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And even after that she’d still come to find him. And he had stupidly told her all about Lodo. He felt like knocking his head off the wall to see if there were still any brains in there. When had he ever,
ever
opened up to anyone about his brother? It had taken his therapists five years to get him even to say his name, and he had blurted the whole thing out to
her
in one night!

What kind of crazy was going on with him just now? And how was he going to get back from where they’d ended up last night? Sex that had been tender, beautiful. The best tender and beautiful sex he’d ever had. The
only
tender and beautiful sex he’d ever had.

Dammit again. What was happening? He knew things had changed now. Not permanently—but she was a woman. She’d have expectations. Women
always
had expectations. And
he’d
paved the way for that.

Why was sex such a comfort in his life right now? Couldn’t he just rein in his emotions as he had every other time and use sport? Boxing had sorted him out in
his early teens, and polo had been his salvation right up until
she’d
walked back into his life.

He really had to get some kind of normal back in place. This just wasn’t
him.
Using a woman to help him sift through all the debris in his head showed a lack of judgement.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her to keep the story about Lodo to himself—he did, of course he did. It was just that keeping things tight had worked so well up to now. The closed ranks of himself and Dante were perfect. There was no judging, no explaining. The last thing he wanted to do was
talk
about it. Women were always
talking
about it.

He reached the TV room and saw the whiskey bottle. At least half of it gone. And it hadn’t even served its purpose, because he’d sunk it and
still
blabbed when she’d come in—when she’d wheedled it out of him.

He shook his head as he lifted the bottle and carried it back to join the others on the bar. It would be a long time before he’d touch it again.

He looked at the couch, saw the photo. Staring at it, he saw an image of them sitting together. She hadn’t wheedled it out of him. She’d been great. She’d done exactly what he would have done if he’d seen her sitting in a mood like that. Exactly what he
had
done when she’d gotten herself in such a state about the media.

He picked up Lodo’s picture. So he’d told her? He shook his head again. The only thing to do now was make the best of it.

He knew that it was only a matter of time before some nosy investigative journalist or unofficial biographer unearthed it and splashed it all over the media anyway. He’d buried as much as he could of his early life, but there was always someone willing to swap a story for cash. Hadn’t
he tried that himself in the hunt for Chris Martinez? He was still trying. It was all he had left.

And as soon as Dante came over, after they’d talked through in detail what he had and hadn’t found, he’d be back on it—like the relentless bloodhound he was.

Although, he thought as he lifted the whiskey tumbler and made his way through to the kitchen, the hunt for the Martinez brothers was something he’d be keeping to himself. The contacts he’d had to establish, the risks he’d taken to scratch the underbelly of the world they existed in, to breathe that stench again—there was no way he wanted to share any of
that
with Frankie. He barely wanted Dante to be involved. He didn’t want her exposed to it and, crucially, he didn’t want to increase the risk by widening the circle of knowledge.

No, he’d shared more than enough with her already.

He put the glass in the gleaming empty dishwasher, turned to the coffee machine and started it up. There was no point in trying to claw back what had gone. All he could do now was keep a lid on the rest. And, yes, he’d asked her to stay on here—but after the events of last night maybe that wasn’t such a great idea. Not while Dante was due and the chase was still on. Not when he seemed to be in the habit of opening up and blabbing about stuff that no one should have to carry apart from him.

He shook his head again. What
was
it about her that she had got him to open up like that? He’d never even come close to it before. Totally uncharacteristic behaviour. He had quite knowingly left Lodo’s picture out in the bedroom, even after she’d asked him about it. With every other woman that picture had been tucked away. He did not sow the seeds of pity—he did not want to harvest their emotions. If he had any sense at all he’d shut
his mouth and shut down this obsession that seemed less and less like unfinished business and more and more like an unsolvable problem.

