Bound to the Sicilian's Bed

‘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 over him. Hot sex when he hadn’t even kissed her. That told her pretty much what he really felt about her, didn’t it?

Her cheeks were flushed as she walked to the far end of the deck where it was much quieter. Did Rocco realise that the takeover bid was pretty much a done deal? Had he now decided she was surplus to requirements and he could safely ignore her for most of the party? Probably. What did she expect? That he would treat her with respect when she’d behaved that way—falling into his arms as if none of the bad stuff had happened?

There was a buzz behind her and Nicole turned to see Rocco reappear, looking dramatically handsome in his dinner suit, his black hair gleaming beneath the coloured fairy lights which were strung around the deck. He was looking around, as if trying to locate someone, and then he saw her and began to walk towards her. But the instinctive leap of her heart was replaced by a distinct sense of foreboding as she saw the ravaged look which was darkening his features.

‘What’s wrong?’ she said as soon as he’d reached her.

‘I’ve just had a call from Sicily.’ His jaw clenched. ‘My grandfather is sick.’

Nicole sucked in a breath, her shock much greater than it should have been because Turi was very old and so such news could never be described as unexpected. But some people seemed indestructible and the elderly patriarch was one of them. She tried to imagine the Barberi complex without the larger-than-life figure at its helm and couldn’t. She wondered how it would be for Rocco and his siblings if they lost the man who had always been there for them. The lynchpin of their lives. She looked up into Rocco’s empty eyes. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘How...how bad is it?’

He shrugged. ‘They don’t know. My brother is in South America and my sister has been in Los Angeles, so everyone is away. They’re both on their way home, but the flights are long and he needs someone with him now. I’m going to Sicily as soon as air traffic control have approved my flight plans. Michele is sorting that out for me now.’

‘Yes, of course.’ Briefly, Nicole closed her eyes, praying that Rocco would reach his grandfather in time, but she couldn’t prevent the other thought which came rushing through her mind. That this really was the last time she would ever see him. She opened her eyes, unprepared for the cold wash of heartache which followed in the wake of this re

alisation. This really was goodbye, she thought, and was just working out how best to say it, when Rocco spoke again.

‘He wants to see you, Nicole.’

She blinked, aware that his shadowed eyes had grown flinty and a muscle was working insistently at his temple. ‘Who does?’ she said.

‘Nonno. I spoke with Maria. He’s been asking for you.’

‘For me?’ She didn’t make any attempt to hide her bewilderment because there had been no real closeness between her and the octogenarian patriarch, no matter how hard she had tried. ‘But why?’

‘Who knows?’ he growled, tugging impatiently at his tie as if it were strangling him. ‘Turi is a law unto himself and always has been.’ There was a pause. ‘Will you come, Nic?’

‘Do you want me to come?’ she questioned quietly, trying not to react to a nickname he hadn’t used in a long, long time.

He seemed to steel himself before shaking his head. ‘Not really,’ he said. ‘I think we both know that you and I have reached the end of the line. But my grandfather could die at any moment—and who am I to deny a dying man his wish?’ He looked her straight in the eyes and they might as well have been alone in a room, rather than on a crowded yacht in the middle of a cocktail party.

Nicole met his questioning gaze. Nobody could accuse Rocco of lying—or caring how much his words could hurt. Yet behind his blunt statement she could sense a vulnerability which for once he wasn’t bothering to hide. Maybe he couldn’t hide it. Suddenly it occurred to her that right now Rocco needed her as she’d always wanted to be needed by him, but like everything else it had come too late.

And she was scared. Going back to Sicily had the potential to reopen painful wounds—but what choice did she have? If she had any kind of conscience she couldn’t refuse what he was asking of her. She was doing this for a sick man, yes, but she was also doing it for Rocco—because she could never live with herself if she let him down. And how crazy was that? ‘Of course I’ll come,’ she said quietly.

‘Grazie.’ He nodded, before glancing down at her red dress. ‘We need to go straight from here to the airfield. There won’t be time to return to the house but I can get Michele to pack your clothes and have them sent straight to the plane.’