Three years ago…

Mira Braun had finished her last exam and was determined to celebrate.

Unfortunately, she’d been so focused on attaining her degree, she didn’t have any friends to celebrate with. She didn’t even have flatmates. When she had been accepted at London Business School, she had bought a one-bedroom condo with money from her mother’s trust.

She had thought making an investment rather than throwing money away on rent would show her father she had business savvy, but he’d only been annoyed at her for making him call the trustee to set it up.

Lucky him, he wouldn’t have to do that anymore. As of her birthday last November, Mira had control of her own funds. Her father’s assistant had sent her flowers for that occasion, supposedly from him, but all Otto Braun had said about it was that they would discuss how she would move forward with administering her mother’s money.

He hadn’t even texted to congratulate her on finishing school, she noted with a glance at her phone and a pang of inadequacy. He hadn’t asked when she would return to Berlin. He hadn’t confirmed whether she would have a job at his firm or what role he would start her in.

What would it take to get him to notice her? To care? She had vague memories of him being, maybe not a warm father, but not such a cold one. Around the time she started school, however, he’d begun peppering her with the icy sleet of his critical remarks. What had she done to deserve it?

Stop it, she ordered herself. There was nothing worse than an adult woman with daddy issues. She knew her own worth. If she felt she was entitled to recognition and reward, she gave it to herself. She was doing that now, wasn’t she? Lounging by this rooftop pool atop one of London’s most exclusive hotels?

She’d had a massage and a foot bath and hot-stone therapy. Now, she was dozing between sips of cucumber water.

If she did have friends, they would laugh and say it was typical that she was celebrating alone, without so much as a glass of champagne, in a way that involved the least amount of conversation and other people. She hadn’t even cracked the weighty historical romance she’d brought.

Mira was actually a massive introvert who didn’t know how to relate to people. A counsellor might blame her father’s indifference or the loss of her mother, who had passed right before Mira had started university, caught in a flash flood while traveling. It had been a horrific shock and Mira still missed her, but that wasn’t the reason she felt as though she was out of step with the rest of the human race. She just did and always had.

That usually made her anxious, but today, for the first time in forever, she was truly relaxed. It was late afternoon, midweek. She had the place to herself. The only sound was the gentle, new-age instrumental that drowned out the distant noise of traffic. Her lounger was under a roof supported by columns at the pool’s edge. Her legs were touched by the slant of sun. The day was warm enough that she opened her robe and shrugged out of the sleeves. She wore only the bandeau bikini she had put on in case she decided to step into the pool.

She might fall asleep first. This was perfect.

The low hum at the door into the hotel announced someone else had arrived. Crap. The peacefulness had been nice while it lasted.

The door quietly thumped closed, then there was a faint sound of something being set on one of the glass-topped tables.

She opened her heavy eyelids to slits, wishing she’d thought to bring her sunglasses and planning to pretend she was asleep so she wouldn’t have to talk to whoever it was.

Oh. A man appeared in her line of vision. He ran his fingers beneath the legs of his navy blue briefs, snapping them a fraction of a centimeter lower on the firm curve of his buttocks. The rest of his tanned, muscular body wore only the droplets of water from his recent shower.

Without noticing her, he stood on the No Diving letters and sprang out like an arrow, clearing the shallow end and cutting in where the deep end started. He stayed under until he turned at the wall, then he surfaced and began to swim laps. His strokes were powerful enough that he seemed to levitate across the surface rather than push through the water. It took only three or four strokes before he was flipping and going back the other way.

Mira was mesmerized by his even tempo and the casual way his feet flipped up at the wall each time. He only seemed to take a breath once each lap and his movements were so graceful, he was genuinely beautiful to watch.

She never stared at people. She hated when it happened to her, but she was only appreciating his power and athleticism. She wasn’t oglingthose long, tanned arms or his flexing back, or the arc of his buttocks and the muscles on the backs of his thighs.

Even so, a curious sensuality unspooled in her. A restlessness that had her shifting her feet to feel the softness of her insteps with the tops of her toes. Her hand touched her hair in its clip, then absently drifted down her nape and into the hollow of her throat. Her breasts felt constrained and her thoughts took a turn that was deeply unlike her.

How would it feel to make love with him?

She’d never even had sex, so it wasn’t as though she had anything for comparison. The few dates she’d been on had been awkward occasions that caused her so much anxiety, she had felt like a robot pretending to be human. She’d been incapable of decent conversation or allowing more than a brief kiss.

