Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

R OCCO READ THE EMAIL once more before reaching for his phone and lifting it to his ear. "Dante," he spoke as soon as his cousin picked up. "You won't believe it."

Ensconced in his villa on the edge of Lake Como with his new wife, Dante's voice had a relaxed quality that had been absent a long time. A widower far too young, for a long time, they had all thought they'd lost Dante to a tidal flow of grief. Yet here he was, returning to himself, and it was all courtesy of the Australian Georgia. "Something wrong?"

"Quite the opposite."

"He's agreed to sell?"

And just like that, Rocco was plunged back in time, to twelve hours ago, when Maddison Young had had her back to his wall, her huge amber eyes staring up at him, imploring him to kiss her. Willing him to bring his mouth to hers and claim it with all the fire and heat that coursed through his veins.

And God, he'd wanted to. He'd wanted to kiss her hard and fast, pushing her head back against the wall and angling his thigh between her legs until she was crying out with need. He'd wanted to make her forget all about the damned house and how angry she was with him. Or maybe he'd wanted to seduce her until she'd agree to anything he wanted—including selling the place to him.

"Rocco?"

"No. I anticipate more of a battle there."

"He really is a stubborn old thing, isn't he?"

"It's not Jack Young." Rocco shook his head. "His granddaughter is dead set against the sale."

"So? It's not her home."

"That's not how she sees it."

"But how does the law see it?"

"It's her grandfather. He's not going to sell when she feels like this."

"You've offered enough money, right?"

"And explained that if he doesn't sell, he's going to be surrounded by construction noise for two years and then a whole block of shops and apartments will wrap around their house."

"Seems like a no-brainer to me."

"It is a no-brainer for anyone, except his granddaughter, who might be the most stubborn, bombastic, determined creature on the face of the earth."

There was silence for a moment, and then a chuckle. "Do my ears deceive me, or has it finally happened?"

"What?"

"You've met a woman who's impervious to your charms."

Rocco ground his teeth. "I wasn't trying to charm her, and she sure as hell wasn't trying to charm me."

"Might I suggest you do try?"

"I'd have more luck taming a barrel of snakes."

"That wouldn't achieve what we want, however."

"You're suggesting I flirt her into the sale?"

"I'm suggesting you show her what a good guy you are," Dante said with another soft laugh. "And if she happens to fall for your act, and it makes your job easier, then so be it."

"Believe me, I'd flirt with her if I thought it would achieve anything." Maddie's soft, gentle curves flashed into his mind's eye; his body's response was as instantaneous as it was unwelcome.

"I thought you liked a challenge."

"She's not just a challenge: she's Everest."

"Good. It was getting a bit easy for you, wasn't it?"

Rocco leaned back in his chair. He knew what his family thought of him—and not without reason. He liked women. He liked the first moment of seeing a woman he desired, then he liked the chase, the victory, the possession, the sensual heat. Then, he grew bored and moved on.

It wasn't something he'd actively planned, but Maddie had been right the night before, when she'd accused him of changing women more often than he changed underwear. A slight exaggeration, but only by a little.

"I didn't call to talk about the Hamptons."

"It's coming up on crunch time, though. The planning approvals?—,"

"I'm aware." Jack Young had been a pain in his ass on this thing from day one, but now he knew why. It wasn't Jack, so much as Jack trying to look out for his granddaughter. If Rocco could win over Maddison, then he'd get the house. He sat a little straighter, his gaze focused right ahead.

She wanted him out of her life?

What if he did the opposite and got a lot more into it? What if he got to know her, to understand her, and why the house meant so much to her? Everyone had their price, maybe hers just wasn't financial. Maybe what she wanted, and needed, was the freedom to step away from the house, to realise it was just a property, and that the world was waiting for her. Maybe he could give that to her, at the same time as achieving his ends. He stood up, energized, convinced that unlocking Maddie was going to be the key to this.

If he could win her over, he'd get the house.

It was just that simple.

"So?" Dante prompted. "You didn't call to talk about the Hamptons. So, what's up?"

"I just got an email from Ares."

"As in, King Ares?"

"Yes." Their friend since childhood, Rocco rarely used Ares's title, even though he'd been ruling the prosperous Mediterranean country for many years. "He's commissioning the redevelopment of a coastal part of the city, including the addition of a high rise that he intends to be one of the tallest in Europe. He's asked us to put in a tender."

