The Italian's Deal for I Do(25)

Which dress?

She kicked off her jeans and top and raced into the dressing room. The breath was knocked from her lungs when she ran headfirst into a brick wall, otherwise known as Rocco searching for a tie. His hands closed automatically around her waist to steady her. Winded, she put a palm to his chest and caught her breath. The feel of warm, muscled male beneath her fingertips upped her pulse a point or two. Damn.

She unpeeled herself from him and put some space between them. “So sorry,” she murmured with a self-conscious smile. “I’m working on eight minutes.”

He nodded and stood back to give her space. The heightened color in his high cheekbones was a rare enough sight that she stopped and stared for a moment. What’s wrong with him?

She followed his gaze like a detective searching for clues. Down over her chest it went, past her hips, down her legs. And it struck her then. She was wearing lingerie. Skimpy lingerie. It was so second nature for her to run around half-naked given her former profession—current profession, she corrected—that she hadn’t given it a second thought.

The color darkening his olive skin deepened. Her brain mind-numbingly processed the facts in front of her. That was lust on his face. Unmistakable. He had been lying to her.

Her mind reeled with the realization. He didn’t want to admit he wanted her because he didn’t want to want her. And wasn’t she an idiot for ignoring her instincts? She had known that night in Navigli the heat hadn’t been one-sided. And yet he’d cruelly let her think he found her lacking in the face of his Italian brunettes!

“You...” She bit her lip before she tore a strip off him, her rational brain kicking in. Having one up on the man who held all the cards could be a good thing.

“Could you help me with my dress?” she asked sweetly instead, turning her back to him as she rustled through her suitcase for one of Mario’s dresses that eluded wrinkles. “That would speed things up.”

* * *

Rocco stood utterly still as Olivia bent over in front of him and rustled through the case. The lingerie she had on were not the skimpiest he had ever seen, but on his blonde bombshell of a fiancée they looked indescribable. Her rounded, toned behind made his head feel as tight as his groin. Her legs went on forever, ending in slim perfect ankles he could so clearly imagine wrapped around himself he almost groaned.

She spun around, holding up a silver-blue dress victoriously. “Just need you to do the hook at the back.”

Or he could hang himself right now. That was a definite option. Better than seeing her perfect nipples outlined against the fine lace of her bra. Better than wondering how soft the skin was between those delectable thighs, showcased perfectly by the revealing cut of her panties...

“Rocco?” She waggled a brow at him. “Are you okay?”

“Perfetto.” He waved a hand at her. “Put the damn dress on so I can do it up. The driver’s waiting outside.”

Mercifully, she slipped the dress over her head. It didn’t get any easier, though, as she backed up against him and held her hair out of the way for him to do up the clasp. “That top tiny one please.”

He found the tiny hook, his big hands fumbling over the minute closure. She squeezed closer to him, the silk of her dress swishing against his thighs, sending his blood pressure into dangerous territory.

“You smell good.” She sighed. “What are you wearing?”

With her bottom perilously close to his raging erection, her lush body lining the length of his, there was only one thought in his head and it wasn’t the name of the cologne he was wearing.

The hook slid into the clasp. He uttered a silent prayer of thanks. “Finito.”

She turned around, a tiny smile playing about her lips. “Grazie. I may need help taking it off again later, though.”

He would be conveniently getting ice for a nightcap at that moment. He grabbed the tie he wanted to wear, did it up with swift precision while Olivia did her hair, then ushered her out into the warm night air and to the car.

Stefan Bianco met them at the back entrance of the fusion restaurant he was part owner of in Chelsea. His friend’s mouth curved into one of his signature lazy smiles when he saw them, the one that camouflaged one of the most ruthless, hard-edged businessmen Rocco had ever met.

He and Rocco embraced.

“Welcome to Tempesta Di Fuoco.”

“Impressive, my friend.” Rocco stood back and drew Olivia forward. “Olivia, meet Stefan. Not nearly as intimidating as he’s made out to be.”

Stefan carried the hand Olivia offered to his lips. “You are even more beautiful in person. I can see why Rocco lost his head.”