Until today, she’d never looked at anyone and felt tendrils of intrigue quicken her blood. She had never, ever eyed up a man’s bulge and curled her toes in reaction, but that’s what happened when this stranger flipped into a backstroke. She couldn’t take her eyes off the width of his chest as he rocked back and forth, long arms windmilling up and back, stretching out his abs with each stroke. His thick thighs kicked in a way that made his hips pump and shorten her breath.

This was so—

Inappropriate.

She forced herself to reach for her water and stared into it as she sipped to dampen her dry throat.

She was still hyperaware of the stranger, though. The muted splashing, the relentless pattern of him driving from end to end like a tiger pacing his cage.

Should she leave? Give him his privacy?

She decided to wait for him to leave since she wasn’t ready to return to her silent flat, where she had to think about packing to move home again.

That thought cast a cool shadow across her heart. It was the dread of seeing her father every day. Of pacing in her own cage, striving to prove herself to a man who genuinely didn’t seem to care about her.

The stranger arrived at the shallow end and stood. Water sluiced off his shoulders and down his torso. His chest had a neatly groomed amount of hair that decorated his pecs and accentuated the stacked muscles of his abs. The waterline cut across the top of his very small swimsuit well below his navel. There was a suggestion of hair there, and she yanked her gaze from studying it.

He was looking straight at her, almost confrontational, making her suspect he had known she was here all along. Which was disturbing.

She wished she had pulled her robe back on while he’d been swimming. She felt very naked all of a sudden, but it would reveal her nerves to cover up now.

Without a word, he slapped his hand on the ledge and levered to sit with his back to her, legs still in the water. His rib cage heaved as he took a few deep breaths, but he didn’t seem winded from his exertion.

Should she say something? This was how social anxiety undermined her. The moment to offer a polite smile or greeting was gone and voices of self-doubt were creeping in. She would only sound stupid if she said something now. Better not to say anything.

She’s such a snob, she had overheard more than once during her years at boarding school, all because she didn’t fit in with the boy-crazy fashionistas who spent all their time gossiping and preening for selfies. She liked reading and historical facts and walking in parks and gardens. The few times she’d tried to make connections at university, she’d garnered surprised looks, as though her fellow students hadn’t imagined she possessed a voice.

She had to change that about herself. She knew she did. She would soon have an executive position in her father’s company, along with staff to direct. Eventually, she hoped to have a family.

Making babies with this man would not be a chore, she decided, allowing herself another look at the way his broad shoulders narrowed to his waist. His short hair wasn’t quite black. It picked up reddish-brown tones in the sun.

He flexed his shoulders as though he felt her gaze, then abruptly swung to his feet and faced her. The sun was above and behind him, making her squint, unable to read his expression. She had the sense that his gaze was raking down her, though, before slamming back to her face.

Her heart began to knock in her chest.

“Do you want to be left alone?” he asked in a deep voice that held a hint of an Italian accent. “Or would you like to have a drink with me?”

A thousand reactions accosted her: surprise, flattered delight, threat at being noticed, fear of failure. Irrational panic. Her mouth filled with thoughts like I have a drink, and I’d rather be alone.

But she didn’t want to be alone. Not forever. She was actually profoundly lonely.

Change, she ordered herself.

And that word actually reminded her that she was mostly undressed, as was he.

She started to gather her robe around herself. “Downstairs? I’d like to dress first.”

“Here. I’ll order something.” He nodded toward the entrance, where she had seen a phone mounted to the wall inside the hotel. “Wine?”

“White, please.”

He stepped away to make the call.

She hurried to pull on her robe only to immediately overheat, flustered and blushing. She pulled her arms from the sleeves and looked around, wishing she’d brought the crocheted cover-up she normally threw over her bikini.

Not that she was underdressed. He returned and held out a hand, filling her vision with way too much tanned skin and that itsy-bitsy scrap that covered his not so itsy-bitsy bulge.

“Rocco.” He met her gaze in a way that reminded her of a train crashing out of a tunnel.

She swallowed, so hot inside her skin. Her belly was filled with glowing embers. It took such an effort to bring her hand up, she must have looked reluctant to do so.

“Mira.” Her voice had to be dragged up from beneath the waves of shyness and overwhelm that accosted her.

He pumped once, making her heart feel like a squeezed balloon. Then he sprawled into the lounger beside her, one hand hooking up behind his head to grasp the top edge, one knee crooked in negligent ease.

