Kings of Desire

Chapter One

Mia

‘Mia, one of Vittorio Rocco’s security guys is coming our way…and he’s looking directly at you.’

When my kid sister Evie whisper-shouted that in my ear, the neglected spot in my panties throbbed in time with the dance music and the strobe lighting and my palpitating heartbeat on the superyacht we’d boarded two hours ago.

The superyacht owned by Rocco, which had looked more like a small cruise ship when we’d arrived at the dock in Naples with Evie’s best friends, Jessie and Becca.

After two days in the city, doing all the touristy things we could fit in around eating as much pizza as was humanly possible, the four of us had spent all day today shopping for the perfect frock, then getting mani-pedis and our hair done at a tiny salon near our budget hotel.

But nothing could have prepared me for an event, or a location, this glamorous and exclusive.

This was the first foreign holiday Evie and I had ever been able to afford.

I’d maxed out my credit card buying our dresses this afternoon at a boutique on the Via Toledo.

Evie and I had been surviving on our own since we were teenagers, and our mum had skipped out on us, so this wasn’t a regular experience.

We’d rubbed shoulders for two hours—like, literally—with a string of European celebrities, A-list film stars, supermodels and social media influencers, and those were just the people I recognised.

But I still felt as if I were floating in a weird alternative reality—an exhilarating, breathtaking dream which made me feel like a total imposter.

‘Oh. My. God! Mia, Evie’s not wrong. He must be coming to get you for his boss after “the look”,’ Becca supplied with additional air quotes.

Becca was the one who had somehow finagled an invite to this event for us all through her work.

‘We should make ourselves scarce, so he knows you’re available. ’

‘Don’t you dare disappear!’ I whisper-shouted back while grabbing Evie’s arm to keep my sister by my side.

The sultry spring evening scented with sea salt and expensive perfume was almost as breathtaking as the spectacular view across the bay, gilded by moonlight, from the open deck of the yacht, where a world-famous DJ was performing.

Nothing, though, had been as breathtaking as the man I’d first seen standing alone on the top deck of the yacht while we were having our IDs checked and photographed by the phalanx of security personnel before being allowed on board.

We’d figured out from the whispers in the line of guests the man was our host, Vittorio Rocco. Becca, who worked for a brand marketing consortium in the City of London—hence the invite—said no one knew much about him, except that he was an immensely rich local businessman.

But then, twenty minutes ago, he’d strode through the crowd with a couple of bodyguards—greeting a few of the guests but ignoring the rest—before I got ‘the look’ I was still struggling to decipher. Was he into me, or was he aware I was a total imposter?

As he passed our group, his gaze had locked on mine for what felt like an eternity… Good thing it wasn’t an eternity, because I had stopped breathing, my heart slowing to pound between my thighs.

Up close, he was the hottest man I’d ever seen… His gaze was like a heat-seeking missile, scorching everything it touched.

At six-foot-three or-four, with a cut body perfectly displayed in an expertly tailored designer suit, and the sort of tanned, chiselled features which wouldn’t look out of place on a catwalk, he had literally oozed sex and dominance.

After that heart-stopping eye clash, the four of us had been dissecting and analysing ‘the look’ in exhaustive detail while the DJ kicked off his set…

But—even though I was wearing my first thong, a mini-dress I’d spent a month’s salary on, a push-up bra which made my boobs look like a work of art and killer heels I could barely walk in—I had never expected ‘the look’ to lead to anything.

Why would this man notice me when there were so many other, more stunning and sophisticated women here?

Supposedly, I was here to cut loose, live a little after spending the last seven years being a stand-in mum to Evie, and finally shake off the shackles of a three-year relationship which had ended in humiliation and heartbreak six months ago…

and hopefully finally get laid by someone who knew where a clitoris was, so I could forget about my cheating ex-fiancé Dave and our vanilla sex life.

Or rather, that’s what Evie had talked me into when we’d agreed to come on this girl trip together with her friends and make the most of Becca’s invite.

But what if ‘the look’ had been real—and not just something we’d embellished with our fertile imaginations? What if the billionaire owner of this superyacht had really been checking me out?

Evie was the hopeless romantic. Not me.

I sucked in several deep breaths to build up the courage to glance over my shoulder.

‘Is he still headed our way?’ I whispered to Evie.

‘Yes,’ she hissed back. ‘And it’s definitely you he’s headed for. He has to be here on Rocco’s orders. We told you he was checking you out. You look spectacular in that dress, Mia. Why are you even surprised?’

