Feeling even more disgruntled now, Rocco scooped up the card and left the cash, cursing himself for even coming to check up on her and trying to ignore the tight feeling when he imagined her finding her way around or seeing the sights on her own.
It was only when he was in his car and heading back downtown that his insides went cold and he realised that he’d effectively let Gracie go. Now and in Bangkok he’d left her to her own devices, and at any moment—like right now—she could be disappearing into thin air.
The fact that he’d trusted her so implicitly made him extremely nervous, and to his absolute chagrin he couldn’t concentrate on one thing for the rest of the afternoon until he’d got confirmation from the concierge that she’d returned to the apartment. He did not relish the relief that made him feel so weak.
CHAPTER TEN
WHEN Gracie returned late that afternoon she was exhausted but happy. Well—she made a face at her sweaty reflection in the mirror over the hall table as she put down her bag—she wasn’t happy, exactly. She’d have been happy if she’d had Rocco with her to share the delights of climbing to the top of the Empire State Building, and she’d have been happier if she hadn’t had to sit in Central Park on her own eating a sandwich.
She worried her lower lip with her teeth. And she’d have been happy if there had been an e-mail from Steven, but there had been nothing waiting for her in her mailbox when she’d found an internet café. She’d sent an e-mail to his address anyway, in the futile hope that she might hear something back.
Sighing now, she went outside to take in the majestic view of Central Park again.
She’d had to realise as she had gone around on her own that Rocco hadn’t brought her on this trip to hold her hand and be her guide—no matter how nice and thoughtful he’d been in Bangkok. The sooner she remembered that the better.
Leaning on the wall overlooking Central Park, Gracie smiled to herself, feeling a little bemused. Was this how it was for Rocco normally? He’d give his credit card to his current mistress, she’d shop all day and then flaunt herself like a peacock on his arm in the evening?
‘You didn’t take the credit card.’
Gracie whirled around with a squeal, her heart hammering at the sight of Rocco lounging nonchalantly against the terrace door. It was as if she’d conjured him up. ‘You scared me. I didn’t hear you come in.’
Rocco came towards Gracie. Something in his eyes looked dangerous and she backed against the wall.
She gulped. ‘No, I didn’t take the card. Why would I? I don’t need anything. You bought me enough clothes to last a dozen trips abroad.’
Rocco’s face was hard. He enclosed Gracie by putting his hands on the wall behind her. She fought not to let his unique scent and presence weaken her.
He sounded irritated. ‘You don’t get it, do you? That’s what you’re meant to do. So tell me what you did do, then.’
Fire rose within her and Gracie matched his harsh tone. ‘For your information I borrowed twenty dollars and went downtown, where I took some money out of a hole in the wall from my own account. Then I queued for two hours and went to the top of the Empire State Building. After that I walked all the way back to the park and bought a sandwich and ate it. Is that all right?’ Gracie felt guilty for not mentioning the internet café, but Rocco seemed too volatile for her to bring Steven into the mix.
‘No, damn you, it’s not all right.’
Rocco’s head descended and his hands closed around her arms. His kiss was harsh and demanding. Gracie tried to refuse to let him do this—take out his anger on her because she wasn’t like his other women—but he was relentless, and she couldn’t resist. So she fought fire with fire.
Fingers digging deep into his hair, her whole body arched towards him, hips grinding into his. At least this was honest between them. This transcended all thought and rationale and reduced them to base desires that had to be sated or they would die.
Their fragile truce had just been smashed.
He picked her up in his arms and Gracie couldn’t help pressing kisses all over his jaw and neck. She was already opening his shirt and undoing his tie. When they got to the bedroom Rocco lowered her down onto the bed and stripped off his jacket and tie, ripping open his shirt. Gracie pulled her top over her head and yanked down the shorts she’d been wearing, kicking off her sandals.
When Rocco was gloriously naked he came down beside her and Gracie just looked at him, unable to stop her heart from swelling or from touching his stubbled jaw with one hand. She couldn’t hold it back. ‘I missed you today,’ she whispered.
