The Legend of de Marco (3 page)

Before she knew what was happening Rocco was right in front of her, hauling her out of the chair. Amidst her confusion and shock Gracie was aware of the fact that his touch on her arms was light, almost gentle this time. The contrast of that touch to the fierce energy crackling around them made her even more confused. But he was squatting at her feet now, running big hands up her legs.

It took a second for the fact to register that he was frisking her. His hands were now creeping up the insides of her
legs. She reacted violently, jerking away, hands slapping everywhere, catching Rocco’s silky head. He cursed and stood up, catching hold of her arms again with his hands. This time he wasn’t gentle.

‘You little wildcat. Hold still.’

Holding her captive with one hand, he quickly delved into her pockets with his free one and turned them out. The speed with which he moved made Gracie feel dizzy. Soon she was standing there with the linings of pockets sticking out and the disconcerting feeling of his hands probing close to her skin.

This time when she jerked back he let go, and she almost stumbled. She felt violated—but not in the way she should have. It was in some illicitly thrilling way.

‘You …’ she spluttered. ‘I’d prefer to be dragged down to the police station than have your hands mauling me.’ A sudden realisation sliced through the frantic pulse in her blood and she asked faintly, ‘
Have
you called the police?’

Rocco stood back. His face was flushed. With anger, Gracie had to assume, not liking the way her blood pooled heavily between her legs even as she struggled to concentrate. He had gone very still.

He shook his head and with clear reluctance admitted, ‘I haven’t called the police because I don’t want the news that I employed a rogue trader to get out. It could ruin my reputation. Image and trust are everything in this game. If my clients knew I’d jeopardised their precious investments I’d be finished within days as rumour and innuendo spread.’

For a second Gracie felt nothing but abject relief flowing into her veins, but the cruel smile on Rocco’s face made her blood run cold again.

‘Don’t assume for one second that not calling the police gives your lover a reprieve. Do you think an overworked
police force or a fraud squad can be bothered looking for one man?’ He shook his head and crossed his arms. ‘I have people looking for Steven right now, and they have infinitely more sophisticated resources at their disposal. It’s only a matter of time.’

Fear constricted Gracie. ‘What’ll happen to him?’

Rocco’s face was hard. ‘
After
he’s returned every cent of the money? Then I will blacklist him from every financial institution in the world and hand him over to the fraud squad whilst protecting my own anonymity. He could be looking at ten years in jail. I have used my own money to bridge the gap caused by his stolen funds. He owes me personally now.’

Gracie felt weak. She groped to find the chair behind her and sat down heavily. Her brother would never survive another day in jail. He’d told her fervently when he’d got out that he would prefer to die than end up there again.

Rocco frowned. For the first time this evening he could swear the woman in front of him wasn’t acting. She looked like a car crash victim. He had to resist the urge to ask if she wanted a drink.

She was looking at the ground. Not at him. Rocco wanted to go to her and tip her chin up. He didn’t like how disconcerted he felt not being able to look into her eyes. And then she did look up, and her eyes were like two huge dark pools, made even darker against the sudden pallor of her skin.

She opened her mouth. He could see her throat work. She shook her head and finally said, ‘I can’t … I can’t lie to you. This is too serious. I haven’t told you the truth about Steven.’

Rocco felt the hardness return. He ruthlessly pushed down the weakness which had invaded him for a moment.

‘I’m getting bored waiting for it. You have one minute to speak or I
will
hand you over to the police as an accomplice and deal with the consequences.’

Gracie’s head was too tangled up with fear and shock for her even to try and persist in making Rocco de Marco believe she wasn’t related to Steven. His casual mention of jail had decimated her defences completely. Any faint hope she’d been clinging onto that there must be some kind of mistake had also gone. Gracie knew with a defeated feeling that Steven wouldn’t have run if it wasn’t true. He must have been trying to play for stakes way outside his league. Was that why he’d gone for the job in the first—?

‘Gracie!’

