by Maya Blake
‘Don’t go martyring yourself for my sake.’ The sarcasm she aimed at him emerged high-pitched and desperately false.
He laughed low in his throat, the sound singing along her nerves in ways that did nothing to soothe her equilibrium.
‘Trust me, it won’t be a hardship at all. I told you last night, the body doesn’t lie and right now mine is demanding that I be true to it in the most primal way.’ One hand caressed its way up her side, sparking flash fires wherever he touched. When it curved beneath the soft swell of her breast, she knew she had to do something or risk dissolving into a heated puddle at his feet.
The hands she lifted to push him away with felt feeble. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’
He lifted winged brows, even as his mouth descended another tempting millimetre, his warm breath washing over her tingling lips, setting them on fire so she had to fight not to give into the temptation to lick moisture into them.
‘You threw me out of your life three years ago. You warned me never to darken your door again, remember?’ Her voice emerged husky, heavy with a need she was fighting desperately to deny.
‘Not because I had grown tired of the exquisite pleasure I found in your body. In fact, that was the reason I swore never to set foot in England again.’
She was shocked by this stark admission; her eyes flew to his. ‘You couldn’t trust yourself to be around me, despite labelling me as a thief?’
A grim smile twitched his lips. ‘You see what the power of sex can do? Even in the midst of bitter disillusionment and betrayal, the body wants what it wants.’ To demonstrate, he brought her closer still to his tight, masculine form so she could not fail to feel the evidence for herself.
‘God, you make it sound so cheap and sordid!’
‘Deny it if you must, but it’s the truth.’ This time his lips lowered enough to brush over hers.
The brief contact sent a wild shudder through her, the force of her own need stabbing her deep in the pelvis. A moan of pleasure escaped before she could stop it. When he lifted his head, she realised her hands had curled into his chest. She straightened them, but found she couldn’t quite remove them from the heated, cotton-covered flesh.
‘Don’t do this, Rocco. If this is the example you’re hoping to set your son, then I pray for his upbringing.’
If she’d meant the words to cause offence, she was disappointed. In true Latin style, he shrugged eloquently.
‘It’s right for him to learn that feelings should be expressed naturally. I don’t want him to be brought up with the suppressing of feelings and stiff-upper-lip nonsense you English are so fond of. It’s also good for him to see that his parents can express natural feelings towards one another.’
She knew he meant this as she’d witnessed, and envied, the open love and warmth he shared with his grandmother and cousins. But still, ‘I wouldn’t describe what I’m feeling for you right now as natural.’
Raising his head, he feathered a forefinger down her cheek, his lips curving with a hint of a smile she recalled as devastating when fully unfurled. ‘Really? How would you describe it?’
‘Murderous is a good start,’ she forced out, despite the battle she fought against the urge to curl into his touch.
He tossed out another shrug, in no way disturbed by her answer. ‘You’re not the first to want my head on a platter.’
‘You mean I’m not the first person to be falsely accused of stealing by you?’
Where the first reminder had failed miserably, this second reminder of why he’d thrown her out of his life succeeded. Like a switch, the heat was extinguished from his eyes. Mia should’ve been thankful that she’d achieved her aim, but all she felt was bereft when his arms fell from her. She cursed herself for her weakness. Why? After all he’d done to her, couldn’t she summon enough willpower to resist him?
‘Perhaps you’re right. Some things should not be aired in front of my son.’
My son.
The fierce possession in his statement fired a warning in Mia’s head. He’s my son too, she wanted to rage at him, but Gianni had already been bombarded with too many emotions this morning and her normally chatty son was now gazing solemnly at his parents. It irked her that Rocco was right, that she hadn’t considered her son’s feelings before she’d let herself be dragged into a heated exchange in his presence.
But then he’d always had that effect on her, hadn’t he? His lean, dark, heart-stopping good looks combined with that hard muscle-packed body had spelt trouble for her the first time she’d laid eyes on him two months into her employment with the London division of Vitelli Construction. But it was the deadly combination of that and his superior intellect that had tipped her over the edge of uncontrollable lust into full-blown infatuation.
And hadn’t he fed into it? He’d lapped it up as if it were his due, taken everything she had to offer and more, until she’d felt herself disappearing into the giant, larger than life force that was Rocco Vitelli.
It enraged her now to think she’d come so close to giving up everything, every damn thing she’d worked so hard for, to please him. Only to find out the real reason for his proposal: first as a means of pleasing his grandmother, and then, provided nature took its course—and why shouldn’t it, since Rocco Vitelli willed it?—as a breeding machine to carry on the Vitelli empire.
Of course, in the end it hadn’t mattered because clever, quick-thinking and infinitely superior Rocco had got the boot in first and she’d been forced to give up everything anyway. The career she’d so carefully planned and proudly achieved in spite of her every misgiving, in spite of the very loud echoes about her unworthiness, had been ripped from her in the blink of an eye.
