by Maya Blake
Stormy eyes snapped with dislike. ‘I’d prefer neither option, quite frankly.’
He shrugged, then felt a mild sense of loss when the movement dislodged her hands. ‘Fine. Stay here.’ One way or the other he intended to see the child—his son. He’d already been denied his existence for over over two years.
Dio, two years! He forced himself to calm down and took the stairs three at a time. She scrambled up after him, but his eyes were glued to the door at the top of the stairs.
Was that where his son slept? A hot rush of air filled his lungs, leaving him faint by the time he reached the last step. Would there be an instant, instinctive bond, or would he, thanks to the actions of the slip of a woman behind him, have to get to know his own flesh and blood?
Rocco’s heart hammered the way it never had before as he faced the door. Reaching out, he grasped the doorknob.
‘That’s not Gianni’s room,’ Mia’s husky voice said from behind him.
He jerked back with a mixture of relief and trepidation. For in that instant, before his hand had closed over the knob, he’d felt as if, somehow, he’d failed his son. That by cutting Mia off so completely, maybe he’d somehow been to blame for not knowing of his son’s existence.
Which was ridiculous, he reminded himself. He’d done nothing wrong. He’d thrown Mia out of his life because she’d turned out to be a thief and a liar. And while he wouldn’t have chosen such a person as the mother of his child, the situation was what it was. But if the child behind the next door was his, a fact an unknown instinct was warning him was so, he would move heaven and earth to make up for the time he’d lost. Taking a deep, restorative breath, he faced her. One look at his face, and she moved swiftly along the short corridor.
She stopped in front of a door painted a bright yellow. Stencils of racing cars and teddy bears danced on the frame and a brightly coloured sign proclaimed it as Gianni’s Kingdom. The smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth was quickly suppressed beneath the torrent of emotion raging through him.
With a beseeching look at him, Mia slowly opened the door and tiptoed in.
Rocco stood on the threshold, knowing without a shadow of a doubt his life was about to change for ever. But he couldn’t have turned back if his life depended on it.
He stepped into the room. The curtains, stencilled with another racing-car theme, were drawn against the afternoon sun, so at first he couldn’t see the small lump burrowed underneath a brightly coloured blanket.
Another step brought him closer to the cot.
A tremor went through him at his first glimpse of his son.
Dark curls peeked out from the top of the blanket. Even that small sight had the power to stop Rocco’s breath. As he watched, the boy stretched in his sleep, a slow, indulgent movement that revealed the full impact of his perfect, innocent, heart-stoppingly beautiful face. A face that marked him, without a shadow of a doubt, as a Vitelli.
A face that Rocco knew he would treasure for ever.
CHAPTER THREE
FOR THE SECOND time in the space of an hour, Mia watched, fascinated, as Rocco Vitelli froze into absolute stillness. Were it not for the pulse that raced in his neck, she would’ve believed he’d turned into one of the polished marble statues of his beloved Palermo.
Haltingly, she took another step closer and cast a frantic glance at him. His eyes were on Gianni, the feverish blue fastened with staggering intensity on her son.
Their son.
Gianni was lost in the land of slumber, the effects of swimming and running around in the park having taken their toll. Her gaze returned to Rocco and the resemblance between father and son hit her dead in the chest. Not having seen them this close before, she’d had no warning how strong the likeness was between them. Confronted with it now, there was no doubt.
Gianni had the beginnings of the strong Vitelli jaw, the dark slashed eyebrows and high cheekbones of his antecedents.
Beside her, Rocco drew in a shuddering breath. Slowly, his fist unclenched and reached towards his son. Long, strong fingers caressed one plump curl, which immediately clung into his touch. With trance-like movements, he sank down until his face was almost level with Gianni’s through the slats in his cot.
‘Mio figlio,’ he breathed. My son.
Without warning, Gianni’s eyes popped open.
Father and son stared at each other for one heart-stopping moment.