Her feverish thoughts stuttered to a stop and she looked up at Rocco. Her name on his lips did funny things to her insides. For a moment she’d forgotten she was under his intense scrutiny. Illicit heat snaked through her abdomen, and in the midst of her turmoil she couldn’t believe he was affecting her so easily.

Taking a deep breath, she stood up, her legs wobbling slightly. ‘Steven is not my lover and I’m not his accomplice … He’s my brother.’

‘Go on.’

Rocco’s voice could have sliced through steel. He’d crossed his arms again and her gaze skittered over those bunched muscles.

Gracie shrugged minutely, unaware of how huge her eyes looked in her small face.

‘That’s it. He’s my brother and I’m worried about him. I was looking for him.’ She wasn’t sure why, but she didn’t want to let Rocco know that he was her
twin
brother. That information suddenly felt very intimate.

Rocco’s jaw clenched, and then he said slowly, ‘You
expect me to believe that? After everything I’ve just witnessed and after I saw you at the benefit last week? You were both cooking up this plan together.’

Gracie shook her head. ‘No. It wasn’t like that, I swear. I only went with Steven because—’ She stopped. She couldn’t explain about her brother’s inherent insecurity and how badly he needed to fit in. And also she’d realised now why he’d been so abnormally anxious for the past few weeks—way more than she would have expected for new job nerves. She felt sick.

Rocco filled in the silence, ‘Because you and he had a grand plan to do some inside trading and make yourselves a million euros without anyone noticing.’ He emitted a curt laugh. ‘For God’s sake, you couldn’t even help yourself stealing food from the buffet!’

Gracie flushed bright red. ‘I took that food for my next-door neighbour. She’s old and Polish, and always talks about when she used to be rich and go to balls in Poland. I thought they would be a nice treat for her.’

This time Rocco did laugh out loud, head thrown back, exposing his strong throat. Gracie burned with humiliation, her disadvantaged upbringing stinging like an invisible tattoo on her skin.

Rocco finally stopped laughing and speared her with those dark eyes again. Gracie fought not to let him see how much he affected her. It scared her, because ever since her mother had left them, and then their nan had turned her back on them, leaving them to the mercy of Social Services, Gracie had allowed very few people close enough to affect her—apart from her brother.

Becoming slightly desperate, she flung out a hand. ‘I barely passed my O-level Maths. I wouldn’t know a stock from a share if it jumped up and bit me. Steven is the smart one.’

‘And yet,’ Rocco went on with relentless precision, ‘you were with him last week, flaunting yourself in front of me. You
knew
who I was.’

Gracie sucked in an outraged breath that had a lot to do with the memory of how transfixed she’d been by him that night. ‘I was
not
flaunting myself.
You
came over to
me.
’

At this Rocco de Marco flushed a dull red, and for the first time Gracie had a sense that she’d gained a point. But any sign of discomfiture was quickly erased and his face became a bland mask again. Bland, but simmering—if that was possible.

Quickly, before he could launch another attack, Gracie admitted reluctantly, ‘I was with Steven because he was self-conscious about going alone.’

Rocco’s lip curled. ‘I have yet to believe that you are even Steven Murray’s sister. Why does he have a different surname?’

Gracie shifted uncomfortably and knew she must look pathetically guilty. She looked down. ‘Because … because he fell out with our father and took our mother’s maiden name.’ It wasn’t entirely untrue.

‘Not to mention the fact that you look nothing like him.’

Gracie looked up to see Rocco’s dark gaze travelling up her body, over her chest to her face. She could feel the heat rising. ‘No,’ she snapped. ‘I know I look nothing like him. But not all—’ She stopped abruptly, realising she’d been about to say
twins.
She amended it. ‘Not all families resemble each other. He looks like my mother and I look like my father.’

She crossed her arms too, feeling ridiculously defensive, and knew it was only because for her whole life she’d wondered if she’d looked more like their mother would she
have loved her the way she’d loved Steven? Would she have stayed?