“How long are you in London?” He turned his head toward her.

How could such a handsome man be interested in her? She wasn’t repulsive or anything, but she was very average, with a too-wide mouth, mousy brown hair and plain brown eyes. She wasn’t wearing any makeup and her hair was a bird’s nest in a clip.

“I came for the spa.” Typically, she would leave her answer there and hate herself later for sounding standoffish. “I’ve been living in London while going to school. I just finished. This is my reward,” she volunteered with an awkward laugh, waving at her cucumber water.

“Congratulations.” He sounded sincere, then turned his attention across the pool, mouth twisting. “I dropped out long before uni and never went back.”

He looked to be in his late twenties and must be doing well enough if he was staying here.

“What, um…” Small talk shouldn’t feel this big. “What brings you to London?”

“Business.” His tone was dismissive, but he turned his head again so he his dark brown eyes were pulling at hers. “What will you do now that you’re finished school?”

“Go home to Berlin and work for my father’s company.” Here again she would normally keep her mouth shut, fearful of sounding like a braggart, but she continued. “It’s an engineering firm.” With contracts around the globe. “Vorstoben International? Perhaps you’ve heard of it.”

“I have.” His jaw flexed as he seemed to ponder something, then he asked, “You took a business degree?”

“With a focus on accounting. I considered HR, but I’m not a people person.” Why had she said that? It made her sound like a sociopath. “I just mean I prefer numbers. They’re straightforward. Dealing with people is complicated.”

“Amen,” he snorted.

“Right? The intro-to-HR class gave examples of an employee stealing from a company because they were being evicted, then another about someone who was wrongfully dismissed, but was a terrible worker so you had to keep them on. I don’t want to be tasked with judgment calls on situations that are so murky.”

“Sometimes, there is no right answer. No right choice.” His expression was inscrutable, proving her point about people being difficult to read.

But his agreement bolstered her. She had feared she was babbling. Now, she smiled, pleased. Her heart hitched as their gazes tangled. Her pulse began to hammer in her throat.

A server arrived with a wine bucket and a pair of unbreakable glasses, defusing the subtle tension while the wine was tasted and poured.

When they were alone, Rocco held out his glass. “To complicated people.”

“And thorny situations?”

“Did you say ‘thorny’? Or…” His mouth twitched.

She couldn’t help her gurgle of amusement.

Was this what bantering felt like? She touched her glass to his and sipped. For once, all the knotted threads, inescapable labyrinths and tangled forests inside her weren’t tripping her up.

“Am I guessing correctly that you’re Italian?” she asked.

“I am. My office is in Rome, but I was born in Salerno.”

“My mother loved the Amalfi Coast!” She reacted from a place of pure, nostalgic joy, turning on her lounger to curl her knees and lean on her shoulder and hip, so she could face him. “She had a villa in Praiano.”

“Oh? Have you been?”

“Not lately.” She wrinkled her nose in disappointment. “She took me with her a few times when I was young, but she usually went while I was away at school. It came to me after she passed. My father arranged for it to be rented so I haven’t seen it in years.” She tapped her chin as she realized the choice to rent it or use it was hers now. “I should look into that.”

“You should.” Every glance from him had an impact on her, making her feel as though he knew her far better than she knew herself.

“Do you, um…” She was trying very hard to act like a normal person. “Do you still have family there?”

“No.” He averted his attention to the far side of the pool. “I lost my parents when I was a baby. My aunt raised me until I was nine. She’s gone now.”

“I’m sorry. That’s so young to be…” She stopped herself from saying alone. Was he? Perhaps he had an ex-wife and kids. Or a current wife. She watched him closely. “To be without family.”

“It’s my observation that family is also very complicated.” His mouth twitched wryly. “One of those be-careful-what-you-wish-for situations.”

“It can be,” she murmured, thinking of the undercurrents she’d always sensed within her parents’ marriage, and the undiscussed hostility she received from her father.

Her mother had been her everything, always cushioning her against her father’s disregard. He doesn’t mean anything by it. He’s just very busy. Without her mother as a buffering presence, Mira’s relationship with him had deteriorated to now being distant and perplexing.

“I always wished for brothers and sisters,” she admitted wistfully.

It’s just not possible, my love, her mother had said until Mira quit asking.

Rocco was looking at her again, seeming more than interested. His unwavering attention practically demanded she continue speaking.