Dante let out a low whistle. "That's good news."

"Not necessarily."

"Oh?"

"He's asked the Valentinos to tender as well."

"You can't be serious? Why the hell would he ask them?"

"Have you seen their work lately? They've been busy in the high-rise space."

"But they're—he knows how we feel about them."

"I suppose he can't be seen to play favourites. His parliament is involved in the decision making process, too."

"Damn it," Dante ground out. "The Valentinos though…"

"It just makes me more determined," Rocco drawled.

"Can you do it?"

He considered it. The appeal was huge, naturally. Unfortunately, he knew better than to stretch himself too thin. He was a perfectionist, and a lot was riding on the success of the Hampton's development. "No." Regret roughened the word. "I'm up to my eyeballs on this…situation. How about Salvatore and Sofia?" Rocco volunteered his brother, as well as Sofia. Though not strictly a Santoro, she was the goddaughter of his aunt and uncle, and had been raised like a sibling to Dante and his family. She was a newly qualified law graduate, smart as a whip, fiercely determined, and could be trusted implicitly.

"Perfect. You'll let them know?"

"I'll organize a meeting for tomorrow."

"I'll log in."

Rocco disconnected the call, then strode towards the window that overlooked Fifth Avenue, hands on hips. The weather had begun to turn about a month ago, the sublime days of summer giving way to a steadily greying sky and a drop in temperatures, so it was no surprise to see a little snow swirling outside his window, this high up.

Before he knew it, it would be Christmas.

Cristo , he hoped he had this deal wrapped up by then. It had absorbed way too much of his life, and while he was a man who loved a challenge, the appeal of this challenge was starting to wear a little thin. The sooner he could get Maddison across the line, and in his rear vision mirror, the better.

" You!" The word was dripping with venom, and a hint of surprise. "What are you doing here?" She spoke as though he were an assassin.

It almost made him laugh, but the stakes were too high; fighting with her wasn't going to get him anywhere. He needed to launch a full-scale charm offensive—and fortunately for Rocco, that was very much within his skillset. The woman could drive him crazy, but from this point on, he wouldn't show that. He wouldn't bite, he wouldn't let her get under his skin. He'd smile when he wanted to snark, he'd win her over, even if it killed him.

He held a brown paper bag up. "I brought bagels."

She arched a brow as though he'd shown her a handgun. "Bagels?"

"Lunch," he prompted.

Maddie's glance flicked beyond him, to the long grass that separated the houses from the sweep of the beach.

"Why would you bring lunch? I thought I made myself pretty clear last night. I don't want to see you."

" Si, " he bit back his first, acerbic reply. "But we both know putting your head in the sand about this will not solve anything. So, have lunch with me—and let me show you the plans."

She paled. "I don't need to see your plans. I can just imagine what you intend to do with this beautiful, sleepy street." She gestured to the other houses, just across from the windswept, grass-covered dunes of the beach. It had been many months since the Santoro corporation had started making deals to acquire these houses, and in response to the sales, they'd gradually begun to empty and be let fall into disrepair. The house immediately to their left had broken windowpanes visible from the deck—not a great example of what she was intending to highlight.

"Would it kill you to take a look?" he challenged.

"Possibly."

"Come on," he imbued the words with teasing brevity. "Give me thirty minutes."

Maddie arched a brow, lifted a hand to her hair, and tucked it behind her ear. Her hair had fascinated him last night; he'd never seen anyone with quite this shade of red. It reminded him of leaves in the Autumn, lustrous and rich, and the way it bounced when she spoke with passion—which she seemed to do frequently—only added to the sense it had a life of its own. Her eyes sparked with fire and vim, and her lips seemed permanently pouted. Oh, she meant it to be disapproving, but there was something about the stubborn set of her mouth that had begged to be kissed. Her skin had been like gossamer silk to touch—finer than a rose petal at dawn. These thoughts were not particularly helpful, however. Rocco forced himself to focus on his reason for being here, ignoring her hair, eyes, lips, and skin, and the fact—come to think of it—she was wearing a pair of skintight yoga pants that did nothing to hide the neat curves of her legs and bottom.

"Why do I get the feeling you're not going to leave until I agree?"

He grinned. "You're astute."

