by Maya Blake
She’d imagined herself immune against this intense, searing ache. She was wrong. Renewed pain clenched her heart, squeezed until her breath cracked in her lungs. But damn it, she’d suffered enough. He’d humiliated her, dragged her name and reputation through court, and, worst of all, denied his unborn child. And now he’d turned up for what reason? To rub even more of his twisted brand of justice in her face?
Anger welled higher. ‘I don’t care what you think. What I want is for you to leave my house.’ Thankfully, her voice emerged cold, steady. ‘Now.’
Before Gianni woke up. Rocco might not care about his child, but Mia intended to keep the brutal truth of what his father had done to them from her son.
She shot a glance towards the stairs and prayed Gianni hadn’t heard the raised voices. Sensing Rocco’s incisive gaze on her, she quickly averted her eyes.
‘Are you saying you didn’t arrange this meeting?’ Only his lips moved. The rest of him remained carved in stone.
The question was so ludicrous she would’ve laughed, had anxiety and the deep shame of unwanted, erotic heat not continued to surge like a rising tide inside her.
‘I most certainly did not. If this is some sort of game, I don’t appreciate it.’ And if she received another intimidating letter from his lawyers, she’d fight it. There had to be grounds against this sort of behaviour. A claim for harassment at the very least.
His gaze narrowed. ‘Game? You think I would choose to be anywhere near you?’
The stark disbelief in his tone grated. Loath to let him see the devastation his words caused, she whirled and headed for the farthest seat, which in the small space was only a handful of steps away.
She longed to sink into the armchair that’d been her grandmother’s favourite seat, seek comfort from its familiar smell, but that would show weakness.
Instead, she sought refuge behind the chair, her hands gripping the headrest. She was glad for its sturdiness when her eyes settled more firmly on him.
Raw, devastating masculinity. Three years had only added to the gravity of power that surrounded him like an invisible cloak, made all the more distinguished by the faintest sprinkle of grey in his otherwise jet-black hair. His handmade Italian designer suit sat on broad shoulders in perfect symmetry to his well-honed physique.
From stinging, unbidden memory, she knew his six-foot-four frame carried not an ounce of spare flesh. Its sleek, toned muscle, hard planes and smooth contours had once held her fascination for embarrassingly long periods of time.
But it was his face—the arrogant jut of nose, chiselled cheekbones and square jaw sporting a day’s stubble—that repeatedly took her breath away. Deep-set blue eyes the colour of a stormy summer night could capture a rapt audience, burn with ferocious passion or freeze with heart-stopping cruelty.
Her gaze dropped to the curved sensuality of his lips and an electrifying sizzle ignited deep in her belly. Dear Lord, what those lips had done to her!
Lifting her gaze, she found him studying her as intensely as she studied him. She needed to get rid of him. Now!
‘What you choose to do isn’t my concern, Rocco. What I care about is that you’re in my house, without my permission.’
Her grip tightened on the chair when his head cocked slightly. Laser-sharp eyes bored into her and, even from the across the room, their white-hot heat consumed her.
‘Are you sure? You can barely breathe from your excitement, yet you expect me to believe that this...reunion wasn’t planned?’ His disbelief mocked her.
She should’ve been mortified by how accurately he’d read her. Yet all she felt was a shockingly visceral need; a need that whipped at her with unbelievable force. Swallowing hard, she tried for a careless shrug.
‘Don’t confuse anger with arousal, Rocco. I’ve always had my doubts about some of the people you employ. Someone has obviously made a mistake. Again.’
The last word hung between them. He acknowledged it with a cynical smile. ‘You too were once my employee. Until you managed to successfully elevate your status.’
‘Believe what you want. This—’ she waved her hand between them ‘—wasn’t my doing.’
He strolled to her, reached out and ran a long, graceful finger down her heated cheek. ‘You were always very good at denial, weren’t you, tesoro?’ His thumb caressed her lower lip, his voice low, hypnotic.
Mia snatched in a fevered breath as delicious flames licked through her. His heated scent wrapped around her like a magician’s spell and she fought to remain sane. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, let him drag her back to that dangerous, euphoric place where she’d lost more than just her power of speech. She had more important things to think about.
Like Gianni awakening with Rocco still in the house.
‘This conversation is going nowhere. You’ve obviously taken the wrong turn somewhere. Tell me where you wish to go and I’ll happily point you in the right direction.’
He ignored her suggestion and continued his caress along her jaw, sparking a belly-clenching hunger that terrified her.
‘You surprise me by maintaining the same tired line of defence. There was an appointment in your electronic diary both on your computer and your phone; a meeting took place during which you discussed confidential plans you were working on at Vitelli Construction. This was corroborated by more than one person.’
He was determined to drag her through their last, humiliating encounter, where he’d hurled soul-searing accusations at her. But short of throwing him out of her house—an impossibility given his sheer size—she had to get through this as quickly as possible.
‘I never denied attending that meeting, but I thought I was acting in my capacity as your structural engineer.’
He cupped her chin and tilted her face to his. ‘Yet you conveniently neglected to mention you’d passed on sensitive information regarding the Abu Dhabi project. And the fact that you’d accepted a job offer with a company in direct competition with mine.’
