by Abby Green
She had stood up too, quiveringly angry. She’d spat at him, ‘It’s over because you want that tart of a housekeeper? Is that why you’ve refused to sleep with me?’ Before he could answer she’d said, ‘You don’t get it, do you? You can have me and still have her. That’s how it’s done. I would only expect discretion. You can sleep with who you want while we maintain the façade of a happy marriage.’
She had articulated exactly what he’d set out to achieve by wooing her into marriage, and suddenly Rocco had recoiled from her words as if they were poisonous. Tight-lipped, he’d said, ‘Get out. I’ve changed my mind.’
Honora had just shaken her head, eyes as cold as ice and full of malicious pity. ‘You won’t get another chance like this.’
He’d all but snarled at her, ‘I’ll make my chances—just as I’ve always done. Now, what I’d like you to do first is apologise to Gracie for your rudeness and then leave.’
She’d thrown her head back and laughed. And then she’d walked out, slamming the door behind her.
Now, in the early-morning light, Rocco could hardly believe that he’d so spectacularly ruined his reputation in one fell swoop. He knew someone like Honora Winthrop would waste no time in spreading the word, along with half a dozen untruths, so that her own reputation wasn’t damaged. He wouldn’t get so close to a society darling again for a long time. They were a closely knit clique. And yet he couldn’t seem to drum up any urgency to want to rectify the situation. Not when he was looking at the woman on the bed, sprawled in voluptuous abandon, with the marks of their passionate lovemaking on her delicately pale skin.
Wild red curls and waves rippled around her head across the stark white pillow. One long curl twisted enticingly down over her breast, kissing the tempting curve. Rocco’s body was already hard. All it took was a look, or the memory of what it was like to surge into her tight, hot embrace.
He couldn’t remember if he’d ever been with a lover so responsive and generous. He prided himself on being a virile, sensual man, and he enjoyed sex, but his experiences in recent years had all been … restrained. He’d found it easy not to lose control.
But all that had changed with Gracie. He cringed inwardly now to remember how he’d swept the things off the table in the kitchen so that he could take her there, as if he was some out of control rutting animal. And yet … she’d loved it. She’d splintered apart around him like his most secret erotic fantasy.
It was as if he’d been merely existing for a long time, and something or someone had woken him from a trance. Colours were more vivid, sounds sharper. Something fundamental in his beliefs about this woman had shifted last night when he’d seen how hard she’d worked to put together that beautiful meal. And when he’d seen the genuine hurt in her eyes at how she’d been spoken to. The fierce pride in her expression.
She’d spent the bare minimum on his credit card for the food. George had handed it back to him with an explicit look when he’d come back to the apartment before dinner, as if to say, See? She’s not like the rest. And the assertion struck Rocco again that she didn’t have anything to do with her brother’s machinations. Even so—the voice of reason intruded—she was loyal to her brother, and that alone meant he couldn’t fully trust her.
Rocco could feel the dominant part of himself that had struggled for so long to survive and attain his position try to assert itself. How could he be jeopardising so much, so easily, just for a woman? All his life he’d wanted to distance himself from drama and passion. Chaos and violence. The life he lived now was the absolute antithesis of that. And he was considering diving back into it with Gracie?
Yet surely all was not lost? He could have Gracie O’Brien, and when this desire burnt itself out—as it always did—he would gather around the structures of his life again and ensure his precious status once more.
He smiled cynically. Despite Honora Winthrop’s dire warning, he knew money could buy anything, and ultimately one of those women wouldn’t be able to resist if he wanted to enter into their protected society via marriage. Ever since that day in Italy when he’d been spat at and ignored by his own blood family in the street, and he’d watched them walk away, immune and protected by their status, he’d craved that protection. That security. And he could not lose sight of that now, when he had it in the palm of his hand.
He could have it all, including Gracie, and he intended to.
Rocco walked back over to the bed and sat down, smiling when he saw a small frown pleat the smooth skin between her eyes. Her mouth was in a delicious moue, still a little swollen. He bent and pressed a kiss there and her eyes opened.
