Mistresses: Blackmailed For His Pleasure. Annie West

me.”

      She knew that was the wrong thing to say when his eyes darkened to that feral black again. But he held his thoughts and she suspected that was because they were surrounded by people.

      But she knew a cauldron of anger boiled within him. Anger at her brother, at her. At his father?

      It was the reason why that puzzled her.

      Then she recalled what had started this all. He’d mentioned the vast sum Cesare had spent the past year. Money he’d used for his daughter’s care as well as the generous gift he’d insisted she have.

      Her nest egg for a better tomorrow though she’d spent it all on the inn. Her nonna had lived long enough in squalor.

      Gemma wasn’t about to let her continue to do so, not when she finally had the means to make the necessary repairs. If Cesare hadn’t needed her, she would have returned to Manarolo and taken over the inn herself. It wasn’t as if she’d be usurping her sister-in-law’s duties!

      But she couldn’t tell Stefano any of that, for to do so would reveal the secret she’d swore to hold for Cesare. Now seeing how little regard Stefano held for family, she didn’t dare trust him with the truth.

      “You can’t meet the deadline for the loan,” he said as he escorted her to his car. “Which means I will own your half of the inn. If you hope to negotiate a means to regain the title, you would be wise to do as I tell you to do.”

      Gemma’s heart stuttered, aware that domineering threat wasn’t a mere boast. But was he serious about giving her a chance to regain her half of the inn? “What are you suggesting?”

      “We’ll discuss it later.” He motioned for her to get in the car, his expression carefully devoid of emotion again. “You want to go to Monte Carlo tonight, then I will take you.”

      “Then neither of us will be back at work in the morning,” she said as she got in the car.

      “Work can wait.”

      In moments he’d slid behind the wheel and cut into traffic with the expertise of a Formula 1 driver and she realized he was dead serious.

      She didn’t relish the idea of racing over the mountains in the middle of the night with Stefano Marinetti. But she couldn’t waste another second reaching her brother, either.

      “How long will it take to drive there?”

      “Too long. We are taking my helicopter.”

      He couldn’t be serious.

      But as he turned onto the main road and sped back toward the shipyard, she knew that Stefano Marinetti wasn’t jesting.

      An hour later, Stefano set down the helicopter in the executive heliport at Monte Carlo. Gemma hadn’t said a word since they’d lifted off, even though he’d fitted her with earphones.

      But then he hadn’t felt obliged to strike up a conversation, either. For one thing, the night-flight had demanded all his concentration. For another he didn’t trust himself to remain impassive when the very air they breathed pulsed with tension.

      Though he’d expected it, he still found it galling that she’d asked for an extension on the damned loan. “Cesare would’ve granted it,” she’d said, and he was certain she was right.

      That was all the reminder he’d needed to believe that she’d appeal to his father as soon as she could. She’d get back in Cesare’s good graces and his bed.

      But the possibility of her taking her position further loomed large before him, especially now that she stood to lose her shares of the inn. Marriage would cement her place in his father’s life and grant her the power to do whatever the hell she wished with what little money remained.

      And considering her devotion to her brother, that money would likely find its way to Monte Carlo.

      No, he couldn’t let her near his father. Instead he must make a more attractive proposition to her, and he must give her little chance to refuse.

      As soon as it was safe to exit the helicopter, he hurried her across the helipad and into the waiting limo. His blood heated from the light scent that was uniquely hers and the excitement that crackled in the air. From the fact that when this nasty business was concluded here, he and Gemma would form a new arrangement.

      That she’d be his.

      Flashes of lights confirmed the paparazzi were out in force, leading him to believe that more celebrities than usual were partaking of the games of chance or just visiting on the chance to be noticed partying among the ultrarich.

      He’d never found this jet-set lifestyle appealing. Staying on the cutting edge of his business and promoting it to its fullest kept him on the go. Unlike a good number of his contemporaries, he preferred to celebrate his successes with a select few or in private with a beautiful woman.

      Like Gemma?

      He shoved that thought from his mind and concentrated on what had brought him here tonight. Gemma.

      How ironic that just two weeks ago Jean Paul had goaded him to come gamble. Buying Cardone’s old trawler had made it worth his time.

      And now?

      The last text message he’d received from Jean Paul hinted at a repeat of the last time he’d been pitted against Cardone. Only this victory tonight would be over Gemma.

      It would be all the sweeter. When she saw her brother fail this time, she’d have no choice but to accept what Stefano offered. No choice at all.

      “How in the world will I find Emilio here?” Gemma asked, her voice so low he wondered if she was talking to herself.

      The hand he had pressed to her spine slid to her side—all to get a better hold on her as they wended their way through this throng. It had nothing to do with offering her comfort for the turmoil she’d face in the next hour. Nothing!

      “Cardone is in the poker room engaged in a high stakes game,” he said. “He has lost the last two hands.”

      “How do you know that?” she asked.

      “My friend sent me a message some time ago,” he said.

      She stopped and stared at him. “Did you hire your friend to gamble against Emilio?”

      “No, Jean Paul is a billionaire with a talent and desire to gamble on his off time.” He didn’t bother to mention Jean Paul was a celebrated Formula 1 driver, for what was the point?

      “Come. We’ll join the audience, but you must remain quiet,” he said. “Any disruption will have you removed.”

      She glared at him for the longest time with nothing short of hatred. With a huff, she turned and strode down the hall, back impossibly rigid.

      Fine. He would rather she hate him; he could deal with that better than coping with the desire and empathy she’d stirred to life in him earlier. If she raised a ruckus, she’d find herself hustled from the room.

      It would only make the tension between them all the more stronger later when they sat down to business. Yes, they were waging their own high stakes games. But he would win.

      He could make her want him. He could make her wild with desire. He would have his vengeance!

      Because he intended to blackmail her into his bed? His cheeks burned, a rarity to be sure.

      But for all his shrewd business sense, he’d never mistreated a woman in his life. Never! Not even the one he’d brought home to meet his parents and who set her sights on his brother.

      But that anger that always roared to life failed to come.

      In its place was a new emotion. Stronger. More volatile.

      This business between him and Gemma had meaning. This fired his blood.

      This was archaic