Chapter Eight
MIRA WOKE AND thought she heard Rocco speaking to someone on the terrace.
Disconcerted, naked and alone, she pulled on her lacy briefs and his tuxedo shirt, washed her face and used the toothbrush he had given her last night.
Then she crept out to the living room, hoping to scurry to her own room unnoticed.
“Buongiorno,” a middle-aged woman greeted as she came out of the kitchen.
“Oh. Buongiorno. I didn’t realize anyone else would be here.” Mira was chagrined to be caught sneaking out of his room looking so debauched, last night’s gown draped over her arm, shoes dangling from her curled fingers.
“Mira.” Rocco stepped in from the terrace.
“I— Okay,” she said anxiously as Florenza took the dress and shoes from her. “I was going to put those away and dress. Is there someone with you?”
“He left. Come,” he insisted in a silky tone, but she had the impression he was suppressing explosive anger. “What do you like? Eggs? Florenza doesn’t speak English or German.”
“Niente grazie,” Mira said shyly to the older woman. “Just coffee and muesli with yogurt?”
He relayed her order and Florenza nodded before she bustled away with the clothes.
Mira closed a few more buttons on the shirt. It fell to mid-thigh, covering her more thoroughly than the average sundress, but she still felt exposed.
They were lovers, though. She didn’t have to feel self-conscious around Rocco, did she?
He wore casual linen trousers, a shirt open at the throat and an inscrutable expression. She searched his face for his thoughts, but was off balance after all they’d done last night.
“How did you sleep?” He gave away nothing as he settled her at the table in a protected corner of the terrace, where the sun’s rays gathered to warm the tiles.
“Fine.” He knew exactly how she’d slept. He’d been there, making love to her in the night with dreamy strokes that had had her drifting back to sleep while her body was still pulsing in post-orgasmic waves.
“Shy, cara mio?” He paused in taking his seat and cupped her chin, insisting she meet his gaze. “Or something else?” His eyes were obsidian. Sharp and hard and cold. Delving.
Critical?
Her heart lurched. I can’t do this again.
Last night, she’d abandoned every inhibition, allowing him full run of her body, and it was betraying her now.
Her cells and skin and nerve endings were responding to the warmth of his hand, craving more of his touch, willing him to caress her throat and flow his hand down beneath the shirt to her aching breasts.
But this crackle of animosity put her firmly on the defensive.
Drawing back, she poured herself a glass of orange juice.
“Who was here? Someone with your PR department?” Last night’s restaurant had discouraged photos, but they’d had an evening of kissing and dirty dancing. Something might have been posted.
“Is that what you want?” he asked.
“Publicity? I thought that was the plan.”
“I want to know what your plan is.” He leaned forward, gaze cutting down her front in a way that stung far too deeply.
What had she done wrong? She’d been a virgin, so she didn’t know. Her breastbone vibrated with an ache of inadequacy, but she refused to play this game again—of trying to please and failing.
“My plan is to go to Praiano. I told your Salerno office that I would start the renovations on my villa once I’d spoken to you. Now that I have, I can begin.” She smiled at Florenza, who brought her cappuccino and a dish of berries with a dollop of yogurt and a sprinkle of muesli atop it. “Grazie.”
“We’re engaged.” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “What happened to your revenge against Otto? Did you get everything you wanted last night?”
“Did you?” she blurted, trying to pick up her wide-mouthed cup, but her hand was shaking so badly, she only sloshed liquid over the rim.
His gaze snapped to her, and he watched her tuck both hands into her lap before he came back to her eyes.
She lifted her chin, hating how vulnerable she felt. How discarded.
“Do you know why I want to hurt him? It’s not about money and broken promises.
It’s because he spent most of my life hurting me.
” Her voice quavered, but she snatched at what little dignity she could gather while her body still ached from their exertions last night.
“I never understood why he hated me and I spent too many years trying to figure it out. Trying to make him like me.” Do not cry, she ordered her hot eyes, blinking against the sting.
“Seeking revenge against him is puerile. I know that. Especially if it means I have to play that same guessing game with you. I won’t.
” Her throat was so tight, her words were barely audible.
“I won’t sit here and wonder why someone who acted like he wanted me last night is now treating me like I’m stuck to his shoe. ”
Her chair scraped as she stood.
His hand clamped around her wrist.
“Do not,” she warned in the growl of a trapped animal.
“He’s had a spy inside GPS for months. Do you know that? Because I just learned of it this morning.”
“I didn’t.” She shook off his grip and remained on her feet.
“But I’m not surprised. I told you Otto interferes when competing with GPS.
For what it’s worth, he and Axel were locking horns over unrealistic budgets and cost overruns.
I suspect Otto accepts losses on those projects purely to take them from you.
Because he hates you.” Did she enjoy throwing that at him? Not really.
“And did you ever learn why he hates you?” His voice was quiet. Maybe it even held concern or curiosity, or some other gentler emotion, but it was a hard turn of a fresh knife that was still lodged in her chest.
“That is none of your business. None.”
She started into the penthouse, but he was on his feet and blocking her before she’d rounded the table.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” he said through his teeth.
She ignored him, veering toward the far doors, ignoring Florenza’s concerned glance as she made her way to the guest room. She locked herself into the bathroom and managed to stave off the tears until she was under the stinging spray of the shower.
