The Trouble With Coco Monroe

by CC MacKenzie

  “There’s nothing wrong with needing help. Many men use a little blue pill...”

  In a flash, she was pinned on her back, her heart kicking in her throat.

  Her eyes met his and she read outraged disbelief mixed with an insulted fury.

  “I just want to be certain I’ve got this right,” he said through clenched teeth as his eyes raked over her face. “You think I’m impotent?”

  Oh dear, Coco thought with dismay, she’d really touched a hot spot.

  Her tongue licked her bottom lip and his eyes fixed on it.

  “Well, you did say you couldn’t do...”

  That mouth plundered hers as his hands, rough now, shoved up her top, exploring her breasts.

  His mouth pressed demanding hard kisses down her throat to her breasts. His tongue licked then suckled on a tight nipple and she moaned.

  Oh God, it felt marvellous.

  He gripped her hand and pressed it to his titanic erection.

  An illicit thrill raced up her spine, he was rock hard, thick and big.

  He lifted his head.

  She stared into dark eyes wild with desire and arousal.

  “Trust me, with you around a man doesn’t need Viagra.”

  He gave her a hot searing kiss on her stunned mouth and rolled off.

  Rafe sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands taking great gulps of air into his lungs.

  Thoroughly confused, aroused and seriously ticked off, Coco pulled down her top and sat on the other side of the bed.

  This was ridiculous!

  She slid her feet into her boots and stood staring at his back.

  Her fingernails dug into the palms of her hands, drawing blood, as her whole body shook with frustration.

  “What’s going on? You want me and I want you.”

  She marched around to his side of the bed and stood before him.

  Then folded her arms to protect throbbing nipples.

  “This is the second time you’ve done this to me.”

  He looked up at her, eyes dark and blazing hot with a mix of fury and lust.

  What in the world was wrong with him?

  “For Christ’s sake you were eighteen. Coco, I’m hanging on by a thread here. Don’t push me on this,” he warned. His deep voice was almost a growl and it pressed the hot button of her temper.

  Her eyes went wide. “Don’t push you on WHAT?”

  He stood and took a deep breath.

  “If you remember, I was a guest of your father’s that night. And it was your birthday. How the hell could I betray his trust in me by fucking his precious daughter? And at the moment you’re too vulnerable, too upset, and I don’t want to take advantage of the situation.”

  Stepping right into his personal space she whipped her head back to look up at him.

  Her finger poked him in the chest with each furious word.

  “Trust me, I was not a child then and I am not one now.”

  She whirled around and felt like kicking the wall.

  How dare he make her decisions for her?

  She spun back to him.

  “So when I was eighteen you decided out of chivalry and a misplaced sense of loyalty that I was too young? A pity that because you’d have had a very willing virgin. Who the hell do you think you are? Who made you the one to decide what I need or when I need it?”

  “Coco, I...”

  He reached out a hand and flinched when she slapped it away.

  A corner of her furious mind noticed his face was too pale and something inside her split wide open.

  All the hurts, the confusion, poured out.

  “Do you seriously believe I’ve spent the last ten years sitting in a corner knitting? Pining for you?”

  Eyes wide, she glared at him as he ran a frustrated hand over his hair, around his neck.

  She lifted her chin.

  “I’ve had lovers. Plenty.” Which was a barefaced lie, but it made him wince and made her feel a hell of a lot better. “And another thing, I will not tolerate you or my dear father deciding on what’s good for me or not. If either of you interfere in my life one more time I will make you both regret the day you were born.”

  His face went even whiter if that was possible.

  At the mention of her father, she took a shocked breath as what had happened earlier in the day burst her bubble of righteous fury.

  How could she have forgotten?

  She thrust the guilt away.

  That situation had absolutely nothing to do with this one.

  “Do you, or do you not, want to make love with me? Yes or no.”

  Rafe understood for the first time what the phrase being stuck between a rock and a hard place felt like.

  If he took her while she was vulnerable with her defences down he would pay the price later when she discovered the truth. By rejecting her now he would hurt them both in the short term. But he could make it up to her later.

  He decided on the lesser of the two evils.

  He took her hand in his.

  She tried to tug it away, but he didn’t let her go.

  Those violet blue eyes stared into his filled with pride, with desire and with fear.

  Eyes that dared him to reject her.

  He took a deep breath.

  “No.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Nico drove through the gates of The Dower House slowing to let a dark blue van pass.

  And returned the cheery wave of their plumbing contractor.

  Cruising slowly around to the parking area at the back of the house, he kept a wary eye open for his children.

  It was almost their bedtime. But since their nanny was in week two of her annual leave the twin’s routine was all shot to hell. Bronte was looking tired and stressed. Running the business in the mornings and working from home in the afternoons with two active toddlers was taking its toll. Add in the blisteringly hot summer, which showed no sign of abating and these days tempers were a little frayed around the edges.

  Thinking of Coco’s trouble he frowned.

  Keeping secrets from his wife didn’t sit well with him.

  And she was particularly sensitive about cloak and dagger issues.

  But he needed to protect his family as well as Coco.

