Secret Heirs: Billionaire's Pleasure. Кейт Хьюит
if that’s the way I’m currently heading.’
Her stubbornness infuriated him but it also produced another spark of admiration. How could a woman with so little be so proud and spirited and turn down an offer anyone else in her position would have leapt at? Renzo picked up the iced water and sipped it before walking over to the window and looking out at a red-brick wall. He wondered what it must be like to wake up to this view every morning, before putting on some drab uniform to spend the rest of the day carrying trays of food and drink.
He turned round. ‘What if I asked you to delay going to Norfolk?’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘And why would you do that?’
‘Oh, come on, Darcy,’ he said softly. ‘You may have been an innocent when I bedded you, but you’re not so innocent now. I have taught you a great deal—’
‘Perhaps there’s some kind of certificate I could nominate you for, if it’s praise you’re after?’
He gave a low laugh, turned on by an insolence he encountered from nobody else. He could see the wariness on her face as he took a step towards her, but he could also see the darkening of her eyes and the sudden stiffness of her body, as if she was using every bit of willpower not to give into what she really wanted. And Renzo knew enough about women to realise that this wasn’t over. Not yet.
‘It’s not praise I want,’ he said softly. ‘It’s you. I’m not ready to let you go.’ He reached out to smooth down her riotous curls and felt the kick of lust as he pulled her into his arms. ‘What if I told you that I liked the way you were with Cristiano and Nicoletta? That I find you charming in company as well as exquisite in bed and that maybe I’d like to take you out a little more. Why shouldn’t we go to the theatre, or a party or two? Perhaps I’ve been a little selfish keeping you locked away and now I want to show you off to the world.’
‘You make it sound as if I’ve passed some sort of hidden test!’ she said indignantly.
‘Maybe you have,’ came his simple reply.
Darcy was torn, because his words were dangerous. She didn’t want him showing her off to the world. What if someone remembered her? Someone who knew who she really was? And yet Renzo was only echoing the things she’d been thinking. Things she’d been trying and failing to deny—that she wasn’t yet ready to walk away either.
‘What if I gave you a key to my apartment?’ His voice broke into her thoughts.
‘A key?’ she echoed.
‘Why not? And—just so you know—I don’t hand out keys every day of the week. Very few people are given access to my home because I value my privacy very highly.’
‘So why me? To what do I owe this huge honour?’
‘Because you’ve never asked me for anything,’ he said quietly. ‘And nobody’s ever done that before.’
Darcy tried telling herself it was just another example of a powerful man being intrigued by the unfamiliar. But surely it was more than that. Wasn’t the giving of a key—no matter how temporary—a sign that he trusted her? And wasn’t trust the most precarious yet most precious thing in the world, especially considering Renzo’s lack of it where women were concerned?
She licked her lips, tempted beyond reason, but really—when she stopped to think about it—what was holding her back? She’d escaped her northern life and left that dark world behind as she’d carved out a new identity for herself. She’d been completely underqualified and badly educated but night classes had helped make up for her patchy schooling—and her sunny disposition meant she’d been able to find waitressing work whenever she had put her mind to it. She wasn’t quite sure where she wanted to be but she knew she was on her way. And who would possibly remember her after all this time? She’d left Manchester for London when she was sixteen and that was a long time ago. Didn’t she deserve a little fun while she had the chance?
He was watching her closely and Darcy was savvy enough to realise her hesitation was turning him on. Yet she wasn’t playing games with him. Her indecision was genuine. She really was trying to give him up, only it wasn’t as easy as she’d imagined. She was beginning to suspect that Renzo Sabatini was becoming an addiction and that should have set off every alarm bell in her body because it didn’t matter if it was drink or drugs or food—or in this case a man—addictions were dangerous. She knew that. Her personal history had taught her that in the bleakest way possible.
But now he was pulling her against him and she could feel all that hard promise shimmering beneath the surface of his muscular body. Enveloped by his arms, she found herself wanting to sink further into his powerful embrace, wanting to hold on to this brief sense of comfort and safety.
‘Say yes, Darcy,’ he urged softly, his breath warm against her lips. ‘Take my key and be my lover for a little while longer.’
His hand was on her breast and her knees were starting to buckle and Darcy knew then that she wasn’t going to resist him anytime soon.
‘Okay,’ she said, closing her eyes as he began to ruck up her dress. ‘I’ll stay for a bit longer.’
THE LIMOUSINE SLID to a halt outside the Granchester Hotel as Renzo was caressing Darcy’s thigh and he found himself thinking that she’d never looked more beautiful than she did tonight. Hungrily, he ran his gaze over the emerald shimmer of her gown, thinking that for once she looked like a billionaire’s mistress.
He gave an almost imperceptive shake of his head. Didn’t she realise that, despite her initial reluctance, she was entitled to a mistress’s perks? He’d tried to persuade her that it would be easier all round if she enjoyed all the benefits of his wealth and made herself more available to him by giving up her lowly job, but she had stubbornly refused to comply. She’d told him he should be grateful she was no longer working in the nightclub and he had growled at the thought of her curvy body poured into that tight black satin while men drooled over her.
But tonight, a small victory had been won. For once she’d accepted his offer of a custom-made gown to wear to the prestigious ball he was holding in aid of his charity foundation, though it had taken some persuasion. His mouth flattened because where once her stubborn independence had always excited him, her independence was starting to rankle, as was her determination to carry on waiting tables even though it took up so much of her time.
‘The princess is supposed to be smiling when she goes to the ball,’ he observed wryly, feeling her sequin-covered thigh tense beneath his fingers. ‘Not looking as if she’s walking towards her own execution.’
‘But I’m not a princess, Renzo. I’m a waitress who happens to be wearing a gown which cost as much as I earn in three months.’ She touched her fingertips to one of the mother-of-pearl clips which gleamed like milky rainbows against the abundant red curls. ‘If you must know, I feel like Cinderella.’
‘Ah, but the difference is that your clothes will not turn into rags at midnight, cara. When the witching hour comes you will be doing something far more pleasurable than travelling home in a pumpkin. So wipe that concerned look from your face and give me that beautiful smile instead.’
Feeling like a puppet, Darcy did as he asked, flashing a bright grin as someone rushed forward to open the car door for her. Carefully, she picked up the fishtail skirt of her emerald gown and stepped onto the pavement in her terrifyingly high shoes, thinking how quickly you could get used to being driven around like this and having people leap to attention simply because you were in the company of one of the world’s most powerful men. What was not so easy was getting rid of the growing feeling of anxiety which had been gnawing away inside her for weeks now—a sick, queasy feeling which just wouldn’t shift.
Because she was starting to realise that she was stuck. Stuck in some awful limbo. Living in a strange, parallel world which wasn’t real and locked