Rocco just looked at her, and something flashed in his eyes before they darkened. ‘Don’t say that. I don’t want to hear it.’
‘Well, tough,’ Gracie said obstinately. ‘Because I did miss you and I’ve just said it again.’
With a growl Rocco came over her and silenced her with his mouth, his hands roving over her body, removing her bra and panties until she was as naked as he. And then she couldn’t even have articulated her name as Rocco took her with a thoroughness that had her crying out over and over again.
‘And who is your companion?’
Gracie smiled tightly at the anaemic-looking woman with hair so set in a ball around her head that she feared it would go up in flames if she stood too close to a light. She could have been anywhere from forty to sixty-five, her face was so immobile and smooth.
‘Gracie O’Brien,’ Rocco was murmuring beside her.
The woman sent a disparaging look up and down, taking in Gracie’s sparkling black floor-length dress.
‘Ah, yes. Well, I might have imagined you’re Irish, with the red hair and pale skin.’
Gracie smiled sweetly. ‘Actually my mother was English, and I was born and grew up there, but, yes, my father was Irish.’
The woman’s brows arched. ‘I see.’ And then, as if thoroughly bored by Gracie, and also not happy that she’d even spoken, she turned to Rocco and linked her arm with his. ‘Now, Rocco darling, tell me all about Bangkok. I’m dying to hear about your deal with the Larrimar Corporation.’
The woman was expertly manoeuvreing Rocco away from Gracie, but he stalled in his tracks, forcing the woman to stop too. He smiled at her, but Gracie shivered. She’d seen that smile many a time, and was glad it wasn’t directed at her for once.
He extricated his arm from the woman’s claw-like clutch and took Gracie’s hand, pulling her firmly to his side, saying nothing but making it very clear that she was not to be ignored. Gracie tried to ignore the jump her heart gave, and watched with amusement as the woman constantly tried to force Gracie out—only to have Rocco pull her even more firmly into his side.
Gracie tuned the conversation out. People-watching was too fascinating. They were in a function room in an exclusive hotel on the other side of Central Park from Rocco’s apartment. They’d just eaten a sumptuous dinner at a huge banquet table with about two hundred guests, and had now moved into another exquisite room which led to an emormous terrace lit with hundreds of candles.
Gracie saw people milling around outside and suddenly wanted to breathe some fresh air. She tried to break free from Rocco, but his grip was like iron. She had to elbow him in the ribs before he looked down.
She smiled sweetly at the snobbish woman and said to Rocco, ‘I’m just going to get some air.’
Rocco had to battle a huge reluctance to let Gracie go but finally he did. He watched her walk away through the crowd, her red hair like a glowing beacon, making people stop and turn around to look at her. She was so vibrant and alive compared to most people in the room. How had he only really noticed that now? And yet wasn’t that what had caught him the very first time he’d seen her?
When they’d been driven the short distance in the car from his apartment to the hotel earlier, Gracie had said to Rocco wistfully, ‘We could have walked through the park.’
Rocco had looked at her and shook his head. ‘No, Gracie, we couldn’t.’
She’d
stuck her tongue out and said, ‘Spoilsport,’ and he’d remembered what she’d said earlier, about missing him, and he had all but fallen out of the car in his haste to get away. And yet just now he hadn’t been able to let her go.
‘She’s different.’
Rocco swung back. He was afraid he’d spoken out loud. ‘I’m sorry?’
Helena Thackerey was an inveterate snob, but she was also very shrewd and a tough financial negotiator.
‘I said, she’s different.’
Rocco schooled his features, defensive hackles rising. ‘Yes, she is. But there’s nothing more to our relationship than any other I’ve had.’
The older woman snorted and looked a lot more human for a moment. ‘Tell that to someone who might believe you, de Marco.’ She leant forward and said, sotto voce, ‘I like her. She’s got spunk. Not like those asinine uppercrust bores you usually date.’
