“Such as?”
“More of the wealthy should put their money to better use than on sating their own selfish pleasures.” She glanced his way and noted the tightening of his artfully sculpted lips and narrowing of his mesmerizing eyes. “Or on the proliferation of unnecessary diversions.”
Despite the warm breeze riffling her hair and caressing her skin, she felt the chill as he closed off from her. She’d clearly struck a raw nerve by bringing up money.
“Not all miliadario have a philanthropic heart.”
“More is the pity.” When she thought of how much good just a portion of that extravagance would do, she grew angry.
“I suppose you discussed this issue with my father?” he asked, the bite in his tone hinting his anger was rising as well.
“I didn’t have to,” she said.
“Meaning?”
“Your father is a generous, caring man,” she said instead, and that truth seemed to make him all the more angry.
Gemma turned her attention to the harbor and managed to draw air into her lungs. Very few fishing boats could be seen amid the staggering array of yachts and trawlers.
The old way of life was nearly gone, and with it she feared a good deal of those compassionate values were disappearing as well. The same could be said for the good men like her father and Cesare, too.
She had felt comfortable with Cesare from the start. He had been the friend she could talk with about her deepest fears. He listened. He applauded her bravery and her compassion.
She loved him. Respected him. She’d do all she could to protect him.
But who would protect her from Stefano Marinetti and his smoldering sensuality?
Stefano pulled his car into a slot and tossed her a teasing look that was at odds with his earlier pique. His rapier fire switch in emotions kept her on edge. That was likely just what he wanted to do.
After all, she was a very small fish in a big sea and he was the whale who could swallow her whole.
“We have much to do in a short period of time,” he said as he unfolded his long, lean form from the car then collected the bags the designer had given him.
He must expect her to change clothes here. What she wouldn’t give for a shower!
“I assume you have a list you wish me to attend to,” she said as she quit the car, not about to wait for him to open her door.
The deep crease between his eyes hinted he disliked her independence. “Most of the daily duties have been seen to by my staff here. All that is left for you to do is retrieve messages and see to the necessary correspondence.”
Typical secretarial duties that anyone could have seen to during the day, including a temp. It hadn’t been necessary for him to drag her along. No, there was another reason why he’d monopolized her time. She feared it had something to do with Cesare and her part in his life.
If he’d only spent time with his dear father these past years he wouldn’t be left in the dark now! But he’d made his decision to leave the family business and the division cost Cesare untold grief for he’d lost not just one child but two. One had been the result of an accident. The other had been an intentional separation from the family—a split that was nearly unheard of in Italy.
Here sons and often daughters carried on the family tradition generation after generation. It had been the way for her family, with Emilio taking over their papa’s fishing business while she would one day inherit the old inn in Manarolo.
This passing of power was how it should have been with Stefano Marinetti. When his brother died, he should have assumed that role within the company.
But he’d walked out on his father.
He’d shunned tradition and his famiglia.
And what did that say about the man who held his family in so little regard?
He was self-absorbed. Stefano seemed to care for one thing—himself.
Now