The fact that she’d eventually abandoned them both was little comfort and a constant source of guilt for Gracie. She could still remember the long nights of hugging her brother as he’d cried himself to sleep, wondering where their mother had gone.

For a long time she’d felt it had been
her
fault, because her mother hadn’t wanted her. It was only with age and maturity that she’d realised their mother had had no intention of ever taking Steven—too wrapped up in her own problems and her own dismal world.

After a long moment of glaring at Rocco, Gracie could feel herself sway. Her vision blurred slightly at the edges. Just as she was inwardly cursing her own weakness Rocco emitted something unintelligible and came towards her, putting a big hand on one arm. She stiffened at his touch, hating the incendiary effect he had on her, but at the same time aware of how close she was to collapsing. Like some Victorian heroine in a swoon.
Pathetic.

She tried to pull away, but to no avail.

Rocco said, from far too close, ‘When was the last time you ate, you silly woman?’

This time she did pull free, and glared at him again. ‘I’m
not
a silly woman. I’ve just been … worried. I didn’t think about eating.’

That black gaze swept up and down again and his lip curled. ‘You don’t seem to think about eating a lot.’

He strode away from her and Gracie watched him, half mesmerised by his sheer athletic grace. He flung over his shoulder. ‘There are some instant meals in the fridge. Follow me.’

Gracie felt seriously woozy now. Rocco de Marco was offering her
food
?

She tore her gaze away from six feet four of hard-muscled alpha male and looked to the apartment entrance, beyond which lay the private lift doors. Suddenly the distance to freedom seemed tantalisingly close.

As if he’d read her mind Rocco materialised again a few feet away, with hands on his hips, and said softly, ‘Don’t even think about it. You wouldn’t make it to the next floor before you were returned.’

Her heart stammered as she looked at him. ‘But … I didn’t see anyone.’

Rocco winked at her, but there was no humour on his face. ‘Haven’t you watched any Italian movies? My men are everywhere.’

Gracie tried to reassure herself that he was just joking, but she had the very real sense that if she did try to leave some faceless person
would
materialise and frogmarch her back to Rocco. She knew enough from the streets to know when someone meant business. And Rocco de Marco meant business. She was as captive as if he’d tied her to a chair.

He turned to walk away again and with the utmost reluctance, and yet an illicit excitement fizzing in her blood, she followed him.

It was only when Rocco was pressing the button on the microwave oven that a cold wave of realisation washed over him. What was he
doing
? Feeding the enemy? All because for a moment she’d looked as if she might faint at his feet? Her face had been so pale that it had sent a shard of panic through him, and as much as he wanted to deny it he had to admit that her shock had been almost palpable. And yet every instinct he possessed counselled him not to trust his judgement in this. He’d learnt early how women could manipulate.
He’d seen his mother manipulate her way through life right up until she died.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Rocco willed the image away. His hands clenched on the countertop as he heard Gracie come into the kitchen behind him. Why the hell was he even thinking of that now?

He schooled his features and turned around. Something suspiciously like relief went through him when he saw that her cheeks were a bit pinker. Her big eyes were darting around the vast room and he welcomed the surge of cynicism. No doubt she was already calculating the worth of everything. That was what he would have done. Years ago. Before figuring out what he could take.

The microwave pinged and he turned to take out the ready meal, finding a plate and some cutlery. He all but threw it down in front of her, then gestured to a stool and growled out, ‘You’re my only link to Steven Murray, and if you’re going to lead me to him then I don’t want you fainting away.’

Her eyes flashed at that, and her mouth tightened as if she was about to refuse the food. A shaft of desire he couldn’t control made Rocco clench his hands to fists. He hated her for his arbitrary response.

‘Go on. Eat.’

G
RACIE
chafed at Rocco de Marco’s high-handedness. She hitched up her chin and tried to ignore the tantalising smell of food. Even that alone was making her feel weak again with hunger.

‘Are you going to leave it in front of me until I eat it? Like an autocratic parent?’

