A sharp rap at the hotel door and a voice announcing the arrival of room service cut short their conversation, but not before Rocco gave Justine a long look. Rocco signed for the meal and added a generous tip as the young woman rolled in a cart, presented the food and asked if all appeared in order, then told them to call down when they were ready to have the dishes cleared.
Justine joined Rocco at the room’s small table as he poured sodas for each of them. Before he could unroll his silverware from the napkin, she said, “The possibility scares you.”
He snapped his attention to Justine. She hadn’t touched her drink or her silverware. “Why would I be scared?”
“Of what might happen if I ski again.”
“Hell yes, I’m scared.” Until she said it—until he said it—he hadn’t realized the truth of it. But the idea of having her back on skis, going downhill full bore, made his heart feel as if it were held in an icy fist that slowly squeezed the life from him. “You really are thinking about it?”
“What scares you most, Rocco, that I might get hurt?”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
She pressed on, her voice gentle but firm. “Are you afraid that if I try and fail I’d be miserable? That if I succeed, we might never have the traditional married life we thought we’d have when my career ended? Or are you still, deep down, scared that your secret could be discovered?”
Chapter Fifteen
She searched his face as her questions hung in the air, suddenly realizing that it was the one she’d sandwiched in the middle that was the most important. They’d entered into a nontraditional marriage, one where they only lived under the same roof for a month or two of her off-season. They’d expected it to be years before Justine retired, so they hadn’t given their long-term living arrangement much discussion time. When her injury forced the issue, the traditional life she’d assumed they’d have never materialized. Teresa was too much a part of it.
But now she had to wonder, what did Rocco want?
Rocco rested both hands on the table. “What scares me most, Justine, is that you’re scared.” His voice softened as he added, “You’ve never been afraid of anything. Not of double black diamond slopes, not of your competition. Definitely not of us. But you were afraid to tell me you’re thinking of skiing again.”
“I’ve never been hurt before. Not like this.” She angled a look at her leg.
“But?”
“But I’ve been told dozens of times that I couldn’t accomplish things—that I wasn’t fast enough, strong enough, skilled enough—and I accomplished them anyway. Deep down, I believe it’s possible.”
Rocco sat back in his chair, absorbing her words. “How long have you known?”
“I didn’t,” she admitted. “Not until five minutes ago, when you were massaging my calf and said it out loud. But ever since I missed the job interview in Croatia, I’ve had an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach, like I was doing something wrong. Then this morning, when I read the producer’s e-mail, it intensified, almost to the point that I felt sick.”
“Your inner voice had something to say.”
“I suppose it did.” A sigh escaped her. “But the more I think about it, the more I realize it’s why I pushed myself so hard at rehab, even after the doctors told me I’d never regain the strength necessary to compete at the World Cup level. One even suggested I take the opportunity to rediscover skiing just for fun. As if competing wasn’t where I found my fun.” She shot him a wry look. “I can’t get on skis and simply glide downhill. Even if I tried, I’d only get a few hundred yards before every cell in my body would tell me to punch the gas and smoke everyone else on the mountain.”
“Nothing like telling Justine Flyte she can’t do something to make her say, ‘wanna bet?’ is there?”
“Guess not.” She took a drink of her soda and grinned. “Maybe you know me better than I know myself.”
“What I know is that you have an innate drive to be the best and you’ve worked hard to live up to your potential. It’s part of what drew me to you that first night we met.”
“The pot’s talking to the kettle now?”
“You bet.” His smile faded to seriousness. “You’re going to turn down the job, aren’t you?”
She considered the question as she took a bite of the chicken parmesan Rocco had ordered for her. It wasn’t what she’d find in Rome, but it wasn’t half bad. “I don’t know. I don’t want to lose out on the opportunity. I’ve always planned to stay with the sport in some way after I retired from competition, and working as an analyst would keep me involved. I’d be able to find new challenges. I’d know that even if I never nabbed a gold medal or finished a season with that World Cup crystal globe in my hands, my competitive years weren’t a waste. I’d be able to view them as a step along my career path.” She met his gaze. “When the opportunity to take that next step is right in front of you, it’s hard to turn and walk a different direction. Especially when that direction is uncertain.”
