She tightened her grip, when he took a sharp corner, almost sliding sideways off the seat. Her hair whipped wildly around her and she realized belatedly that neither of them was wearing the required helmet. No wonder he was taking the side streets.
Even if she had been able to formulate words, talk became impossible when he picked up speed. Despite everything that had happened, she felt curiously safe with her body wrapped around his as they raced through the streets on one thousand pounds of shiny steel.
Safe but numb.
“I’m taking you to my place until we know how this is all gonna shake out,” Rocco said, answering her unspoken question when they slowed to a stop at a traffic light. His voice was barely audible over the rumble of the motor. “Someone is after you, and it’s not safe for you to go home.”
She opened her mouth to tell him she could go to a hotel or stay with friends, but no words came out.
Papa had been shot. She had held his body on the floor of the restaurant just like she had done with Mama. His blood had been warm on her hands. And Tom. What happened to Tom? She couldn’t lose them both.
Finally, they pulled over in front of a nondescript gray condo complex on Dumont Boulevard.
Rocco helped her off the bike, holding her hand as he led her down the sidewalk. Without his warmth in front of her, she felt the chill and a shiver ran through her body.
“Can’t keep you safe at a hotel and you wouldn’t want to put your friends in danger.” He put an arm around her, pulling her against him. How did he know she was cold right to her core? How did he know what she was thinking?
I’m anti-violence. But apparently she wasn’t. Not anymore. She was no different from any other member of the mob. If Rocco hadn’t distracted her and shot the man in the restaurant, she would have pulled the trigger.
“You didn’t kill him, cara mia.” He unlocked the glass door, all casual as if he hadn’t just read her mind. “And it’s unlikely I did either. He was wearing a vest. But until we figure this out, you can stay here and, after you’re settled, I’ll go find Tom and your dad.”
I’m in shock, she suddenly realized when he stared at her as if waiting for her to speak. This is how it felt when Mama died. Cold. Numb. Lost.
“You okay?” He pressed the elevator button and the door slid open. The curious fog around her thickened as she stepped inside the small space. Fear seized her heart.
“No!” She pushed past him and ran back into the hallway. Where was she? She didn’t recognize the gray wallpaper, the pictures on the walls …
“Gracie.” Strong arms wrapped around her from behind. A warm breath in her ear. “It’s okay. I think you’re in shock. We’ll take the stairs. It’s only two flights up.”
His warmth soaked into her, beating back the chill. She knew that voice, that scent, that hard muscular body. Rocco. He would keep her safe.
He kept a firm hold on her as they climbed the stairs, sliding an arm around her waist when they stepped out into a brightly lit hallway dotted with teal-colored doors.
She brushed back her hair, stared at herself in the mirror at the end of the hall. Her face was streaked with dirt. Walking closer, she touched the marks with her finger and realized it wasn’t dirt at all.
Blood. Blood on her hands. Her face. Her neck … Blood everywhere. A sound erupted from her throat, part whimper, part moan.
“Shhhh. Don’t look.” Rocco turned her to face him and wrapped his arms around her. “We’ll get you cleaned up inside.” Still holding her against him, he unlocked the door. “So what happens when a trauma psychologist suffers trauma?” he asked, half to himself. “How do you heal yourself?”
She didn’t have an answer because she didn’t understand the question. What trauma? All she wanted right now was to get the blood off her hands.
“Is it because of what happened the night down by the river? Is that why you chose psychology?”
Her mouth opened and closed again. Why was he talking so much? Rocco never talked. And she’d never thought about why she went into psychology, only that of all the professions that had interested her after a school trade fair, it was the one that had called to her, the one where she thought she could help people heal the wounds that no one else could see. And her specialization? She wanted to heal the people who had been blindsided by life. Just as she had.