Rocco leaned forward on the other side of the counter and Gracie fought not to move back. ‘I’m no parent and I’m no autocrat. Just eat.’

Gracie looked down to escape that blistering gaze and saw creamy mashed potato and what looked like succulent beef pieces in a stew of vegetables. This was no standard ready meal—this was from a fancy deli. Her stomach rumbled and she went puce.

Defiant to the end, even as she gave in and pulled back the covering she said waspishly, ‘I might have been vegetarian, you know.’

She heard a noise that sounded slightly strangled, but wouldn’t look at Rocco for fear of what she might see. She started transferring the food onto the plate, hating being under his watch but too hungry to stop.

After a moment he said, with over-studied politeness, ‘Forgive me for not checking with you first.’

She cast him a quick glance and something in her belly
swooped. He’d been laughing at her. She hurriedly looked away again and concentrated on the food. Once the first succulent morsel of beef hit her mouth she was lost, and devoured the lot like a pauper who hadn’t eaten in weeks.

From out of nowhere a napkin and a glass of water materialised. Gracie wiped her mouth and took a long drink of water. Only then did she dare to look at Rocco again. He was staring at her, transfixed. She immediately felt self-conscious and wiped her mouth again. ‘What? Have I got food somewhere?’

He shook his head. His voice sounded rough. ‘When was the last time you ate?’

For a moment Gracie couldn’t actually recall. She fidgeted with the plate and mumbled, ‘Yesterday … lunchtime.’ But in fact she knew she hadn’t really eaten properly in days.

‘Where do you live?’

Gracie met Rocco’s dark and hard gaze. Something in his demeanour had changed. He was back into questioning mode. And then the full reality of her situation flooded back. She flushed and avoided his eyes. She felt like such a pathetic failure at that moment.

‘Gracie …’ he said warningly, and her insides flipped again at the way he said her name. It felt incredibly intimate.

She looked at him and squared her shoulders. She couldn’t go any lower in his estimation, and perhaps if he knew just how harmless she was he’d let her go?

‘I lived in Bethnal Green until this morning. But I lost my job two days ago and they wouldn’t give me my wages. I couldn’t give my landlord the full rent today, so he suggested I make it up to him in other ways.’

Gracie shuddered reflexively when she remembered his sweaty face, grabbing hands and acrid breath. Before she
knew it Rocco had moved. She felt her right hand being picked up and he was inspecting the grazed and reddened knuckles. She’d forgotten, and winced slightly because they were still tender.

He speared her with a glance, ‘You hit him?’

She shrugged slightly, more mortified than ever now. She hated her instinct to fight. She’d had it ever since someone had picked on Steven when they’d been tiny. ‘He was backing me into a corner. I couldn’t get out.’

Still holding her hand, Rocco said grimly, ‘I suppose I should consider myself lucky you didn’t aim a swing at me too.’

Gracie looked up at his hard jaw and figured she would have broken her hand if she had. He was standing very close now, still cradling her hand. Her belly clenched and a coil of something hot seemed to stretch from her breasts right down to between her legs. And as if on cue she felt a throb, a pulse coming to life.

She pulled her hand away and started babbling. ‘I left my cases at Victoria train station in the left luggage. I should go and get them and find somewhere for the night.’

She was off the stool and backing away now, as if she’d forgotten for a moment why she was there in the first place, suddenly terrified at the weak longing that had sprung up inside her when Rocco had held her hand.

He continued to just look at her with his arms folded. ‘I told you before that you won’t make it to the next floor if you try to leave.’

Panic rose up, constricting Gracie’s voice. ‘You can’t keep me here. That would be kidnap. I only came to Steven’s office to try and find him. That’s
all.
I really don’t have an ulterior motive. I didn’t take anything and I didn’t know about the money.’

Rocco looked at the woman in front of him. Strange
how his entire world had contracted down to her since he’d seen her in the lift. For a second that knowledge threatened to blast something open inside him, but Rocco reminded himself that she was providing him with the key to finding the culprit who’d had the temerity to think he could take advantage of him.