He drew back for a moment, to see her looking at him with those wide, serious and wary eyes. Then she just said, ‘Hi,’ with a husky voice.
It was so simple and lacking in artifice that something turned over in Rocco’s chest. All his recent assertions suddenly felt very flimsy, and to avoid looking at why he just bent his head and kissed Gracie until she was breathless and arching her body into him and he lost himself in the bliss of her again.
When Gracie woke she blinked and squinted against the sun streaming into the bedroom. Rocco’s bedroom. As realisation sank in she squeezed her eyes tightly shut and groaned softly. And then she registered that she was naked and half uncovered. She scrabbled around for the sheet and pulled it right up over herself, and then peeped out to look around the room, trying to ignore the ache between her legs and in every muscle of her body.
The room was empty. All was still and quiet. She looked at the bedside clock and saw that it was one pm. With a squeal she sat up. And then lay back down again when she felt dizzy. Images started to flood her head. The endless night of being entangled with Rocco. His powerful body surging into hers over and over again, until she’d been weeping from an overdose of pleasure.
And then that morning, as dawn had broken outside, she’d woken to find him sitting there, just looking at her with such an intense expression, eyes dark. And he’d kissed her, and it had started all over again. Her body had been sensitive, but Gracie had loved the feel of Rocco moving so urgently within her.
But now when she moved a leg she winced. Sitting up again, Gracie cautiously got out of the bed, hugging the sheet around her, and went into the bathroom. Rocco’s used towels lay on the floor and over the sink. His distinctive smell made her reel with a fresh onslaught of memories.
Gracie’s brain shied away from trying to figure out how she could have given herself so freely to someone like him. He not only didn’t trust her—he was a world away from her world. She came from an ugly council estate surrounded by grim flats and few opportunities. He came from a country steeped in beauty and undoubtedly from a lineage in which he could list his ancestors back as far as Caesar.
Gracie couldn’t shower in his bathroom now. Not with his scent so fresh and mocking. She got to his bedroom door still with the sheet clasped around her and opened it quietly, half terrified she’d see him on the other side. No one was there. Gracie hurried back to her own room and shut and locked the door behind her.
And then she dived into her shower and scrubbed herself until her skin felt raw and sore muscles finally relaxed back to some semblance of normality. When she got out she dressed in loose pants and a shirt, as covered up as she could be. She tied her hair back into a ponytail.
When she opened her bedroom door she heard a noise coming from the kitchen and heat flooded her face when she thought of the carnage they’d left behind them. Her dress ripped open from neck to hem! Her discarded knickers!
Gracie imagined huge George in the middle of it, looking around with a scandalised expression, and with her face flaming she rushed to the kitchen. But the sight that greeted her was so unexpected that she stumbled to a halt. A small woman was mopping the floor, and the kitchen reflected nothing of the previous day or evening. Everything was tidied away, and fresh flowers stood on the table where Rocco and she had—
‘You must be Gracie.’
Gracie looke
d stupidly at the middle-aged woman who was smiling and coming towards her with an outstretched hand.
Numbly Gracie shook her hand and nodded. ‘Yes … I’m Gracie. I’m sorry, but … who are you?’
The woman smiled broadly. ‘I’m Mrs Jones. I’ve been retained by Mr de Marco as his new housekeeper subject to a month’s trial period.’ She leaned on her mop and said conspiratorially, ‘I’ve only just started back working full-time now that the kids are in college, so I don’t know how it’ll suit, but he seems nice …’
Gracie thought a little hysterically how nice didn’t do him justice, and just looked at the woman who was chattering away as if nothing was wrong. If this woman was now the housekeeper, then what on earth was she?
‘Are you all right, love?’
Gracie’s focus came back to the housekeeper. Vaguely she nodded. ‘Is George outside?’
The woman’s eyes grew round. ‘Is he the big man?’
