A hint of color washed his fiancée’s cheeks. “And you are even more...charismatic...than Rocco painted you.”
Amusement gleamed in Stefan’s eyes. “You will have to enlighten me on his description. I’m sure it would be entertaining.”
Rocco curved an arm around Olivia’s waist and pulled her into his side. “Nothing you haven’t heard before, fratello.”
They were seated at a quiet table in one of the alcoves of the exceedingly modern restaurant, done in chrome and steel and muted colors. Rocco and Olivia sat on one side of the table for four, while Stefan sat on the other, his hand lifting to summon the sommelier to bring them a very old, very fine bottle of cabernet.
“I trust that’s fine?” he asked Olivia. “I can’t tolerate champagne. Such a woman’s drink. And French,” he added caustically.
“I’m not a fan of champagne myself,” Olivia observed, bestowing that high-wattage smile of hers on his friend. “And I do love a good Cab, thank you.”
Stefan did a double take. There wasn’t a man on this earth who would be immune to Olivia Fitzgerald when she used that smile on him, and Rocco would bet his stock portfolio by the end of this meal she would have his incorrigible friend eating out of her hand.
Stefan sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. “So how did you manage to work your way past my friend’s considerable defenses? He has enough to man an army.”
A smile curved Olivia’s lips. “He picked me up in a café after scaring my girlfriends away... It was more...lust than love at first sight.”
Humor darkened his friend’s eyes. “That sounds more like him. What isn’t like him is to fall flat on his face like this. He’s usually much more careful. I always said if he’d ever marry, he would choose a blue-blooded Italian to carry on the Mondelli line and live a very premeditated life.”
Olivia blinked at the backhanded compliment. Rocco put up his hand. “I’m still here, fratello, in case you’d forgotten.”
His friend shrugged. “You have to admit, this is knee-jerk behavior for you. If we were in my wine cellar, you’d spend half an hour choosing the vintage, then decide perhaps it needed more thinking on.”
Olivia put her water down with a deliberate movement, those amazing blue eyes of hers glittering as she recovered. Rocco almost jumped out of his seat when she curved her palm around his thigh underneath the table and squeezed. “Apparently we are compatible on other levels. Although Rocco attempted to deny it at first.”
A muscle jumped in his jaw at the twin sensations of Olivia’s hand burning into his thigh like a brand and the anger emanating from her like a physical, living entity despite the smile plastered across her face.
“There was a slight miscommunication between us at first,” he managed. “We moved past it.”
Olivia’s fingers splayed wider on his thigh, caressing muscles far too alert from that close encounter in the dressing room.
Stefan’s gaze sharpened on his fiancée. “That was you at Giovanni’s funeral.”
Olivia nodded. “Rocco and I had had a lover’s quarrel. Not the most appropriate place, I admit, but he was green with jealousy over my former relationship with Guillermo Villanueva. I managed to convince him there’s simply nothing left there.”
“There’s a first.” Stefan’s mouth quirked. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Rocco care enough about a female to go running after her.”
Rocco gritted his teeth, unable to remove Olivia’s disturbing hand because his right hand was covering hers on the table. He squeezed it hard. “I did not run after you.”
“Of course you did, sweetheart.” She gave him a saccharine-sweet smile and closed her fingers over his thigh in another firm squeeze. “You showed up on my doorstep with flowers and poetry.” She angled a look at Stefan. “Can you imagine big bad Rocco writing poetry? It was outrageously cute. Anyway,” she said, looking adoringly back at her fiancé, “he really had nothing to worry about. He knows I only have eyes for him.”
A hot flush spread its way across his cheeks. His brain was catching up with his groin now, and it hit him what was happening. Olivia had read his attraction in that dressing room, had figured out he was lying. And this was payback.
He released her hand and captured the one on his thigh, bringing it to his lips. “I do know that, amore mio. Now stop spilling our secrets. I’ll never be able to live them down.”
“On the contrary,” Stefan demurred, “I am highly entertained.”