Gracie ploughed her way through the crowd, oblivious to some of the wealthiest people in Manhattan, and made it out to the terrace. She grabbed some water from a passing waiter and stood taking in the magical view of New York at night. She stretched out over the wall to try and see as far as she could.
A voice came from right behind her and sent a shiver through her. ‘That’s Harlem up to your left.’
Rocco stepped even closer, so her back and buttocks were flush against his front, and she could feel him hardening against her. She leaned her head back against his chest and said breathily, ‘You’re insatiable.’
He put an arm around her middle and pressed even closer. She heard a throaty, ‘Let’s get out of here. I’ve had enough of New York’s finest for one evening.’
Gracie turned in his arms and looked up. She rolled her eyes and said, ‘Me too, and I’m so over these views of Central Park.’
Rocco bit back a laugh and bent his head. Gracie hated the way she loved how she could make him laugh.
He said, close to her ear, ‘That’s a pity, because when we get back I want to recreate this exact position—except I want your dress gone and your legs around my waist.’
Gracie gulped and put her glass down on a table as Rocco unceremoniously hauled her from the room.
Back in Rocco’s apartment, Rocco advanced towards Gracie, who was standing obediently at the wall overlooking Central Park—from the other side now. She shivered with anticipation just watching him take off his jacket and bow tie, opening his shirt. He came close and the air vibrated between them, and then he took her by surprise and kissed her so sweetly on the mouth that she put her hands to his chest.
When he broke away and just looked at her Gracie suddenly wanted more than just the physical. Softly she asked, ‘How can you stand socialising with people like that all the time?’
Rocco went still. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well … like that woman. She was so rude.’ Gracie flushed. ‘And Honora Winthrop was rude.’
Rocco took Gracie’s hands and pulled them down. He stepped to her side and rested his hands on the wall. Subtle tension radiated out from his body.
‘Helena is not too bad, actually. A lot of her manner is bluster. She was one of the few people who helped me when I first came to New York as a green negotiator.’
Gracie frowned. She couldn’t imagine Rocco ever not being completely experienced and in control.
He slid her a glance. ‘She liked you. She said you’ve got spunk.’
Gracie smiled tentatively. ‘Okay, so maybe I was wrong about her. But I wasn’t wrong about Honora.’
Rocco’s face got serious. ‘No. She’s an out-and-out bitch.’
Gracie looked up at him. ‘So I don’t understand how you could have ever contemplated marrying her?’
Rocco said nothing for a long moment, because he was wondering how he could explain that he’d never intended to take a wife for romantic reasons. Then he gestured with an arm towards the dark park. ‘For this. You have to be accepted into this world to be really successful, and the only way to achieve that for someone like me is to marry into it.’
Gracie went still inside. ‘What do you mean, for someone like you? Don’t you come from this world too?’
She turned around so she was facing Rocco. After a long moment he shook his head. He gestured down to the pavements far below. His voice was tight. ‘That’s where I’m from. Exactly like you.’
Something deep inside Gracie was slotting into place. She’d always suspected there was more to Rocco. ‘What do you mean, exactly like me? You can’t mean that you grew up—?’
He looked at her and his eyes were fierce. ‘On the streets? Struggling to survive in a hostile environment? That’s exactly what I mean.’
Rocco looked away again and cursed violently in Italian. Gracie realised in that moment that she’d rarely, if ever, heard him speak his native tongue.
After a long moment he said, ‘I don’t have to talk about this.’
Gracie took a metaphorical step into the dark. Feeling her way. ‘Why not?’ I won’t be around for much longer, she wanted to add, but it hurt too much.
Rocco stared into the black space of the park as if it held answers she couldn’t see, and then he started talking in a low, emotionless voice that told her a multitude of things. He told her how he had been born and had grown up in the worst slum in Italy, in one of the poorest cities. He told her of his mother, who had been a prostitute, but a high-class prostitute—which was how it came to be that his father was one of the city’s wealthiest men.
