by Maya Blake
‘Grazie, Nonna. As long as you don’t wear yourself out.’
She waved him away. ‘It was a little incident, nothing more. Mio pronipote, Gianni, has given me a new lease of life. Now, Mia, tell me everything you require and I will make a list. We will start early tomorrow morning.’
Rocco sat back, satisfaction easing through him as one box was successfully ticked in securing everything that was his. He was confident the rest would fall into place just as easily.
No alternative outcome was permitted.
Nine days after her arrival in Palermo, Mia stood outside the ancient double doors of a duomo a few streets from Rocco’s villa. In terms of size, the cathedral wasn’t large, but in grandeur stakes it dripped with history and prestige, from its golden, eleventh-century basilica to the carefully preserved mosaics, magnificent stone arches and Corinthian columns. It was also Caterina Vitelli’s local church where she attended mass twice a week.
Mia’s hand trembled and she couldn’t quite catch her breath. While she wanted to blame the tight cinch of the corseted wedding dress, she knew it had nothing to do with the gown’s design—which was a rich cream silk lace, sweeping, with a train stunning enough to render her breathless—and everything to do with the butterflies that had invaded her stomach when she’d awakened the morning after their arrival to Caterina’s arm-long to-do list, and the reality that this wedding was happening.
Rocco, during their one and only discussion of the wedding, had acceded to her wish to keep it small. But Mia had quickly found out that small in Vitelli terms meant a few dozen people, because, while Rocco was Caterina’s only grandchild, his grandfather had several siblings who’d generated a plethora of second and third cousins, most of whom were currently employed by Vitelli Construction. All of whom were eager to remain in Rocco’s favour by honouring his invitation to attend his wedding.
One person in particular had been conspicuously absent in the last week though.
Allegra.
Apparently, she was visiting her parents in Northern Sicily with her children. The news had brought more relief than Mia was willing to admit. Nevertheless, over the past few days she’d grasped just how deep Allegra’s influence went in Rocco’s household. Each morning, there were fresh flowers delivered to every room in the villa as per Allegra’s instructions. And Mia had discovered that most decisions concerning the running of the villa were approved or vetoed by Allegra.
Mia tried to tell herself she didn’t care. But it grated to discover she couldn’t request Gianni’s favourite pasta be added to the shopping list without seeking approval from Allegra Vitelli.
‘Mummy?’
She started and looked down to find Gianni staring up at her, impatience etched on his face. She’d given him the choice of standing next to his father beside the altar or walking down the aisle with her and her heart had turned over with joy when he’d chosen to walk with her. In his miniature version of Rocco’s grey morning suit, with his hair neatly combed, he was too adorable for words.
‘Shall we go in?’ She infused lightness into her voice.
He nodded eagerly, tugging at her hand.
She took comfort in his innocent touch, a mountain of reassurance in his unabashed stride as he urged her through the doors and down the wide aisle. Soft, indulgent gasps accompanied what was most people’s first sighting of her son, but it did nothing to ease her nerves as those gazes swept up to probe her because the most probing was Rocco’s.
Even from the distance between them, she felt its power, its laser-like, unwavering focus. It drew her like a magnet, propelling her forward until she was beside him.
Vaguely, she sensed Gianni being ushered away by his great-grandmother.
Then Rocco was taking her hand, firm and implacable, and turning her to face the priest.
The ceremony was shockingly quick, the words barely sinking in before she felt the soul-shaking finality of his ring sliding onto her finger.
She shivered; her fingers trembled wildly.
Rocco’s grip tightened, his nostrils flaring in that possessive, definitive way that spelled that he’d well and truly captured her. Then he clasped her shoulders, tugged her to him. When their lips were a breath apart, he held her there, locked in his arms and by his gaze.
‘You’re mine now, cara,’ he breathed, his voice low and for her ears only. ‘Now show the world you’re ecstatic about it.’
It took a moment to realise he was leaving the option to her. To buck tradition and initiate their wedding kiss. It was a clear challenge, a push for her to play her part.
Perhaps it was simply because this man drove her to dangerous extremes. Or perhaps because he expected her to refuse. It might have had something to do with not wanting to invite speculation from the dozens of Vitellis holding their collective breaths.
Whatever it was, she refused to back away from it.
So she curled her hands beneath his silk lapel, slowly slid her hands up to lock around his nape. Then rising on tiptoe, she pressed her lips to his.
It was meant to be brief, to the point.
It turned out to be anything but. The moment her lips touched his, Rocco took over. The alpha male who couldn’t cede control for longer than two seconds, he slanted his lips across hers and deepened the kiss, his tongue gliding between her lips to stroke hers.
The cheer of the crowd fell away, the rush of blood in her ears drowning out everything save the riot of sensation pummelling her. Time ceased to register. By the time Rocco ended the kiss they were both breathing hard, his eyes dark and stormy as he stared at her.
It might have started off as a way to make a point. But it ended with her recognising that she’d only weakened the armour she should’ve been fortifying around him.
That thought triggered mild panic as Rocco escorted her down the aisle and out into the waiting limo. As had been prearranged, Gianni would ride with his grandmother and her retinue in another limo, leaving Mia alone with Rocco.
