Mistress To a Latin Lover: The Sicilian's Defiant Mistress / The Italian's Pregnant Mistress / The Italian's Mistress

Was she to ask? Demand? Was it overstepping her boundaries to express what she needed?

“You say that now,” she said, trying to keep her tone light, trying to cover what he did to her. And her heart.

“But facts disagree.”

He shot her an assessing glance. “Maybe you never had all the facts.”

“And what are those facts?”

Maximos regarded her for a long silent moment, the hot sun beating down overhead, the dry grass of the field biting at Cass’s ankles. “I was a fan of your work for three years before you were signed to handle Italia Motors’ new European ad campaign. I hand-selected you to manage our account, and was determined to have you no matter what the cost.” He hesitated, his dark gaze settling on her face. “And I loved your mind before I even knew you had a face and body.”

She said nothing, not knowing what to say.

“I can tell you about your biggest campaigns before we signed you,” Maximos continued. “The campaign for PUMA and Tag Heuer. The stunning ads for GC distillery, they were my favorite—so bold, so dramatic and yet emotional. Your vision and ability to deliver won me over.”

He paused, expression shuttered. “And then I met you, and you were even more incredible in person. I never had any intention of sleeping with you. But that night we finally met in New York I knew I’d never meet anyone like you again. You were…perfect.”

Her eyes burned. She ground her teeth together. She wanted her sunglasses, needed her sunglasses, needed to cover her face because she felt completely exposed. “So perfect you left me when I told you how much I loved you.”

“No. So perfect I knew you would be much better off without me.”

“That’s bullshit.” Anger rushed through her. Anger and hurt and defiance. “That’s a cop-out. You don’t care for someone and then push them away because they’re what…perfect? Christ, Maximos! You broke my heart. You broke me. Why? Because I was so perfect?”

She walked away from him as fast as she could before the tears could have a chance to well up. She wasn’t going to fall apart, not now, not any more.

Maximos was one of those men who for whatever reason couldn’t commit. One of those men who loved but was afraid to risk, afraid of being hurt. He was the kind of man who’d always find a reason why things couldn’t work out.

She didn’t want that, didn’t need that.

And all of a sudden she understood. All of a sudden she knew.

It was so simple. It made so much sense.

She’d only come here this weekend to prove a point. Not to him. But to herself. Her. Oh my God. How ridiculous was that?

Cass dragged a hand through her hair, shocked. She’d come to Sicily determined to get Maximos back, determined to win him over despite the hurt, the rejection, the pain because she needed to prove she was lovable.

She needed to prove she wasn’t easy to forget.

Needing to prove she wasn’t her mother, and wasn’t going to be left like her mother, and wouldn’t be destroyed the way her father had broken her mother, or misled by her mother’s lover who behaved as if he were single but actually had a family stashed away elsewhere…

Cass, the pragmatic kid who’d taken charge of her mother’s shattered world, who believed she’d be smarter than her mother, and stronger, had in the end been her mother. In love. Out of love.

She’d picked a man that was nothing short of unavailable—and maybe he wasn’t married like her mother’s lover, Edward—but here she was, trying to make Maximos want her…need her…love her…even when it was obvious he couldn’t.