The Legend of de Marco (9 page)

Cursing more volubly now, Rocco undid Gracie’s belt and scooped her up out of the chair. She came awake groggily in his arms as he made his way down the centre of the plane, moving against his chest, making his blood go hot when he felt her soft breasts.

‘Shh, you fell asleep. I’m just going to make you more comfortable.’

Gracie was too sleepy to come out of it completely. And she didn’t want to—not when she felt so secure and safe with Rocco’s arms around her. She knew she should be fighting
something
, but she couldn’t drum up the energy to figure out what, exactly, and she didn’t want to look at why she felt the remnants of anger at Rocco.

She felt herself being lowered down onto a soft surface, and then something deliciously silky being lifted over her. Her shoes were being removed. And then the bed dipped and she felt the slightest touch to her forehead. So light she wasn’t even sure if it was a kiss.

Much later Gracie woke up, completely disorientated, with a strange sound in her ears. She slowly came round and realised the sound was the relentless hum of the plane. She looked around the dimly lit room, her mouth opening. She was in a
bedroom
, on a
plane.

She put back the cover and padded over to one of the porthole windows and looked out. She could see bright sunlight, the curvature of the earth, and down far below majestic white-capped mountains. She’d never seen anything so spectacular.

She stood up and stretched, and tried to piece together how she’d come to be lying in the bed. She remembered being in Rocco’s arms. And a kiss? She frowned. Perhaps it had just been a dream?

Her hurt at his blatant mistrust seemed to have faded. Logically Gracie knew that there was no way he’d ever really trust her. Her brother was missing with a million euros and she looked guilty as hell because she’d gone looking for him. And she insisted on defending him when even she had to concede that he had to be guilty.

She shut off her brain from wishing things could be different and explored the bedroom. She found an
en suite
bathroom, complete with fluffy towels and a bath and shower. Stocked to the brim with toiletries. Feeling sticky and gritty, she took the opportunity and stripped down to step into a steaming shower. She couldn’t get her head around the fact that she was having a shower thousands of feet in the air and smiled gleefully, choosing for a blissful moment to forget what lay beyond the doors.

When she emerged back into the bedroom with a towel wrapped around her body she spotted numerous shopping bags and boxes. Unable to help investigating, she saw that they were all women’s clothes.
For her?

She quickly dressed, in her own jeans and a fresh shirt from her own suitcase, and went to find Rocco. When she opened the door, though, the plane was quiet and still dimly lit. There’d only been one flight attendant when they’d embarked—a man—and Gracie imagined he must be sleeping somewhere too.

She couldn’t see Rocco’s head, and crept up the aisle—only to come to a halt when she could see that his seat was back as far as it would go and he was asleep. Guilt spiked her, because he couldn’t be as comfortable as she’d been in the bed.

One arm was flung up; the other rested over his chest. He looked so much younger that she sat down on the arm of the seat opposite and let her eyes rove over his face. He looked so much more approachable when in repose, and she had a sudden aching desire to know what it would be like to see him really relaxed, without that brooding intensity or that constant sardonic smile.

Suddenly he shifted and Gracie sprang up, aghast at the thought of being found staring at him like some lovestruck groupie. She was glancing left and right before she looked down again and saw him coming awake. Still managing to look gorgeous and not half as bleary as she felt.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t meant to wake you.’ To Gracie’s surprise Rocco looked uncharacteristically disorientated. She was so used to seeing him in full control at all times this was like seeing a chink in his armour, and it made her heart turn over. And then she remembered his caustic comments and felt hurt all over again.

Before she could do anything, though, he’d recovered his composure with lightning speed and reached out to catch her wrist, pulling her off balance so she fell on top of him. She squealed and landed breathless on his wide chest. He had his hands on her waist and they were burrowing under her shirt to find her skin. His eyes were dark and heavy-lidded from sleep.

Gracie squirmed and felt heat rush to every extremity. ‘Rocco … stop.’ The words came out breathy and carried absolutely no conviction whatsoever. Her hurt at his suspicion of her was draining away. She was officially weak and shallow.