Mia gritted her teeth and breathed through her rising stress. ‘I didn’t divulge sensitive information. And the job was offered. Out of politeness I said I’d think about it. Besides, against Vitelli Construction, they would never have been serious competition.’
A superior smile curved his lips. ‘I agree. That aspect of your betrayal was sorely misjudged and didn’t cause me even a moment’s discomfort.’
She sucked in an astonished breath. If Rocco hadn’t condemned her for that... ‘Then why—’
His smile disappeared. The atmosphere turned from darkly sensual to arctic in the space of a heartbeat. ‘You dare to ask me why?’
Confused, she rubbed her temple. ‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but you broke off our engagement, fired me and threw me out of the Milan headquarters because you thought I’d stolen your blueprints and given them to your competitor to secure myself a job.’
‘I didn’t think. I knew it for a fact.’
‘So, if you cared so little about that, what exactly ended our relationship?’
He carried on regarding her, his expression cold, forbidding.
Rocco wasn’t a man to be crossed. She knew this from painful experience. So why was she questioning him? Why not keep her mouth shut, let him leave? What did it matter that he’d ended their relationship two months before their wedding? What did it matter that it appeared the subject of the stolen blueprints wasn’t the only thing that had blackened her in his eyes?
What he’d done afterwards was unforgivable. He’d ruined her life and dismissed his unborn child with heartless cruelty. Which was why she needed to tread carefully. For Gianni’s sake, she couldn’t end up in jail—
‘Are you serious?’ he bit out eventually.
Mia waved him away with fabricated flippancy. ‘It doesn’t matter—’
‘Doesn’t matter? Have you any idea what your betrayal did to my grandmothe
r? Do you know the heartache you caused by telling her you had no intention of ever bearing my child?’
She gasped. ‘But—’
‘She was inconsolable for weeks!’
The ferocity of his tone dried her words.
Rocco’s grandmother meant the world to him, which meant she’d become immediately important to Mia. It hadn’t been difficult to see why Rocco worshipped the ground his nonna walked on. Her instant, unconditional affection had soothed the deep ache caused by the circumstances of her own mother’s distance and indifference and the slow decline in her health Mia attributed to her lifelong bitterness and apathy.
‘It was never my intention to upset her.’
Rocco inhaled deeply. ‘I’ll give you one last chance. Tell me why I’m here.’
‘Perhaps your hearing is faulty, Rocco. I didn’t summon you here. So why don’t you tell me why you are here,’ she tossed back, fighting rising panic.
He didn’t answer. After several heartbeats, his gaze left hers to conduct a survey of the shabby clutter of the tiny room.
The furniture had seen better days, but wasn’t threadbare. Her grandmother had taken pride in her home, unlike the tiny flat Mia had shared with her mother. That home had reeked of apathy, despair and bitterness, and it’d shown in everything from the dark curtains to the cold floors and the callous disregard Mia had endured. All because she’d deigned to be born.
Mia was a little ashamed to admit that, mingled with the guilt she’d felt at distancing herself from her mother’s cold orbit at the first chance she got by taking a job first in London, and then in Italy, had been a tinge of relief.
But with every dispiriting visit and phone call in those intervening years before ill health had claimed her mother, Mia had been plagued with doubt as to her own worthiness. As to whether she would visit the same indifference and apathy on her future offspring.
It was why she’d been terrified of motherhood. Why she’d refused to even contemplate such a sacred and lifelong undertaking. How could she? When she had no clue what maternal love was? When she had no way of ascertaining whether her mother’s bitterness had rubbed off on her and risked being transferred to her own child?
Of course, she’d had her answer the moment Gianni was placed in her arms.
Gianni.
Thoughts of her son grounded her in the present.
She watched Rocco inspect her house.
She’d taken down the framed pictures and boxed them away so she could repair the peeling paint, but her dwindling finances had stalled that project. Cheap rugs provided relief from the cold hardwood floors and a place for Gianni to play in front of the grated fire when the weather was too cold.
It took seconds for Rocco to take this all in, for his gaze to snap back to trap hers.
‘You need money, sì? Judging from the state of this place, you’re short on cash.’ His head snapped up. ‘Are you sick?’
‘No.’
Suspicion narrowing his eyes, he nudged a finger under her chin. ‘But you need cash?’
Of course she needed cash. Thanks to his effective blacklisting, she’d been forced to give up her much-cherished career. Any other means of earning a living while caring for Gianni was virtually non-existent and the last of her savings was almost gone. But she’d crawl on hot coals to hell before she admitted it to the man responsible for ripping her life apart.
Her hands tightened on the chair. ‘I need nothing from you. Except for you to leave my house.’ Before she did the unthinkable, like give in to the need to touch him.
Go. Please, just go.
Finally, he dropped his hand. She immediately berated herself for wishing it back.
‘I’m beginning to think this has been an...unfortunate mistake.’
She exhaled in relief. ‘Can I trust that it won’t happen again?’ As long as there were no repercussions, she would be grateful.
Icy disdain tightened his face as he turned away. ‘I dismissed you from my life long ago. Believe that I’ve no wish to set eyes on you again.’
