He opened the door with his free hand and looked at her. Deliberately slowly he released her arm and raised his eyebrows.
Her choice?
What choice did she have, really? Going back to Logan’s wasn’t an option. Her pride wouldn’t let her. She had no one else to call on.
So she moved. Two seconds later he climbed in beside her and leaned forward to give the driver directions.
“You’re taking me to your hotel?” She scrunched her cold toes up in her boots. Don’t get excited about that.
He turned his head towards her. His dark eyes were utterly unreadable in the dimly lit backseat. “Just for the one night.”
One night.
She released her caught breath. Okay. Good. She wouldn’t accept any help beyond that anyway. She’d sleep in one of his hotel rooms and would go to the bank as soon as it opened tomorrow. Then she’d figure out another destination.
She frowned as Rocco pulled his phone from his pocket. “Don’t tell Logan where you’re taking me—”
“I have to let him know you’re okay. Otherwise he’ll call in the mercenary rather than me to find you.”
He wasn’t joking.
“Why didn’t he call Hunter?” Dani asked.
Logan’s other BFF was aptly named. Dani had never quite known exactly what it was that Hunter did, something in personal security. She’d always figured he was a spy.
“He’s not currently in range.” Rocco answered, frowning at his screen. “On a mission somewhere.”
Bingo. Spy status confirmed.
“What about Xander?”
Rocco, Xander and Hunter were the three best friends of her brothers Connor and Logan. Together they formed an infamous five—hotelier, security specialists, CEO and ski-star turned male model. Devastating chick-bait, the lot of them. But of the three friends, only one interested Dani.
“He’s taken Chelsea to The Museum of Underwater Art in Mexico.” Rocco shoved his phone back into his coat pocket with a jerky movement and turned that obsidian glare on her. “I guess the minion will have to do.”
“I guess so,” she mumbled.
She wished he really would do. Everything.
But it wasn’t going to happen.
The darkness settled in on them as day became night in that fast way of winter. Silence settled too.
She curled up in her corner of the taxi, growing curious about his hotel—the ‘so-hot-right-now’ haunt of celebs and sports stars. Doubtless once they got there he’d install her in some impersonal suite where she’d be safe for the night and be out of harm’s way. His way. Everyone’s way. Conveniently discarded for the evening.
It might be what she deserved, but she was so sick of that.
She had one night in Manhattan. One night with the city’s most eligible bachelor as her guide. The one guy she’d been dreaming about for ever. This was her one chance. And even though she knew there was no chance... she had to try, right?
“So, my minion.” She turned her head, smiled and asked as innocently as she could. “What are we going to do?”
Chapter Two
WHAT WERE THEY going to do? Rocco stared at her in horror as his brain unhelpfully supplied a billion inappropriate ideas.
“Nothing,” he answered abruptly. Not. A. Thing.
“Oh.”
He turned away from the disappointment that briefly flashed on her face before she schooled it into that faux-polite, distant expression. He was not going to feel guilty. He was not her fucking minion. Never would be.
“I’ve not been in Manhattan for ages,” she said softy, sadly. “But it doesn’t matter.”
He gritted his teeth. Not going to fall for the disappointed spoilt schoolgirl act. Except he knew she wasn’t that spoilt. And she wasn’t a schoolgirl anymore.
Varsity girl, fool. Not that much of an improvement.
Still too fucking young.
He rolled his shoulders and wished he could take his coat off but he was hoping they’d be at the hotel soon enough. He glanced out the window. Freaking taxi was moving slower than a slug over broken glass. There was too much traffic. It would’ve been faster to keep walking but it was too cold out there for her.
However he needed the frigid wind to keep his head. That’s why he’d taken so long following her before saying anything. He’d needed to cool down from listening to Logan shout at her like that, and to temper his own response to seeing her again.
Danielle Hughes was too pretty for her own good.
