Page 28 of The Convenient Cosentino Wife

He was waiting for her on the terrace, his back to the doorway, facing the sea. The Cosentino brothers were both athletic, but Rocco’s shoulders were broader, and his legs longer. Rocco’s height coupled with the width of his shoulders made him imposing, even without looking into his cool silver eyes set in that very chiseled face.

Fortunately, he already had a glass of something amber. A neat shot to help ease into the evening. She was glad someone had already provided him with a drink, one less thing for her to worry about. Her staff was exceptional that way, and in every way. They were highly trained and very loyal, and paid well for their loyalty.

“Was there a lot of traffic leaving Rome?” she asked, stepping from the villa into the late afternoon sunshine, the golden rays stretching long across the stone terrace. She lifted a hand to shield her eyes. In a few minutes the sun would drop, but for now, the glare was almost blinding.

Rocco turned to look at her, his gaze studying her intently, the movement temporarily blocking the setting sun. “Nothing out of the ordinary. In fact, I made good time.” His gaze now swept from the top of her head to her feet, and up again. “You look well.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks, the surge of warmth making her light-headed. She shifted one of the chairs so she wouldn’t be looking into the sun’s long, piercing golden rays, and dropped into it, then crossed her legs affecting an air of calm. She didn’t feel well in that moment. Her heart was racing and her stomach was somersaulting and she didn’t even know how to begin the conversation they needed to have.

Roberto arrived with a glass of wine for Clare and she took it with a quiet thank-you. “Are you driving back tonight?” she asked, looking over at Rocco.

“I’d hoped to return tomorrow, after having breakfast with you and Adriano. If that met with your approval.”

She nodded, fighting a bubble of panic. Could she do this? Could they?

“Good. I’m looking forward to seeing Adriano. How is he?”

“Well.” She hesitated, before adding, “He’s asked about you every day. You certainly made an impression on him.”

“Has he already gone to bed?”

“Just before you arrived, yes. He’d wanted to stay up to see you, but I wasn’t sure what time you’d get here.”

“I’m sorry. I should have called and given you a time I’d be arriving. That was thoughtless of me.”

The apology was nice, but it was hard to focus when Rocco was prowling around the terrace reminding her of a big cat pacing a cage. A gorgeous big cat. She’d never noticed before that Rocco was every bit as athletic as Marius, but with a different power. Marius was one with his horses, a perfect partnership, whereas Clare couldn’t imagine Rocco on a horse. He needed his feet planted, the earth grounding him.

Rocco was walking toward her, but instead of joining her, he walked behind her. She felt him behind her, too, and she shivered, sensation streaking through her, skin tingling, breasts aching, her belly tightening. The awareness was unlike anything she’d ever felt before and she peeked over her shoulder watching Rocco reach the end of the terrace. He leaned over and picked up Adriano’s favorite green ball. He tossed it up, once, twice, and then lightly tossed it so that it rolled past the sitting area and gently came to rest near one of the French doors.

“What’s his favorite color?” Rocco asked, moving toward her.

“Green,” she said, as he passed so close behind her that the hair on her nape rose and delicious prickles ran up and down her arms. He was an arm’s length away, but she could feel him as strongly as if he’d reached out and touched her, his fingertips running across the back of her neck.

Clare drew a quick, unsteady breath, nerves taut, every fiber of her being awake. Alert. Aware of him. It was so intense, dizzying really.

What was he doing to her? Did he even know the impact he had on her?

Rocco retrieved his crystal tumbler with the splash of amber liquor. Instead of sitting down in a chair, he perched on the edge of the coffee table, hands clasped between his legs, forearms sinewy. His legs were so long his knees were nearly touching hers. She glanced at his strong hands, his fingers wrapped around the glass, and then to his hips and the fit of his trousers, fine black wool snug on muscular thighs, the black leather belt around his hips, and then below the buckle, the thickness, evidence of his masculinity.

She swallowed and looked away, blushing furiously. She wasn’t a virgin and she shouldn’t feel shy, but she did.

She felt emotions she couldn’t understand. Emotions that made her realize just how hard the past three years had been. She didn’t want to be sad, not anymore.

She didn’t want to be grieving or alone. She wanted more. Rocco was offering more.

Wound tightly, she jerked and her knee bumped his. His eyes met hers and held for an impossibly long moment and time slowed. His eyes weren’t cold, the silver irises with bits of bronze and gold. She dragged in a breath and his gaze fell, focusing on her mouth which had gone dry.

Parched, she touched the tip of her tongue to her upper lip. Her pulse was pounding so hard now, but her body felt treacherously weak, as if her bones had melted and she was just heat. She couldn’t move if she wanted. There was no way to escape him and in that moment she didn’t want to, the fire beneath her skin burning hotter and brighter chasing away the coldness she’d carried with her these years.

He leaned in, his broad shoulders close, filling her vision. “Are you okay,cara?” he asked.

His voice was so deep and it burrowed inside her chest, filling some of the emptiness. She nodded, her gaze focused on the faint shadow of a beard on his jaw and the firmness of his mouth. His mouth intrigued her. He smelled good, too, rather intoxicating, and she forced herself to nod, even manage a faint smile. “I’m getting by.”

He put a finger beneath her chin, tipping her face up to his. “Just getting by?”

She didn’t know why her eyes burned and a lump filled her throat. She was strong. She didn’t just fall apart, but Rocco was unraveling something inside of her and she couldn’t pull herself back together fast enough. “It’s been a strange week.”

“It has,” he agreed, thumb stroking her cheek. “Scared?”

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