“I played with a little girl one summer. My mother’s neighbor in Praiano, actually.” She was delighted to recall that detail. “There were six children in their family. I was so envious. They squabbled constantly, which was overwhelming for an only child to be around, but her eldest sister fixed my hair. Her brother stopped me from running onto the road. I felt so protected when I was with them. I wanted to be enfolded into all of that.” She wove her fingers together, grinning at her younger self. At how idyllic she thought a big family must be.

Rocco didn’t smile. His cheek ticked.

“Oh, gawd,” she realized with horror. “I sound like I’m looking for a man to marry me and give me six babies, don’t I?” She straightened in her lounger, mortified. “This is why I never talk to people. The most ridiculous things come out of my mouth.”

“I don’t think it’s ridiculous.” His tone turned light. “I’m usually a few dates in before having this conversation, but I like a woman who is clear about her expectations.” He hid his laughter behind the rim of his glass.

She didn’t mind. She was in on the joke and chuckled at herself, then asked, “Is this a date? Because, as you can tell, I don’t waste my time with men who want to stop at five. Cowards.”

She was proud of herself for trying to flirt and glanced to find him watching her with a strange expression. Amusement lingered around his eyes, but there was something grave there, too.

“That was a joke,” she said quickly.

“I know.”

The shape of his mouth was mesmerizing. His lips were full but not wide. The peaks in his upper lip were set closely, seeming ready for a kiss. His five-o’clock shadow was coming in, accentuating the shape of his jaw, and his dark eyebrows were straight, serious lines above his watchful eyes.

“I’m many things, but not a coward. Let’s make this a real date.” He drained his wine and stood, holding out a hand. “Have dinner with me.”

“Now?” She had brought a pair of wide-legged trousers with a cute halter top and jacket to the hotel with her, thinking to treat herself to dinner. Still, she hesitated out of shyness. Out of incredulity that he was attracted to her.

“I missed lunch. I’m starving,” he added.

She was befuddled as she swung her feet off the lounger, looking for the sandals she’d left beside it. She kicked into them and accepted the hand he continued to hold out to her, feeling way too close to him as she stood. She reached down to pick up her robe.

He took it and held it behind her, so she was inside his extended arms, gaze confronted with his naked chest as she threaded her arms into the sleeves.

She blushed and blindly searched for the belt while he dropped his hands to his sides.

When she looked up at him, she found him studying her. Staring at her mouth hard enough to make her lips sting.

I don’t know how to do this, she wanted to confess, but her gaze snagged on the shape of his mouth.

“I’m dying to kiss you.” His gaze slowly came back to hers. “Will you let me?”

Her heart was thudding so hard, she barely heard him. Her response had to be dredged from the very depths of her suffocating chest. Warmth was blossoming in her, though, filling her with curiosity and longing.

“Yes.”

His hand arrived at the side of her neck. His head dipped and his lips brushed hers. It was a barely there contact that sent a zing through her whole body, like a static shock. It left a tickling sensation she would have licked away, but his lips came back, settling more firmly against hers. Angling. Seeking and sealing into a hot, hungry ravishing.

Her heart swerved in her chest and her hand found his bare waist, trying to steady herself, but the satin skin against her palm only made her feel dizzier.

She had always felt awkward in a long kiss. As though she stood outside herself. It had always felt like something happening to her, but this was different. As they aligned their bodies, she felt like a puzzle piece clicking into its mate. Nothing existed beyond the swirls of heat pouring through her—the heat of him penetrating the robe, the awareness of stubble where his chin scraped hers and the strength in his hands as he pulled her closer.

She forgot where they were or how little she knew about him. He wasn’t a stranger. How could he be when this felt so natural, like drinking water to slake a thirst? She lifted onto tiptoes and leaned in, arms reaching behind his neck for balance to press herself closer.

Nothing like this had ever happened to her, but she flowed toward him, pulled by a force that was like a tide or a sweeping river. It was a magnetic polarity that dragged her to into her perfect opposite. Compelling and unbreakable. Easing the charge of emptiness.

With a small growling noise, he brushed the robe open and slid his arm around her waist beneath it. Her nearly naked body came up against his cool, damp skin and lightning shot through her. She stiffened at the jolt, releasing a small sob of pleasure-pain.

He started to lift his head. She made another noise of protest and pressed the back of his wet hair, chasing his kiss. He angled to plunder deeper, drowning her in sensations until she was drenched in arousal.