Mia forgot to breathe. Her nails dug into her fingers as her limbs froze.
Then just as abruptly, Gianni blinked, rolled onto his side and promptly went back to sleep.
Mia’s breath shuddered out as Rocco surged to his feet. He seemed to have trouble breathing. He swallowed several times, his eyes still fixed on their sleeping son.
Then, utterly awestruck, her heart leaping into her throat, she watched a single tear roll down his cheek. With a shaky hand, he brushed it off his face. His massive shoulders heaved as he inhaled. Her own eyes prickled, and she bit her lip to stop the distressed sound in her throat from emerging. Before she could utter a word, he stepped back from the cot.
When he turned to face her, his face was clenched tight, but his eyes were ablaze with turbulent emotion.
‘Downstairs. Now, per favore,’ he bit out.
Without looking back at his son, Rocco left the room.
Mia took her time, composing herself while slowly tucking the blanket more securely around her son.
Downstairs, she found him once again pacing her living room in tight, tension-filled circles.
She wanted him out, as quickly as possible. But after what she’d witnessed upstairs, she wasn’t so sure she could accuse him of playing games any longer. It was the same instinct that warned her not to break the silence. So she stood, one hand braced against the banister.
Eventually he stopped in front of the box on the floor, his eyes zeroing in on its contents. Bending his large frame, he plucked up a picture of Gianni, taken moments after his birth. He stared at it for endless moments. Then he brushed the surface with his thumb, much the same way he’d done with the picture in his pocket.
When his gaze snagged hers, it held a mixture of stark bleakness and eviscerating anger that had her clutching the banister tighter. ‘Gianni’s my son. You kept him from me. Why?’
The raw pain cracking his voice rendered Mia speechless as the depth of his anguish rocked her soul.
She opened her mouth but no words emerged.
He held out one hand to her in entreaty, further confounding her. ‘Per favore, tell me why,’ he muttered in a ragged whisper.
Mia dragged in a desperate, bewildered breath. ‘I didn’t keep him from you, Rocco. You know I didn’t. I—’
His hand slashed through the air. ‘You keep insisting that I did. But I didn’t know, Mia. I didn’t know!’ he roared.
‘How on earth can you say that? How can you insist on calling me a liar at every turn but then tell me you didn’t know you had a child? What’s really going on, Rocco? You claim you weren’t aware of Gianni’s existence, so how come you have his picture and my address?’
She reeled as another bolt of pain slashed across his face.
‘Nonna saw his picture on a billboard on the way to mass yesterday morning. According to her companion, she took one look at the picture and became so agitated she almost collapsed. My staff thought she’d lost her mind when she insisted the boy in the picture was my child. The doctor was called. She was so distressed she had to be sedated. But eventually, when she’d calmed enough, she called me, told me I had a son and I had to find him.’
Mia gasped. ‘But how...how was she so sure?’
‘There’s a picture of me, almost identical to this one. Nonna wears it in the locket around her neck. It was the only proof she had that she hadn’t lost her mind. Hell, even I didn’t believe it at first. But she was adamant, almost t
o the point of hysteria, that I dropped everything and flew back from Abu Dhabi to see her.’
A memory resurfaced. ‘I know that picture. She showed it to me once, but when she said it was of her bambino, I assumed it was your father. That was you?’
He gave a stiff nod.
‘And so she called you, based on seeing Gianni’s picture on a billboard?’
‘Sì.’ His hand clenched over the picture and swallowed hard before he looked up. ‘And to think I almost dismissed her pleas. For as long as I live, I will owe her a priceless debt for insisting I come here. If she hadn’t, I would still be in the dark about my son’s existence.’ He speared her with a look so unnerving, Mia’s stomach twisted into thick knots. He tucked the picture away. ‘Later, we will address the subject of why my son is posing in a children’s catalogue. For now, I’m still waiting for an explanation.’
