Da Silva's Mistress. Tina Duncan

      The little witch had called her lover despite everything he’d said to her today.

      His hands clenched into fists.

      He’d let Stefania down once before; he wouldn’t do so again.

      It would take someone a hell of a lot smarter than Morgan Marshall to get the better of him.

      In the end his will would prevail.

      As it always prevailed.

      It was time to up the ante.

      Oh, yes, it was time Morgan learned just how serious he was about this.

      He thrust back his chair and stood up, ignoring completely the fact that they hadn’t finished their meal. ‘We’re leaving!’

      Chapter Three

      MORGAN REACHED OVER and picked up the bright red cushion from the opposite end of the couch and put it behind her with its twin. Leaning back, she sighed.

      She should be updating her résumé. Or trawling through employment websites for suitable vacancies.

      But she couldn’t stir up enough motivation to do either.

      It wasn’t that she was lazy; she just wasn’t ready to accept that her job was gone for good.

      She’d never been a quitter and she wasn’t about to start now.

      When she finally got hold of Joseph and told him what had happened he’d have her reinstated.

       Or would he…?

      She’d thought so…until the doubts had begun to creep in.

      What if Joseph decided it was safer for her to get a job elsewhere? Considering how determined he was to keep her identity a secret, it was entirely plausible he’d support Luca’s decision.

      The realisation sent her heart plummeting towards her toes and her hand reaching for the panacea for all ills—chocolate.

      Morgan bit down on her lower lip as she pondered her selection. It was between a caramel ganache and a praline infused with cinnamon—two of her favourites. Deciding to leave both for later, she chose a frangelica cream log instead.

      Opening the black foil wrapper emblazoned with the tiny silver Da Silva logo, she popped the chocolate in her mouth then blissfully closed her eyes.

      Delicious.

      When the last piece of lusciousness melted away, she opened her eyes.

      The first thing she saw was the notepad she’d been using to figure out her finances.

      It was time to face reality again.

      Sighing, she picked up the pad.

      Her loan and mortgage repayments were at the top of the list. Then came other basic necessities: food, electricity, gas, and enough money to take the tube to and from job interviews. A lot of these latter figures had been crossed out—some more than once—as she’d tried to pare them back to the absolute minimum.

      The bottom line made her gulp.

      Although she had some savings—with no family to help her after her mother died she’d needed the security of having something to fall back on—they were nowhere near enough to cope with her outgoings.

      She could rework the numbers until she used up all the ink in her pen, but the result would be the same.

      Unless she found a job—soon—she was screwed.

      Morgan flung the pad and pen back down on the coffee table.

      Drat Luca da Silva!

      This was all his fault.

      She gritted her teeth.

      She couldn’t stop thinking about him.

      It had nothing to do with black eyes flecked with gold or a face that would make any woman look twice.

      And it certainly had nothing to do with how he’d kissed her. As if she belonged to him. As if she was the most desirable woman on earth.

      No, his outrageous behaviour was the reason she was finding it impossible to get him out of her head.

      Sighing, she picked up the box of chocolates again. Her fingers were hovering over a pyramid of dark, milk and white chocolate layers when the doorbell rang.

      Uncrossing her legs, she put the chocolate box on the couch and pushed herself to her feet. Unbolting the door, she pulled it open.

      She was so unprepared to find Luca da Silva standing on the doorstep that she stood staring up at him with her mouth open.

      Tonight he was wearing a pair of tailored black pants and a cream ribbed sweater beneath a black leather coat. He looked dark and dangerous and far too handsome for his own good.

      ‘Don’t you know you should never open your door without checking who it is first?’ he said with a frown. ‘It could have been anybody.’

      She clutched the neckline of her pale blue satin dressing gown together. ‘It was. What are you doing here, Luca?’

      ‘I would have thought that was obvious. I’m here to see you. Aren’t you going to invite me in?’

      Her spare hand gripped the edge of the door, barring his entry. ‘No, I’m not going to invite you in. You’re not welcome in my home.’

      ‘You’d rather have our discussion out here in the hallway with your neighbours listening in?’ he asked, cocking his head to the left, where old Mrs Addison’s beady eyes could be seen glued to the door opening.

      ‘Since I have no intention of talking to you there will be nothing to listen to.’ She paused, her heart leaping into the back of her throat. ‘Unless you’ve changed your mind about having me fired?’

      ‘No. I haven’t changed my mind.’

      Her heart fell. ‘Then we have nothing to discuss. Now, go away!’

      She tried to push the door closed, but the tip of an expensive black leather shoe wedged itself in the doorway. ‘Let me in, Morgan.’

      She was about to demand that he leave immediately or she’d call the police, but then she hesitated. Antagonising Luca wasn’t going to do her a damned bit of good. In fact, it could be counter-productive.

      Where was the harm in listening to what he had to say? She might even be able to persuade him to get her her job back.

      ‘I guess I can spare five minutes,’ she said grudgingly. Pulling open the door, she held her arm out wide. ’Come in.’

      Luca swept past her.

      Her small lounge room looked even smaller with Luca in it. His height and the sheer energy he emanated seemed to shrink the room to half its normal size.

      Luca looked around. When he saw the distinctive Da Silva packaging—rich, glossy black shell emblazoned with the silver embossed swirl of the Da Silva logo—he walked over and picked up the box.

      ‘This is the latest line,’ he said, inspecting the lid.

      She shrugged. ‘If I’m going to market a product I have to know everything about it. Including what it tastes like.’

      ‘But you no longer work for Enigma Marketing. Remember?’

      Her mouth compressed into a thin line. ‘How can I forget? If you must know, they happened to be the only chocolates I had on hand.’

      ‘And you’re working your way through the entire box?’ he asked, looking at the pile of scrunched-up wrappers on the coffee table.

      She angled her chin into the air. ‘So what if I am? I’ve had a bad day, thanks to you.’

      ‘Hmm.’ Luca ignored her comment as he inspected the contents of the box.