When his hand slid into the back of her bikini bottom, branding her ass cheek with his hot palm, erotic sensations spiked directly into the notch of her thighs. Her nipples stung, urging her to press herself harder to the wall of his chest, seeking an easing of deliciously painful sensations.

The dampness of his bathing suit was no longer cold where it pressed against her stomach. She could feel the stiff shape of his erection and was intrigued by it, arching instinctively. Aching. Inviting.

With another animalistic sound, he lowered onto his lounger, dragging her atop him so she straddled his thighs.

She pressed his shoulders, pulling back enough to gasp for breath and take stock. His eyelids were heavy, his mouth lax. His hands skimmed her waist and his fingertips dug into the small of her back, inviting her to return to kissing him.

She did, leaning forward without overthinking it, staying in the moment. In the ease of it. She was only aware that this was what she wanted—the slow devouring of her mouth by his. The kneading movement of his hands over her waist and back and buttocks beneath the drape of the open robe. Her own hands were fascinated by the textures of him, from his damp hair to the grit coming in on his cheek. She trailed her fingertips against the warmth of his throat and the smooth satin across his upper chest and shoulder, then down to his biceps.

He planted both hands on her butt and slouched. The thick ridge of his erection arrived against the swollen, most tender part of her. A kick of surprise went through her, followed by a sensation of melting. Of want.

But she wasn’t so far gone she couldn’t whisper, “I can’t have sex in public.”

“We won’t.” The lips against hers stretched into a wicked smile. “But I would. That’s how much I want you right now.” His hands danced up her hips and rib cage, and his thumbs skimmed the bandeau of her bikini top, striking against her distended nipples.

Acute sensations shot into her loins. She gripped the top of his lounger and leaned down, kissing him with a wildness she had never imagined she would kiss anyone, offering her tongue and brushing it against his.

Me, too, she tried to convey. She wanted to have sex with him right here, right now. She let her weight press her deeper into that implacable column of flesh. Her robe was puddled around their legs and had tented around them. It would be so easy to pull that little band of black down. To push her suit to the side.

She drew back, panting as she admitted, “I’m afraid of how badly I want this.”

“Don’t be afraid.” His voice was pure velvet, skimming like a caress against her ears. Her whole body was shivery and glorious. “I won’t do anything you don’t want.” His restless hands explored her torso, and the ticklish small of her back, and clasped her hips. “But there’s no one here. Tell me what you need.” His thumbs slid to trace the tender creases at the tops of her thighs.

Wet heat flooded into her loins. She bit her lip, instantly tense with anticipation while melting in surrender, eyelids becoming too heavy to hold open.

He made a noise of pity and let his thumb skim across the strained placket of fabric to where her intimate flesh was taut and damp.

“This?” he asked gruffly as his touch slid beneath her bikini bottoms, grazing folds that unfurled eagerly, pleading for more.

Watching her beneath hooded eyelids, he caressed with more deliberation, sending so much pleasure through her that she shuddered. Her eyes fluttered fully closed. He brushed the fabric aside and his finger delved, sinking into the slick sheath that yearned for exactly this.

She groaned. So did he.

“So hot and wet,” he whispered. “Kiss me, tesoro mio.”

This was pure insanity, but when his thumb skimmed the swollen knot of nerves at the top of her sex, causing her entire body to feel strummed by magic, she clenched her inner muscles joyously and pressed her mouth to his.

For years, she had wondered what the attraction of sex was. Why did people behave so badly for it?

This was why. Because it was possible for the entire world to narrow to this pinpoint of concentrated sensation. In this moment, nothing mattered but the drag of his lips against hers and the feel of his hot skin under her splayed hands. She obeyed the pressure of his palm against her tailbone and began to rock against the hand so intimately buried between her thighs. She reveled in the pleasure he delivered until she could hardly breath. It was feral and glorious and maybe metaphysical, because she thought she might have found him. Her soul mate.

They were kissing deeply, barely moving, but she was climbing the scales of arousal, sensations condensing until she thought she would combust with tension. Burst into flames. Explode.

Then he licked into her mouth and it was happening. She was moaning into his kiss, shuddering under the waves of climax, dragging her mouth from his and burying her face in his throat, quaking and sobbing with joy.

Chapter Two

As Mira shivered and wilted against his chest, Rocco DeStefano drew his hand from between them, closed his arms around her thinking, What the hell am I doing?