‘My mother spent every penny on feeding her escalating drug habit. She had targeted my father on purpose to secure a future for herself through me. She’d even been smart enough to get a swab from him, so that she could do a DNA test as soon as I was born and have proof of his paternity. But my father didn’t want to know. He had two daughters and he was a megalomaniac. He didn’t want a son appearing on the scene to threaten his rule. And he especially didn’t want a son by a prostitute who came from the slums to sully his perfect respectable world and reputation.’
Gracie could see Rocco’s hands tighten on the wall.
‘You can’t even begin to imagine what that world was like. The constant noise, the calls from block to block that were code for rival gangs—a murder, a drug-drop. All day and all night. They used me as a lookout for rival gangs.’
His mouth twisted.
‘We didn’t have a call for the police. They never came. They were as corrupt as we were. There was no social services for us. I hated the brute force of that life, the lack of intellect over chaos and destruction. My mother lurched from one passionate crisis to another. I craved a more ordered world—without that constant drama and uncertainty, the ever-present danger.’
Gracie could feel shivers of shock going through her body. ‘What happened to your mother?’
Rocco went very still. ‘I found her dead with a needle sticking out of her leg when I was seventeen.’
Gracie put a hand on his arm. Her voice was choked. ‘Oh, Rocco….’
He shook her hand off and speared her with that black gaze. ‘I’m not telling you this for sympathy. I don’t need sympathy. I never have. She didn’t love me. She was too in love with getting her next fix or a wealthy patron.’
Gracie swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘I’m sorry.’
He looked away again, and Gracie cradled her hand against her belly.
‘I confronted my father one day outside his city palazzo. I knew where he lived. My mother had pointed it out to me enough times. It was just after she’d died. When I confronted him he spat at me and pushed me down and stepped over me. My two half-sisters were with him and didn’t even look my way, even though they’d heard me call him Father. I watched them step into a chauffeur-driven car. I watched how they could just walk away from the unsavoury truth. I envied them their ease and protection. I envied their wealth, which gave them that protection.’
He smiled then, and it made fear inch up Gracie’s spine.
‘My father obviously had a w
ord with one of his men. As soon as the car pulled away I was dragged into a nearby lane and beaten so senseless that I ended up in hospital. It was an effective warning. I never attempted to see him again. I left Italy and I vowed that one day I would look into my father’s eyes and know that I had earned my place in his world, despite his rejection.’
Gracie looked at the hard jaw and the bunched up shoulders. She saw the faint scar running from his temple to his jaw and the smaller scars. She could well imagine that meeting between father and son, and could almost feel sorry for his father. She longed to reach out and touch Rocco now, to soothe his pain. But he was like a wild animal. He was raw.
She remembered something and said, ‘That scar … on your shoulder. It was a tattoo, wasn’t it?’
Rocco nodded. ‘It meant I belonged to a certain part of the slum.’ His mouth twisted. ‘A certain faction. I got it removed when I came to England.’
‘That’s why you never speak Italian. You hate any reminders.’
Rocco dropped his head between his shoulders and said, in a deceptively soft voice, ‘Just go, Gracie … leave me alone.’
Gracie took a step back, hurt blooming out from her heart all over her body. She was terrified she’d start crying. She ached to comfort him. She started to step away, but got to the door and looked back. She saw Rocco standing there, head down, and realised that he’d always been a lone figure. Fighting the world around him while simultaneously longing to be part of it.
Resolution fired her blood, and she kicked off her shoes and walked back over to him. She slipped under one of his arms and came up so that his body formed a cage around her.
She looked up, straight into Rocco’s face and his dark eyes. ‘No, I won’t leave. Because I don’t think you really do want to be alone.’ She reached up and placed her small palm on his rigid jaw. Her eyes caressed his mouth. ‘I want you, Rocco. So much.’
The tension was thick enough to touch, and then suddenly it snapped. Rocco issued a guttural, ‘Damn you!’ and hauled Gracie up into his body so tightly she thought her back might break, but she bit her lip. She would not say a word. She could sense the violence in him, the untamed wildness that needed release, and she wanted desperately to be there for him in the only way he would allow her to be.
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