That was why he hadn’t thought about anything else.

It had nothing to do with the fact that just a moment ago, when he’d held her hand in his and seen her bruised knuckles, he’d felt rage within him at the thought of some faceless man threatening her.

To divert his mind away from those provocative thoughts, he asked, ‘Why did you lose your job?’

He could see her hands ball into fists. She was like a glorious feline animal, bristling and lashing out in defence, and a curious weakness invaded his chest. When he’d watched her eating ravenously he’d been mesmerised—first of all because he wasn’t used to seeing women eat like that, and also because it had reminded him of
him.
He would never forget what it was to be hungry.

‘I had issues with some of the customers.’

Rocco arched a brow and welcomed being forced to re-focus on the present. ‘Customers?’

She flushed pink. ‘I worked in a bar in a less than salubrious part of town.’ And then she said in a rush, ‘Just temporarily.’

Again Rocco felt a kind of rage growing within him—not at her, but
for
her. He could well imagine men finding her feisty allure something to challenge and harness. She was proving to be altogether far more of an enigma than she’d appeared that night just a week ago.

Out of nowhere, immediate and incendiary, Rocco had the desire to see her tamed and acquiescent, and he wanted to be the one to tame her. Sheer shock at the strength of that
desire made Rocco blanch for a moment. Women like her should hold no appeal for him. It felt like a self-betrayal. Before she could see anything of his loss of composure, and wondering if he’d lost his mind completely, he strode forward and stopped in front of her, as if to prove to himself that he
could
stand in front of her and restrain himself from tipping her over his shoulder like some caveman. The surreal circumstances of their meeting and her connection to Steven Murray was causing this completely uncharacteristic response, that was all.

As implacable as a stone wall, he told her now, ‘You’re not leaving this apartment until your brother—’ He broke off and swore for a moment. ‘If he even
is
your brother, is found and brought to task for his actions. Now, give me the ticket for your bags and I’ll have them picked up.’

Scant minutes later Gracie found herself being shown into a sumptuously decorated guest bedroom. She still wasn’t entirely sure how she’d allowed herself to be bulldozed into submission, but on some very secret level she felt so tired. For the first time in her life she was being subservient to someone else and she couldn’t drum up the energy to fight it. She had no one to turn to and nowhere to go—literally. An uncharacteristic wave of loneliness washed over her.

‘There’s a bathroom through there, with a robe and toiletries. When your bags come I’ll bring them to you.’

Gracie looked around with wide eyes gritty with fatigue. Rocco was striding towards the door and she envied his seemingly unstoppable force. If she’d known there was a chance she might bump into him again there was no way she would have ever attempted to go to her brother’s office. She sighed. Too late for regrets now.

Rocco turned at the door, filling it with his broad frame. ‘We’ll discuss where we go from here in the morning.’

Some sliver of fight sparked within her. ‘You’ll let me walk out of this apartment. Because if you don’t—’

He cut her off. ‘You’ll what? Call the police?’ He shook his head and smiled with insufferable coolness. ‘No, I don’t think so. I’m sure you don’t want the police sniffing around your brother any more than I want the news leaked that I employed an inside trader.’

Silence grew and thickened between them. What could she say to refute that? He was absolutely right, and for deeper reasons than he even knew.

He inclined his head in a false gesture of civility. ‘Until the morning, Miss O’Brien.’

The door closed softly behind him and Gracie almost expected to hear a key turning in the lock, but she heard nothing. Experimenting, she went to the door and opened it softly. She nearly jumped three feet in the air when she saw Rocco lounging against the wall outside.

‘Don’t make me lock the door, because I will.’

Wanting to avoid any further questioning or scrutiny Gracie closed the door again hurriedly. She moved like an automaton to the window and looked out over the spectacular view, seeing nothing but her inward turmoil.

It had always been her and Steven—even when their mother had still been with them. And then when their nan had taken them in until she’d declared she couldn’t handle two children and had given them over to Social Services.

