She lost her ability to speak. He released animalistic noises, thrusting hard enough that the headboard banged the wall. They were both sweating, moaning… Her muscles ached, but she had never felt so alive. So uninhibited and well-matched. Sowanted.
It became raw and wild and sharp. She gripped him with her thighs, so close to cresting the peak, yet it eluded her. She didn’t know how she would survive if she didn’t come soon.
“Now, Mira. Let go. Let me feel it.” His hips slapped into hers again and again, merciless in his drive to claim her.
A keening cry left her as the flush of orgasm arrived in a burst of heat and a sensation of plummeting off a cliff. In that same moment, the thickness of his flesh pulsed against the contracting walls of her sheath.
His full weight was against her, body bucking, crushing her lower back to the headboard, thighs splayed over his straining arms. The top of the headboard dug across the middle of her back while his damp forehead sagged to rest against her shoulder. His breaths billowed against her breast.
Her mind turned to a feather drifting in a breeze, but one thought alighted: She would never be the same again.
Rocco was only a man, not a super being who could resist three years of denial and several hours of build-up. Hewouldhave left Mira alone if she’d refused him at the last minute, but his own second thoughts around deflowering a virgin were saved for the morning, when it was too late.
Twolate. He’d woken in the night to her shifting her bare ass invitingly into the spoon of his body. His erection had been seeking her heat the way a compass needle sought north. Her nipple had been hard in his palm, her kiss against his biceps open-mouthed and damp.
He’d rolled away long enough to apply a condom. When he returned, he’d slid home with a gratified sigh from both of them.
Concern that she was too new to sex to take him again gave him the strength to leave the bed without rolling on top of her when he woke. But he wanted to. Dio, did he want to. What a gorgeous appetite. What a deliciously earthy abandonment to pleasure.
What an amusingly heavy sleeper. Worn out? No doubt. He’d slept in himself, usually on his way to the office by now. He had texted his assistant last night that he wouldn’t be in today and was pleased to have a lazy morning with Mira.
She didn’t stir while he showered and dressed in drawstring joggers and a plain T-shirt. His housekeeper, Florenza, was here, so he asked her to serve breakfast on the terrace.
He made a few calls and answered some messages. Still nothing from Silvio. As he pondered that silence, a small misgiving about taking Mira as his lover sank under his skin. Silvio would understand his partnering with her against Otto, but sleeping with her? And what would Mira think, if and when she learned that Silvio was her biological father?
Rocco was adept at compartmentalizing such things. He couldn’t imagine their mutual passion being extinguishing anytime soon. What was he supposed to do? Deny them both until Silvio decided to reveal himself?
“Signore? You have a guest.” Florenza escorted Benedetto onto his terrace.
Astounded, Rocco asked, “What the hell are you doing here?”
Benedetto’s nervous smile wilted. He wore his best suit and had a messenger bag looped across his body. He’d nicked himself shaving so there was a bright red spot on the corner of his jaw.
“You told me to bring you my report today. Your assistant said you were working from home, so I thought…” His tired eyes looked sunken from lack of sleep. “Scuso. I’ll go clean out my desk.”
“You brought the proposal I asked for?” As much as he’d like to kick this young buck in the ass, Rocco recalled Silvio giving him a chance when he had been exactly this young and stupid. He picked up his knife and rolled it, indicating Benedetto should get on with it while he smeared marmalade across an oval of crisped bread.
Benedetto fumbled his laptop free from his bag and clicked to bring up a slide.
“Based on your reaction to the bid we lost to Vorstoben, I began an analysis of our proposals from the last three years. For the most part, we were neck and neck with Vorstoben, winning or losing to them at a fairly even rate until last August, when they began winning all of them. I collected the winning bids and it’s been exactly seven percent every time we lost to them. We always lose to them.”
“A mole.” Rocco snapped a look toward the doors from the terrace into his bedroom. What didsheknow about this?
“I thought it best to leave the investigation in your hands. Unless you want me to take action?” Benedetto asked.
“Go to the office. Tell my assistant I want all heads of departments available for meetings when I get there.” Rocco hadn’t decided what action he would take, but it would happen today and it would be ruthless.
Chapter Eight
MIRA WOKE ANDthought 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?”