Except now he was dangling the carrot of getting her life back, to put the horror of the last three years behind her. Was she a fool to refuse this chance to finally move on with her life, to start providing for her son the way she’d been unable to do since he was born? She could wallow in bitterness for what had happened to her, or she could dust herself off, accept his offer of assistance and start reclaiming her life.
‘How long will we be gone?’ she asked, after taking a steadying breath.
The barest hint of tension eased from his frame. A minuscule signal that he wasn’t blasé about all this. For some absurd reason, it eased Mia’s knotted insides.
‘If everything goes according to plan, the business side of things should be concluded in a few hours,’ he replied.
By teatime she could be free of the nightmare that’d been hanging over her for three long years.
Of course, it wasn’t till much later that the full meaning of his words truly sank in.
CHAPTER FIVE
ROCCO’S GAZE TRACKED Mia as she walked away from him.
Last night he’d barely slept. Finding out you had a son and discovering the nefarious circumstances that had kept his birth from you had a way of depriving a man of sleep in a way the strongest caffeine or most challenging boardroom negotiations could not achieve. Anger, shock and a sense of profound loss had all wrestled for equal chunks of him.
But in the end, steely resolution had won out.
He had a son. And he intended to claim him, by any means possible.
He walked over and crouched down in front of Gianni, his heart once again overwhelmed by the miracle in front of him. Plump hands lifted up the red racing car to him. He accepted it, swallowing the lump in his throat before settling himself on the floor in front of him.
He had a son who had surpassed all goals to become his number one priority. And for now he had to recognise that mother and son came as a package, which meant any plans he had for Gianni would have to include Mia. He’d known what he needed to do even before he’d picked up the phone to confirm the news to Nonna.
His grandmother’s sobs of happiness had brought a brief smile to his own lips and alleviated any
guilt he felt about what he had to do to secure his place in his son’s life.
The Mia he knew had always been feisty, fighting her corner, whether in the boardroom or against his absolute possession of her in the bedroom, so he had a fight on his hands to convince Mia to fall in with his plans.
And in light of what she’d been through—an ordeal that would’ve cowed most people but evidently not Mia, since she’d remained impressively, admirably spirited—he had to tread carefully. But, ultimately, he was determined to win.
First, he would restore all that had been ripped away from her three years ago. As she’d proved with resounding success to him, money and privilege were a potent aphrodisiac, dispensing with even the staunchest of beliefs. All he had to do was set her dreams in front of her to have her.
Fate, if you believed in that sort of thing, had taken care of her one objection to their previous relationship. She’d been willing to enjoy the influence and power his position brought, but not the child she’d known he’d ultimately wanted.
What had pained him most then and continued to disillusion him now was that she’d been so engrossed in trying to clear her name, so intent on salvaging her career, she’d brushed aside his shocked demand.
His lips thinned in memory of their confrontation that last morning.
Of course, I didn’t want to have your child!
The words still had the power to freeze his insides, the callous words raw and bruisingly bracing in ways he’d never imagined possible.
So why had she gone ahead with the pregnancy?
Had she had a change of heart the moment she’d known she was carrying his child? Or had she needed convincing? How had she coped with the pregnancy itself? With firm resolution, he pushed away the questions. He was burning to know the answers but the reality of his son made them less urgent. The promise he’d made to Nonna had been fulfilled, even without him realising it.
And now he’d been blessed with this gift, he intended to hang onto it with both hands.
Mia stood in front of her wardrobe, eyeing its meagre contents with increasing anxiety. Although why she should be anxious about meeting a bunch of lawyers, she had no idea. Surely she should be celebrating the fact that her name was about to be cleared? She could finally move on with her life and take proper care of her son without having to worry. So why was she stressing over what to wear?
Biting her lip, she acknowledged her anxiety stemmed from another source. Rocco hadn’t mentioned his plans concerning Gianni. And after witnessing the depths of Rocco’s emotions both yesterday and this morning, and the instant bond between father and son, she’d be naïve to think Rocco wouldn’t demand some sort of contact with Gianni.
The thought of being parted from her son for even a minute tore her insides to shreds.
Maybe she was jumping the gun, she mused impatiently as she whipped the only decent outfit—a knee-length navy-blue dress with a crossover bodice that had seen better days—off the hanger. The soft jersey material would have to do the job of keeping her warm, especially since she’d been putting off buying tights until the weather got really cold. She located her black-heeled pumps at the back of the wardrobe, slipped them on and took a few experimental steps to the window and back. Having lived in flats and trainers since Gianni’s birth, the last thing she wanted to do was to topple over in her three-inch heels with her son in her arms.
Confident she could carry it off without coming across like a limping ostrich, she brushed her hair, smoothed on a trace of gloss and re-hung the clothes she’d strewn on the bed. Checking her appearance one last time, she slipped into Gianni’s room and picked up the bag she’d packed for him.
The sound of laughter reached her ears as she descended the stairs.
The first thing she saw was Rocco’s legs splayed out, followed by powerful thighs, lean tapered hips and impressive torso, on which lay her son, giggling uncontrollably at the faces his father, sprawled out on her living room floor, was pulling.
