Page 16 of The Convenient Cosentino Wife

“What did you think I did all day?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter. My brother died a little over three years ago. It feels like a lifetime ago.”

“I’m not surprised. You were such a good brother to him—”

“But I wasn’t,” Rocco interrupted, voice flinty.

“That’s not what he said. He had so much love and respect for you.”

“Don’t, please.” Rocco’s firm mouth compressed, his expression grim. “Marius deserves the respect, not me.” He looked at her then, his silver gaze meeting hers. “I live with guilt that I wasn’t a better brother. I had hoped that by now the guilt would have eased, but it hasn’t. It’s grown stronger, heavier.”

“Because you’re alive, and he’s not.” She reached across to where he sat, and put her hand on his, but that was a mistake. The moment her palm and fingers touched the back of Rocco’s hand she shuddered, shocked by an invisible current of energy that passed from his skin into hers. She quickly removed her hand, but her fingertips tingled, her palm hot, the nerve endings feeling burned. She curled her hand into a fist, pressing the sensitive skin to soothe it.

The heat wasn’t her imagination, either. She could tell from Rocco’s expression he’d felt the electric charge. His silver irises glowed and his heat emanated from him in waves.

Her gaze dropped from his magnetic eyes to his firm lips which had escaped the burn.

She knew he’d been burned when Marius was just a boy. Rocco, in his early twenties, had been at the wheel and there had been an accident—not their fault. If it hadn’t been for Rocco’s quick reflexes Marius would have been killed. Instead Rocco turned the steering wheel hard, spinning the car enough that he, on the driver’s side, took the brunt of the impact. Rocco was crushed in the accident, pinned beneath the steering wheel and driver’s door, and before they could free him, the engine exploded, the car quickly engulfed in fire. Marius escaped with just a few cuts and bruises, but Rocco suffered life-threatening injuries.

Marius had told Clare that Rocco never once lamented the choice he made, instead saying quietly, firmly that burns were nothing. Scars didn’t matter. How could they, when Marius meant everything?

Marius said that was just who Rocco was—the ultimate protector, the perfect big brother.

Looking at Rocco now, perched on the lounge chair, a wave of dark hair falling forward on his brow, half his face chiseled with strong lines, the other half thickened with scars, she could only imagine how awful these past three years had been for Rocco.

“You’ve always been Marius’s champion,” she said, feeling remorseful. “I regret you didn’t find out about Adriano sooner. I regret that I hadn’t included contact details. That was wrong of me. I’m sorry. And I’m sorry for my part in the past, because I know I came between you and your brother, and that was wrong—”

“Cara, you did nothing wrong, and it’s not your fault that Marius and I had words regarding your engagement. All I can say is that I was too controlling and it wasn’t fair, not to either of you.”

Inexplicable tears rushed to her eyes and Clare blinked hard. “It seems neither of us knew each other, but Adriano has brought us together, and Marius, if he’s watching, he must be happy. It’s what he always wanted...us to be a family.”

Rocco made a rough sound in the back of his throat.

Alarmed, Clare’s gaze lifted, her eyes meeting his. “Was that presumptuous of me? If so, I’m sorry—”

“Stop apologizing. It wasn’t presumptuous. You are exactly right. Marius hated the conflict between us. He’d be pleased that we’re coming together—” he broke off, swallowed, expression impossible to read. “For Adriano’s sake.”

“But not just Adriano’s,” she said, tears filling her eyes. “Yours, too. You’ve been alone, and I am sure you’ve been in a very dark place. I’m hopeful we can move forward now...truly brother and sister.”

CHAPTER FOUR

ROCCOFOUNDITimpossible to sleep.

Brother and sister? Is that what she saw...what she imagined?

His gut churned. He felt nauseated. He did not view Clare as a sister. He did not think of her as anything but...his. The source of his torment, the constant nagging guilt, the unattainable dream. He wanted her. He could picture the future with Clare. Making a life together, having a family with her. Not just Adriano but children of their own.

Rocco threw the light feather duvet back and left his bed, going into the adjoining marble bath to splash cold water on his face. He looked up at himself in the mirror, expression grim, determined.

He would have her. He would win her. There was no way he could lose her, after losing everyone else.

Rocco dried his face with a plush white hand towel and then turned out the bathroom light and returned to bed. But in bed, sleep still evaded him.

After Marius died Rocco was in a very dark place. For the first six months he’d been numb, in absolute shock and denial, and then he felt so much emptiness and grief that he questioned the point in living. But when he despaired, he pictured Clare, and it was her face, her full soft mouth, her wide lavender-blue eyes that gave him strength. And hope. Not that he deserved it.

But now he’d found her again and he wanted to protect her the same way he’d always protected his brother. Was it so terrible wanting her?

He’d never touched her when Marius was alive. He’d never said anything inappropriate to her. He’d just struggled with the desire, so intense and consuming, but he’d kept it all in, kept the love and need to himself.

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