She watched him reach into his breast pocket as the car left the church to head back to the villa. When she realised what he was holding out to her, her lips fell open in shock.
She stared at the flawless, square-cut diamond engagement ring that had adorned her finger for many months before she’d realised she was living in a dream world. ‘You kept it?’
He shrugged. ‘I was tempted to throw it into Mount Etna at one point, but luckily I resisted that particular melodramatic gesture.’
Because he couldn’t be bothered? ‘Why? I’d have thought you’d be eager to be rid of it.’
His lips twisted. ‘Perhaps I needed the reminder? Or more likely, whoever was tasked with removing your belongings thought it prudent for it to find its way to my bank vault. Which is where it’s been all this time. Don’t overthink it, Mia. You picked it. It’s yours again now.’
He caught her fingers with his and slid the ring next to her wedding band. As if designed for the sole purpose of complementing one another, the rings fitted together perfectly. If he’d been anyone else, she’d have asked whether he’d intended it that way. But as he’d said, he’d barely given the ring, and her, a second thought until now.
She tugged her hand away and balled her fist, to hide its trembling and to hold emotions determined to overflow locked inside, while he sat back, his eyes resting on the rings for a moment before rising to her face.
‘I take it from that smug expression that I’ve passed another one of your tests?’ she asked.
‘The one at the altar you passed with flying colours. For a moment there, even I was convinced we were an ecstatically married couple, crazily lusting after one another. So you see, cara, your transition back into my life is going to be less fraught than you think. And speaking of transition...’
The pause was deliberate. A predator taunting its prey. She knew it but still couldn’t help herself. ‘
Yes?’
‘We have an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone.’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t follow.’
‘Nonna tells me you’re struggling on where to settle on for our honeymoon.’
‘I thought it better to appear indecisive than to burst her bubble by telling her we weren’t going on honeymoon.’
A wicked smile curved the lips she could still taste on hers, causing her fist to spasm harder. ‘Oh, but we’ve come this far, amante. We can’t turn back now.’
Her heart did that crazy cartwheel again. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘It means, as of two days ago, I’ve officially signed on to build a performing arts centre in Macau. You’ll accompany me when I visit the site. Nonna can be rest assured our marriage is off to a great start while she babysits Gianni. And you can dip your toes back into your precious career.’
‘You expect me to leave Gianni behind?’ she asked in surprise.
‘We’ll only be gone a few days. Besides, I don’t think Gianni and Nonna are ready to be parted from one another so soon.’
It was true that her son and his great-grandmother had fallen head over heels for one another. But Mia had never been parted from him. ‘I thought the whole idea behind this was so you would also get to know him, not swan off at the first opportunity?’
His face tightened. ‘Like most working parents I accept it’s impossible to spend every waking moment with my child. How were you proposing to accomplish work and motherhood?’
She opened her mouth but no words emerged.
He sighed. ‘I don’t intend us to make a habit of it, Mia. And I will miss him too.’
She knew she needed to keep her guard up, but his words weirdly appeased her. She locked eyes with him for several heartbeats before she nodded. But when he reached out for her, she startled. His jaw clenched.
‘We’ve arrived back home, tesoro. And we have a considerable audience watching our every move, so I suggest you put your game face back on.’
Her game face stayed all throughout the small but elaborate reception in the villa’s lavish gold-themed ballroom—because Vitellis didn’t do things by half measures. Through a stream of cousins, uncles and aunts whose names all blended into one after the first dozen. Through a first dance with Rocco while a renowned concert pianist serenaded them, when he held her far too close, murmured thickly, ‘I think it would remiss of me not to mention you look breathtaking, mia moglie,’ then delivered that wicked smile telling her he knew his effect on her. Through another dance where Gianni joined them, held between them as they swayed on the dance floor and Mia fought a different emotion, one that threatened to rip her heart in two because of secret yearnings she could never reveal. A yearning for these circumstances to be different. For them to be enjoying their son as a true married couple, with no signed agreements or restraints or bartering between them.
A dream that was destined to be unfulfilled.
‘Mummy, Papà, dance!’ Gianni cried.
Mia realised she’d stopped moving. As had Rocco. That they were locked in place staring at one another, with their guests looking on. She blinked, hastily erasing whatever emotion was laid bare on her face before she gave herself away. Then spent what was left of the reception wondering what Rocco had seen to make that contemplative gleam in his eyes flare for a pulse-racing, untamed second.
A handful of hours later, she drew in another half-breath, this one of relief as she bent over Gianni’s bed to brush a goodnight kiss on his cheek.
‘Bella, Mummy,’ he murmured sleepily, stroking a chubby hand over the lace sleeve of her wedding dress.
For some reason, the words brought a tear to her eye. Or perhaps it was hearing him utter the Italian word. It wasn’t his first. All week, he’d been repeating words Rocco had taught him. ‘Thank you, my darling.’
‘I see you’re relentless with that charm offensive, mio figlio,’ Rocco’s deep voice murmured amusedly as he appeared beside her. ‘But it’s time to sleep now. Dormi bene, caro.’ He leaned down and dropped a kiss on his son’s head.