“You sure you have room at your hotel?” Her voice had more of an edge as she asked. “I heard it was booked out months in advance. Very popular.”
He longed to put her in one of the suites far, far away from his. He wanted floors between them. As much distance as possible.
Except he didn’t trust her. Couldn’t. She ran away at every opportunity.
Not that he blamed her. Her father was a bastard of the highest order. Rocco had witnessed the callous way he’d treated his sons and he knew it from personal experience. The old man would do anything to get his own way.
But she was right. The hotel was very popular. Held the highest occupancy rates in the city. Right now it was full.
He allowed himself the merest glance at her. “I can work something out.”
She was looking directly at him. Her blue eyes were shadowed but he saw the glint of some kind of fire in them. He figured it was resentment. He hoped it was resentment.
“Sorry to cause you trouble.”
Yep, resentment. She couldn’t have sounded less sincere.
His heart thudded uncomfortably hard. He shifted imperceptibly, trying to relax. He wasn’t old enough to have a heart attack, yet here he was feeling hot, tight in the chest and unable to breathe.
He needed fresh air. Or a barrel of ice to jump into.
Logan had warned that Dani would give him nothing but trouble when he’d offered to go after her. But the trouble wasn’t the kind Logan had been thinking of. And it was a good thing Logan had no idea of the thoughts spinning in Rocco’s head. No idea what an exercise in self-restraint this was.
Rocco had avoided looking too closely at Danielle Hughes since she’d gone from being a barely there ghost of a girl, into a sultry in-your-face teen. Fortunately she’d been packed off to boarding school for years, so she’d been away most of the time when he’d slaved his way through every menial job going at the Hughes’ Summerhill resort until he’d gotten the skills and saved the funds he needed.
He rarely went back to the ski town now. Sure as hell didn’t go near the award-winning restaurant that still bore his father’s name. His name.
And Dani had waitressed there? Had taken orders from the man who’d destroyed Rocco’s childhood?
The thought her being anywhere near Bill infuriated him. And that she’d seen and spoken with his mom? The half brothers he hardly knew?
He couldn’t think about it. Wouldn’t ask her how they were. What they were like.
He didn’t want to know. Ever.
But a few nights ago he’d had to return to the Hughes’ resort—to support Logan and Connor. Dani had sashayed into that gruesome anniversary party for her parents wearing a sapphire dress that fell to the floor in a clinging swathe of liquid-looking material. Single-handedly she’d sent the temperature in the arctic atmosphere soaring. Rocco had made the mistake of looking for too long. For one heady moment, she’d looked back.
Then Rocco had remembered just why he didn’t look.
Her brothers. His best friends. Loyalty.
Today her stunning form was encased in black skinny jeans, a sleek black sweater and a denim jacket that was too light for this weather.
Not that Rocco was looking any lower than her eyes now. Not noticing her full mouth or her luminous creamy skin. Definitely not noticing her curves that made his hands tingle with the urge to caress.
No. He wasn’t noticing any of that. Just as he’d never noticed those things about her. He refused.
>
Because Danielle Hughes was little more than a kid. She was the baby sister of his two best friends. The guys he owed. The guys who were the only thing resembling family that he still had. He’d do anything for them. Never do anything to hurt them.
So he was fixing his gaze on her eyes only.
Trouble was, her eyes were a deep, beautiful, bruised blue. Yeah, that’s why he’d had to walk in the other direction at the party the other night. It wasn’t her body that had done him in, it was the look in her eyes.
He knew that look and it wasn’t all resentment.
Damn Hunter for being away this week. Damn Xander for being too busy with his woman.
Damn Logan for accepting Rocco’s stupid offer—that he’d take care of her?
One night. Surely he was man enough to handle that. One night, then he’d send her home.
And he was not going to feel bad about it.
The taxi finally pulled over to the curb, out the window he saw the familiar lights of his hotel. He opened the door and inhaled like he’d been suffocated for the last century. Cold air cut into his lungs. The rest of him still burned.