Gracie nodded again and backed away, saying something about it being nice to meet her. She went out of the apartment to see George calmly reading a paper. He looked up and smiled. Gracie looked at him suspiciously. He didn’t appear to be traumatised by anything he’d seen. Perhaps he’d not been into the kitchen?
She took a shaky breath. ‘Do you know where Mr de Marco is?’
George frowned. ‘He should be in his office. He went there a couple of hours ago, just after the new housekeeper arrived.’
Gracie nodded and made for the lift. She stopped when George called her name gently and turned around to follow his gaze—which was on her feet. Her bare feet. Smiling weakly, she went back inside to get some shoes.
Rocco was standing at his window. He ran a hand around the back of his neck. He couldn’t ignore the steady hum of pleasure in his body, as if he’d just gorged on a feast. He grimaced. He had. A feast of Gracie.
His skin tightened imperceptibly and he stilled. He recognised instantly when the energy around the office changed. Slowly he turned around to see a pale-looking Gracie, covered from neck to toe in loose drab clothes, heading for his office. Her hair was tied back, making her look young. His gaze narrowed on her and with fatal predictability his body reacted. He regretted the countless glass windows and lack of privacy even more. And then his conscience struck him as he had a lurid image of what he’d like to do to her in his office. Gracie must be sore. She was so much smaller than him and she’d been so tight …
And yet she’d met him head-on every time, until exhaustion had finally claimed them both.
Gracie was almost at the door, her dark eyes on him with unwavering intensity in an unsmiling face. This was so far removed from any other morning-after situation he’d been in it was almost funny. But Rocco wasn’t laughing when she walked in.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘WHAT’S going on?’ Gracie’s arms were folded, as if that could help protect her from the sheer animal appeal of the man standing just a few feet away. Her body was betraying her, going into full on readiness mode. Nipples peaking, stomach tightening, and down below, between her legs …
‘What are you talking about?’
Gracie willed her body to calm down and said tightly, ‘I met the new housekeeper. So what does that make me?’
Rocco’s hands were in his pockets. He wasn’t wearing a jacket, just a shirt and tie, and he looked magnificent with the sun streaming in behind him, highlighting the broadness of his physique. His shirt was so finely made that she could see the dark hue of his skin and the delineated muscles.
He came around his desk then and perched on the corner, hands still in his pockets. For a moment Gracie had a rush of imagining that he had done that to stop himself from reaching for her, and cursed her runaway imagination.
‘I hired Mrs Jones because I don’t want you doing any more housework.’
Gracie injected false brightness into her voice. ‘So I’m free to go?’
He shook his head, a glint in his eye. ‘Not a chance. You’ve never been less free.’ There was a thrilling edge to his voice that made Gracie shiver and feel intense self-disgust at the same time.
‘So … what? I’ve been promoted? To your bed?’ She tried to make herself sound disgusted and scathing, but the words came out breathy.
A tiny smile turned up the corner of Rocco’s mouth. ‘Yes, you’ve been promoted to my bed. I like the sound of that.’
Feeling incredibly crabby all of a sudden, Gracie blurted out, ‘Well, I don’t. I’m not just a convenient plaything, you know.’
His mouth quirked. ‘I am well aware of that. You’re like a very volatile explosive substance mixed with the charm of a kitten and the claws of a big cat.’
Gracie blinked at him and said truthfully, ‘I don’t know if that’s a compliment or an insult.’
‘Oh, it’s a compliment, believe me.’ He stood up and came closer. Gracie’s breath hitched. He cast a quick expressive glance either side of his office. ‘You were right, you know … about the glass. It’s so that I can see everyone at all times. It makes me nervous not to know who’s coming or what’s happening. But for once I wish I had blinds—or tinted windows.’
Gracie’s throat went dry. She was mesmerised by the look in his eyes.
His voice was low and intimate, distracting Gracie from dwelling on his enigmatic words or their meaning. ‘I’d lock the door so that I could take your hand and lead you over to the sofa. I’d pull you down and take off your top so that I could touch and taste your breasts. Then I would move my hand down, underneath the flimsy elastic of your trousers to your knickers. I would keep going until I could feel your soft curls. I wonder if they’re already moistened—’
‘Stop it!’ Gracie all but hissed, arms clenched so tight across her chest that it was hard to breathe. She was sweating now, her heart beating rapidly, and down below … Lord, she wanted Rocco to pick her up and spread her across his desk the way he had in the kitchen last night.