Another tear rose in Mia’s eyes. She stepped back, blinking them away. Then she hurried from the room.
A few yards from her suite, she heard Rocco’s footsteps behind her. She quickened her strides, eager to flee from him and from the cornucopia of sensation cascading through her.
Of course, he wasn’t going to let her get away that easily. He’d sensed weakness in that moment on the dance floor. And, like a typical alpha warrior, was out to capitalise on it.
She threw open the doors to her bedroom, then turned, forced herself to stand her ground when all she wanted to do was back away, flee from that ferocious intent in his eyes. ‘Did you want something?’
He smiled, lazily reached for his tie and tugged it off. He was the epitome of virile masculinity and suave assurance, and her already shortened breath strangled to nothing. ‘I want a great many things, tesoro mio, but I suspect you might be more in need than I.’
‘I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean.’
He sauntered towards her, slowly winding the tie around his fingers before slipping it into his pocket. Then he nudged his chin at her dress. ‘Your stylists helped you into that sensational contraption but I’m wondering how you intend to get yourself out of it,’ he drawled.
Mia bit her inner lip. The corset was knotted in a profusion of ribbons at the back. It would take a contortionist act to free herself from it without help. But she didn’t need the kind of help her husband was offering. Not when she didn’t trust him. Or herself.
Rocco stopped in front of her. ‘No need for such turmoil, Mia. All I’m offering is my assistance.’
A tight little laugh escaped her. ‘Next you’ll be asking me to believe in fairy tales where the big, bad wolf is just a friendly tomcat.’
He gave a throaty laugh. ‘The only parallel to be drawn is that red is my favourite colour. But you’re thankfully far from a guileless innocent, bella mia. And I have no wish to devour you.’ He reached out, dragged a finger down her cheek to her throat, his touch testing her pulse. ‘Not immediately anyway,’ he added, a throb of unmistakable arousal in his voice.
‘Rocco...’
He snatched her close, wrapping his arms around her waist. ‘Give in to me, Mia,’ he muttered thickly, his mouth trailing the sensitive skin of her neck, leaving a trail of gooseflesh all over her body.
‘No.’ The denial was weak, barely audible. So she tried again. ‘That’s...that’s not what we agreed.’
Another kiss lingered on her racing pulse. ‘The beauty of being adults gifted with reasoning and willpower is that we can change our minds. Renegotiate. You want me. And I need you.’
He pressed her closer so there was no mistaking the depth of his thick, powerful need. A helpless moan ripped free from her throat, ferocious desire mounting inside her.
‘Are you going to deny this? Deny us?’ he rasped fiercely.
Mia shook her head, more to rid herself of the fog overwhelming her than in answer. Vaguely, she felt his busy hands at her waist.
‘Then kiss me, amante,’ Rocco muttered, drawing back a fraction and holding himself temptingly just out of reach, just as he had at the altar.
And just as before, need shamed her resistance to smithereens, triggering a wild clamour that had her fisting his lapels and yanking his head down, her lips already parting as he hungrily bore down on her, accepting her greedy invitation to fling them both into madness.
And, oh, what sublime madness it was!
Mia couldn’t get enough of his taste, of the thick arms that dragged her closer until they were plastered together from chest to thighs. Couldn’t get enough of the rough sounds he made as he savoured her, his hands gripping her hips for a moment before he lifted her off her feet.
Her senses and body went in
to free fall when Rocco tossed her on the bed. He bore down on her, swallowing her cry of surprise with another torrid kiss that had her free falling all over again. Her fingers speared through his hair, gripping him tight to deepen the kiss. She moaned again when he wrapped an arm around her waist and rolled them over. Splayed on top of him, she felt a sense of feminine power and desire smash through her. She broke the kiss, awed and overwhelmed as their gazes locked. The surreal connection that had existed between them from the moment they laid eyes on each other returned in full force. Without conscious thought, she moved, dragging her heated centre over his erection.
Rocco groaned, gripping her hips to deepen the contact. ‘Mia dea...’
My goddess.
He’d used to call her that. She’d used to love it.
In the past. Before her life had detonated.
What was she doing?
Before she could course-correct, he spun them around again, resuming his dominant position and crumbling her resistance. This time, his hands wreaked deeper havoc, reaching beneath the silk and chiffon to brand her skin. Mia felt him tug at her underwear. Then he was parting her thighs, sinking to his knees beside the bed.
Mia cried out in stunned pleasure as his hot, expert lips delivered a carnal, soul-searing kiss. ‘Rocco!’
He didn’t respond. He was too busy throwing her legs over his shoulders, parting her wider in order to drive her deeper into insanity. Mia was aware of the sounds emitting from her throat. Of her heart attempting to bang itself out of her ribs. Then, as he pleasured her with supreme expertise, she felt stars dancing at the edges of her vision. Right before she screamed in sublime release.
When she came to, he was kissing her fingers, her wrist, the oversensitive skin of her inner elbow. When he reached her shoulder, he murmured in her ear. ‘Tell me I can have you, Mia.’
She opened drowsy eyes, stared at the stucco ceiling of her suite.