“But there’s more.”
“There’s the fact I could lose you all over again.” The words came out before she could consider them. Once spoken, though, she knew them to be the truth.
“You won’t—”
“I hated that you weren’t with me. Hated it.” A hard lump of emotion clogged her throat, but she barreled on. “There, I’ve said it. I knew you couldn’t make all my events, not with work as important and time-consuming as yours, and I didn’t expect it. But deep in my heart, on the big days, it killed me not to have you there.”
“Like Altenmarkt.”
“Like Altenmarkt.”
She’d been the only competitor without a cadre of family members standing by holding banners and ringing cowbells. When asked about it by the media, she’d mentioned that her husband was in the medical profession and didn’t have the ability to travel as much as he’d like, but that she knew he was watching and she felt him cheering her on. She finished the interview as she always did by blowing him a kiss via the camera. He’d told her that he’d captured every one of those television kisses and held them near to his heart.
It wasn’t the same.
“I hated myself for not being in Altenmarkt,” he told her, though she already knew. “It ripped my guts out to know you were seriously injured and that it was your coach with you instead of me. Flying up to Austria was the longest, worst flight of my life, knowing that I probably wouldn’t get there before they took you into surgery.”
“It was only an hour’s flight.”
“Felt like a year.” He scrubbed both hands over his jaw. “It won’t happen again. If you decide to ski, I’ll be there.”
“You can’t. That’s what scares me.” Slowly, she shook her head. “The sport has its risks no matter how well prepared I might be. If I were to get hurt again—or hell, even if I’m on a podium again—I’ll wish you were with me. You’ll feel guilty, even though it can’t be helped, and it could drive a wedge between us we’ll never be able to remove.”
He was around the table before she finished speaking, framing her face with his hands. “I’ll be there.”
Didn’t he see? “Rocco, you’re still you. All the reasons you didn’t attend before still exist. You’re still the biological child of a king known for his high moral standards and his fidelity. A king who is a head of state. A king whose children don’t even know you or your brother and sister exist. All it would take is for the wrong person to see you at one of my events—someone who knows the Barrali family—and questions will be asked. It’s too public. Reporters would be on it like flies on cow patties. It’s more likely to stay private if I’m an analyst. In that case, I won’t be the story and you wouldn’t appear on camera. It’s too big a risk—”
He leaned down, still cradling her cheeks in his hands, so his forehead was only an inch from hers. “Cow patties, Justine? Really?”
“You’re not taking this seriously.”
“I’m taking it ver
y seriously. And you’re talking a million miles an hour, which is what you do when you get flustered.” He dropped to his knees and buried his hands in her hair, keeping her eyes locked on his. “If you believe you can ski again, I believe it, too. When the time comes to start attending events, I’ll notify Queen Fabrizia. She can decide how to handle it with her husband and children if my paternity ever comes under scrutiny….and that’s a big if. It’s not a problem.”
How could he think that? “Everyone from legit reporters to fly-by-night paparazzi would be after you. And what about Enzo and Lina? Shouldn’t they have a say in this?”
“We’ve always known it could come out. I’d hate for that to happen, but if it does, it does. I refuse to miss out on the best part of my life out of fear. No more. Whether you ski, you become an analyst, or you decide to run for President, I want to be by your side. Enzo and Lina will understand. If they don’t, too bad.” Years of internal struggle were visible in his gaze. But there was a defiance, too, one she’d never seen in Rocco before.
“I have no desire to be President.” She wrapped her hands around his wrists and studied him. “Are you sure?”