Rocco’s studio apartment reflected nothing of the man she had left back in New York. Although it was fairly modern, with painted exposed brick walls, gray carpet, and a small galley kitchen with bright green walls and white cabinets, the apartment was sparsely furnished. Two metal stools were tucked into a small breakfast bar in the kitchen, a black leather sofa sat in front of a big-screen TV, and at the far end of the room, a king-size bed sported a black and white duvet and a few pillows.
She searched for, but couldn’t find, the things she remembered he loved. No magazines or sports equipment. No pictures of the Rat Pack or the old films he’d liked to watch. No iconic black-and-white prints of New York, Peanuts comics, video games, or collectible cars. It was like his entire personality had been erased.
“Come, dolcezza. Let’s get you cleaned up.” He clasped her fingers in his warm grip and led her to small white-tiled bathroom across from the kitchen. “Here you go. There are clean towels under the sink.”
Grace looked around, unsure what he wanted her to do.
“Your dress.” He pointed to a stain she hadn’t noticed before. “You need to take it off and get in the shower. That’s the best way to get off the blood.”
Blood.
Papa’s blood. Staining her dress the way Mama’s blood had stained her white dress with the cherries on it that she’d worn for their special lunch together. She looked down and suddenly couldn’t bear another second in the dress she hadn’t wanted to wear to the dinner she hadn’t wanted to attend with a bunch of mobsters who had shot her father.
“Get it off. Get it off.”
“Shhhh.” Warm hands touched her neck, sweeping her hair aside. Sure fingers held soft fabric as he slowly tugged her zipper down. Grace closed her eyes as his rough fingers skimmed over her skin inch by slow, soothing inch. So strong. So gentle.
Even in the cocoon of numbness that was barely allowing her to function, her senses knew his touch. She felt like she was in a dream where Rocco held her safe in the shelter of his arms. She drew in a breath, filling her lungs with his scent, sinking into the memory of their very first time.
* * *
“Touch me.” She had to tug his hand over to her breast as they took shelter under a tree in Prospect Park during a fierce rainstorm. What had started out as a walk had turned into something intimate when the rain chased everyone away and they had decided to wait it out in a dry little thicket while raindrops pattered around them.
“Grace … I can’t.” He tried to pull his hand away but she pressed it to her chest.
“Why? You kissed me the other night.”
“That was a mistake.” He groaned softly, and his fingers curved around her breast sending delicious tingles through her body. “I’m too old for you.”
“We’re not having the ‘too old’ conversation again.” Now that his hand was busy, she took advantage of the opportunity to explore his body, running her hand down his chest and over the ripples of his six pack. She had never thought of how a man might arouse her, but Rocco, with his beauty and his tight, hard body made her stomach flip.
“You don’t know—” he started again, but she cut him off with a kiss.
“I know exactly what I want and what I’m doing and who I’m doing it with. It’s not like I’ve never fooled around with anyone before…”
His body stiffened. “Who?”
The question hung heavy like the gray clouds above that had not yet released all their tears.
“I have a feeling if I told you, the poor guys wouldn’t show up at school tomorrow.”
“Damn right,” he said quietly. “You’re mine.”
; “Then make me yours.” She slid her hands under his shirt, touched his warm skin. He was smooth and hard and she wanted to explore every muscle, every inch of his body. She wanted to lick and suck and devour this man who had somehow managed to fill the emptiness that had consumed her after her mother died. She wanted him with his quiet intensity, his dry sense of humor, his love of jazz, his passion for cars, and the way he made her feel like she was the center of his world when they were together.
Rocco groaned, and she pushed his shirt higher, then leaned in to kiss his pecs. “I’ve dreamed about touching you,” she murmured, breathing in the familiar scent of his skin, raw and musky, leather and rain.
She could feel his heart pound in his chest, hear his breathing quicken. His hands slid around her, smoothing over her curves and down to her ass. And then he was walking her backward until she felt the rough bark of the tree through the soft cotton of her shirt. He tipped up her chin and stared into her eyes as if trying to convince himself to walk away.