She cast a quick mortified glance left and right. All she saw were bent industrious heads. She looked back to Rocco and felt dizzy. To anyone observing from the outside all they’d see was Rocco with his hands in his pockets, talking to the strange nondescript girl who’d suddenly started working for him.
But then Gracie looked down on an impulse and saw where his trousers were barely confining the truth of their conversation. She went puce.
In some pathetic effort to redirect the conversation she avoided Rocco’s eye and asked, ‘The kitchen … this morning … did Mrs Jones …?’
She couldn’t finish—too mortified when she could see the carnage in her mind’s eye again. She felt a finger come to her chin and Rocco tipped her face up. He’d moved closer, and she could smell heat and sex and lust. Her belly clenched tight with anticipation.
He shook his head. ‘No. I cleared it up.’
Relief flooded Gracie even as she registered surprise. She said faintly, ‘Somehow I can’t see that happening.’
Rocco let her chin go and smiled dryly. ‘I can pick things off the floor, you know. I’m not completely helpless.’
Gracie shivered. He wasn’t helpless at all. He was like some magnificent urban animal. And then she thought of him picking up her knickers, and that dress that he’d ripped apart with his bare hands. With a muffled groan Gracie turned away to leave. Her head was churning, trying to make sense of where she stood now with Steven and everything, but she couldn’t think when she was within three feet of this man.
She stopped when she heard Rocco say from behind her, ‘Wait.’
Reluctantly she turned around again. He was standing behind his desk. She breathed a little easier.
‘Do you have an up-to-date passport?’
She nodded, wondering where this was going.
‘Good. In that case we’re leaving this afternoon for Thailand for two days, and from there we’ll go to New York for a couple of days.’
Gracie could hardly believe her ears. She shook her head slightly. ‘Thailand?’
&nb
sp; ‘It’s a country in South-East Asia.’
‘I know that,’ she said impatiently, too afraid to believe this for a second. It had to be a joke. ‘But … why?’
‘Because I have to go on business and I want you to come with me.’
Her heart was thumping like a piston. ‘As … what, exactly?’
He put his hands on his desk, spread wide. A feral look was in his eye and he smiled the smile of a consummate seducer. ‘As my lover, of course.’
Gracie was still in a mild state of shock hours later, when she was in the back of Rocco’s car with his long legs spread out beside her. She was clutching her passport in her hands and staring out of the window as London whizzed past and they entered countryside. Rocco’s jet was at a private airfield. Private jet. Gracie felt a bubble of hysteria rising.
Suddenly her passport was taken out of her hands. Her head snapped around. ‘Hey!’
She’d been avoiding looking at Rocco since he’d arrived back at the apartment to pick her up. He’d given her a scathing look up and down and muttered something about suitable clothes before making a call on his phone. Then he’d hustled her out of the apartment, leaving George behind, and into his car. And now he was perusing her passport. He looked up with an arched brow. ‘You haven’t travelled much?’
Gracie grabbed for her passport but Rocco held it aloft, and the motion of the car made her land awkwardly against his rock-hard torso. Cheeks flaming, Gracie scrabbled back, but Rocco snaked out an arm and captured her, holding her against him easily. Her breasts were crushed against him and her nipples were already peaking into tight stinging points.
Their faces were so close that Gracie could feel his warm breath. Her gaze slid to his mouth. She ached to touch it, to trace it with her finger. To feel the cushiony firmness.
Rocco’s arm moved up and his hand speared into her hair, cradling the back of her head. ‘Gracie …’ he said roughly.
She ached for him to kiss her. The tension had been spiralling through her since she’d woken that morning, aching for him to touch her again. And she’d been in a state of near arousal since his provocative words in his office.