And then his hands did stop. He looked at her for a long moment and asked in a rough-sounding voice, ‘So why
do
you have a brand-new passport, then?’

Gracie held her breath for a long moment, eyes searching his face for some sign he wasn’t taking her seriously. She let out her breath and said a little shakily, ‘You’ll laugh at me.’

‘Try me.’

Gracie tried to pull back but Rocco only snaked his hands tighter around her, so that she was all but welded to his chest and her bottom sat snugly in his lap. How was she supposed to concentrate when she could feel him hardening against her?

She looked down, avoiding his eyes, as if that could help her concentrate, and played with a button on his shirt. She took a breath.

‘The reason I have a brand-new passport is because ever since I was little I always wanted to travel. I got a passport as soon as I could, even though I had no intention of going anywhere, and it was renewed just recently. I just liked the idea of having one, so I’d be ready to leave at a moment’s notice … it seemed romantic to me—like there was this world of opportunity I could explore some day.’ Gracie snuck a quick glance at Rocco and couldn’t decipher his stony expression. She’d never felt so exposed, and looked down again. ‘It’s silly, I know …’

Rocco battled hard against the maelstrom inside him. Either Gracie was the best actress on the planet … or she was telling the truth. She couldn’t even look him in the eye and his heart twisted. He knew what she was talking about, because the moment he’d taken his first passport in his hand he too had felt that sense of opportunity open up before him. He’d left Italy and never looked back.

He put a hand to her chin and tipped her face up to his, valiantly trying to screen the emotion he felt with the only weapon in his possession. Passion. Softly, though, before he gave in to it weakly, he just said, ‘Okay.’

Gracie looked at him. ‘Okay?’

Gruffly now, he said, ‘I believe you.’

Gracie’s heart felt as if it was expanding in her chest. All her hurt and anger dissolved and silently she cursed Rocco, perversely knowing that if he’d insisted on not believing her she would find it so much easier to deal with him.

He stood up then, taking her with him in his arms, and she squealed again. As he brought her towards the bedroom and her skin prickled with anticipation, she said breathlessly, ‘Where are we going?’

‘To join the mile-high club.’

Gracie’s insides liquified. ‘
Rocco …
we can’t …’

But her plaintive plea was cut off by the closing door, and when Rocco put her down and put his hands around her face and kissed her senseless she couldn’t think of one reason why they couldn’t.

An hour later Gracie was draped over Rocco’s big body, legs either side of his hips. Their breathing was still erratic, hearts thumping hard. She’d hoped that making love wouldn’t be as intense as the first time, but it had been even more intense. Because now her body knew the pleasure he could give her.

She was a mere novice when it came to sex, but in the space of twenty-four hours she felt as if she’d been spoilt for life. She knew instinctively that no other man could affect her like Rocco did. Lightning didn’t strike twice. Her heart twisted ominously when she considered that the experience for him must be so much more banal.

Her hand was on his shoulder, and as she moved it down she felt some puckered skin. She lifted her head to look and saw some kind of scar. She’d never noticed it before. She touched it with a finger, tracing the outline, and could feel Rocco tense.

‘What’s this?’ she asked.

His chest moved. ‘I fell off my bike when I was a child.’

Gracie looked at him suspiciously. His eyes were still closed and she’d bet money that that was a lie. It had come out far too glibly. But why would he lie?

Knowing that he would be as likely to open up to her as he would to forgive Steven for his crime, she veered away from danger and said instead, ‘When I woke up first we were flying over snow-capped mountains. What were they?’

‘It was most likely the Himalayas.’

‘Wow …’ Gracie breathed. Feeling a little emotional, she said, ‘I can’t believe I might have been looking at Everest.’

Rocco shrugged minutely and said, ‘Could have been.’

He opened sleepy eyes and his vaguely bored tone affected Gracie. She half slithered, half climbed off his body and looked at him ‘You don’t have a clue how privileged you are, do you? Is it really so easy to take everything for granted?’

She stood up from the bed, self-conscious in her nudity, and looked around for her clothes. But her wrist was grabbed and she was pulled back down. Rocco’s eyes were dark and unreadable.

‘I don’t take it for granted,’ he bit out. ‘Not one second of it.’

