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Over my dead body!
She would go through every legal channel, sell every last possession she owned to pay for lawyers before she let that happen.
‘Mia.’ Her name, like his statement, was delivered with such care, such precision, that a cold slice of fear knifed through her thoughts.
‘Are you serious?’ she tossed back.
Rocco took a step forward, until there was less than a foot between them. She craned her neck to stare into his face and almost wished she hadn’t.
This close to him, she could see every magnificent masculine feature, breathe in the scent of skin and cologne that was all Rocco, feel it attack her flailing senses from all sides. His eyes, cold, direct and hypnotising, blunted every last weapon she intended to use against him.
One long-fingered hand gripped her chin and Mia was again lost.
Three long years she’d dreamed of his touch. Against her will, in the cold of winter, the long, hot, lazy summer night, she’d yearned for these same fingers that had caressed her to ecstasy, touched her, teased her, made her cry out to join her soul with this man.
And now he was touching her again and she could hardly remain still for the surge of excitement that fizzed through her veins. She wanted to lean into his touch, press his fingers more deeply against her, imprint his skin on hers until she didn’t know where he ended and she began.
‘Answer me, Mia. Do you know this child?’
Mia jerked away, stung and ashamed.
What was she doing playing right into the hands of her enemy? Rocco no longer had sexual power over her, so why was she standing there, gazing up at him like...like...?
She took a hasty step back, tried to remain calm as her gaze dropped to the picture. A cherubic face smiled back at her with cheeky impertinence. The child’s dark blue eyes twinkled with mirth and the mop of black curls danced in a slight breeze. She wanted to reach out and caress the slightly dimpled chin, which some day would deepen like his father’s.
Did she know this child?
Of course she knew him.
She’d carried him in her womb for nine months, loved him with every fibre of her being long before he’d delivered the first of many vicious kicks inside her, and adored every strand of hair, every soft velvety inch of him from the moment he was placed in her arms.
‘Of course I know him,’ she replied, her voice strong and steady with the power of emotion she felt for her son.
Shock detonated in Rocco’s eyes.
For a moment there, she’d almost given into the urge to deny knowledge of her own son to keep him safe. After all, Rocco had never met him, so he didn’t know what Gianni looked like.
But her innate honesty and fierce pride as Gianni’s mother had overridden that urge immediately. Besides, from the look in his eyes, Rocco had expected her to lie. After all, she was an expert at it, right? Well, wrong.
Gianni was her son, and she would do anything to protect him.
Rocco’s already ashen pallor—from whatever Mrs Hart had said to him—faded even more. Intrigued, she watched the picture waver as his hand trembled.
That in itself was so shocking, so out of character, her eyes flew to his. Rocco? Tremble? Never. Even in bed, in the throes of ecstasy, he’d trumpeted his dominance, much like a lion roaring in triumph.
‘And how, exactly, do you know the child?’ His voice tremored, his accent thickening on the hoarse whisper.
She gulped, tried to calm the near hysterical warning voice shrieking in her head—he’s playing games with you. Stop him at all costs. ‘You know very well how I know him. And stop calling him the child. His name is Gianni.’
He absorbed that with another round of jaw-gritting. ‘How do you know him, Mia?’
‘I don’t appreciate whatever game you’re playing, Rocco. Get out of my house. Right now, or I’ll call the pol—’
He whirled away from her, clawing visibly trembling fingers through his hair. The action killed off her words long before he reversed direction, closed the gap between them and gripped her arms.
Desperately, she tried to wrest herself from his hold, to curb the sensation stealing through her senses, but he held her easily. And the sorry thing was, Mia didn’t really want to fight the torrid sensation cascading through her. The intoxicating memory of how it’d felt to be held like this by Rocco.
‘You will tell me what I want to know. Now.’ Eyes as dark as a stormy sea threatened to flay her.