“I told you when we made love on the ferry that I never want to lose you again. I meant it.” His voice took on a gravelly edge. “When you said that you came to my mother’s funeral to say goodbye to me…Justine, you have no idea how much that hurt. No. Idea.”
Agony punctuated his words, then his mouth met hers in a gentle, searching kiss.
Never had she seen Rocco so exposed, so unguarded. She opened to him, allowing him to take what he needed. Rocco was so strong, so intelligent, so calm. He’d been her anchor during the first years of their marriage, steady in the face of the daily ups and downs that accompanied her competitions until his secrets tore them apart.
Now that he’d shared those secrets with her and risked sharing them with the world, she realized that he needed her to be his anchor, too.
She slid from the chair and pressed against him, slipping her arms around his lean waist as she deepened their kiss, and was rewarded by a groan of intense need. He explored her mouth, her jawline, her neck, his movements slow and worshipful.
When he shifted to drop kisses along her hairline, he paused with his lips at her temple. His chest rose against hers, and she closed her eyes to focus on the sensation of simply being in his arms. Oh, how she’d missed the masculine scent of him and the slow thump of his heartbeat against hers. Even the way his fingers inevitably found their way to the back hook of her bra, threatening to undo it through her clothes as his hand skirted along its edge. But this time, his hands remained around her back, holding her body flush against his.
“I want a real marriage, Justine. We made a mess of it after your injury—I made a mess of it—but I won’t let that happen again. As long as you want to ski, I’ll be there for you. If you decide not to ski, whether that’s tomorrow or next year or a decade from now, I’ll be there for you. We’ll talk it through from now on. Where we’ll live, how we’ll live. Whether we spend our time on the road or holed up in a little cabin off the slopes in Colorado, or we decide to build an obnoxiously luxurious villa in Switzerland…none of that matters. As long as we keep talking, this marriage will work, traditional or not. Being married to you doesn’t scare me at all. My only fear is not having you at all.”
“You have me.” She drew back from his embrace and saw his gaze was dark with urgency, both emotional and physical. “You have me.”
He crushed her against him. A rumble of pleasure emerged from the back of his throat at the same time she felt his growing erection pushing against her stomach. “I am so damned lucky.”
She smiled at the desire lacing his words, even as she freed his shirt from his pants, wanting the heat of his skin against hers. Wanting to spread her hands across the muscles of his back, to scatter kisses across his chest, to make him moan for her again. When his shirt hit the floor, the full weight of their time apart hit her. She’d missed him terribly. He belonged with her, and she with him.
He laughed as she urged him to stand, then pushed him on top of the bed. She was over him in a heartbeat, exploring the firm muscle of his abdomen with her fingertips before following the motion with her mouth.
“Justine, you make me crazy,” he ground out as his hands came to her hair.
“And I love it when you twist my hair around your fingers, just like that.”
She kissed her way up his torso, pausing to tease his throat with her lips, then to run her hands over his jawline and the freshly-shaved skin there.
“That suit is very sexy,” he murmured, “but I want you out of it.”
With a grin, she raised up on her knees and performed a striptease with her blouse. As hunger filled his eyes, she slowly removed her bra, one strap at a time, one cup at a time, her gaze never leaving his. Before she could shift to undo her skirt, he flipped her on the bed and did it for her, sliding it down her legs and sending it across the room. He captured one ankle in his palm and kissed the inside of her knee, then worked his way higher, until he bracketed her hips with both hands and his wondrous mouth reached her core. Arching her back in pleasure, she cried out for him as he worked magic with his tongue and his fingers, sending her closer and closer to her climax.
“Rocco, please.”
“You like?”
She answered with a choked sigh as he continued, sending her over the edge. She squeezed her eyes shut against the waves of sensation as she called his name. Everything in her spiraled as she clutched at Rocco, at the sheets, at whatever she could. Then he was over her, gloriously, completely naked, though she didn’t remember him removing his pants. His powerful legs nudged hers further apart as he kissed her.