This interlude had started innocently enough.

Well, that wasn’t completely true. He’d caught a glimpse of bare skin and long limbs while he’d been swimming laps and he’d been turned on by the fact she was watching him. By the time he’d stood up in the shallow end, his thoughts hadn’t been innocent at all. He’d been planning to blow off his afternoon by letting off steam with some feminine company.

Recognition had coldcocked him into sitting on the ledge of the pool. Remembering who she was cooled his ardor now.

Her open curiosity had told him she didn’t know he was her father’s chief competitor. Did she know who she was?

He had seen her image online, linked to Otto Braun, the man who had been the bane of his existence for years. But she was also the daughter of Rocco’s biggest investor and closest friend.

Leave, he had told himself while he’d sat there on the ledge of the pool, back burning under the rays of the sun and the trace of her gaze down his spine. Don’t get involved.

His own curiosity had got the better of him. He’d rationalized that Silvio would want to know she was well. Silvio was a devoted father to the children he’d made with his wife. His regret over his affair did not mean he regretted conceiving Mira, only that he couldn’t have a relationship with her.

Rocco had had the sense to knock the ball into her court, asking if she’d rather be left alone. He liked women, loved sex and never played silly games to get either.

Maybe there’d been a part of him that had thought he could learn something about Otto and find a way to neutralize the man’s antagonism toward him, but he’d really only meant to buy her a glass of wine and talk.

She was charming. Shy yet animated, earnest and wry. She was pretty in an understated way, shoulders and breasts delicate, hips wide, bottom and thighs lush.

When he had invited her to dinner, he had only wanted to spend more time with her.

Instead, he’d kissed her.

Now, his heartbeat was throbbing in the tip of the erection crushed by the molten heat of her center. Her soft body was spilling across him like warm honey, her lips brushing his Adam’s apple.

“I don’t have a room here,” she said in a velvety voice that made him want to groan. “Do you?”

“I do.” He needed to tell her who he was, though. Not the part about Silvio. He could never betray his friend’s secret, but he needed to be frank about the fact that Otto hated him and would see this interlude as an attack or retaliation.

Damn it, he shouldn’t have let this get this far.

“Mira—”

The door lock hummed and a pair of excited children’s voices sounded across the pool area, along with a woman who insisted, “Wait.”

Mira sat up, eyes popping wide with horror.

“It’s fine,” Rocco murmured, helping her rise before her scrambling limbs unmanned him.

While she hurried to rearrange and retie her robe, he did the only thing he could do to hide the state he was in. He took three strides and leaped into the water. The plunge of cold hit his groin like a kick. His abdomen contracted in protest, but it did the trick.

He levered out of the pool a moment later, brain clear enough to think, body acceptable for family viewing.

He felt the woman with the children eyeing him as he snapped a towel around his waist, but he only pulled the dripping bottle of wine from the bucket and asked Mira, “Ready?”

She nodded, gaze on her sandals.

Was she upset by their nearly getting caught in a compromising position? By what they’d done?

He kicked into his own slides, where he’d left them with his phone, and tried to work out how to tell her that Otto was his worst enemy.

As the door to the pool area clunked closed behind them, she covered her mouth and sputtered with laughter.

“I can’t believe you had to jump in the pool like that.” Her hazel eyes were dancing with amusement.

He couldn’t help chuckling along with her. “It was worth it.”

The elevator was waiting for them. Inside, he pressed the button for the VIP level, then let himself admire the flush on her cheeks and the play of possibilities behind her eyes. She had a fleck of brown in one iris. Where else did she have beauty marks he could discover?

“I’d kiss you again, but we might get arrested,” he teased.

“It could be worth it,” she retorted with the most sensually inviting smile he’d ever seen in his life.

The world stopped moving and a ping sounded. He reluctantly pushed off the wall, but snagged her fingers as he drew her out. His mind seesawed with the knowledge that he had to clarify things as soon as they were alone, but Dio. He wanted her so badly.

“Mira?” The male voice was a bucket of ice water, especially when Rocco turned and recognized the man walking up the corridor toward them.

“Axel.” Shock rooted Mira’s feet to the floor.

Rocco’s hand tightened on hers. He held Axel’s stare, jaw tight, as the other man approached.