  Strolling into the house he assured himself Bronte was a reasonable woman.

  Once everything was back to normal she would understand and agree he had done the right thing.

  Entering the house Nico pulled a face at the unrelenting whine of a small child, his small child.

  But what made his eyes go wide was the strident voice of his beloved.

  “Sophia, sit on the naughty step. How many times have I told you not to put Luca’s toys in the toilet?”

  Nico shook his head.

  Why his daughter insisted on baptising every blessed thing he’d no idea, but it appeared Bronte had had enough.

  He entered the open plan living kitchen and stopped dead.

  The usually immaculate space, his wife was fussy like that, looked as if it had been hit by a tornado. Her laptop was open on the dining table along with printed spreadsheets. He winced. She hated spreadsheets. An overflowing basket of clean laundry waiting to be sorted sat on the granite worktop. Cars, dolls and toys of every variety were scattered on the floor. Along with his son’s attempt to build something from every piece of Lego he possessed. Two highchairs still had the remains of what looked like chocolate pudding smeared over the trays. One bowl and its contents lay face down on the floor.

  Worried about his handmade Italian shoes he stepped gingerly over the mess.

  But what made him blink and reconsider going further was his daughter’s teeth jarring howl.

  How could so much noise come from someone so small?

  When Luca joined in Nico felt it was his husbandly duty to step into the breach.

  He poked his head around the door to survey the scene in the wide entrance hall.

  A dripping mop clutched in one hand Bront
e wore a tiny pair of denim cut off shorts showcasing endless lightly tanned legs. Along with a white T-shirt vest, which was covered in chocolate fingerprints. Ash blonde hair was doing its best to escape from a messy topknot. Her feet were bare and she was glaring at her tiny daughter.

  Sofia, as blonde as her mother, was roaring like a bull.

  And not shedding a single tear.

  Little monkey.

  Inky curls damp from his bath, and clutching his favourite bunny to his chest, Luca was sitting on the naughty step with fat tears streaming down his flushed cheeks.

  The twins were dressed in their pj’s all ready for bed.

  His son spotted him first and ran on little legs to his daddy.

  Nico scooped him up, went nose to nose. “Have you been naughty?”

  The definite headshake made him smile and press lips to a hot cheek.

  Then he eyed his daughter who stared back with sheer defiance in her green eyes.

  The only outward sign of inner turmoil was her trembling lower lip.

  “Sophia, cara mia. You must not make mama angry.”

  It might have been the soft voice, the easy tone, but his daughter’s eyes filled and she flew to him.

  He picked her up, tucking her on his hip as her arms clung and she broke a heaving sob into his neck.

  Whoever called this stage the ‘terrible almost twos’ were bang on the money.

  Nico turned to his beloved to find her glaring at him as if he’d sprung horns and a forked tail.

  He raised his brows and offered her a tentative smile.

  “Bad day?’”

  And wasn’t that just bloody typical of him? Bronte seethed with righteous indignation.

  He always, always got to be the good guy, while she ended up the baddie.

  Where was he when the guest toilet overflowed?

  Where was he when Luca choked and vomited chocolate rice pudding all over the place?

  Look at him, standing there immaculate in his bespoke suit. The white cotton shirt was still as crisp as had been this morning. Not a frigging hair out of place. He didn’t look all hot and bothered and creased. Nope. He looked like sex on frigging legs. Bastard.

  All she’d managed was a quick shower at the crack of dawn before making everyone’s breakfast. She’d downed two spoonfuls of sugar free granola before taking the twins to nursery. Then she’d had a stinker of a morning with the bride from hell and her horrendous mother who’d had the whole team jumping through hoops. Thank God for Janine who’d handled the situation beautifully, because she’d been ready to show them the damn door. And then Josh had acted so out of character by having a meltdown with Janine. What was wrong with people?

  She must have been insane to even attempt to work on spreadsheets from home with the twins constantly demanding attention.

  What the hell had she been thinking?

  Then she’d been paddling, ankle deep, through water from the frigging toilet.

  After getting the run around from the plumber who wanted payment up front in cash... Who kept that sort of money in the house? She’d tried to phone Nico to send cash home, but got Jacob Del Garda’s personal assistant, Elena, who’d told her in a horrible sexy purr that Nicolo was in a meeting and couldn’t be disturbed.

  So now his wife and children took a back seat to empire building did they?

  Well, she’d show bloody Nicolo where his priorities lay.

  Sheer temper had Bronte view her husband through a crimson mist.

  “I’m surprised you could tear yourself away from the Spanish bombshell, Nicolo,” she spat.

  Nico understood women.

  Women had never been a mystery to him.

  So he recognised the red flashing danger signs of one at the end of her tether.

  She’d not been herself since Rosie had left for her honeymoon. Then the new Mr. and Mrs. Ludlow were spending three months in the Bahamas where Alexander was running one of the top hotels in the Ortiz chain, while Jacob Del Garda ran Ludlow Hall. It was good business sense to migrate best practice across their respective hotel groups. They’d decided not to merge their businesses but to invest and work together.

  And so far it was working well.