Rocco didn’t deserve her tears. She knew that. This wasn’t about how angry or hurt he’d made her, anyway, mistrusting her after she’d given herself over to him so completely. It wasn’t even that he’d pushed the very tender button of Otto’s disregard.
It was her own realization that she cared what he thought of her. That she was back in that space of worrying and yearning and feeling worthless. Of allowing someone else to affect her. No. Just no.
She emerged and dressed in clothes she had picked out at the boutique the other day.
Rocco had paid for all of it and she was loathe to accept them, but she was grateful for fresh underwear and a modest outfit.
She pulled on striped trousers with a flowing top in similar earthy tones.
Her damp hair went into a ponytail tied with a sheer silk scarf.
A light application of makeup hid the remnants of tears and gave her a mask to hide behind as she walked away from everything else.
When she arrived in the living room, she discovered the kitchen was tidy, the doors to the terrace closed. Rocco was waiting for her dressed in a dark blue suit that amplified his innate power and command.
“I asked Florenza to do the shopping so we could have some privacy. I know I upset you.”
“You don’t have the power to upset me. You mean nothing to me.” She pulled off the ring he’d given her and smacked it onto the nearest surface, then pivoted on her heel to head for the door.
“I learned I was betrayed by a valued employee the morning after you spent the night in my bed. It seemed too coincidental,” he said grittily behind her.
“You don’t have the first clue what betrayal is.
” She spun back to charge at him. “Otto felt betrayed when Axel said he wanted to leave so he locked us into an engagement for two years, lying to us the whole time about all of it. About me.” She jabbed at her own chest. “My mother lied to me about who my father is. I have been betrayed, Rocco. You have an HR issue. Take it up with them.” She turned away again.
“Otto is not your father? You know that?” he asked sharply behind her.
“Yes, I know that! I’ve seen the paternity test!” Her vision blurred as she spun again. “He could have told me twenty years ago. But he chose to keep the charade going while disparaging everything I said or did or wore or liked. My mother could have told me, but she let me believe…” Do not cry.
“I hate him in a way that defies words,” she choked out. “But you think I slept with you for him?” She hugged herself, hurting all over. “Go to hell, Rocco. Go all the way to the farthest reaches of hell, then crawl a little farther.”
So she knew.
Rocco was still stinging from the vehement way she sentenced him to hell, but he asked gruffly, “Did he tell you who your biological father is?”
“Apparently my mother was a whore. It could be anyone.” Her voice wobbled. “He had affairs, too, but that doesn’t matter,” she said with heavy sarcasm. “He still thinks he’s entitled to punish me for her adultery. I’m so tired of being kicked around.” She moved to pluck a tissue and blow her nose.
Rocco could hardly breathe, his chest was so bloated with fury. At Otto and himself.
He despised making mistakes. That’s why he’d reacted with such quick suspicion when he had thought he’d made a grave one in trusting Mira.
She had been avoiding his gaze and acting prickly when she had emerged from his room. He’d gone on the attack, determined to find out what she was hiding.
He had. She had admitted she knew Otto wasn’t her father, but that victory was very hollow.
She had been withdrawn because she was shy and new to affairs. His pushing her had destroyed her fragile trust in him. She had compared him to Otto, a man who blamed a child for his wife’s infidelity.
I never understood why he hated me… He could have told me twenty years ago, but he chose to keep the charade going while disparaging everything I said or did or wore or liked.
Over the years, Rocco had been frustrated that Otto had targeted him simply because Rocco’s business partner had had an affair with his wife, but he’d been philosophical about it.
In the grand scheme of things, Otto’s acts of spite had been hornets at a picnic—an annoyance and an occasional sting, but he mostly swatted it away.
It had never occurred to him that Otto would have taken out his fury on a child, one who’d been completely innocent and, even worse, ignorant of the reason for his malignant behavior.
“Dio, I want to ruin him,” he muttered as he rubbed his face.
“You can’t tell anyone he’s not my father.” Mira’s hands fell as her expression contorted into alarm. “I can’t deal with that scandal right now.” Her eyes brimmed. “Don’t you have any pity at all? For God’s sake!”
“I won’t tell anyone.” He held up a hand. “Your secret is safe. But we are not finished with him. I have a spy to identify, then we’ll see how he likes being investigated for unfair business practice.”
“Have fun,” she said scathingly. “You don’t need me for that. I’ve already given you everything I could.”
There was a beat of silence where she seemed to acknowledge that included her virginity. The despondency in her expression tensed his gut. Regrets?
“Mira—”
“I think I’ll sell my villa as is. Start fresh somewhere.”
“No.” His tone was vehement enough to make her flash him a look. “Stay,” he said with more control. “Put this back on.” He brought the ring to her.
“Why?” She stiffened and retreated a step.
“Protection.” It was the first word that came to his lips, but it was true. He couldn’t stand what he’d heard of Otto’s behavior toward her. “The harder I go after Otto, the more likely he is to try to take it out on you. That will never happen again, Mira. Not if I’m alive to prevent it.”
“I don’t know how you think you can stop him,” she muttered.
“By standing between you.” He picked up her hand and gently unfurled her fist. “You walked away from me in London three years ago because you didn’t trust me. I did the same with you today. No more. It’s us against him. And we will win.”
Her mouth was pouted in doubt, but she let him work the ring back onto her finger.