He strode through reception, shrugging off his coat as he walked. Irritated, he watched her walk alongside him, her interest in the decor obvious. He was stupidly curious about her reaction—did she like the style of the place? People either did or didn’t. With one look at the decor, you knew you were at The Trove, which was just as he wanted it. Unique.
He wanted her to like it.
He ignored the outrageously curious glances of his staff. Yeah. The only private guests he brought to the hotel were the guys. Hunter, Xander, Logan. Connor on the rare occasions he was in town. No family. No lovers. No exceptions.
Only now Dani was here, striding alongside him, her nose in the air, her attitude all but bouncing off the walls. And while he didn’t ordinarily give a monkey’s about gossip among the staff, he’d be sure to let it get out that she was a young relative staying. A cousin. For her sake, right?
Okay. To remind himself. She was untouchable.
She said nothing as he punched in the code enabling him to override the elevator’s security function. He clenched his fists as he was forced into too small a space with her again. Her fragrance was too tempting—light, soft, mouth-watering.
As soon as the doors slid open on the fourth floor he stepped out, walking to the end of the corridor. He punched another code and opened the last door in the line. Then he stepped back to let her go through first and braced himself.
It took only a few seconds for her to cast her intelligent, assessing glance around and realize the truth.
“This unit is occupied.” Standing smack in the center of the room, she faced him off. “It’s yours.” She jammed her hands on her hips and glared at him. “I’m not staying here.”
Rocco refused to let his temper ignite. As it was he was too tempted to physically restrain her and touching her again was not, repeat not, an option. He’d play it light. “Why not?”
She marched over to the open doorway on the far side of the room and peeked through. When she turned back, her skin was scarlet. “There’s only one bedroom.”
Yeah there was that slight flaw in the plan. He’d taken the smallest suite available in the place. One single bedroom, one bathroom, one living room. But it was sensible business practice to have his customers pay for the best space and not hog it himself. He didn’t need it.
“I’ll take the sofa in here.” He tossed his coat over the back of a chair and rolled up his shirt-sleeves, still steaming. “And just so you know, I sleep light. You won’t get past me in the middle of the night.”
Her gaze seemed fixed on his forearms. “You think I’m going to run away?”
He snorted. “You’ve run away from two different locations in the last forty-eight hours. Baby, you got form.”
“Don’t call me baby.” She shot him a death look and started prowling round the edge of the room, like a cornered kitty seeking an escape.
He’d called her that to remind himself he was nine years older than her.
Visibly uptight she inspected the room. He watched her glower at the half-drunk coffee he’d left next to the spread paper on the small countertop. As she paced, her glance darted to his computer running on the desk in the farthest corner, to the painting above it, to the dining table, to the window, to the sofa. Her restlessness stirred a matching response in him.
The suite was too fucking small.
“So you’re going to be my jailer?” She finally looked back at him.
Rocco tensed. He didn’t like that look. Or that tone. She was taunting him?
“Not what you’re used to, Princess?” he asked, determined to keep his humor. Or at least pretend to. “The thought of not having your own palace bothering you?”
“You know I’m not a princess. I’m used to a single cell in a school or university lodge and this is way more fancy than that.” She ran a finger along the frame of the painting on the wall. “Even if it is a little... impersonal.”
“It suits my needs,” he said gruffly, annoyed that her judgment pricked under his skin.
He had very few needs. He’d learned early on that there was a lot he could live without. He’d had to. And he’d discovered he liked it simple. Everything was easiest that way.
“It’s boring.” She walked over to the counter and disdainfully flicked over a couple of pages of the newspaper.
“Maybe I’m boring.” And he didn’t give a damn what she thought of him.
Why was she so restless? Why wasn’t she looking at him? Why did he give a rat’s ass?
But to his surprise she laughed. A little, low, bitter laugh. “You could never be boring.”