Their bond had been forged early, when their mercurial mother had cossetted Steven and treated Gracie harshly. One evening, when Gracie had been sent to bed with no dinner for some minor misdemeanour, Steven had crawled in beside her with some food which he’d hidden for her. They’d been four years old.

Steven had always been a target for bullies with his weedy, sickly frame and his thick glasses, so Gracie had
got used to stepping in with raised fists. He’d been preternaturally bright, and Gracie knew now if they’d grown up in different circumstances he might well have been nurtured as a genius student. As it was he’d constantly been ahead of his classmates, and yet had patiently and laboriously helped Gracie through the torture of maths and science.

It was thanks to him she’d managed to scrape enough marks in her exams for art college. Even whilst he’d been in the midst of drug addiction and had given up studying himself he’d still been advanced enough to help her. Her belly clenched now when she thought of how Steven had protected her from far worse things than inexplicable maths.

She leant her forehead against the cool glass, and even though her mind was churning with sick worry for her brother she couldn’t get another face out of her head. A dark, compelling face with eyes so intense she shivered even now. And she couldn’t stop a wave of heat from spreading outwards from her core, threatening the cool distance she’d protected herself with for so long.

Rocco looked at the two battered bags that had been delivered a short time before. One was a backpack and the other an old-fashioned suitcase. The kind you might see in a movie from the 1940s about immigrants leaving Europe for America. She’d left her flat with just
these
? Rocco was used to women travelling with an entire set of matching luggage, complete with personally monogrammed initials. But then he didn’t need reminding that
this
woman was a world away from the ones he knew. He shook his head and picked up the bags. He’d long ago given up on the notion of sleeping tonight.

Opening the door to the guest bedroom silently, Rocco
half expected to see Gracie standing on the other side, as obstinate and defiant as ever, but she wasn’t. In the gloom his eyes quickly picked out a shape on the bed. Standing still for a moment, he registered she was fast asleep.

Putting down the bags, he felt compelled to go closer. Gracie was lying on top of the covers in a white robe. She was curled up in the foetal position, legs tucked under themselves, hands under her chin. Her hair flowed out around her head like something out of a Pre-Raphaelite painting, the curls long and wild.

Everything in him went still when her head moved and she said brokenly,
‘No, Steven … you can’t … please …’

That brought Rocco down to earth with a bang. Once again it was as if she’d exerted some kind of spell over him, making him forget for a moment who she was and why she was here. She was a thieving, lying nobody and her brother had had the temerity to think he could abuse Rocco de Marco’s trust.

Rocco stepped back and away from the curled-up shape on the bed, and ruthlessly clamped down on any tendrils of concern or unwelcome desire. He vowed there and then that he would not let her go until he was satisfied that she
and
Steven Murray had been brought to justice.

When Gracie woke in the morning she had the awful sensation of not knowing where she was or what day it was. Her surroundings were completely unfamiliar and scarily luxurious. She was lying on top of a massive bed, in a robe. Slowly, it all came back. Leaving her awful damp flat after nearly being mauled by her landlord, getting that worrying phone call from Steven, and then coming to his office to see if he might be there.

And then she remembered coming face to face with Rocco de Marco. Gracie groaned and put a pillow over her
face.
Rocco de Marco.
Her stomach cramped at the vivid memory of his hands around her arms, the way they’d felt when he’d frisked her. The intense excitement in her blood at seeing him again.

Groaning even more, she sat up and saw that the curtains were still open. She now had the most jaw-dropping views out over London, with the Thames snaking like a brown coil through the grey and steel buildings.

She turned away from the view and something caught her eye. She saw her two battered bags just inside the bedroom door. Her face grew hot when she thought of Rocco coming in while she lay sleeping.

Feeling seriously at a disadvantage, Gracie scrambled out of bed and dragged the bags over. She pulled out some jeans and a T-shirt and found her sneakers. After washing her face she dragged her hair back into a knot at the back of her head and left the room.