Mia’s head throbbed from absorbing the information pelting her like icy rocks in a hailstorm. She wanted to let go of the banister, but she wasn’t sure her legs would support her if she did. Rocco gave no quarter. He stood, hands on hips, tall and solid in front of her, waiting for answers.
But they were answers she knew he already had. There was no way he could not have known about Gianni. Hell, she still had the last letter from his lawyers cautioning her against asking for child support.
Confusion mingled with all the other emotions welling up inside her and she massaged her nape in the vain hope of easing her tense muscles and helping her think clearly. ‘Help me out here, because I’m really confused. Did you have an accident recently? Or bump your head and develop amnesia? Because—’
His face darkened even further and with a frustrated growl he dropped the picture back in the box.
‘Sorry, I had to ask. Because that would be the only reason why you would be asking me these questions.’
‘Santa cielo!’ He closed his eyes, took a calming breath, then spiked his fingers through his dark hair, ruffling the normally neat strands into further disarray. ‘Fine. Let’s just pretend I’ve been in an accident recently; that I have no memory of the last three years. What would’ve happened that I’d need to know?’
She licked dry lips and swallowed. ‘Besides showing up here after making my life a living hell for three years, and then pretending you don’t know anything about it? Well, for starters, you should know to be ashamed of yourself, but then you have no shame, do you? You only see things in black and white, with no tolerance for grey. You decided I was guilty of stealing and condemned me to pay for the rest of my life. My God, even if by some stretch of the imagination I would’ve been willing to forgive you for that, what you’ve done to my son I find very difficult to forgive and I will never forgive you for that, Rocco. Never—’
She was too busy venting long-suppressed emotions and shaking so hard with the pain that came with it that she didn’t see him approach, didn’t sense the danger signs until it was too late. Too late to stop him from grabbing her; from hauling her hard against his solid frame. To avert her head to avoid the emotional devastation of his lips as they seized hers, ground into hers, forced her shocked lips open to delve into her unguarded mouth. Her stunned senses grappled to find reason, to latch onto her fast-dwindling sanity, but the battle was lost under the attack of a deep, dark resurging hunger.
The hands she braced against his chest to push him away swiftly lost their fight as his tongue took control of hers. That first, singeing assault made her knees buckle. She would’ve landed in an ungainly heap had it not been for the strong arm around her waist. Within seconds, her hands were curling into his hair, renewing their acquaintance with the sleek short strands. She caressed his nape, his rough, stubbled jaw, the strong curve of his cheek as he continued to wreak havoc on her senses. Pleasure, potent and exquisite, flooded her veins, searing a demanding path straight to that secret, forgotten place between her legs.
In a split second, the direction of his intention changed. Instead of overpowering, he caressed, in place of forceful demand, his hand gentled as he moulded her to his rigid length. And that only sucked her deeper into the maelstrom of feeling this man always evoked within her.
His hand moved lower, brought her even closer to his body. Her gasp as she felt the force of his arousal was swallowed into the heat of their kiss. She groaned deep in her throat, wanting the feeling never to end. When he broke the kiss and moved to her neck, she closed her eyes and threw back her head to give him easy access.
His hard chuckle as his hot mouth teased her pulse made her melt inside. She gave up and shuddered against him as lust-filled gooseflesh raced over her skin. His chuckle turned into deep-throated laughter.
‘Your neck is still as sensitive as ever, cara mia. It pleases me to know that at least hasn’t changed.’
Heat was instantly replaced by cold, cold ice. Dear God, had she lost her mind? She tried to wrench away. ‘Damn you! Let me go!’
His grip loosened but he didn’t raise his head from the exploration of her neck. In fact, he intensified his attack by passing a lazy tongue over her flesh before nipping it gently between his teeth. ‘Why?’ he rasped. ‘So you can spout more mystifying garbage? No. This is so much better.’ Raising his head, he conducted a searing survey over her face, down her neck, to her breasts.