Axel Severin was her father’s protégé. He was thirtyish, smart, capable and highly ambitious. Mira didn’t resent him for having a closer relationship with Otto than she had, but she felt vaguely threatened by him. Whenever their paths crossed, she focused on keeping things civil, aware she would have to work with him once she joined Vorstoben.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, referring to London more than this hotel. Her father stayed here when he came to town. Sometimes she joined him for dinner. That’s how she knew of the spa.

“Meetings. You?” Axel swung his narrowed gaze from her to Rocco, making her wonder which one of them he was asking.

“I was at the spa. Axel works for my father,” she explained to Rocco as she self-consciously extricated her fingers from his.

“I know,” he said.

“You’ve met?”

“Not formally.” Neither man made an effort to shake hands, only held that cold, challenging stare.

The uneasiness that accosted her was worse than social anxiety. Mira felt transparent. She was in a robe and Rocco still held the open wine bottle while wearing only a towel.

“Do you know he owns GPS? His company competes with Vorstoben,” Axel said in German.

“No.” She swung a shocked look to Rocco, beginning to wither with embarrassment as she realized she had not only hooked up with a stranger, but it was also her father’s business rival.

She bit back what she wanted to say to Axel. Don’t tell him. Otto never seemed to approve of her and she belatedly realized this could make it worse. Her heart lurched as she realized Axel would have this to hold over her.

Another dark thought began to form in her head, one that answered her puzzlement over what Rocco saw in her. Not her at all, but who she was: Otto’s daughter.

Oh, God. Her stomach beginning to churn with horrified anguish.

“I genuinely don’t care what you do in your private life,” Axel said in German. “But Otto has had a grudge against him for years. I don’t know what it’s about, but it’s very personal. This would not make him happy. And he knows it.” Axel nodded toward Rocco. “Do whatever you want, but do it with your eyes open.”

That’s not what this is, she wanted to protest.

It was, though. She had told Rocco that she would be working for her father. She had told him the company name.

He was as still as a marble statue, his mouth a flat, grim line.

“You knew my father would disapprove?” she now said in English.

“Jawohl,” he said, letting her know he’d understood every word Axel had said.

An unbelievable depth of hurt, of exposure, expanded within her. Rocco had disarmed her and she had lost all inhibition under his touch.

“Do you completely lack a conscience?” she asked with outrage, very afraid she would start to cry if she didn’t cling to fury. If she didn’t fling contempt at him.

His only answer was a hacked-off laugh that held no humor. “It’s complicated.”

“Oh, shut up.” How dare he throw that word at her? “Never speak to me again.” She stabbed at the elevator button. “And if you tell—”

She strangled on her own voice, never so humiliated in her life.

The elevator hadn’t moved. The doors opened.

She stepped in and tagged the reader with the card from her robe’s pocket. Her hand shook as she hit the button for the spa. She would runhome to pack for Berlin.

Axel stepped in beside her, but she couldn’t look at him. She tried very hard not to look at Rocco, but glanced up at the last second.

He was staring at her, mouth a tense line.

The doors closed.

You knew my father would disapprove? Do you completely lack a conscience?

That whole afternoon in London had gone completely off the rails and it was still eating at Rocco weeks later. Especially when Silvio called him to invite him to his wife’s gala.

“I want to introduce you to some Italian-American hoteliers. They’re actively expanding and refuse to work with Vorstoben. You can’t miss this opportunity,” Silvio said.

“I wouldn’t miss it regardless.” Rocco owed Silvio too much and always enjoyed seeing his friend’s wife and family.

The words I met your secret daughter sat on Rocco’s tongue, but he couldn’t make himself say them before Silvio ended the call, and said cheerfully, “Ciao.”

Rocco fell back in his chair, pressed there by the weight on his chest.

Eight years ago, Silvio had discovered Rocco was the son of his childhood friend and took an interest in him.

Rocco had been a weedy, hungry twenty-one, working construction labor, living in a squalid room in a shared house, hoarding every euro in hopes of starting his own renovation company. After being forced into the foster system at a young age, Rocco had longed for independence and self-sufficiency. He’d been so inured to the cruelty of life, he’d been suspicious of Silvio’s kindness and generosity. In his experience, everyone had an ulterior motive.

Silvio had persisted, however, taking him coffee and telling Rocco things about his parents and family he wouldn’t have otherwise learned. Silvio had been in Australia when Rocco’s parents died and seemed genuinely heartbroken at losing his friend. Rocco suspected he was a sort of placeholder and Silvio was driven by nostalgia, but he’d trusted him enough to confide his aspirations.