"Yeah, astute enough to know you're a stubborn piece of work."

"So, is that a yes?"

She glanced over her shoulder and then looked back at him, her teeth digging into her lower lip. "Fifteen minutes," she grumbled. "I was just on my way to work."

She had a job, then. He'd wondered if living with Jack and caring for him was her full-time occupation, but the older man was still spry and active, from what Rocco had observed. As if to underscore that, Maddie said, over her shoulder, as they entered the house, "Grandpa's at golf—he plays every Thursday."

Rocco knew that. It was one of the reasons he'd chosen today to visit. He understood things much more clearly now: Jack would sell to him, but only if Maddie agreed. It was Maddie he needed to win over, Maddie he had to convince.

On the way to the original kitchen, they passed a corridor lined with photographs. Jack and his late wife, a young woman with hair a little like Maddie's, and then photos of Maddie—running at the beach, laughing as sparklers ignited in front of her, with her arm around another young woman, in a ballet costume, and sitting cross-legged on grass, eating a wedge of watermelon.

He slowed down, giving each picture a thorough scan. They reminded him of the sorts of portraits an advertising agency might submit for a Ralph Lauren campaign—All-American charm and beauty. Big smiles, flawless faces, wintry beaches. It painted the picture of a lifestyle that Rocco had always been fascinated by—because it was a part of him. The part of him he wanted to know and understand better: his American mother's heritage. He'd been eleven when she'd died; too young to ask her about her life before. Too young to really even contemplate the fact that she came from a place that was different to their home, that she had been raised differently. And too unprepared for the fact she would leave on a charity trip one day and never return.

"It's not an art gallery; those pictures aren't for you to gawk at." Maddie's gruff rejoinder pulled him out of his reverie and for a moment, he almost forgot that he had come here to charm her. An in-kind response hovered on his lips, but he caught it just in time.

"You were a cute kid."

Her eyes widened, the compliment clearly unexpected. Good. He could see only an advantage from keeping her in a state of surprise.

Almost against her will, Maddie's eyes drifted to the photograph he'd been looking at, of her eating watermelon. Emotions flashed in her own eyes, and her lips tightened into a line of control.

"The kitchen's through here."

He gestured to another picture, though. "Is that your mother?"

She didn't look at the photograph in question. "Yes."

A sixth sense told Rocco there was something there—a reason she didn't want to talk about her mother, didn't want to so much as look at the picture, but he didn't push it. This situation—and by ‘situation', he meant Maddie—had to be handled with kid gloves.

"You look like her."

Maddie's eyes sliced through him. "I'm nothing like her."

"I only meant your hair?—,"

She lifted a hand to her wild mane. "Yeah, our hair's the same, but that's the beginning and end of it. Come on, you're wasting time."

He moved then, following her into the kitchen, which was fitted out exactly as it would have been when the house was first built. But unlike the other homes he'd acquired, Jack Young had maintained this place with precision and care. While the fittings might have been original, they were all immaculately preserved; it was like a time capsule. A series of ceramic ducks were flying across one side of the kitchen wall, reminding Rocco of old fashioned movies. In the middle of the bench, there was a huge arrangement of flowers, expensive and beautiful, that made him wonder if Maddie or Jack had recently been celebrating a milestone.

"Someone's birthday?" he asked, nodding towards the flowers.

She glanced at the arrangement, then back to him. "No."

Conversation closed. This wasn't going to be easy.

He passed the bag towards Maddie, who took it with a tight, perfunctory smile. Performative, but at least a small sign that she was willing to go through the motions of civility. For the next thirteen minutes or so, anyway.

"When did you move here?" he asked, gesturing to the kitchen, trying a different tack.

"That's not important."

"Is it a secret?"

"No, but it's part of my life that you have no need to know about."

Message received: she was not going to make this easy for him. And even though he wanted this deal wrapped up, at the same time, a flicker of excitement ignited in his belly. He loved a challenge, and Maddie was definitely that.

She reached into the bag and withdrew the wrapped bagels, putting each on a plate then sliding one towards him.

"Thanks," he grinned, wondering if she'd return it. She didn't. Instead, Maddie frowned.

"Okay, we must be down to, like, eleven minutes. What did you want to show me?"

