Chapter Six #3
His housekeeper wasn’t in today. He rose and threw on his workout gear, planning to exhaust his libido with a run since he couldn’t exercise it the old-fashioned way.
He padded out to the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the sight of blue lace cupping the bottoms of the ample cheeks that peeked from beneath the loose hem of his T-shirt.
He bit back a groan of desire.
“Finding everything you need?” he drawled.
“What!” She almost bobbled the wide-brimmed cup on its saucer. “You scared me.”
“Scusa. You’re up early. Couldn’t sleep?” He didn’t bother keeping the mockery out of his voice or disguising the fact he leaned on the pass-through so he could get a better look at her bare legs.
She had a beauty spot on the inside of her knee, one he instantly longed to kiss.
Damn it, they were consenting adults. Why shouldn’t they give in to passion if they wanted to?
Did she want to?
He glanced up to catch her blushing. Her nipples were peaked against the soft cotton of his shirt.
And wasn’t that interesting?
“My phone was blowing up,” she said, giving her loose hair a toss while trying to inject some chill into her voice. “Did your PR put out a statement?”
“Overnight, yes. Why?” He straightened. “Who reached out? Otto?”
“He said I was behaving like a child and not fooling anyone. That there was no way you could be genuinely interested in me.” She kept her expression blank, but that neutrality told him how deeply she’d been cut by Otto’s message.
“His lawyer reminded me I was risking the settlement that was contingent on my keeping a low profile. My trustee is facing pushback from Otto’s bankers.
People I worked with are asking questions, as are reporters, and Axel would like me to call. ”
His hackles rose. “Did you?”
“Not yet. I emailed Otto, asking for some information. He claims he doesn’t have it.”
“What kind of information?”
She blew across the foam on her coffee, lashes shielding her gaze.
The name of her father, perhaps?
“The statement I released says we met in London three years ago,” Rocco told her. “Tell Otto that Axel knew about that meeting. Let him think we’ve been seeing each other all this time and that Axel covered for us. Then block him.”
Her gaze flashed up. “That throws Axel under the bus.”
“Good. You said they’re at odds. Use it to make Otto believe this.” He waved between them.
She chewed the corner of her mouth then nodded jerkily and took her coffee to her room.
Rocco watched her go, still titillated by her lack of clothes, but prickling with a need to take action.
He collected his phone from the wireless charging pad.
Most of his messages were handled by staff.
Very few people had his direct line and the only person he wanted to hear from was Silvio, but there was nothing yet, only a handful of congratulations from close associates.
Damn it.
He went into the kitchen to make his own coffee, brooding on the warring desires to protect his friend and give in to his desire for Mira.
“Do you know anyone at the Donatelli investment bank in Milan?” Mira had abruptly returned.
She had pulled on a pair of flowing silk trousers and a white crop top that cupped her modest breasts and exposed her midriff.
Her hair was scraped into a ponytail. “Someone with enough sway to tell Otto to kick rocks and shift my money back to me?”
Dio, he wanted to grab that ponytail and—
No. For Silvio’s sake, he had to keep his hands to himself.
“I know the owner. I’ll have my assistant set up a call.”
As much as it galled her to let Rocco take charge, Mira was grateful that he did.
Her anger with Otto only carried her so far. She had been conditioned to be a pleaser, so confrontation was uncomfortable for her.
Not Rocco. He was dispassionate and ruthless, countering arguments with cool logic.
“It’s not a gamble, Paolo, it’s math,” he said to the banker over the speakerphone while Mira listened in.
“Otto promised her half of Vorstoben if she allowed him to use her assets to expand it. Now, he wants to give that half to someone else. The return on her investment has bottomed out. Her money can work harder elsewhere and, if you help her free it up, I’m sure she will allow you to assist her in finding places to do that. ” He glanced at Mira.
She nodded.
“Let me call you back,” Paolo said.
Two hours later, the wheels were back in motion.
It was an intense day of similar calls and meetings, and feeling bombarded by Rocco’s dynamic aura, constantly aware of his deep voice, his solicitous questions around her comfort and his brief touches when he introduced her to someone or handed her a tablet to read.
All the while, they were under the microscope of sidelong looks and stares of curiosity.
PR kept coming to them with inquiries. The markets were going crazy, wondering what their engagement meant for the competing companies.