He was getting used to her being here. He was loving the way their bodies were so utterly in tune with one another. He was loving the easy presence she had, sharing space with him. He was loving the ease that she brought to his life rather than the fuss and nonsense of someone like Carmel. But she had to know that there was never going to be anything more than this. She’d started to ask him last night, just before the call from Dante, and they had to finish that conversation soon.

He checked the time. Dante would have partied hard last night, knowing him, so it would be another couple of hours before he was ready to surface. He could get caught up on work, or he could sweat out this hangover with some serious exercise. An hour of running on the beach and then a session with the punching bag should sort him out. Maybe he should wake Frankie and ask her to come running with him? No, maybe not. He could do with some more thinking time. Because ‘losing himself’ in her just seemed to be adding to the list of problems, not solving any.

He ran for miles. Kept going well past the point where he normally doubled back. The surfers were out in force, riding the pretty big waves that spilled up and soaked him time and again as he pounded along the beach. A couple of riders passed, their horses galloping in the foam, and he made a mental note to take Frankie out riding in the surf before she left. She’d love it.

His head was still pounding, and still full of conflicting thoughts, but at least he’d cleared up one thing and he felt a hell of a lot better for it.

He trudged up from the beach, thinking about a long drink and a cool shower. Thinking about whether it should be alone or not. Thinking about Frankie and the conversation he was definitely going to have with her. Picking up from where they’d left off last night. God knew he had said it often enough in the past—no commitment past a sexual relationship. No expectations. And definitely no one getting any ideas about buying a hat. He liked her. A lot. But it was best if they were both really clear about what was going to happen next. He had to make sure she had no stupid notions brewing after last night.

But first he was going to get that drink.

He rounded the corner of the garden onto the terrace—right into the middle of a cosy scene.

Dante and Frankie. They were huddled together, staring at something. And the closeness of them, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh on the swing seat, brought a bitter taste to his mouth. What was Dante playing at? Happy families?

‘Oh, my God, he’s not going to like this.’

‘Not going to like what?’ he asked, aware of the growl in his voice—aware and not giving a damn.

They both looked up sharply. Dante couldn’t hide the moment of surprise on his face, but then, as ever, he slipped right back into easy charm.

‘Hey, bro, that’s some dynamo you’re operating. Wall-to-wall private partying and a ten-mile run before breakfast? I’ve been here for ages, waiting for you. Good job Frankie was here to look after me.’

Don’t let him wind you up
, he told himself. But even though he knew Dante was deliberately baiting him, he still rose.

‘You’re here earlier than I thought,’ he said, walking
towards them, still sitting there all cosy together. ‘You should have messaged me. I’d have made sure I was here.’

‘Well, normally I wouldn’t rush, as you know, but with Frankie here just now I can hardly stay away.’

Frankie laughed and punched the side of his arm playfully. ‘You’re hilarious. You only just got here!’

And then Dante slid his arm around her and squeezed her against his side, blue eyes flashing and smile beaming. A look of complete joy on his face.

‘This is still early for me, sweet cheeks. Normally my first meal after Turlington is dinner. Today I’m going for brunch. Impressed?’

Rocco was so, so
un
impressed. Dante had gone right past flirting and moved into some kind of buddy brother-in-law role. The last thing Frankie needed was any more in the way of invitations to be part of Team Hermida. Rocco needed to bring him up to speed on things—and fast.

‘Frankie, can you leave us for a moment? Dante and I have a little business to discuss. In private.’

Which was true, but he could have handled it a lot less awkwardly than that, he supposed. The look that flashed over her face told him he’d hurt her, but she rose up with a serene little smile.

‘I’ll leave you to it. I’d better say goodbye, Dante—I’m not sure when I’ll next see you. I have to get back to work soon.’

He stood, too, grabbed her shoulders and held her.

‘Ah, parted so soon … I didn’t realise. Sorry—I thought you were here for a while. Okay … Well, I’m sure this will only be a temporary goodbye—and it would be great to keep in touch anyway. Hermanos Hermida is always on the lookout for new cheerleaders.’