Even though he liked a challenge, he hadn't planned to speed through his presentation. He'd been hoping to seduce her with the beauty of what the architects had come up with, the tributes to the heritage of the area, the fa?ade that would incorporate so many design elements appropriate to this part of the world.

Instead, he tried a different approach. "We're going to turn this into a premiere destination. Even in the Hamptons, it will stand out for the level of luxury and sophistication."

Maddie pulled a face. "Boring."

His temper flared but he tamped down on it. He needed to up the ante. He realized now that trying to engage with her directly about the project was the wrong approach. She had too much animosity towards it; he wouldn't win her over on the merits of what he was proposing. He had to connect on a personal level, even when she had a thousand shields up, making that almost impossible.

Still…Rocco had never met a woman he hadn't been able to win over.

Not once.

Rejection was an unknown quantity to him, and he doubted Maddie would be the first woman to break that record. Okay, even he recognized how arrogant that thought was, but it didn't necessarily follow that he was wrong.

"What do you want to see happen to the street, Maddison?"

He saw the way her eyes widened when he used her full name and made a mental note to do it more.

"Nothing," she unwrapped her bagel with gusto. "I want the street to be like this. Quaint, original, charming. Why do you look at it and think it has to change?"

Don't fight. Don't say what you're thinking. "You have a habit of replying to my questions with questions of your own, did you know that?"

She opened her mouth to say something then slammed it shut. She opened the bagel, and inspected the contents, before pushing the plate away. "I don't eat lox."

Ordinarily, even he would find that behaviour ruder than a challenge, but it was his vested interest to smooth away her rough edges, so he ignored the childish ingratitude and instead passed his plate toward her. "Let's swap then. This is plain cream cheese."

And then he realized: she was baiting him. She was expecting him to respond to her rudeness by getting upset. She wanted him to fight because then she could fight back.

It made him more determined to keep his cool. Or maybe even heat things up, but in a way that was far more beneficial—and satisfying—than fighting.

She took his plate without a word, unwrapped the cream cheese bagel with the same level of anger, and lifted it to her lips. Full, pink lips shaped like Cupid's bow.

His gut tightened with awareness; he ignored it. Sure, she was sexy, and fiery, and passionate, and all of those things were significant turn-ons for Rocco, but she was also business, first and foremost.

While he might want to resort to his usual playbook of seduction techniques, everything with Maddie had to be considered and measured. She wasn't just some woman he wanted to get into his bed. If that were to happen—and he'd like it to—it had to serve his purpose. His family's purpose. There would be other women who didn't hold the balance of this development in the palm of their hands.

She took a bite of the bagel, her lips full and pink, and momentarily distracting.

"So?" she asked, placing the bagel on her plate. "Was there anything else?"

He regarded her for several beats then stepped forward. Her eyes lifted to his mouth; her lips parted. The air between them sparked with an awareness Rocco knew well—but Maddie did not. He recognized her confusion, her uncertainty, her surprise—and he was prepared to capitalize on it. To play her, to win. He needed this.

Besides, she was waging a war, fighting a losing battle. The house would sell; it was only a matter of time.

"You have cream cheese," he lied, lifting a finger to just the side of her mouth and wiping it.

Her breath was warm on his hand. Her body seemed to sway forward; her eyes sparked with his.

"You know," his voice was graveled. "This isn't the end of the world."

Her eyes fluttered shut. "It's not going to happen."

"What's not going to happen?" He moved his own body closer to hers, reveling in the feeling of the heat between them.

"The house. I won't let him sell it to you. It's not going to happen."

He made a noise deep in his throat, his finger still at the side of her mouth. "Oh, good. I thought you were referring to something else."

Her brows knitted together; her mouth formed a small circle of surprise. "Rocco?—,"

But she was quiet then. Contemplative.

He dropped his head forward, slowly. Giving her plenty of time to say something; to pull back. But she didn't. She simply stared at him, and the air continued to fizz and crackle, and his body went on alert, as desire thrummed inside his veins, compelling him, driving him, and momentarily pushing all thoughts of the house from his mind. He might have said this was a means to an end, but close to Maddie, it was easy to forget that vow.

He was motivated by baser instincts, by wants and needs that had very little to do with the multi-million-dollar development he'd poured his heart and soul into for such a long time.

This was just a man and a woman and an ancient, primal calling to one another that he had no intention of ignoring.