‘I understand you and your wife have been estranged?’ Javier Estrada chose just that moment to break into his thoughts—the Argentine’s apparently innocent question belied by the spark of interest in his black eyes, which was setting Rocco’s teeth on edge. He knew the South American tycoon’s reputation as a ruthless womaniser and had no intention of giving him the green light where Nicole was concerned. Things might be almost over for them, but he was damned if he would stand by and let a man like Estrada salivate all over her.
‘Not any more. We are in the process of reconciliation,’ Rocco answered coldly, not caring that it was a lie.
‘Pity,’ murmured Estrada, and it was as much as Rocco could do not to have him ejected from the boat. Better still, to heave him into the dark waters himself!
But he strode away from him just as a pretty waitress extended her tray of champagne and Rocco waved an impatient hand. He didn’t want food, or drink, or to dance to the sound of the string quartet which was entertaining people at the far end of the vast deck. All he seemed capable of doing was thinking about the woman he had married and wondering if he’d taken a temporary leave of his senses when he’d demanded she accompany him this weekend.
He hadn’t expected her to be so...
He shook his head. That was the trouble. He had entertained zero expectations where Nicole was concerned. Even when he’d discovered that his desire for her was as potent as before, he’d thought some long-overdue sex was all he needed. It had seemed a simple solution to vent his frustration and get the wife who had deserted him out of his system—all in one neat swoop. His mouth twisted. It just didn’t seem to be working out that way. He wondered how he could have made such a bad call and how this whole weekend could have turned into something else. Something he hadn’t bargained for. He felt as if Nicole was stripping away layers of himself, leaving him raw and revealing a side he’d always kept hidden. How had that even happened? he asked himself furiously. But really, he knew.
He stared at the dark rippling waves of the sea. It was because Nicole had changed. She was no longer that uncertain woman who gazed at him with reproachful eyes and was prepared to take whatever he dished out. This new version was more sure of herself. Confident and self-assured, she was behaving as if leaving their marriage had given her the courage to be herself. As if he had been holding her back.
His mouth hardened. Well, let her think whatever she wanted to think. Soon she would be gone and out of his mind. In the morning he would put her on a flight back to England and sign the divorce papers and that would be it.
The end.
He watched as Anna Rivers walked by in a strappy little silver gown—the actress slanting him a slow and lazy smile over her shoulder as she passed. Despite having discovered his marital status, the invitation in her eyes was unmistakable but Rocco wasn’t interested. He scowled. He’d had enough of women for the time being. Once Nicole had gone and the dust had settled he would resume the life he’d had before she’d tumbled into it. He would operate on a level he was comfortable with. Casual affairs with women who knew the score. Women with careers and lives of their own, who he could take or leave as it suited him. Not women who tried to burrow underneath his skin and stay there.
As soon as they left the cocktail party he would say goodnight and in the morning he would have left for the office long before she awoke. And despite the fact that she was undoubtedly the sexiest woman at the party, he would not share her bed or her body tonight. It was too disquieting. Too...intense. That way she had of cooing in his ear when he was deep inside her. The soft wrap of her thighs around his back while he rode her. He felt the warm wash of hunger heating his blood but, deliberately, he dampened it down. Bringing her here had been a mistake, he conceded grimly. A mistake he would not compound by being intimate with her again.
The phone in his pocket began to vibrate and he glanced at it, his senses instantly on alert when he saw it was a missed call from Sicily. And it was late. Was it his grandfather? he wondered, his heart clenching with instinctive dread as he followed the sway of Anna River’s bottom towards the lower deck. But once there, he bypassed the actress’s footsteps to turn left, heading for the sanctuary of his on-board office before putting a call through to the Barberi complex, just outside Palermo.
Maria answered the phone on the first ring—not a good sign—and Rocco automatically slipped into dialect to speak to the family’s housekeeper.
‘Nonno?’ he demanded.
‘Your grandfather is sick,’ said Maria.
‘How sick?’
‘He has a fever. Some kind of infection, the doctor says. We called him straight away.’
Rocco’s fingers tightened around the phone. ‘And what’s happening now?’
‘He is on medication and we have hired a nurse. She’s with him now. So am I.’ There was a pause. ‘Are you coming home, Rocco?’
‘Of course I’m coming home!’
There was another pause and this time Rocco was certain he could hear the voice of his grandfather in the background—weaker than he’d ever heard him speak before. ‘Is that Nonno?’ he demanded. ‘What’s he saying?’
Maria’s next words were tentative. ‘He wants to know if you are reconciled with your wife.’
Rocco narrowed his eyes. ‘What?’
‘Michele mentioned that Nicole has been staying with you in Monaco,’ said Maria.
Silently, Rocco swore. What right did his assistant have to go informing on him to his family, like some sort of amateur spy? He would have words with her, he thought grimly—but that would have to wait.
‘He wants you to answer his question,’ Maria said. ‘And you know he will not rest until you do so.’
Rocco stared around his on-board office without really seeing it. If it had been anyone other than his grandfather he would have told them to go to hell. But Nonno was different. He had a place in Rocco’s life which nobody else could ever occupy. He had been there for him and his siblings when their world had imploded. He had been the one true rock in their world. And he might be dying. Pain shot through him and Rocco’s eyes refocussed as slowly he became aware of his surroundings—the fancy office from which he had conducted some of his most audacious deals. Yet all the gleaming wood and brass might as well have been muddy pieces of driftwood. Suddenly all the awards and commendations counted for nothing.
Niente.
Because these were not the things which mattered.
‘No,’ said Rocco, aware that his voice was husky with fear. ‘We are not reconciled.’
His words were now being conveyed to Nonno but Rocco didn’t need Maria to come back on the line to tell him what he could hear for himself.
‘He wants to see her, Rocco. He wants you to bring her to Sicily.’
* * *
The party was in full swing and Nicole was trying very hard to listen to what the tall Frenchman with the purple bow tie was saying. She knew he was a shareholder and that they viewed Rocco’s bid very favourably. She knew that because he’d told her, even though he probably shouldn’t have done—but he, like everyone else, seemed to be knocking back the expensive champagne which was being served as freely as water. But it was difficult to concentrate on his words. Difficult to think about anything other than the fact that Anna Rivers had just left the deck with Rocco following the beautiful actress, and that he had been gone for some time.
Nicole told herself it didn’t matter where he went or who he went with, but that wasn’t quite true. She was suddenly finding that it mattered a lot more than it should have done, yet that was stupid. Just because she’d had hot sex with him that afternoon didn’t mean she had any rights