The whole world seemed to be wondering how Mira could throw aside one man and engage herself to another overnight.
“I’m sorry I’m not selling this better,” she said with agitation when they had a moment alone in his office.
“What do you mean?” Rocco glanced up from some papers he was holding.
“When people congratulate us.” She hugged herself. “I clam up and don’t know how to react.”
A faint smile twitched his mouth. “Is that why you blush and move closer to me? I thought you were selling it very well.”
Was she doing that? Now, she was even more self-conscious!
It was a relief to finally return to his apartment and dress for tonight’s event, not that she was in the mood for a red-carpet stroll and a movie premiere.
She took great care with her appearance, knowing they would be photographed, but she was anxious as she dressed in a blush-pink dress made of woven ribbons.
Its straps formed a plunging neckline on a curve-hugging corset.
The skirt fell apart below her hips so it was nothing more than streaming ribbons that brushed her bare legs and stopped well short of the satin heels that were delicately adorned with tiny crystals.
This isn’t me, she thought as she made her way to the lounge, legs caressed by the tails of silk. She usually chose safe, classic styles that allowed her to blend in.
“Wow,” Rocco said when she appeared. “You are a vision. Grazie.”
She balked at the compliment, far too used to being faulted if she was noticed.
“I think we can do better than those plain earrings, though,” he added.
And there was the criticism.
“These were a gift from my mother.” She protectively pinched the diamond studs in her lobes. “I always wear them.” She flashed a look that dared him to disparage them.
“I only meant you should wear these.” He approached with that energy of a funnel cloud that threatened to pick her up and draw her in.
The box he opened revealed diamond studs in a platinum setting, each holding a dangling arrangement of three step-cut diamonds. They formed the shape of a tower atop the pink, rectangular sapphires suspended below them.
They were stunning and matched her gown.
“If you prefer your own—”
“No. I’ll wear them. When you asked if I was wearing pink, I thought you wanted to match your pocket square.” She flicked a nervous glance to where he’d left the traditional white exposed the requisite centimeter to match the glimpse of his shirt cuffs below his jacket sleeves.
He was in another tuxedo, this one as supremely well-made as last night’s. It hugged his musculature so he was equal parts enthralling and intimidating.
He held out his hand as she removed her own earrings, then carefully secured her mother’s studs into the box before he closed it and set it aside.
She moved to the mirror in the foyer to put the new earrings in and swept her hair back behind her shoulders, turning her head each way to study the effect. They sparkled and swayed, feeling heavy, but in a way that made her feel adorned and pretty.
“Molta bella,” he said, coming to stand behind her. In the mirror, she watched his gaze slither down her back to her heels. “This, tesoro mio, is how you make a statement.”
Her stomach swooped. She reminded herself that his flattery meant nothing and ducked away to collect her pocketbook from where she’d left it.
“Why do you shut down every time I compliment you?” He pivoted to study her from across the room.
“You’re complimenting a dress and earrings you paid for,” she said dismissively. “Thank you?”
“I was complimenting you, Mirabella.”
He’d been calling her that all day, but… “That’s not my name.”
“I know. But it’s pretty. Like you. Do you not like it?”
She wasn’t sure. Every time he called her that she felt singled out, but also inwardly pleased. It was an endearment he had created for her and only he could get away with because they were engaged.
Except they weren’t.
“I’d prefer you to save the flattery for when we have an audience. I’ve seen you with truly beautiful people. Don’t patronize me by pretending I’m in their league. I already struggle to trust you.”
“Talk about flattery.” His tone was edged with dark humor. “You’ve kept tabs on my dates?”
A blush stung her cheeks. Hard.
“You know I can’t help thinking you have ulterior motives, don’t you?” he chided.
“Exactly! So why are you laying things on so thick? It makes me think you’re buttering me up for something.”
“We’re back to London?” His mouth tightened. “I thought I made it clear that Otto has nothing to do with this.” He pointed between them.
“There is no this,” she hissed, copying his motion. Whatever relationship they were pretending to have wasn’t real.
“Fine. You don’t want to have sex with me. Message received,” he said crisply.
“No, I meant—” She clacked her teeth shut and clenched her eyes in mortification.
“Oh, please continue,” he said magnanimously, voice dripping with smug amusement. “I have obviously jumped to a wrong conclusion.”