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 into it by her inability to walk away from the only man who had ever been able to make her feel like a real woman.
The trouble was that things had changed and they were changing all the time. Why hadn’t she realised that agreeing to accept the key to his apartment would strengthen the connection between them and make it even harder for her to sever her ties with him? It had made things…complicated. She didn’t want her heart to thunder every time she looked at him or her body to melt with instant desire. Her worst fears had been realised and Renzo Sabatini had become her addiction. She ran her tongue over her lips. She knew he was bad for her yet she couldn’t seem to give him up.
Sometimes she found herself longing for him to tire of her and kick her out since she didn’t have the strength to end it herself. Wouldn’t such a move force her to embrace the new life in Norfolk which she’d done absolutely nothing about—not since the day he’d given her his key and then made her come on the narrow bed in her humble bedsit, which these days she only ever visited when Renzo was away on business?
She could hear him telling his driver to take the rest of the night off and that they’d get a taxi home when the ball was over and she wished he wouldn’t be so thoughtful with his staff. No wonder they all thought the world of him. But Darcy didn’t need any more reasons to like him. Hadn’t it been easier not to let her heart become involved when their affair had been more low-key, rather than this new-found openness with trips to the opera and theatre and VIP balls?
And now he was taking her arm and leading her towards the red-carpeted marble staircase where the paparazzi were clustered. She’d known they were going to be there, but had also known she couldn’t possibly avoid them. And anyway, they weren’t going to be looking at her. They would be far too busy focussing on the Hollywood actress who was wearing the most revealing dress Darcy had ever seen, or the married co-star she was rumoured to be having an affair with.
Flashbulbs exploded to light up the warm night and although Darcy quickly tried to turn her head away, the press weren’t having any of it. And wasn’t that a TV camera zooming in on her? She wondered why she had let the dress designer put these stupid clips in her hair which meant she couldn’t hide behind the usual comforting curtain of her curls. This was the most high-profile event they’d attended as a couple but there had been no way of getting out of it—not when it was Renzo’s foundation and he was the man who’d organised it.
She