She glanced over her shoulder, caught his gaze. Imprisoned it—him, in that sea of blue.
Heat washed over him, lighting a suspicion he couldn’t believe. Refused to.
But he couldn’t resist the urge to move closer. It was like she was the burning flame and he the very stupid, blinded moth.
He saw her touch her tongue lightly to her lips, like they were dry. He saw how her pupils dilated as he neared. Could be from fear, sure. But he knew it wasn’t. He knew that look. He felt it. The heat in his gut consumed him, driving him forward.
“What are you doing?” she asked as he breached her personal space. She spun round so her back was to the steel counter. She was facing him. Staring at him.
The princess had nowhere to run. Good.
“Look at me,” he said.
He needed to see that expression again. Confirmation.
“I am.” But she wasn’t looking at his eyes.
Fuck. Every muscle within him tightened. Rocco couldn’t believe it. Nor could he walk away. He leaned in.
“No, look here.” He pointed to his eyes.
She lifted her lashes, dragging her gaze from his abs all the way to his eyes. She lingered along the way, taking in his tight nipples, his shoulders, his throat, his jaw. Defiance shone from the sparkling blue. Defiance and something else. Something very particular.
“There’s no need to stand so close,” she whispered.
“No?” he mocked. She was both right and wrong. “You want me to step away?”
Her glance raked down his chest again. Damn if he didn’t want to suck in his abs and preen. And seeing that heat? That giveaway reaction? That blatant hunger?
Shocked, but reckless, he pushed. “Or do you want me to step closer still?”
This was so wrong but he ached to know. Ached to hear her say it. It was the only idea filling his head.
“I…” she swallowed, licked her lips again. “What do you mean?”
He leaned closer, not enough to touch, but so he could watch every tiny reaction in her eyes, could see the color bloom in her cheeks, could hear the hitch in her breathing. “You want me.”
“What?”
He’d laugh if he weren’t so strung out. She was all outraged indignation. But there was t
hat breathlessness, that blush, those blue eyes ultra wide.
And this close he could see it—she was almost shaking.
Not fear. Everything but fear.
There was no going back now. This was everything he hadn’t wanted. And yet he did. He wanted her answer—her honest answer—more than he’d wanted anything in his life.
But then, he wanted Danielle Hughes herself more than he’d wanted anything in his life.
“You want me,” he repeated. “That’s why you’re weird about staying in my room. Because you’re hot for me.”
“That’s some ego you’ve got.” Her voice was a thin, cracked version of its usual volume.
Every sinful thought he’d been holding at bay surged into his head in the one second. All the things he’d do and say, the way he’d hold her, the way he imagined she’d feel…
Jeez. He was fucked. He pushed his palms into the counter either side of her waist. Fighting for control. For cool. He couldn’t let this happen.
Because Danielle Hughes was the absolute definition of forbidden.
“Maybe,” he muttered. “But I’m right.”
He knew it, right in his bones. Her blush was now a nice match for the scarlet cushion decorating the sofa. But her eyes held that hunger, that heat. They raked over him again as she stood silent, her chin tilted at that daring angle.
He tensed, barely holding back from smashing his mouth on hers. He craved it. He wanted to thrust inside her mouth, to taste, tease, torment the way she freaking tormented him just by being. He wanted to make her sigh. Make her speak.
Make her scream.
“Danielle?” For a moment he didn’t know what he was asking.
He blinked, pulled back, pretty sure his wants had been written all over his face. It didn’t help that he had a hard-on the size of Jupiter to go with it. And she’d snatched a quick glance at his pants a second ago. And yeah, even though they were a relaxed fit, there’d be no mistaking the bulge.
So he might as well go all out honest. He was that desperate to hear her say it.
“Would it help if I admit I’m hot for you too?” he said, throat scratchy.
She actually trembled. For a sliver of a second he saw the tremor run through her. Then she stilled—with effort.
Bared for Me Page 2