They were not lovers.
Rocco was keenly aware of that fact as he tossed and turned all night steeped in the knowledge that Mira was on the other side of his penthouse wearing only the T-shirt he’d given her to sleep in.
It was the closest he’d been to her in years and everything in him wanted to go to her.
He twisted onto his back, reminding himself she was Silvio’s daughter. What would Silvio think when he saw the headlines?
Rocco had revealed more than he’d meant to when Mira had asked about the couple who’d stopped their daughter from seeing him. Things with that young woman had been very casual. His heart hadn’t been broken in the least, but after they’d ended things, the couple had presumed Silvio would stop inviting Rocco to parties. They’d questioned Claudina on whether Rocco was “an appropriate invite.”
To her credit, Claudina had told the couple they didn’t have to come to her parties if they didn’t wish to see Rocco, but that Rocco was part of the family and would always be invited.
He wasn’t family, though, and never would be. Silvio might have grown up with Rocco’s father, Ricardo, but they’d only become friends because Ricardo’s father had worked for Silvio’s father. Silvio had had a university education and a gap year in Australia. Ricardo had had a wife and baby and a blue-collar job.
That was the real reason Rocco had taken such grim delight in presenting Mira as his bride-to-be. She was beautiful, wealthy and wore the polish of high society. She did belong. Her aloof smile had been faintly dismissive of the other couple, which had been delightful icing on his cake.
He didn’t want to blindside Silvio with this news, though. His friend would understandably feel threatened. That’s why Rocco needed to speak with him and reassure him this was purely a tactic to take down Otto.
That’s definitely all this fake engagement was.
Except, when he did drift off, Mira was straddled across his lap again. This time he was buried inside her, hands tangled in the silky tresses of her hair, lips fused—
He snapped awake, so attuned to her, he knew she was in his kitchen.
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.
