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So here he was, on what could only be politely described as a wild goose chase. He stifled a dark curse and looked up at his driver’s discreet cough.
‘The news reports gridlocked traffic ahead, sir. I’ll have to take a different route if you’re to keep your schedule.’
Rocco’s mood darkened further. With every fibre of his being, he wished himself elsewhere. But he’d made his grandmother a promise. He’d keep it, even if it meant being in the same country, breathing the same air as that...Jezebel.
He inhaled, brought his feelings under control.
‘Take whatever route you must. But make sure it’s quick.’
Mia Gallagher stole another indulgent caress of her sleeping son’s soft cheek before stepping away with a wry smile. Nap time was fast becoming a battle of wills. At two and a half, Gianni was vigorously resisting taking his much-needed naps. This afternoon he’d hidden behind his bedroom door, unaware his chubby legs were clearly visible through the gap in the door frame. How he managed to keep so still at his age astounded her.
Her smile slipped.
She knew exactly how he came by that particular trait. The man whose blood ran through her son’s veins possessed that formidable knack, after all—
No, she wasn’t going to think about him. Not now, not ever, if she could help it.
She shut the bedroom door with a sigh of relief. With an hour to herself before he woke, she had enough time to tackle the laundry and start dinner.
The sound of the doorbell as she approached her small living room made her heart sink.
Mrs Hart.
With her financial juggling getting trickier by the day and another of Gianni’s photo shoots cancelled—the third one in two weeks—the last thing Mia needed was her neighbour’s nosiness disguised as friendly concern. For a moment, she considered not answering.
The doorbell pealed again, followed by an insistent knock.
Mrs Hart had probably seen them return from the park. Mia had no choice but to answer or risk Gianni waking up.
She pulled open the door, a firm but polite excuse on her lips, only to take a horrified step back, her words choking in her throat as a painfully familiar figure filled the doorway.
Rocco reeled with the shock of coming face to face with the woman he’d banished from his life three years ago, even as the molten burn of instant lust thickened the blood roaring through his veins.
‘Cosa è questo?’ He wasn’t sure whether he questioned his body’s unwelcome reaction to her or the fact that someone in his security team had made a fatal blunder when he’d asked for the location of the child in the photo. Because this had to be an inexcusable, colossal error.
The breath he sucked in did nothing to provide clarity.
Someone’s head...hell, several heads, would roll for delivering him to the last person on earth he wished to encounter; the one person he’d sworn never to even think of, ever again!
He conducted a swift scrutiny of Mia Gallagher and experienced a fresh jolt of shock.
Gone was the sleekly coiffed, elegant and voluptuous woman who’d graced his boardroom and bedroom for several months over three years ago. Gone were the thigh-skimming designer suits and the stunningly made-up face that had held him in thrall for far longer than he’d deemed wise, even then.
This woman looked pale and shadows lurked under her eyes, rendering the once vibrant depths a dull green. Her honey-blond hair, scraped back in a utilitarian ponytail, lacked its former lustre. Her face was devoid of make-up, and her mouth, now hanging open, although still full and sensually curved, was bare of gloss.
His gaze lowered, and he frowned. She’d lost weight but, somehow, her breasts seemed fuller, heavier than he remembered. Lower still, her long legs were covered by pair of baggy shapeless jeans.
Altogether an unattractive package, and far removed from the sensual bombshell he’d lusted after...and nearly lost his mind over?
He jerked back at the hard, unexpected kick in his groin.
Don’t even go there!
His gaze flicked back to her face and Rocco forced himself to dismiss the twisting current of sexual tension that gripped him. What interested him was discovering who had brought him here, to this woman.
He reached for his phone, then paused when he glimpsed the look on her face. Surely that wasn’t...panic?
‘Of course.’ Why hadn’t he realised it before? There was no else involved. She’d orchestrated this meeting. And now, faced with his visible anger, she was panicking.