“You deserve so much more than me, cara mia. And your first time should be special. With someone you love, someone closer to your age. Not this. Not me.”
“What could be more special than this?” She waved vaguely at the thick, gray mist around them, the sodden leaves, thick on heavy branches, hiding them from view, the soft green grass beneath their feet, glittering as rain drops fell softly from the sky. “It’s magical. I feel like we’re in our very own cloud. I can’t even hear the traffic. This is made for us. All that’s missing is the music.”
He shuddered and leaned in to kiss her, soft and sweet. His lips feathered across her cheek to her ear and he sang her favorite verse of Sinatra’s “All the Way,” as his hands slid under her shirt to cup her breasts.
Unlike the boys she’d made out with at parties or behind the school, Rocco knew what he was doing. He squeezed her breasts gently, explored each soft swell until they felt swollen and sore. When he finally flicked the catch of her bra and cupped her naked breasts in his palms, his thumbs flicking over her hard nipples, she thought she might burst from the pleasure.
“Did you plan to seduce me, cara mia?” One hand slid over her hip to the edge of the skirt that was now bunched up her thigh. “Is that why you wore a skirt?”
“I’ve been trying to seduce you since I turned sixteen. Maybe even before.” She let out a ragged breath as his finger stroked a slow path up her inner thigh. “I was hoping you’d get the hint before winter.”
He chuckled and traced his finger along the edge of her panties. She had wanted him like this ever since she understood where that wanting could lead, how close it could bring two people together. They had a connection that she could feel in the center of her chest, but now she knew it could be more.
“Has anyone touched you here?” He stroked his thumb over her damp panties and she let out a moan.
“No. I didn’t let them. I saved myself for you.”
His eyes heated, the golden flecks sparking in their warm caramel depths. “And no one has touched you here?” He shoved her panties aside and slicked his finger across her wet entrance. She felt his touch like a deep throb in her groin, and her vulva felt swollen and hot.
“No.” She breathed out a sigh. “Oh, Rocco. Do it again.”
As if her words had broken down his walls, he yanked her panties away, tearing them from her body so violently, she caught her breath. So this is what lay beneath the calm, controlled exterior. Passion. Barely contained. Fierce and forbidding. She was greedy for it. She wanted him bared. Unleashed. Out of control.
Hands shaking, she undid his jeans and reached into his boxers. His shaft was stiff and hard, so thick she wondered if he would hurt her. She’d only ever touched two other penises … no … dicks, cocks … in her life and they had been boys, not men, and her touching had set them off so she didn’t have much time to play.
She didn’t notice the piercing until she had stroked her way to the top. Her hand froze and she stared at the silver barbell glistening just below the crown.
“What’s that for?”
He wrapped his hand around hers, made her tighten her grip until a drop of liquid beaded on the smooth, rounded head of his cock. “For you.”
“Me?” With her free hand, she touched the piercing lightly. “Do all guys…?” Her cheeks flamed. She’d fooled around because she didn’t want him to think she was inexperienced, but nothing had prepared her for this.
“No.”
“Did it hurt?”
“Like a bitch.”
“Will it hurt me?”
“I would never hurt you. This is for your pleasure.” He gently unclasped her fingers and turned her to face the tree. “You must do what I say, cara mia.” His breath was warm in her ear. “I’ve wanted you for so long it won’t be easy to hold back.”
“Okay.” She felt a bubble of happiness rise inside her. He had never told her he wanted her before. Even when he’d kissed her, he hadn’t said anything that made her think the depth of his feelings came close to matching hers.
“Hands on the tree. Legs apart.”
She heard the soft rustle of clothing as she got into position, and then his shirt fell over a tree branch. Moments later, she felt his warm, hard chest against her bare back. She dropped her hands, intending to remove her shirt and bra so they weren’t bunched up under her arms, but he growled a soft warning behind her.
“No, bella. I won’t take the risk that someone might come by and see what only I should see.”