When Silvio offered to help get his business off the ground, Rocco had been elated and apprehensive. Could he trust Silvio? Could he live up to Silvio’s expectations? Rocco didn’t have a formal education or even a certified trade. What he had was the ability to lead, a brain wired for practical problem-solving and a work ethic that didn’t quit until he got the result he wanted.

Nevertheless, Silvio had put Rocco in charge of building his villa on Capri. When that went well, he hired him to oversee the construction of a food-processing plant near Naples.

Both assignments had been challenging and lucrative, establishing GPS as a viable player in construction projects.

With Silvio’s capital investment, GPS had grown rapidly, but had hit a snag when Rocco had stepped beyond Italy’s borders and won a job in Austria, beating out Vorstoben.

Once Rocco was on Otto’s radar, things had become very competitive very quickly.

Rocco hadn’t taken it personally. Otto was treating him like the upstart he was. After a few difficult financial quarters, however, when the much bigger Vorstoben had stomped all over his profit margin, Rocco had had to tell Silvio why GPS’s growth had stalled.

After so many hard knocks in life, Rocco was prepared for Silvio to cut him loose. Friendship could only carry a business relationship so far. It had been a moment of deep humility. The taste of failure had been like copper on his tongue. He’d seen his entire future disintegrating before his eyes.

Worse, he’d been sorry that he would lose Silvio’s friendship. He had still maintained a certain guard, but he’d grown used to having Silvio on the other end of a call, offering perspective. Silvio was like an uncle. A father figure. He loathed falling down in his eyes.

To his eternal shock, Silvio had broken open a bottle of sixty-five-year-old Scotch and admitted with deep chagrin, “This is my fault.”

Silvio’s “moment of weakness” was a secret he had intended to take to his grave. His lover, Trude, had agreed to do the same.

“I couldn’t lose Claudina and the life I had with our children.” The tears in Silvio’s eyes had pleaded for understanding. “She had allowed Otto to believe he was our baby’s father. Trude didn’t want anything from me, but I set up a trust like the ones for my other children. It was only fair. I was very careful, but perhaps Otto learned of it after Trude passed. If he did, it only takes seeing my name at the top of your list of investors to understand why he would try to grind your business under his heel. None of my other business interests are as vulnerable to his interference.”

“If he knows you’re Mira’s father, why doesn’t he reveal it?” How did Silvio live with that sort of axe over his neck?

“Trude told me there was a nondefamation clause in their marriage contract. The penalty is significant. That’s why she couldn’t divorce him despite Otto having affairs.”

“But if she’s dead?”

“Since he hasn’t come after me, I presume the penalty stands.”

Ironically, Rocco hadn’t truly believed Silvio was a good person until Silvio had confessed the worst thing he’d ever done and asked Rocco to guard that secret with him. Rocco didn’t judge him for his affair. Silvio judged himself harshly enough and was not a selfish, treacherous person by nature.

Armed with this new understanding—and a deepened solidarity with Silvio—Rocco had become more determined and aggressive with his business. He had focused on his strengths and grew GPS in spite of Otto’s whisper campaigns and petty actions that kept Rocco out of advantageous social circles.

Given that tangled history, however, he ought to be grateful that he and Mira had run into Otto’s lapdog at the elevator. He hadn’t known how he would explain any of this to Mira without revealing Silvio was her father, but he hadn’t been given a chance to try.

And while he didn’t fear retaliation over what had happened that day, he expected it.

Maybe Mira hadn’t told Otto what had happened, though. Rocco had seen the preemptive disgrace in her eyes when she’d said, And if you tell…

She had felt used and humiliated. Guilt sat like a cold, hard stone in Rocco gut that he had caused her to feel that way. She’d been pure magic under his touch. He didn’t want her to regret what had happened between them.

Why did she have to be Otto’s daughter? Or Silvio’s? Why couldn’t she simply be a woman Rocco wanted? One he could have?

As the weeks and months wore on, he met with the hoteliers and cut deals that brought more investors onboard. He quadrupled the value of GPS overnight, but kept waiting for the other shoe to drop in Berlin.

Vorstoben continued their typical underhanded tactics. GPS won and lost bids against them. It was business as usual. Nothing specific happened to indicate they were ramping up efforts against GPS.

Rocco had wondered if Axel would climb aboard the grudge train, but began to believe the acrimony really was confined to Otto’s desire to punish Silvio.

Then Mira’s engagement to Axel was announced.