Wasn’t sure he wanted to go back.
He tipped the water into his throat, welcoming the cool rush against his overheated senses. But of course he had to. Last night he had allowed himself Olivia because she’d needed him. Because they were in this together, as he’d promised her, and this wasn’t just a deal to him anymore. But to allow himself to become more emotionally invested in a woman like Olivia, who needed someone to help her become whole again? Who needed to see her through the dark and the light? Impossible.
Even if she had the potential to be the one, he was incapable of love. “The one” didn’t exist for him. Everyone he’d ever loved had left him in some form or another. His mother and Giovanni through death. His father through extreme neglect. Needing no one was the only way he knew how to cope. And Olivia? Olivia deserved more. Someone like goddamn Guillermo Villanueva.
Whose heart she had broken. He winced inwardly as he recalled the look on the other man’s face when Olivia had walked into his arms. The guy was torn up. Olivia had that kind of an effect on a man.
He tilted his head back and took in the rough, unstructured skyline of Manhattan. He’d broken his promise to stay away from her. Perhaps that had always been inevitable, given the attraction between them. Given how emotional last night had been. He could tell himself he wouldn’t touch her again, but he knew now he couldn’t keep that promise. And maybe, he thought grimly, he’d been approaching this all wrong. Maybe he just needed to do like he did with all the other women in his life—allow himself as much as he wanted of Olivia with the knowledge that one morning he’d wake up and have had enough.
* * *
Olivia was alone in the bed when she woke, thirsty and disoriented. It came back to her in a rush. She was in New York, she had walked in Fashion Week last night and Rocco had pulled her out of the fire.
They had made love with an intensity she would never, ever be able to get out of her head.
The dark sky told her it was still the middle of the night. She put a hand out to touch the spot where Rocco had lain beside her and found it cool to the touch. He was up again. An insomniac who never seemed to sleep more than five hours a night.
She downed a glass of water, slipped on a T-shirt of Rocco’s that was lying on a chair and went in search of him. He was in the living room, reclining in his favorite chair, staring up at the sky through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
“Why don’t you sleep?”
He sat up, blinked hard as if he’d been in another world. “I’ve been this way since I was a boy. It’s not a particular skill of mine.”
He’d been minding the fort while his father had engaged in all sorts of debauchery. Protecting his sister. Giovanni had told her more than she’d ever admit to Rocco. How he had sheltered Alessandra from all the twists and turns in life and put himself last, always.
She moved closer, feeling braver with the connection they’d shared. Lines of fatigue depressed the skin around his eyes and mouth, his expression remote. His hair was rumpled, his only clothing the tight-fitting pair of boxers he’d worn earlier.
“You don’t sleep because you’re always on duty. With Mondelli. With your sister.” With her. A pang filled her chest. “Alessandra is lucky to have you.”
He lifted a shoulder, a naked, stunningly muscled shoulder that made her remember what he did with all that power. “She drew the short end of the stick when it came to a father. I couldn’t make up for what Sandro did, but I did what I could.”
“You did a lot. She adores you.”
“We are...complicated.”
Silence stretched between them. She didn’t know whether he wanted her to stay or go, so she remained rooted to the hardwood floor. A question came, unbidden. “Why didn’t Giovanni leave you a controlling stake of Mondelli? It makes no sense.”
He sat up straighter, his brows drawing together. “How do you know that?”
“I overheard it at Mondelli,” she lied.
His expression darkened. “I have no idea what was going on in Giovanni’s head when he made that decision.”
“You think he didn’t trust you.”
His gaze narrowed on her, razor-sharp and infinitely dangerous now. “What makes you think that?”
Her teeth pulled at her lower lip. “It’s a natural assumption. He didn’t leave you a controlling stake. You wonder why. But that’s not the case, Rocco. Giovanni thought you were utterly brilliant.”
“More things you talked about?” His ebony eyes glittered in the moonlight. “He thought I was a loose cannon. That’s why he did it.”
She wrapped her arms around herself, a shiver making its way up her spine at the aggression emanating from him. “Everyone has limits. He felt sometimes you didn’t recognize yours. No man is an island, Rocco. Although you try very hard to be.”