Page 71 of The Billionaire's Vow

“Yep. Peter Grayson called my mom ugly.”

“That’ll do it,” I joked.

Rocco told me another story about his grandfather singing opera for a small gathering in Rome. He then told me about the children’s homes and schools he invested in, that he’d take Rocco to visit every year. I told him about our yearly book challenges, and all the ways his grandfather was a world historian. Any country he could rattle off their entire history. That was the man we both loved. It was also good to hear Rocco’s voice. He spoke in a way that made me want to listen to him all night.

The phone muffled. “I’ve got to go.”

My pulse jumped in my throat. “You coming back?”

“I will see you tomorrow morning.”

I couldn’t help but feel the first bit of peace since our fight. I missed him.

That was real.

“Argh.” I kicked the covers, my heart pumping so hard it was as if I had run a race. The residue of fear and loathing remained in my head, but the details had already faded beyond my grasp. I had another nightmare and sweated the sheets.

From the years of therapy, I learned to observe and let go, knowing that in the present, I was safe, and that my past could no longer hurt me. Running was the exercise I used to exhaust my mind so I could rest. Last night I skipped the run on the treadmill before bed. Still, I recognized what happened, and could move on.

I left the bed, showered, and then changed into a tracksuit. I walked out of the bathroom, lifting my hair to pull on a tie, when Rocco came in. He was dressed in a shirt and slacks. I almost forgot how incredibly sexy he was—almost. My face warmed and I let my hair fall in my face to hide whatever lustful look I gave him.

He responded with a dark, lustful grin of his own. “You want me, Bella. Come get me.”

My breath hitched, and I tried to cross my arms but settled them on my hips, shifting my legs to hide the sensual tug at my core. I was eager to give in and let him have me. But I tried to play it cool. “What’s up?”

“Me soon, if you don’t stop wiggling,” he teased. “It’s torture.”

“I’m torturing you?” I asked and let out a shaky laugh.

“You have no idea how sexy you are. How hard it is knowing how soft and wet you are on my tongue. How tight your pussy grips my cock. You nourish me. You’re my She-wolf.”

My body felt like I would combust in flames, confirming what I thought. Rocco got the Museum of Modern Art to loan the Jackson Pollock painting so that we could fuck in front of it. The images that crossed my mind had me so wet and desperate. Every breath I took was heavy, and I wiggled, which I hadn’tknown I did until now. I tried to soothe the ache and play it off like it wasn’t happening. But he knew.

“Mmm. You want it. Why deny yourself? I’m more than willing to fuck you.”

“Stop. I can’t take anymore.” My words came out husky and I wanted to disappear from embarrassment.

His grin was wicked. “You can and will, but right now, let’s go to your new office.”

“New office?” I repeated.

“Paul gave me the idea. He made a home studio for Nadia in most of their homes so she could work anywhere. So, if you will follow me.”

I walked downstairs next to him to a room off the dining room area I hadn’t explored. I covered my mouth as the Bumble Bee Ball-framed cover was the first thing I saw inside. It had a table island where I could lay out designs.

“Check this out.” Rocco showed me a remote control that operated the desk. It lit up so that I could see a vivid image of the sketches, which I appreciated. The desk also had a lounge chair and a bunch of books. Most were on illustration, but some were books Luca had sent me that I treasured. There was also a corner of the room for painting, complete with canvas on an easel.

“Let’s hope Jacob can visit,” he said, and my heart skipped.

I opened a row of low cabinets to find they were fully stocked with supplies of paints, pencils, and anything else I could imagine to use to illustrate.

“It has everything. I’m speechless.” I sucked in air and touched my chest.

Rocco went over and pulled out the bar seat next to the draft table. “For the artist.”

I trembled all over as I walked to stand next to him. A picture of the two of us at our announcement party was on the table. We only knew each other for a few days, and I was so captivatedby everything he did. He looked happy. The room, books, and photos were all so thoughtful, and touched me deeply.

My eyes stung. “Rocco, you’re so unbelievable.”

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