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“Aren’t I entitled to some answers?”
“Because we slept together?”
She sucked in a sharp breath and looked away, her cheeks flushing pink. She was magnificent. “Yes,” she turned back to him, eyes flicking with flames. “And because you’ve waltzed into my life and asked me all sorts of things. So?”
“My downstairs neighbour had a party. The guests fell asleep cooking, started a fire. It got extinguished quickly enough, but not before my apartment sustained smoke damage. Not to mention, the sprinklers went off, flooding everything. Suffice it to say, renovations were required.”
“Oh.” Her eyes widened. “Were you home?”
“Why, cara? Are you worried about me?”
“On the contrary,” she tapped a finger to the side of her lips. “The thought of you lying in bed and being doused by the fire system is kind of funny.”
“I’m glad I can amuse you.”
“Only because you’re okay,” she said, on a soft laugh, lifting a hand in the air to forestall him thinking the worst of her.
“Is that your way of saying you care?” He asked it sarcastically, flippantly, but her eyes widened, and Rocco felt something twist in his gut. A warning, because she was going to deny it, and he didn’t particularly want to hear her denial. “And what is that piece of paper anyway?” He asked, before she could answer his question.
She glanced down at it, almost surprised, as if she’d forgotten why she’d come to him.
“A contract.”
He frowned. Was this to do with the house?
“For the provision of floristry services at a certain upcoming high society wedding? In Italy,” she added, glaring at him, as though ‘Italy’ was Dante’s inferno.
“I see.”
“Well, I wish I did. Why on earth would you do this?”
He clung to the perception Raf had given him. “My brother’s getting married—it’s a gesture of goodwill to his bride. What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing. Nothing whatsoever. Gift them whatever you want—but why me?”
“You’re a florist, aren’t you?”
“And of course, Italy has no florists.”
“The cachet of flying someone in from New York will appeal to Marcia.”
“There are other florists in New York.”
“If you don’t want the job, don’t accept it,” he said, lifting one shoulder.
But Maddie was chewing on her lower lip, deep in thought. “Did you do this because of the house?”
“No.”
“I don’t believe that. Everything’s related with you. It’s—it’s so much money, Rocco. Too much. They’re offering me a King’s ransom to do this one job, and if I take it, it’s the nest egg I’d need—separate from the house. You wouldn’t have to pay me off. I’d never have that on my conscience, at least.” She drew in a breath, her brow furrowing, but before he could reply, she steamed on. “But then, isn’t it the same thing? You’ve pulled strings to make this happen, it’s just a different way of giving me the money, right? I don’t want to be manipulated by you?—,”
He stalked across to her, taking hold of her upper arms, staring into her eyes, which had jolted to his the moment he’d touched her. “That’s not what this is.”
She hesitated a moment. “I don’t believe you.”
“Yes, I am the reason you were offered the job, but it’s not to buy you off.”
“Isn’t it?”