Following his gaze, she saw her nipples had stiffened to painful attention beneath her thin sweater. Heat flamed up her face as he dipped his head and circled one damp tongue over the jersey-covered flesh. Mia was unable to stop the helpless jerk of her body. With a mocking smile, Rocco closed his mouth over his prize, teased the sensitive nub between his teeth until she gave a strangled cry. ‘Indeed, I prefer to use the language of lust. At least our bodies don’t lie, even after all these years.’ Straightening up, he backed her against the banister, then moved closer still, imprinting the hard, lean tower of masculinity against her.
Fire threatened to melt the ice she’d fought hard to build around her emotions, even as she acknowledged that, when it came to Rocco, that task was an uphill battle. But she couldn’t afford to let him do this to her. It was humiliating enough that she’d let herself drown in his kiss. Surrendering to his touch a second time was unthinkable. Especially given the devastation he’d wreaked on her life.
‘Well, this body wants you as far from hers as possible,’ she informed him coldly.
His lips twisted in a parody of a smile. ‘Really? Then why does it curve around mine? Why are your arms clamped around my neck? Your hips undulating against mine with an urgent need for me to take you, right here, right now?’ he asked huskily.
The heat that flooded up her face only made the scarlet haze rise again. ‘I swear on everything I hold dear, if you call me a liar one more time, you’ll regret it.’
‘Since screaming and frightening my son is out of the question, and the phone is on the other side of the room, I’m curious to see what else you come up with.’
‘For starters, my knee, between your legs. Would that get your attention?’
He let out a short bark of laughter. ‘I’ll give you some free advice, amante. Never let your opponent know your intention before you act,’ he told her. But he made no move to protect himself.
And it galled her that he knew she wouldn’t follow through; that when it came to the two of them, the only act that bordered on turbulent was the insane passion that threatened to rage out of control.
But she had to do something. She would surely lose her mind trapped against him like this, the heat of his body flaming hers; the thick ride of his erection nestling so forcefully against her belly, reminding her with searing accuracy how it had felt to have that power, that delirium-inducing force inside her.
With increasing desperation, she threw caution to the wind.
‘Let me go. Or this time I will scream, and I don’t care if Gianni wakes up. Maybe it’s time he met his monster of a father.’
Her reckless accusation removed every last vestige of laughter from his face. His features tightened into a dark, taut mask and he stilled. But this time she knew he hadn’t turned to marble, because she felt the thunder-strong beat of his heart kick up against her breast, felt the harsh exhalation of his breath against her face. And the arm he still held around her waist tightened.
‘Clarify that statement, if you please,’ he demanded in a deceptively soft tone. ‘Why would my son perceive me as a monster?’
Dropping her hands from his nape, she pushed hard against his chest, but he didn’t budge. He merely waited out her feeble efforts until she was panting with frustration. When her gaze clashed with his, he raised one haughty eyebrow.
‘Damn you! Because you accused his mother of stalking you! You dragged her into court when she was three months pregnant, exhibited every phone message, every email, every letter she’d sent you, even photographs you’d secretly taken of her as she waited for you in your office. You admitted everything as evidence of her stalking and then convinced the judge to slap a restraining order on her. You didn’t even turn up in court because your lawyers informed the judge you were in fear of your life from your unborn child’s mother and insisted she was to stay at least five hundred feet from you at all times.’ She stabbed a finger in his shoulder. ‘Gianni should know that, because of you, his mother hasn’t been able to work to provide for him, that all her friends and so-called colleagues would have nothing to do with her when she was branded the pregnant psycho stalker of the great Rocco Vitelli!’
* * *
Rocco let her go so abruptly, she stumbled wildly. The sturdy banister was once again her saviour when she fell against it. Chest heaving and struggling not to cry, she turned away from him and collapsed onto the last step.
Damn him.
Damn Rocco Vitelli to hell and back. Reliving her trauma of three years ago was the last thing she wanted to do, but, being who he was, Rocco had pushed and pushed until she’d broken, just as he’d done the last time.
