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“What if I don’t believe you?”
His nostrils flared. “You’re the one who accused me of sleeping around; do you think I’m so hard up for female companionship that I would need to target a woman I’m otherwise at loggerheads with?”
“No, but it wouldn’t surprise me if you were so arrogant you thought sleeping together would make me fall head over heels in love with you.”
He visibly paled, blanching before her eyes. “I’m not—love is not something either of us is discussing.”
That was very true, but also very interesting, because he said the word as though it were a poisoned chalice. And how could she fail to notice? Nor to be interested in what that revealed?
“And my interest in you tonight is purely physical.”
“Then why are we talking about his house?”
“You brought it up.”
“I—,” she had, but mainly because she needed to solve the riddle, to work out how to get rid of Rocco. Only, the more time they spent together, the more she realized that wasn’t going to happen. And if it did, it would be to Jack’s detriment.
She ground her teeth together, so angry with him for the position he’d maneuvered her into.
“I wish you’d never found Honeybee Lane.”
“Believe me, cara, right now, so do I.”
“Charming,” she scoffed.
He glared directly at her, so their eyes met and the air between them ignited with a thousand sparks.
“But I did find it, and I am one house away from owning the whole damned street, so let’s not keep talking about it as though there’s a purpose to such conversations.”
God, how she hated him in that moment. Hated him with a passion that was wild and lurid, bright and shimmering. Hated him with all the intensity of the lonely little girl she’d once been, rejected by her own mother and left with an indelible sense that no one would ever really love her enough to stay with her.
She jerked her gaze away from him, glaring across the bar, but it did nothing to quell the racing of her heart.
“Come upstairs with me,” his voice grew thick, his accent heavy and rich with a need that she understood. Despite her anger and hatred, that very same need was tightening in her chest, making her whole body thrum with a heady rush of longing.
Fight it, her brain whispered. Succumb to it, the rest of her pleaded.
“I will never forgive you for this,” she said, pressing a finger to his lips because she needed him to hear that. No matter what happened between them, no matter what came next, it was important to Maddie that Rocco understood: he was persona non grata to her, and always would be.
“Do you think you are the first person to say that to me? Part of my job is to make enemies.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
He opened his mouth, his intelligent eyes probing hers, and then he grinned. The kind of grin designed to dissolve any resistance, like caustic soda on grease. She felt herself bubbling and humming, she felt her brain power growing smaller and smaller so only her body’s pleas remained.
“It is as it is. Everyone has their role to play: in my family, I’m the negotiator.”
“Bulldozer, more like,” she muttered, but his words were less an answer and more a path of questions. What was his family like? Why did he have to do this role? Did he like it? Did he regret it?
“Are you feeling pressured?” his voice was gentle—dangerously so. She could spar with him when he was arrogant. But when he softened…
She nodded once. “Obviously.”
“You mean?—,”
“I mean about the house,” she clarified. Because he was right; this was something else. Standing so close, being near to him, smelling him, wanting him to touch her. It was intoxicating and merciless, but totally unrelated to the business they had to deal with. “Isn’t that the point of being a skilled negotiator?”
He dropped his head then, so his lips pressed to the flesh just below her ear and she startled, almost jumping out of her skin. She was so sensitive there, and his touch was somehow so intimate, so passionate, so everything. She hadn’t been expecting it.