She felt his words vibrate through her body and settle as a warm pressure in her womb. His hardness slid between her legs, the piercing an erotic burn against her clit, and she instantly understood what the barbell was for.
“Oh.” Instinctively, she rocked her hips, chasing the slick sensation. Rocco’s hands smoothed up her body to her breasts, and he pinched and tweaked her nipples through her clothes as he thrust between her legs driving her wild for a release from the storm of need that consumed her.
“Rocco. Please. I can’t … I don’t … Not like this. I want to see you. I want to touch you.”
He feathered kisses over her shoulder. “I won’t last long. I need you ready for me.”
“I’ve been ready since I understood what ready was.”
With a low groan, he withdrew and spun her around. His hand delved down beneath her skirt, skimming over her clit to her entrance. She bucked at his touch, and he stilled. “Relax, dolcezza. I want to feel you.”
She pulled her lip between her teeth as he pushed his finger inside. He felt thick and foreign, and she tensed around him. If his finger felt big, how would his cock feel?
“You’re so wet. So tight. He pushed his finger, deeper and her eyes watered with pleasure.
“That feels good.”
“This will feel better.” He removed his finger and replaced it with two, crooking them slightly to rub against a sensitive spot on her inner wall.
“Oh.” She gripped his shoulders, panted her breaths. “Don’t stop, Rocco. Don’t stop.”
He thrust his fingers in and out, keeping a steady rhythm as he slicked moisture up and around her clit, adding sensation to sensation until she thought her knees would give out.
“I want to feel you come,” he said softly. “I want you to come all over my hand.”
She wanted it, too, wanted a release from the tension in her body. But not like this.
“I want you inside me the first time I come like this. I want to feel you. I want us to be close in a way no one else can be.”
He pulled away, leaving her aching and bereft. As her heart beat a frantic rhythm, he pulled a condom from his back pocket and sheathed himself, carefully rolling it over his piercing. His hands slid under her ass and he lifted her, bracing her against the rough bark of the tree and she wrapped her legs around his hips.
“Sei la mia vita,” he murmured. “Il mio unico vero amore. Sei più bella di un angelo.”
“I like it when you speak Italian,”
she whispered, and she told him in Italian he was everything in her life, too. She had never felt this sort of heat and longing for anyone. Since the day she met him, she had known he would always be part of her life.
The head of his cock nudged her entrance, and she widened her legs.
“You are mine, Grace Christina Mantini,” he said softly. “And now you will be mine always.” He pushed inside her, slowly, inch by thick inch, giving her a chance to get used to his size. But when his piercing touched the sensitive spot inside her that he had so tenderly stroked, she let out a loud gasp.
“My shoulder.” His voice was rough, hoarse, strained with the effort of holding himself back, the cords standing out in his neck in sharp relief. “Scream into my shoulder.”
“I won’t scream.”
His hands tightened on her hips and he pushed into her hard and deep. “Yes, you will. And when you do, I want to hear my name.”
He pulled out again and this time when he thrust, her world shattered into a million stars, liquefying her body with pleasure. And she screamed. Just like he said she would.
“Rocco!”
* * *
“Gracie?”
She shook herself out of the memory, looked over her shoulder at Rocco’s concerned face. “You need any more help?”
Rocco. He was really here. His hands were on her skin. His breath was warm on her neck. He was keeping her safe when the world had gone to hell and she might just have lost the only family she had left.
She must have made a sound because suddenly she was in his arms, her face buried in his chest, his heart beating strong and steady beneath her cheek.
“I’ll find them,” he said softly, answering her unspoken worry. But she wasn’t surprised. He knew her. He knew her, and he understood her like no one else ever had.
When she slid her arms around him to hold him tight, pressed her body against his, she felt his arousal, hard beneath his jeans. Maybe he was a colder, harder version of the man she had left behind, but she felt a small pleasure knowing that some part of him still wanted her, even though she was broken and scarred.
Rocco Page 9
