“But you aren’t being nice,” she said, a small smile curving her lips. “According to you.”
He shook his head. “No, I am being practical. My mother used to bring me tea.”
Charity’s chest tightened. Imagining Rocco as a little boy, a little boy she knew had ended up alone. It made her ache for him. And it made her feel swollen with emotion. Because, this one bit of tenderness he seemed to know, he had chosen to pass on to her. Whether he called it practicality or kindness, it didn’t change the fact that he was giving some to her.
“Well, I appreciate it. I really do.” She cleared her throat and picked up one of the pieces of toast, neglecting the jam, because she wasn’t certain her stomach could handle it yet. “Though, you don’t need to come and hold my hair when I’m... It’s gross.”
“I find nothing gross about it. You are sick. You are sick because of my baby. It seems only fair that I should take care of you.”
“Is that what this is? You’re going to take care of me?”
“I confess, I hadn’t really thought it through.”
“Somehow, I feel like that’s the story of every single interaction you and I have had, indirectly or directly,” she said.
“Probably. Had one of us been thinking more clearly at any stage of this, things could’ve turned out quite differently.”
“Yes, we should begin that soon.”
“I’m thinking quite clearly now.”
Charity opened the small jar of jam and began to spread a little bit onto the piece of toast, feeling slightly more emboldened as she had taken three or four bites and not felt her stomach turn once. She lifted the toast to her lips, a little bit of bread crumb getting on her thumb, sticking to where some jam had made contact with her skin.
“I’m glad to hear it,” she said.
Silence settled between them and she looked up at him, meeting his eyes. He was watching her, a strange softness in his expression. At least, if it had been any other man she might have thought it was softness. With Rocco, it never was.
“What?” she asked.
“I’m thinking,” he said.
“About?”
“The fact that I will probably try and seduce you.”
She sputtered, putting her toast back down on the plate, crumbs still sticking to her fingers. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I’m going to seduce you,” he said, his tone decisive. “I will succeed. We both know that.”
She spread her hands wide. “I just threw up in front of you, and I’m now lying in bed covered in jam. How could you possibly be thinking about seduction? And you really think I’ll agree to...be seduced?”
“Yes,” he said, turning away and walking toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
“I thought I would wait to seduce you until you felt better. Do you require anything else?”
She felt as if she’d been hit over the head with something very heavy. “No.”
“You seem confused.”
“How did we get from tea and toast to...seduction?”
“I want you,” he said. “I have, from the first moment I saw you. I am...used to having what I want.”
“But I’m a woman and not a Ferrari. So you can’t just come down to the lot and plunk down cash. I have a say.”
“I know,” he said. “And I want you to say yes. I value the yes, Charity. It means nothing if you don’t want me, too. Which is why I plan to seduce you, not simply take you. We will talk later.” Then he stood and walked out, leaving her with a promised seduction, tea and toast.
* * *
Seduction really was the most logical course of action. Because he had not been able to force himself to get excited about any of the women he had encountered last night. And he needed to prove to himself that he could take control of whatever this thing was that seemed to take him over whenever he was around Charity.
And when he’d been sitting there, looking down at her he had felt...a strange warmth in his chest. And it had pulled at him. Called to him. And she had asked “what.” What he was thinking, he assumed, and his mind had been blank.
He hadn’t been thinking. He’d been feeling.
Then for some reason seduction was the first thing that came out of his mouth.
But really, it made sense.
That day in the hotel she had challenged everything he had ever known about himself. He did not lose control, and yet, with her he had. So he could continue to avoid her, which would keep her in possession of his control, or he could stoke the fire of the things that burned between them, bring them under his command.
Yes, that was definitely the better idea.
The only other option was allowing his beautiful little thief to claim total control over his libido and that was not acceptable.
He strode through the villa, wearing a different suit to the one he had been wearing last night, feeling reinvigorated. He had not slept at all since coming home, but in lieu of sleep, his new plan would do just as well.
He moved through the living area and onto the terrace, taking in the grounds. He had not encountered Charity in the house, and he wondered if she was still sick in bed. Her feeling sick would be an impediment to his plan.
His plan had begun to seem very important, as he doubted he would find another means to get his interactions with her on track. Not as long as he was distracted by his desire for her body.
He could nearly taste her again. Those sweet, dusky-rose lips and the honey between her thighs. He was hard just thinking about it. How long had it been since he’d wanted one woman specifically? Had he ever?
He wanted sex, women in a general sense, but never specifically. Art, cars, things, he craved with a ferocious specificity, but never women. He craved beauty so that he could collect it, keep it.
He craved things because the more he owned, the more there was of him. The more evidence there was of his power. Never had he felt more helpless than as a boy with nothing. And so, he had become a man with everything.
It was why he had built a house into a carved mountainside that gazed out at the sea, owning a piece of what was wild. Taming it.
He wanted to tame her. Keep her. Make her his.
The epiphany was utterly disturbing, and yet he realized, standing there scanning all that he owned, it was her he was searching for. And no amount of awareness about the nature of his attraction would stop him searching for her.
She had him. And he had to reverse that ownership.
He saw a faint splash coming from the courtyard, from the large infinity pool that overlooked the sea. His gut tightened. It was her. He knew it was her.
He moved away from the terrace and back into the living room, striding out the double doors that led to the walled-in garden. There was an outdoor living area, with a bed and gauzy curtains, perfect for those times when he simply couldn’t wait to get a lover indoors. The pool and its glass wall faced the sea and a completely private beach, if he enjoyed the feeling of putting on a show without actually having an audience.
And Rocco had to confess, without any shame, that he did.
He looked at the pool and saw barely a ripple. Then, her sleek, dark head resurfaced. She had her back to him, her black curls tamed by the water. She pushed her hands back over her hair, droplets sluicing down