The quality of his voice made Gracie go still. She’d touched a nerve, and she was reminded of that cataclysmic night in the kitchen when he’d told her he knew what it was like to not be noticed.

‘It’s just … it doesn’t seem that way. You have the best of everything. Expect the best without question.’

‘Because I can. Because I’ve earned it. What do you care anyway?’

What do you care?
That question sent shards of fear through her. Why did it matter so much? Gracie looked at him and tried in vain to read his expression. He was so closed. She cared because she just
knew
there was something more to this man than the surface desire to be successful and surround himself with the trappings of the truly rich. There was a darker vein. She’d always sensed it.

There was a long, enigmatic silence and Gracie held her breath. For a moment she felt sure that Rocco was going to say something, but then he moved his hand from around her wrist, up her arm and around her neck to pull
her down. He pressed a kiss to her mouth, making her open up to him.

After an intoxicating few seconds Gracie could feel herself tumbling headlong back towards ecstasy. It was like standing on the edge of a huge chasm with nothing to hold onto when she started to fall. She was terrified Rocco would see how much control over her he had.

She pulled back and he smiled at her lazily, his hand making circles on her back. He was turning on the charm, and she cursed him because it worked. When he smiled like that all she wanted to do was purr like a kitten.

Clearly he was avoiding any more probing questions.

She pulled away more forcefully this time and sat up. ‘I’m going to take a shower.’

She stood up and walked over to the bathroom with as much insouciance as she could muster, desperately aware of Rocco’s eyes burning into her back.

As soon as Gracie had disappeared into the bathroom the smile slid from Rocco’s face. He lay back in the bed, his whole body tense, hands clenched to fists over the sheet which barely covered him. He cursed himself and called himself all sorts of names. Gracie had a unique ability to push his buttons and he couldn’t help lashing out. He’d nearly smacked her hand away when she’d touched the scar from his old tattoo. Sleeping with her again had flayed him alive from the inside out. It was as if she could see right into where he was a fake. Where the thin veneer over his life was so flimsy it might fall away at any moment, exposing him.

He had not expected to feel that same out-of-control animalistic urge again. He’d imagined the edge would be gone from his need. But as soon as he’d had Gracie’s face in his hands and her mouth under his all he’d been able to
remember was the urgent need to fuse with her. The plane could have gone down into Everest and he wouldn’t have noticed or cared.

And she’d met him every step of the way—even more explosively now than the first time. Rocco cursed out loud. Women did
not
get under his skin like this. His mother had taught him his first lesson by never putting him first. Whoever had been her current benefactor, or her pimp, had always been number one.

As a hormonal teenager Rocco had found that the girls he’d made a fool of himself over went with the boys with the biggest guns, the most swagger. To this day he gave thanks that he hadn’t joined their ranks just to get a girl who would have soon dumped him for the next big thing. That had been his second big lesson.

His third had been when his sisters—two beautiful blonde, blue-eyed princesses—had stepped over him in the street without so much as a flicker of interest in the young man who had just confronted
their
papa, calling him
Father.
They’d not even flinched when their father had spat at him and pushed him to the ground.

When Rocco had finally left Italy and clawed his way up the ladder he’d taken great pleasure in seducing women from that world. Women who were privileged. There had been a measure of satisfaction in knowing that they would never touch an icy-cold and unbreakable part of him. The colder he was, the more he gained a reputation and a slavish following. His greatest satisfaction had come from imagining the horror and recoil on their faces if they really knew his darkest past.

But Gracie, with her serious eyes, her fierce protectiveness of her brother, and her slightly choked awe at flying over the Himalayas was fast unravelling what felt like years of block-building. He’d had no defences to pull
around himself when she’d told him about the passport. Nowhere to go to hide or attack, which was what he was used to doing when he felt vulnerable.

She was connecting to a part of him long buried and denied, and he didn’t like the lack of equilibrium that came with that. Rocco knew he’d be the biggest fool to believe in the track of a tear on a woman’s cheek, or a cute story about a childhood dream, and yet—for possibly the first time in his life—he found a part of himself wanted to believe. Even just for a moment.