Before she realized what she was doing, she had set her hand on his where it rested on the rail. “She passed when you were nine? That’s so young to lose someone so important to you. Where did you go? Foster care?”
He turned his hand to capture hers. Squeezed. Grimaced into the horizon.
“Yes, but not because she died. That happened later. No, I was taken from her. Someone decided she was unfit. A neighbor, perhaps. Authorities came on a bad day. Zia grew hysterical when they questioned her so they took me. I didn’t even have my shoes. Later, someone sat me down and asked me questions. What did I know to do but tell the truth? They asked if we had enough food in the house. We didn’t. I wanted them to help us. I said I did the shopping when we had money, but we didn’t. For a long time, my mother’s mother had supported us, but she had died the year before. Things had become difficult. Did I have to cook what little food we had? Yes, but that didn’t mean she didn’t love me. She didn’t deserve to have her child taken from her.”
“Oh, Rocco. I’m so sorry. That was cruel. To both of you.”
“It was.” He swallowed. “I only saw her occasionally after that.”
“Were the foster situations…okay?”
“Fine.” He grimaced dismissively. “No one was abusive. It was just…wrong. I didn’t want to be there. They didn’t want me. Not the way she did. She told me every time she saw me that she was trying to get me back. People kept telling me she had to be able to support me, but she struggled to hold a job. I started making money however I could, picking up nails on a jobsite, sweeping, cleaning up tools. I thought ifImade enough to support us, I would be allowed to live with her. She died before I was able to make it happen.”
“I’m so sorry.” She couldn’t help it. She flowed into him, needing to hug the hurt, confused boy who still existed inside him. “The world is not a fair place.”
“It’s not,” he agreed as he cradled her close, chin resting on her hair. “I probably would have turned into one of those bitter online trolls if Silvio hadn’t come along.”
“Your father’s friend?” She drew back, pleased that he was sharing so much. “Was he not always in your life?”
“No.” His expression was inscrutable. “He was living in Melbourne and had already lost touch with my father when he and my mother died. Silvio came back years later to take over his father’s company. I was on a crew repainting his office building in Salerno and he saw my name on the security log—the same as my father’s. Ricardo. He came looking for me.”
“I didn’t know that was your real name.” She smiled faintly.
“To anyone who knows me well, I’m Rocco.” He shrugged. “Silvio was very sincere in his condolences. I thought it was strange because I had never known my father. I was suspicious that he was being so kind, buying me coffee and insisting I have dinner with his family. He’s become like an uncle to me, though.”
“That’s so nice.” She tilted a look up at him, envious.
“He is.” He cupped the side of her neck, expression very serious. “He has been instrumental in my success. I owe him everything I have today. Everything.” His gaze, deeply introspective, traveled over her face.
The air shifted. The world quieted. She had the urge to lean on him, but stopped herself. Yearning pressed hotly behind her eyes.
“Rocco…” She stepped back, confused and out of her depth.
He waited, patient.
He’d changed into a collared T-shirt and casual trousers for their travels. He was all smooth, fine fabric over tensile muscle. Alluring in a different way. Her fingers itched to explore those textures, to shape the ball of his shoulder and find the bare skin of his upper arm. She wanted to feel the twitch of his biceps before allowing her hand to rest in the crook of his elbow.
“I’ve never been good at any type of relationship. That’s why last night was my first time. I’m very sensitive to criticism and don’t think I can—”
“Mira.” The pad of his thumb touched her lips. “Before you say anything else, let me tell you that last night was incredible. It was remiss of me not to say that sooner.”
“I’m not fishing for compliments.” She jerked away from his touch, unsettled by it and his words. “Especially ones you don’t mean.” She turned to the rail to glare crossly into the sun.
“Do I strike you as a sycophant? Because I say what I mean and mean what I say.”
“Then say what you actually want from me.”
“I want you to believe me,” he said impatiently. “Damn it, Mira, I haven’t looked at anyone else forthree years. That’s how much I wantedyou.”
“That’s not true!” She twisted to face him.
“Feel.” He dragged her hand to his chest where his heart was knocking hard and fast. “It’s all I can do not to throw you over my shoulder and onto the nearest bed. Do you need me toshow you?”
She should have snatched her hand away, but her blood quickened. She tried to break their eye contact and couldn’t. Her brow flexed with anguish at being so easily overcome.
“Now, you begin to understand,” he said gravely.
“I don’t want you to have that sort of power over me. It means you can hurt me.”