  He knew his wife hadn’t bonded with Elena. Elena was everything Bronte was not. A luscious brunette with flashing dark eyes and a body made for sin. And she left Nico Ferranti stone cold.

  At the time it hadn’t bothered him, but recently Elena had made a couple of subtle moves of a sexual nature. He’d handled it and wondered now if his wife had picked up a vibe.

  Women, he knew, were tricky like that.

  But what nudged his temper was the little dig that he would even look at another woman.

  Wasn’t his wife secure in their marriage?

  The thought had alarm bells pealing loudly in his brain.

  Didn’t Bronte know he absolutely adored her?

  Now he studied her carefully through narrowed eyes.

  She was tired, upset, and if he wasn’t mistaken feeling very hurt.

  He was also very aware that the twins were staring at their mother as if she’d grown two heads.

  They never argued in front of the children, never.

  Without taking his eyes from hers, he kissed each little head, inhaling the heart catching scent of baby soap and powder along with the indefinable something that made him want to nuzzle his children.

  And decided to keep the tone nice and friendly.

  “How about I put the babies to bed? And you pour us a glass of wine?”

  Now those vivid eyes filled with what he recognised was a liquid temper battling with deep regret.

  Temper won.

  “I don’t have time to pander to you. I have work to do. I have to clean and tidy the kitchen. Sort the laundry. Make dinner. Work on spreadsheets. I don’t have breasts that enter a room before I do. I don’t have time to be your little sex slave.”

  She stalked past him, entered the kitchen and banged the door.

  Two sets of wide eyes stared up into his.

  He looked from one to the other.

  Luca’s bottom lip trembled, his dark eyes filled.

  “Ooooh boy.”

  By the time he’d settled exhausted twins, showered and changed into ancient jeans and a black polo shirt, Nico reckoned that forty minutes was long enough for his wife to have found her equilibrium.

  On the whole, Bronte had embraced motherhood and marriage. She was a wonderful wife and mother who loved her children and she loved him, he knew that, with her whole heart.

  But she hadn’t been herself for weeks.

  It had been a busy time, what with Rosie and Alexander’s wedding and the booming wedding cake business. The management changes at Ludlow Hall had kept him busy, but shouldn’t have affected her. She appeared to like Jacob well enough and he liked her. They had a common bond in their affection for Jacob’s sister-in-law, Becca.

  And the Del Garda’s and their twin baby boys were due to visit Ludlow Hall this weekend and he knew Bronte was looking forward to seeing them again.

  But lately she’d been looking draggy.

  Perhaps she was working too hard, doing too much?

  He should have pushed for a temporary nanny.

  But Bronte could be obstinate at times and she’d insisted everything would be fine.

  By her outburst tonight everything was far from fine.

  Nico cruised through the kitchen and found it immaculate but no sign of Bronte. And no sign of dinner. He pulled out his cell, called The Hall, organised a selection of dishes and was told to expect them in an hour.

  Sorted.

  He poured himself a red Rioja from the Del Garda’s Spanish vineyards and one for her from the bottle of white in the fridge.

  And tracked her down in the garden in the kid’s play area sitting on a swing, long legs stretched out and staring unseeing into the gathering dusk.

  Placing the drinks on a table he pulled a baby monitor from the back pocket of
his jeans, checked it was switched on, placed it on the table and moved to sit on the swing next to her.

  He bumped her swing with his.

  Waited.

  The heat was out of the day and also out of Bronte’s hissy fit.

  Holding a grudge or hanging on to a bad mood was simply not her style.

  But she still felt... itchy... as if her skin was stretched too tightly across her bones.

  How could she not have kissed her babies goodnight?

  What kind of a mother does something like that?

  Her eyes burned and she pressed her fingertips to her eyelids, heaved a big sigh.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I feel... I feel... bleh, out of sorts and tired all the damn time.”

  “I will make an appointment with the doctor tomorrow. Maybe you have picked up Luca’s bug.”

  Now she turned to him.

  Stared into those amazing eyes and read acceptance, love, understanding.

  How did she get to be so lucky?

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry I said those things. But why didn’t you call me back today, Nicolo?” she said in a perfect imitation of Elena.

  His brows snapped together.

  “When did you call me? And who calls me Nicolo?”

  Her eyes searched his and she saw nothing but the truth.

  That bloody woman.

  Like a fool she’d played right into Elena’s hands and caused a scene.

  “Your cell went to voicemail. I called your office this afternoon to ask you to send money for the plumber. He wanted cash and I didn’t have enough. Elena took the call, told me you were too busy to speak to me because you were in a meeting. And she calls you, Nicolo. The first time I met her she looked me up and down as if to say, What the hell’s he doing with you? And she looks at you as if she could swallow you up with one big lick.”

  His lips twitched at the big lick comment, but he nodded and those dark eyes went very cool in a way she recognised. Nico was not a man who forgave a slight or someone out to make mischief for him or his family. And Bronte found she couldn’t be sorry that Elena was about to find herself in very hot water.

  “I will handle it. Why did you not tell me you were having trouble with her?”