It took several moments for them to realise they had an audience, and several more for the humour to be wiped from Rocco’s eyes. In those moments, she was reminded of when they’d been together, sharing a joke, or laughing for no reason, simply because she was happy.
The painful reminder delivered a punch so forceful to her midsection, she struggled to catch her breath.
‘I... I’m ready,’ she said, her voice scratchy with torn emotions.
She wanted to hate Rocco, she really did. But now she was presented with the picture of an indulgent father and content son, her heart flipped in a way that sent huge alarm bells through her brain.
Her heart took a further hammering when he sat up easily, one strong arm secure around his son as he rose fluidly to his feet and raked a tidying hand through his hair, looking sexily and sinfully dishevelled as he stared down at her.
‘Ah. Your mamma has decided to grace us with her presence.’ Dark blue eyes gleamed as they raked her form, lingering over her cleavage and hips in ways that made her hot all over.
Gianni beamed his approval. ‘Mummy...lovely,’ he said.
Setting down the bag before it fell from her suddenly clammy fingers, she reached for Gianni. ‘I changed him just before breakfast so he doesn’t need changing. I’ll just put his sweater on and we can be on our way.’
Rocco handed him over, but his gaze stayed on hers for a charged second, sending spikes of heat through her and bringing thoughts of their earlier conversation flooding through her. She felt his gaze on her as she carried Gianni over to the sofa, sat him down and pulled his sweater over the long sleeve T-shirt and jeans he wore.
When she looked up, Rocco had the door open and the case in his hand. ‘I’ll take him so you can lock up.’
Unused to having another adult presence in Gianni’s life since her grandmother’s death, and feeling bereft at being relieved of him so quickly, she hesitated.
Rocco’s eyes narrowed and the last of the warmth left his face. ‘I’m not going to spirit him away the second your back is turned, if that’s what you think.’
But that was just the problem. She had no idea what to think, since she had no idea what role he intended to play in his son’s life. Biting her lips over her jumbled emotions, she handed Gianni to him, fished her keys out of her bag and locked the door behind her.
She approached the car in time to see him settle Gianni into a brand-new car seat. Seeing her surprise, he raised his brows in query.
‘Did you think I would forget such an important safety issue?’ he drawled.
If she was honest, yes, although now she thought of it, she realised Rocco, with his menagerie of nieces and nephews produced by his extended family, had more experience with children than she’d ever had, and the thought caused her even more worry.
Sliding into the silver Bentley to sit opposite her son, she felt unmoored, as if her life were spiralling out of her control, which was ridiculous. All he’d done was buy her son a car seat. Nothing wildly strange about that, she assured herself.
‘I flew in by helicopter this morning, but as I wasn’t sure how Gianni would react to the flight, I suggest we travel by road.’
Gianni would’ve probably loved it, but since she hadn’t been keen on Rocco’s helicopter rides during the times she’d had to accompany him on site visits, she nodded. ‘It’s probably best.’
She crossed her legs and immediately uncrossed them when her calf brushed the warm material of his trousers. Heat, delicious and stinging, raced along her skin, tightening her nipples into painful points. The immediacy of the reaction sent a gasp flying from her lips. And the thought that she had to endure almost two hours of Rocco’s dark, masculine presence sent a moan chasing after it.
‘I would ask you what is wrong, cara, but I already know. I felt it too.’ Molten eyes the colour of a storm-tossed sea speared her with flames of desire.
/> She swallowed hard. ‘Whatever I feel...whatever you feel, this is going nowhere,’ she warned, more to herself, she suspected, than to him.
His eyes dropped to her mouth, lingered for tense, dangerous seconds, before arriving back to hers. ‘We shall see.’
The words sounded so very much like a challenge, Mia swallowed again. Her gaze fell on her son and she breathed a sigh of relief. While Gianni was in the car with them, Rocco would not try anything.
Would he?
She cast him a furtive glance and caught his gaze on her face. Reading her features clearly, he smiled. It was a wholly untamed, deeply devastating smile that reeked of masculine arrogance.
Colour shot up her face, but she raised her chin and stared him down. After several seconds he turned his gaze on Gianni.
For several miles he entertained Gianni, leaving Mia to suffer his more than occasional, seemingly innocent contact every time he adjusted his large frame. And with each brush of body against hers, she experienced a bone-deep tingle that reignited primal sensations and a fierce yearning to pull closer to the powerful, masculine temptation that was Rocco.
Instead, she forced her hands to stayed curled in her lap, her attention on the grey motorway that whizzed past her window.
‘Grazie.’ The pull of his scrutiny, accompanied by the solemnly uttered word, drew her attention. She turned to see his gaze shift from his dozing son’s smooth, innocent face to hers. As much as she tried not to be affected by the hypnotic gleam in their stormy depths, several missed heartbeats told her she hadn’t been successful.
‘For what?’ she asked with genuine puzzlement.
‘For naming Gianni after my grandfather. He’s an exceptional boy. Nonna will be so proud.’ There was a discernible vein of pride in his voice coupled with a fierce possessiveness.