Had he lost his mind? What the
hell
was he doing?

Rocco watched as Dante pulled her in for a squeeze that lasted far too long, and had the fists in his hands curled into tight, angry balls. If that punching bag was at hand it would get a blasting!

Finally he let her go, and she sauntered off with that sexy little walk, wearing yet another of his shirts. Beautifully.

He turned to Dante.

‘
Sweet-cheeks? Cheerleader?
What the hell are you up to, Dante? Since when do you lead
any
woman on to thinking they’re going to be part of this family?’

Dante walked towards him.

‘Relax. You’re like a caged beast. I had to smooth over
your
clumsy move. What was all that about? Sending her away the way you did? Who treats the woman they love like
that
?’

He froze. Dante had sat down again and picked up a newspaper, flicked it open and started to scan through it. He lifted a cup of coffee to his mouth and sipped. As if he had merely asked him about the weather instead of firing a volley of emotionally charged bullets. And striking his target—bull’s eye.

‘You can forget
that
.’

‘What?’ he asked, flicking on, sipping on. ‘Are you going to try to pretend you’re
not
in love with her? It’s as obvious as Carmel’s fake boobs. Talking of which—you might want to break the habit of a lifetime and check out the latest media reports. If you say you’re not in love, you’d better put out a press release.’

And he tossed him his phone.

Pictures of him and Frankie. His eyes scanned them—leaving the villa, entering the Turlington Club, and then the one that he himself had staged, kissing passionately. His eyes widened at how hot they looked. And then there
were more—of them staring into each other’s eyes, thinking they were unobserved, smiling and hugging. Okay, it
did
look like love caught on camera, but they were just lovers out together. It was no big deal. He’d been with other dates before and there were probably dozens of pictures just like these.

But as his fingers scrolled down he saw what Dante was pointing out. There
were
pictures of him with other women, but he held them at a distance and his face was rigid. And the headlines screamed, The Hurricane Has Been Tamed!

La Gaya—the Magpie—that was what they were calling Frankie, thanks to her striking dark hair and her pearl-pale skin—and to stealing from the nest of the glorious Carmel.
Brilliant.
Just what he needed.

He tossed Dante his phone.

‘It’ll blow over. No big deal. There’s more important stuff to deal with. Like what did you find out?’

Dante dropped the humour like a soaked blanket.

‘It was the longest of long shots. Might still be something in it, but I don’t know. I got the feeling from our guy that they’re doing as much fishing as we are. Someone’s claimed to have shared a cell with a guy who knew Chris Martinez. Said he’d been inside and then released after only serving a couple of months. The talk was that he’d done a deal and been given a new identity. But that’s all it was. Talk.’

‘Sounds pretty likely, though.’

‘Maybe. I’m not sure. But there was nothing else to get from the guy. He didn’t have any more intel on Martinez. And he started to ask too many other questions. I reckon he was fishing for info about
you
.’

Rocco mulled that over. He’d been so careful about this. He didn’t deal directly with investigators himself.
This was the first time Dante had stepped in for him but otherwise he always used a proxy, kept his distance, organised everything via a separate email account and phone number. The last thing he wanted was to bring any shame on the Hermida family. Not after all they’d done for him. So for all that he was picking through the detritus of a nasty world, he’d done it carefully
—very
carefully—up until now.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Thanks.’

‘What next?’

Rocco rubbed the back of his neck, stretched out his shoulders, flexed his hands. Shook his head.

‘I don’t know. I’ll give it some thought.’

‘Don’t you think you should leave it for a while? It’s not as if the trail is red-hot. Spend some time with Frankie and fix that before she goes. Don’t leave loose ends, or you might …’

He frowned at Dante.

‘Might what?’

‘Lose her.’

They stared at each other across the table, the newspaper spread out between them like a matador’s cloak. And Rocco was definitely the bull.