Mistresses: Blackmailed For His Pleasure. Annie West

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      But no, he’d waited until Cesare was grieving and in ill health before slithering back.

      For Cesare’s sake, she’d count the days until Stefano took his leave. But heavens, she suspected it would be a struggle to keep her temper and her dignity around this spoiled, arrogant man.

      “Very well, Gemma,” he said, her name rolling off his tongue like a caress that was so inappropriate she blushed. “As my father and I agree on this, we will continue to operate on an informal basis. Alert the department managers that I expect them in my office at two o’clock for a company meeting.”

      “Today?”

      “Yes. Is that a problem?”

      “Not at all.”

      Stefano walked into the office and closed the door behind him with a firm click that signaled he wished privacy until then. Fine! She wanted the same.

      She desperately needed it after the rush to remove Cesare’s documents followed by her first meeting with Stefano.

      She dropped onto her chair, shaken and angry and so relieved that she’d have a moment’s peace. But how long would it last?

      Too long!

      He was a handsome, virile man. A handsome, virile, arrogant man who was taking over and placing her in a very precarious position.

      That’s what she needed to concentrate on. His unrea-sonable demands. And the fact that his father hadn’t trusted him with his deepest secret.

      Oh, Cesare! She’d do anything for him. She’d done it already. But she’d do more.

      Her unwanted attraction to Stefano had temporarily blind-sided her. Nothing more. She’d be better prepared the next time she was in his company.

      “Scusi, Gemma,” he said, startling her with his nearness which came far too soon for her liking. “A moment, please.”

      Never mind that her name rolled off his tongue like an endearment and feathered sensual awareness up her bare arms. So much for her vow to remain unaffected by him.

      She forced a calm demeanor she surely didn’t feel. “What do you need?”

      A smile teased his mouth which was at odds with the hot look he cast her. “Would you help me make coffee? I can never do it right.”

      And he thought she could? She bit back that question and the sarcastic tone that begged to be loosed. “If you wish.”

       “Grazie.”

      She rose and smoothed down her skirt which had the annoying habit of creeping up her thighs. His heated gaze watched her every movement and she damned the warmth flooding her face as much as she damned the fact he had a knack for keeping her on edge. Purposely, she would bet!

      Make his coffee indeed, she thought as she went about the simple task. Yes, she always prepared a pot for Cesare. She would do the same for his infuriating son from now on—before he arrived at the office.

      “How do you take it?” she asked.

       “Ristretto.”

      She wasn’t surprised he preferred his strong and black. But she hadn’t expected his attentiveness to her every move. It was unnerving in the extreme.

      “You make it look so easy,” he said when she had the coffee on and the rich aroma began filling the room.

      She glanced up at him and was instantly ensnared by the hot promise in his eyes. Good grief, was he flirting with her?

      Of course he was. All Italian men flirted, and Stefano was reputed to be an outrageous flirt. She’d just not had the opportunity to witness it before now.

      “Is there anything else you need?” she asked, aiming for a cool voice that would let him know she wasn’t the least bit interested in him.

      “Not at the moment,” he said, though the lusty gleam in his eyes contradicted his reply.

      Her spine went stiff as she left the room that seemed far too close with him in it. How dare he be so cavalier with her one moment and charismatically male the next!

      He’d likely find some task to interrupt her work later. She was certain of it.

      Back at her desk, she set to work contacting the department managers. Most asked when Cesare would return to work. Others expressed concerns about what would happen if Cesare was forced to retire or if he died.

      The last left her with an ache in her stomach and a heaviness in her heart. It hadn’t been that long ago that she’d lost her own papa in a boating accident.

      She certainly didn’t want to think about losing Cesare! But she was worried about him. A deep unsettling worry that would likely rob her of sleep and keep her on edge.

      Some months ago, Cesare had confided in her that he and his son hadn’t been on speaking terms in years. The old man didn’t have to tell her that upset him. She could tell.

      He loved his youngest son, but according to Cesare, Stefano had disagreed with him and his eldest son over how to run Marinetti Shipyard. So he had left the company and struck out on his own and their estrangement had remained.

      Interesting that Stefano had returned and stepped into the role of CEO now. Surely he wouldn’t take advantage of Cesare’s illness to disrupt the way things were done here? Surely he wouldn’t make drastic changes?

      Her intercom buzzed, a long discordant sound that rifled the calm she’d desperately sought. So much for getting a reprieve from Stefano this morning.

      She jammed a finger on the call button. “Sì, signor.”

      “Stefano.” The silken timbre of his voice stirred a restless energy in her—something that was better left sleeping around him. “I have need of your services.”

      “Coming.”

      She stood and smoothed a hand over her skirt that had crept up her thighs, picked up her pen and notepad, and marched into the lion’s den. She was immediately thrust into another breathless moment of sensual awareness as her gaze locked on the sexy man lounging at Cesare’s desk.

      He’d removed his jacket and slung it carelessly on the leather sofa, as if settling in to work. He’d even rolled up his shirtsleeves and left his cuff links lying on the desktop, the stones glinting the fire of diamonds in the light. But he still looked more the playboy than executive.

      His silk tie hung loose around the strong column of his neck. His stark white shirt was open at the collar, revealing a wedge of olive skin sprinkled with black hair.

      The same dark hair sprang from his forearms that were corded with muscle. A Gucci watch banded one wrist.

      Anger knotted her stomach. Everything about him screamed money and sophistication. He was the consummate billionaire flaunting an extravagance that Cesare certainly couldn’t afford.

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