by Abby Green
It was a few moments before either one of them heard the discreet knocking on the window beside Rocco. Gracie sprang apart from him, mortified by how ready she was for him to make love to her in the back of a car.
Gracie scrambled out, all but landing on the tarmac in an undignified heap. Rocco just looked at her with a bemused expression and Gracie scowled at him. She didn’t need to suffer his look to know that he must be bemused by this attraction.
He set out across the tarmac to the plane, which was glinting in the setting evening sun. Gracie stumbled slightly and Rocco stopped and held out a hand. She’d expected him to walk autocratically ahead of her, not even checking to see if she followed, and she looked at his hand for a long moment and then put her hand in his. His much bigger hand curled around hers, and her belly was swooping dangerously all the way to the plane with their fingers entwined.
For some reason, and she hated to admit this to herself, the moment felt significant.
Rocco looked at Gracie, sitting in a plush seat across the aisle from him. She was staring out of the window, fascinated, as if she’d never seen an airport before. He shook his head. This was a novelty for him: to be with a woman who didn’t feel as if she had to give him her undivided attention and who also didn’t seem to care one bit for the fact that she wore no make-up and such unflattering garments in front of her lover.
The few occasions he had ever taken a woman away with him for whatever reason had been like military operations, with an extra vehicle just to carry their luggage. He’d put up with it because he’d assured himself this was his world now, but he had to admit that it had always disgusted him a little bit.
He was getting irritated now by Gracie’s extreme absorption in everything around her. The plane was starting to taxi down the runway and he spotted her open belt. That irritation laced his voice as he called to her, and something inside him clenched when he saw her flinch minutely before she turned her face to him.
He gestured to her lap. She looked down dumbly.
‘Your safety belt.’
‘Oh.’ She found the two ends and clumsily tried to put them together.
Rocco had a flash of realisation when he remembered her brand spanking new passport. That something inside him clenched even tighter as he leaned across and made quick work of securing her belt, tightening it.
‘I could have done it.’
Rocco sat back and looked at her. Now she was looking at him. ‘You’ve never been on a plane before, have you?’
She flushed under his gaze. He could see her warring with the desire to blurt out, Of course I have! But after a moment she just shook her head, lips tight together. She was embarrassed, and Rocco’s belly tightened with some nameless emotion.
He asked roughly, ‘So why the brand-new passport? Were you planning on going somewhere?’
The second after he’d asked the question a cold trickle of realisation wound its way down his spine. His desire to trust her mocked him. How could he have been so stupid? Before Gracie could answer he laughed out loud. ‘Dio. Of course you were! You must have been planning a nice long overseas trip with your brother and the million euros he’d creamed off my clients.’
The mushy feelings Gracie had been feeling ever since Rocco had taken her hand dissolved. To think that she’d actually been about to tell him the real reason that she possessed a new passport! She cringed now at how he would have laughed at her.
Instead she tossed her head and smiled, drawing herself back deep inside and hating him for giving her such an amazing experience with one hand and then tainting it with the other.
‘That’s exactly it. We were thinking Australia, actually. A totally new and fresh start. Is that what you want to hear, Rocco? Because I can tell you what you want to hear until I’m blue in the face but it won’t change the fact that it’s not the truth.’
With that, she turned back to the window, drawing in a shaky breath. His inability to trust had taken her by surprise. It was as if once again she’d forgotten what lay between them. The inherent distrust and enmity. The waiting game until Steven came forward.
Steven. Abject guilt lanced her like a physical pain. How could she have not even thought about her brother? A lurid image from the previous night answered her question. She had no way of knowing now where he was or how he was, and for the first time she actually wanted Rocco’s men to find him. Because at least that way she’d know he was safe and could then fight to protect him from Rocco’s wrath. Also … Rocco would have no more reason to keep her as some sort of insurance. Because that was all this was to him: an indulgence, a convenient slaking of mutual desire.
As Gracie stared stonily out of the window, her hands clamping the armrests with a fear she refused to show at her very first take-off, she vowed not to let Rocco de Marco get under her skin, where he could do serious damage like all the other people in her life who’d hurt her. One by one they’d all left their indelible marks: her father, whom she barely remembered, her mother, grandmother, first boyfriend. She’d been abandoned or rejected by each and every one of them eventually. Steven was the only constant she’d ever known, and he needed her to be strong so that she could defend him again.
Ultimately Gracie could trust no one but herself, and the sooner she remembered that and stopped feeling things for Rocco de Marco that should never be given life the better.
An hour later Rocco sighed with frustration, spearing his hands through his hair. The tension between him and Gracie was thick enough to cut. And he couldn’t stop feeling as if he’d done her some grievous injury. She was turned so resolutely towards the window that she was going to get a damned crick in her neck!
‘Gracie …’
There was no reaction.
Rocco wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say. Sorry? How could he be wanting to say sorry and believe in her innocence when he had every reason to believe that she would be firmly on the side of her brother? He’d seen the photo of them as kids; they were as thick as thieves. Why else would she have a brand-new passport …?
He looked more closely at Gracie now and saw that she was breathing steadily. But she looked extremely uncomfortable. Because she was hell-bent on avoiding him? Her words came back to him accusingly: ‘I can tell you what you want to hear until I’m blue in the face but it won’t change the fact that it’s not the truth.’ Cursing softly, he put aside the papers that he’d been failing miserably to concentrate on anyway and got out of his seat.
He bent over Gracie to see her pale cheeks. She was asleep. Lashes, long and dark, highlighted the translucence of her skin. And everything in him stilled when he saw the distinctive salty track of a tear down one cheek. His belly clenched hard. She’d been crying.
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.