‘Trust me, I feel the same.’ Her voice emerged with a calm she didn’t feel. Inside, she wanted to scream. She clamped her mouth together as tears threatened, stung into being by his harsh words.
Blinking furiously, she watched him leave from behind the solid safety of her chair, even now unable to stop herself from feasting hungry eyes on his broad back, recalling the warmth of his skin under her searching caress, the silky luxury of his hair she’d once loved to run her fingers through.
He paused at the door. ‘I don’t know who orchestrated this meeting, but I will get to the bottom of this incident. And whoever is responsible will pay.’
She managed a stiff smile, her muscles threatening to seize up from the rigid control she kept on them. ‘You still haven’t told me why you came here in the first place, but, since I’m not responsible, I don’t much care. Goodbye, Rocco.’
She didn’t move until the door shut behind him. Then, galvanised by sheer self-preservation, she rushed to the window to make sure he was really leaving.
His long limbs had already carried him to his car by the time she nudged aside the curtain.
Inexplicable longing battered her. Her heartbeat thundered as she acknowledged that this might be the last time she ever saw Rocco Vitelli.
Greedily, she drank him in: the way his hair lifted in the cold breeze, the set of his strong, powerful shoulders as he hunched deeper into his jacket, even the hand he lifted to wave the driver away from opening his door caused her heartbeat to escalate until Mia feared it would burst out of her chest.
Dry-mouthed, she forced herself to turn away. Limbs shaking, she collapsed into the chair and buried her face in her hands, the reality of her lucky escape washing over her.
After several minutes of taking deep, careful breaths, she rose. A strong cup of tea would help get over the shock. That was all it was, she stressed to herself. Seeing Rocco again had shocked her.
Shocked and excited her. Reminded her how good they’d been together. In the boardroom. In bed. She closed her eyes in shame, sternly reminding herself of the consequences she’d suffered for once being a lust-sick fool. A stupid, besotted fool.
But she was over that. God, was she over it.
Nothing ripped off rose-tinted glasses quicker than finding out the man you loved saw you only as a brood mare. And a thief.
Realising she was standing in the middle of the room, wringing her hands, she abruptly stilled the movement. She would not let him affect her like this. Whatever ill wind had blown him here, he was gone.
Whirling, she started for the kitchen, then paused.
Something was wrong. With a start, she realised she hadn’t heard Rocco’s car leave.
The tiny cottage she’d inherited from her grandmother after her passing last year was on the outskirts of a Hampshire village. It was where she’d retreated to after barely surviving the tornado that was Rocco. It was located in a quiet cul-de-sac and at this time of day, before children returned from school, the place was so peaceful, she could normally hear even the quietest engine idling.
Dread crawling up her spine, she moved with leaden feet towards the window and nudged aside her curtain.
Rocco stood on the pavement, deep in conversation with Mrs Hart.
Mia’s heart slammed in her chest, then jumped into her throat when Rocco’s head jerked up.
No!
His gaze snapped to the window, snagging hers with the accuracy of a grappling hook. Even from that distance, the look in his eyes knocked the air from her lungs. Fingers frozen around a clump of curtain, she watched in dread as, without breaking eye contact, he retraced his steps down her flagstone path.
This time there was no knock.
He merely turned the handle and strode in. Straight to where she stood. Long, strong fingers prie
d the curtain from her hand, edged her away from the window.
He reached into his breast pocket.
Her palms grew damp with the rush of apprehension. ‘No!’ Dear God, not another ghastly letter. What would it demand of her this time? The very heart beating in her chest?
But what he extracted wasn’t a letter. It was far too small, barely three inches wide, coloured and glossy.
Bewildered, she watched him pass a thumb over its surface, his gaze fixed on the image. His face was ashen, harsh pants rushing through his clenched teeth as he fought for breath.
Finally, his intense, almost unholy gaze speared hers.
‘You wanted to know why I came here? Because Nonna is convinced there is a vital secret I need to uncover. Something that belongs to me. So I’m going to ask you once, Mia. Who is this child? Where is he and, more importantly, what is he to me?’
CHAPTER TWO
MIA REELED AS her heart kicked.
Was this some sort of sick, twisted new game? Was Rocco now colluding to make her appear unstable so he could take Gianni away from her?
Over my dead body!
She would go through every legal channel, sell every last possession she owned to pay for lawyers before she let that happen.
‘Mia.’ Her name, like his statement, was delivered with such care, such precision, that a cold slice of fear knifed through her thoughts.
‘Are you serious?’ she tossed back.
Rocco took a step forward, until there was less than a foot between them. She craned her neck to stare into his face and almost wished she hadn’t.
This close to him, she could see every magnificent masculine feature, breathe in the scent of skin and cologne that was all Rocco, feel it attack her flailing senses from all sides. His eyes, cold, direct and hypnotising, blunted every last weapon she intended to use against him.
One long-fingered hand gripped her chin and Mia was again lost.
Three long years she’d dreamed of his touch. Against her will, in the cold of winter, the long, hot, lazy summer night, she’d yearned for these same fingers that had caressed her to ecstasy, touched her, teased her, made her cry out to join her soul with this man.
