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‘Your neck is still as sensitive as ever, cara mia. It pleases me to know that at least hasn’t changed.’
Heat was instantly replaced by cold, cold ice. Dear God, had she lost her mind? She tried to wrench away. ‘Damn you! Let me go!’
His grip loosened but he didn’t raise his head from the exploration of her neck. In fact, he intensified his attack by passing a lazy tongue over her flesh before nipping it gently between his teeth. ‘Why?’ he rasped. ‘So you can spout more mystifying garbage? No. This is so much better.’ Raising his head, he conducted a searing survey over her face, down her neck, to her breasts.
Following his gaze, she saw her nipples had stiffened to painful attention beneath her thin sweater. Heat flamed up her face as he dipped his head and circled one damp tongue over the jersey-covered flesh. Mia was unable to stop the helpless jerk of her body. With a mocking smile, Rocco closed his mouth over his prize, teased the sensitive nub between his teeth until she gave a strangled cry. ‘Indeed, I prefer to use the language of lust. At least our bodies don’t lie, even after all these years.’ Straightening up, he backed her against the banister, then moved closer still, imprinting the hard, lean tower of masculinity against her.
Fire threatened to melt the ice she’d fought hard to build around her emotions, even as she acknowledged that, when it came to Rocco, that task was an uphill battle. But she couldn’t afford to let him do this to her. It was humiliating enough that she’d let herself drown in his kiss. Surrendering to his touch a second time was unthinkable. Especially given the devastation he’d wreaked on her life.
‘Well, this body wants you as far from hers as possible,’ she informed him coldly.
His lips twisted in a parody of a smile. ‘Really? Then why does it curve around mine? Why are your arms clamped around my neck? Your hips undulating against mine with an urgent need for me to take you, right here, right now?’ he asked huskily.
The heat that flooded up her face
only made the scarlet haze rise again. ‘I swear on everything I hold dear, if you call me a liar one more time, you’ll regret it.’
‘Since screaming and frightening my son is out of the question, and the phone is on the other side of the room, I’m curious to see what else you come up with.’
‘For starters, my knee, between your legs. Would that get your attention?’
He let out a short bark of laughter. ‘I’ll give you some free advice, amante. Never let your opponent know your intention before you act,’ he told her. But he made no move to protect himself.
And it galled her that he knew she wouldn’t follow through; that when it came to the two of them, the only act that bordered on turbulent was the insane passion that threatened to rage out of control.
But she had to do something. She would surely lose her mind trapped against him like this, the heat of his body flaming hers; the thick ride of his erection nestling so forcefully against her belly, reminding her with searing accuracy how it had felt to have that power, that delirium-inducing force inside her.
With increasing desperation, she threw caution to the wind.
‘Let me go. Or this time I will scream, and I don’t care if Gianni wakes up. Maybe it’s time he met his monster of a father.’
Her reckless accusation removed every last vestige of laughter from his face. His features tightened into a dark, taut mask and he stilled. But this time she knew he hadn’t turned to marble, because she felt the thunder-strong beat of his heart kick up against her breast, felt the harsh exhalation of his breath against her face. And the arm he still held around her waist tightened.
‘Clarify that statement, if you please,’ he demanded in a deceptively soft tone. ‘Why would my son perceive me as a monster?’
Dropping her hands from his nape, she pushed hard against his chest, but he didn’t budge. He merely waited out her feeble efforts until she was panting with frustration. When her gaze clashed with his, he raised one haughty eyebrow.
‘Damn you! Because you accused his mother of stalking you! You dragged her into court when she was three months pregnant, exhibited every phone message, every email, every letter she’d sent you, even photographs you’d secretly taken of her as she waited for you in your office. You admitted everything as evidence of her stalking and then convinced the judge to slap a restraining order on her. You didn’t even turn up in court because your lawyers informed the judge you were in fear of your life from your unborn child’s mother and insisted she was to stay at least five hundred feet from you at all times.’ She stabbed a finger in his shoulder. ‘Gianni should know that, because of you, his mother hasn’t been able to work to provide for him, that all her friends and so-called colleagues would have nothing to do with her when she was branded the pregnant psycho stalker of the great Rocco Vitelli!’
Rocco let her go so abruptly, she stumbled wildly. The sturdy banister was once again her saviour when she fell against it. Chest heaving and struggling not to cry, she turned away from him and collapsed onto the last step.
Damn him.
Damn Rocco Vitelli to hell and back. Reliving her trauma of three years ago was the last thing she wanted to do, but, being who he was, Rocco had pushed and pushed until she’d broken, just as he’d done the last time.
Shame flooded her as she recalled how she’d begged and pleaded for him to take her back. For one month, she’d rung him every day, emailed him over a dozen times and in the end resorted to letters, which she’d pleaded with one staff member in his mail room to hand-deliver.
The messenger had assured her he’d delivered it, and she knew Rocco had received it because that last letter, where she’d begged him to take her back for the sake of their unborn child, had been one of the letters exhibited at the dreadful hearing. It had been read out loud in court, earning her a pity-filled look from the judge. But it hadn’t stopped him from issuing the restraining order, banning her from ever contacting Rocco Vitelli, in person or via electronic channels, before strongly advising her to seek help for her obsessive condition.
She’d staggered from the courtroom, dazed, from the ashes her life had turned into seemingly overnight. She’d lost her temp job almost immediately and found out very soon that all other employment avenues were closed to her, the Vitelli name an iron-clad guarantee to overpower the name of Gallagher.
Thank God for her grandmother’s unquestioning support when Mia had turned up on her doorstep, pregnant and broken.
Her painful introspection ceased when she opened her eyes and encountered designer-styled shoes planted in front of her. She looked up and up into Rocco’s stony face. The grey pallor was back, tingeing his skin and making his eyes look gaunt. His mouth was set in a flat, immoveable line as his hands balled into fists at his sides.
‘You have levelled one absurd accusation after another since I walked through this door today, Mia, but this...’ he shook his head in stunned disbelief ‘...this outshines them all.’ He retreated to the far end of the room, his broad shoulders stiff, as if trying to keep a tight rein on his control.
‘I know we didn’t part on the best of terms three years ago. I can understand that having the truth of your actions brought to light would’ve been upsetting for you, but this bizarre story you’re concocting is beyond my understanding. I don’t know what you mean to achieve by pursuing it—’