“I need to be inside you,” he whispered, so passionately she nearly came apart at his words alone.
“I need you, too. So much.”
She’d barely responded before he was there, his muscled arms on either side of her supporting his weight. Heat rolled off him in waves as he sheathed himself fully, then slowly, gently, moved out, drawing a long sigh of satisfaction from her before he was inside her again, filling her completely, with an intensity that differed from when they made love on the ferry. Then, they’d been frantic, desperate to know each other again, to reassure themselves that they were safe. Tonight wasn’t about physical abandon, but emotional. They’d shared their deepest dreams and fears and they’d come out on the other side. Together.
This was about joy, about two souls reveling in the knowledge they were forever joined.
Seeing the unconditional love in his amber eyes was the most beautiful moment of her life.
Her breath caught as he kissed her deeply, then moved with more purpose, bringing her once more to the precipice. She tried to steady her breathing, wanting the moment to last at the same time her body strove to go over the edge.
She needed him with her.
Her muscles clenched and he shuddered in response. A sheen of sweat broke out along his forehead as he pressed it to hers. “Justine—”
“Come with me.”
And he did. A profoundly male cry broke from him as his entire body convulsed, shattered. His thumb went to her most sensitive spot, the pressure adding to the heady sensation of him pulsing inside her. Her entire body felt electrified as he pushed her to a dizzying peak from which she fell and fell and fell. When she finally caught her breath, he gathered her in his arms, eased her to her side, then nestled her against him. Their legs tangled and his chest pressed against her back, allowing her to feel the steady beat of his heart. For long minutes, they lay there, savoring the experience, their fingers intertwined, their world as one. A sense of peace filled her soul, as if she’d finally landed where she belonged.
With Rocco. The man she loved.
He rose on his elbow and pressed a tender kiss above her ear. When she twisted to look at him, the expression of adoration on his face brought tears to her eyes.
He brushed her hai
r back. “I love you, Justine. I don’t think I’ve said it in a long time. Too long. But I mean it with my entire being. I love you more now than the day we married. I want the fairy tale with you, risks be damned. From now on, I promise to do what’s best for us. Not what’s best for me.”
“I love you, too, Rocco.” She rose to give him another kiss, smiling against his mouth as she did so. In the short time since he’d knocked on her apartment door, she’d fallen in love with him all over again.
She had nothing to fear and everything to celebrate.
Chapter Sixteen
“Exhausted, dear?”
Fabrizia turned toward her husband as he removed his cufflinks and placed them on the tray near the wooden clothes butler his valet had left for the purpose. Two freshly pressed suits and dress shirts with coordinating accessories were in the armoire nearby, selected by Carlo and his valet specifically for the royal couple’s final two days in Rome.
“Tired, yes, exhausted, no. I think it was a productive night.”
“Thanks to you. The Italian prime minister was more open to my ideas for educational exchange programs than I expected. I suspect it’s because you dazzled him in that gorgeous red gown of yours. He couldn’t take his eyes off you.”
“Now you’re just flirting with me.”
“Always.” Carlo’s smile made Fabrizia’s heart skip as he unbuttoned his shirt. Did he realize how handsome he was?
Probably. Vulnerable, too, though, which made her next words difficult. She turned her back to Carlo to allow him to unzip her gown. Gently, he eased the pull downward, careful not to snag the delicate Armani silk, then eased the sides apart so she could remove it. As she stepped out of it, she asked, “Have you heard from Umberto?”
“I know that Rocco and his wife made it to Baltimore. The Russians remain in Italian custody. Radich is a first-time offender, but Karpovsky is apparently suspected in a killing that took place in Milan two years ago. The Russians are also working to build a case against him in the death of his sister-in-law.” The king shook his head as he arranged his shirt for the valet. “I’m glad Umberto knew how to handle him. Karpovsky’s about as dangerous a man as exists in this world and he had more men and firepower with him than Umberto was expecting.”
The Royal Bastard Page 14