A bubble of laughter eased past the tightness in my ribs.

Evie had been trying to rebuild my confidence ever since I’d kicked Dave to the curb, so she was definitely exaggerating.

In a super casual move, I swept my hair behind my ear and inched my head around.

Then all the air sucked out of my lungs. Because one of the bodyguards Rocco had walked through the crowd with earlier was standing right in front of me, wearing a sharp suit and a frown.

‘Will you come upstairs with me, Signorina Taylor. Signor Rocco would like to meet you,’ the man said in heavily accented English.

I blinked, feeling light-headed. Was this actually happening? Had my vanilla life finally located some much-needed spice? Or was this all just an illusion caused by oxygen deprivation?

Then Evie woke me up by squealing right in my ear. ‘He was checking you out. I told you so. The dress totally worked.’

‘Umm,’ I replied, trembling now with a mix of exhilaration and panic, still struggling to breathe and wanting to kick Evie, because—subtle much, little sis? ‘That… Okay, if you’re sure it’s me he wants to see.’

‘Si, it is you,’ the messenger replied, then held out his arm, directing me towards the spiral staircase which led up to the top deck where his boss had disappeared ten minutes ago. ‘Follow me, per favore.’

I grasped Evie’s hand, intimidated now as well as dazed. ‘Can I bring my sister?’

He glanced at Evie, but before he could make a decision, Evie said, ‘Rocco doesn’t want to see me.’

‘No way am I going up there on my own. This was your idea,’ I murmured as I tightened my grip on Evie’s hand.

But then the bodyguard spoke. ‘Don Vito has not asked to see her, only you.’

Evie eased her hand out of my grasp. ‘You don’t need me with you, Mia. This is your moment. Enjoy it.’

Then Becca weighed in. ‘Don’t overthink this, Mia. You should totally go for it.’

‘But…’

‘No buts, Mia. We’ll be here waiting to hear all the dirty deets when you get back.’ Jessie grinned while wriggling her eyebrows at me.

I breathed out a heavy sigh.

‘Don Vito does not like to be kept waiting,’ the bodyguard said impatiently.

Don Vito sounded super arrogant, I decided. But even so, I forced myself to turn to the guard and nod. ‘Okay, I’m coming.’

After all, the guy was our host, and he was the hottest man I’d ever seen. So, there was that.

Becca and Jessie and Evie were hooting in triumph and toasting me with their champagne flutes as I followed the guard, which would have been embarrassing in front of this crowd of uber-sophisticated people, but I was too busy struggling to breathe and not trip over my killer heels.

He led me up a spiral staircase behind the DJ booth, to the top deck, where a small group of men in suits was gathered around an opulent bar area. Some of them appeared to be bodyguards. I could see wires coming from their earpieces.

The view of the bay was even more spectacular from this level, the lights of Naples sprinkled over the hills in the distance, while Capri and the Amalfi Coast sparkled like diamonds in the darkness.

Inquisitive stares followed us as the guard and I walked past the bar and along a walkway to an isolated area at the back of the yacht, cut off from the rest of the party.

A floodlit hot tub stood at the far end—steam rising from the open top—but there was no one in it.

Vittorio Rocco sat alone on one of the leather bench seats which circled the deck, tapping out something on his phone, but as soon as I stepped into the space, he put the phone down and watched me approach.

My breath clogged in my lungs, but having his eyes on me added a seductive sway to my hips they’d never had before…

or maybe it was just the heels, which required a balancing act to walk in I must have finally mastered.

Too soon I found myself in front of him. He made no move to get up. Instead, he inclined his head towards the bodyguard. ‘Vai via, Lorenzo.’

‘Si, padrone,’ the man replied. And suddenly we were alone on the secluded deck.

A soft breeze brushed my nape, making the tendrils hanging from my chignon dance across my neck. I shivered, but I wasn’t cold.

Even from his position on the couch, our host looked overwhelming—sleek, muscular and devastating.

He’d lost the suit jacket and wore a pec-hugging black T-shirt, making the array of tattoos on his arms and around his neck visible.

With his face lit by the lights from the yacht’s wheelhouse above us, I could also see a couple of scars, one cutting into the stubble on his chin, the other slicing through his eyebrow.

The silver cross he wore around his neck seemed incongruous, because he looked like a panther…

an extremely hot panther, ready to pounce.