“So you and this guy aren’t…” Paul paused.
“No!” Stella cried. “He’s just… I mean… we’re not… I’m not… I mean, he’s… it’s…”
All eyes at the table riveted to her, Stella found herself at a loss for words.
“Okay, fuck the billionaire,” Ivy laughed, motioned to Stella with her fork. “Paul, you’d better be worried about whoever the hell this guy is.”
Stella nearly leaped over the table and took Ivy around the neck, but when her heated gaze shifted to DJ, all the anger from her body dissipated at the deep scowl painted on her best friend’s face. Since the day they’d met, Stella had never seen DJ look at her quite the way she was right then.
It stole the air from her lungs and froze her heart into a block of ice.
——
Stella sighed in relief as she crept into the front door of the house, careful to shut it quietly behind her and kick off her heels before she made her way into the living room. She vaguely heard the whisper of a cartoon playing on the TV—the one Rocco hated the most—expecting to find Blue propped up on his lap looking enthralled while he looked on the verge of suicide. What she saw instead, however, froze her in mid-step the moment she entered the living room.
Rocco was laid on his back on the couch, fast asleep, with Blue knocked out on his chest. He had a protective hand on top of her back, holding her steady even in unconsciousness. Sometime during the night Mr. Wiggles had fallen from Blue’s grasp and had arrived at his final resting place on the floor. They must’ve been out cold for a while due to how deeply they were breathing, and the fact that every sleepy breath they took seemed to come and go at exactly the same time, as if their bodies had had plenty of time to become completely cohesive and move as one. Wearing only a pair of gray sweats, Rocco’s hard chest was exposed and so was Blues, in only a diaper. Blue’s cheek was cuddled in between his pecs, where she could surely hear his heartbeat.
Stella covered her own heart and tiptoed into the living room, careful not to wake them as she sat her purse on the side-table next to the couch. She picked up the remote on the coffee table and pressed the button that jumped to the last channel. Just as she’d suspected, the TV jumped straight back to ESPN, confirming that Rocco had probably been watching his beloved sports before he’d made the decision to change the channel to a cartoon he hated just to make his goddaughter happy.
Warmth filled her body as she leaned down and carefully lifted Blue’s sleeping body from his chest. Neither of them moved an inch. Smiling softly, seizing Mr. Wiggles next, she carried Blue to the staircase. On her way up the stairs, she couldn’t help but notice the warm air surging from the ventilation system, which had been blowing cold air for weeks. Rocco had promised her too many times to count that he would fix it, and her smile grew even wider as the warmth encasing her proved he finally had. She also couldn’t help but notice that the middle of the staircase that always used to creak, no longer did. The baby gate he’d installed at the top and bottom of the flight caught her eye next. When had he done that? Now that Blue was crawling, they were definitely necessary, but it was something she couldn’t even recall nagging him about. Dozens of other little things caught her eye—the large picture of the Eiffel Tower she’d been meaning to hang up for ages, finally secured to the hallway wall. The recessed ceiling lights that had gone dark since she wasn’t tall enough to reach them, all glowing with fresh LED bulbs. Even the left foot on the rocking chair in Blue’s nursery, which had popped off months ago, was now reattached.
The smile remained on her face long after she’d laid Blue and Mr. Wiggles in her crib, making her way back downstairs to the living room. It persisted as she seized the throw blanket she’d had over her shoulders earlier that night from where it was still slung over the arm of the couch and grew even wider when she flanked as much of it over his impossibly long body as she could, leaning down to make sure it at least covered his chest.
But her warm smile vanished when, just as she was about to lay the blanket across him, she saw a piece of paper peeking out of the fisted hand he had hanging over the side of the couch. Another Tinder girl’s phone number? Her smile moved to a smirk as she leaned down and snatched the paper, wondering what this one’s name was.
But when she flipped open the paper, her heart ground to a stop.
Please take care of Stella and Blue.
A gasp tore up her throat at the sight of the handwriting she hadn’t seen in nearly a year but recognized right away. Seeing that sloppy handwritten felt just as powerful as it would’ve if Troy had beamed down from up above and joined her in that living room to write it himself.
Her pained eyes dashed across the words over and over. When had he written them? And why? Had he known he was going to die? And if he had, how soon before his last breath had he penned that note to Rocco? Days? Weeks? Minutes? The words were hastily written. Had he been afraid? Resigned? Had he fought?
Her eyes fell closed, praying that it had been painless. Her eyes squeezed tighter when it hit her that she couldn’t imagine him being able to write those words without a world of pain at least encasing his heart.
Her pulse quickened, her knees trembled, and her throat closed up. She closed the paper even faster than she’d opened it, returning it to Rocco’s palm like it had caught fire.
She gave herself a moment to take several deep breaths before continuing to fix the blanket over Rocco’s body. Her hands shook, and another gasp parted her lips when, in the midst of fixing the blanket around his shoulders, his eyes blinked open. His free hand flew out to cup the wrist where she’d been tucking the blanket behind his shoulders, and only when his sleepy vision crystalized and focused on her face did he loosen his grip. As soon as he seemed to relax, however, he sucked in a sharp breath as he looked down at his chest, slapping his hands against it as his wide eyes darted all over the room.
“She’s upstairs. I just put her down,” Stella reassured.
He collapsed back onto the purple throw pillow behind his head. She didn’t miss the way he hid the note in his hand, moving so smoothly that, if she didn’t know better, she’d have never even known it was there. Why did he not want her to see it? He ran his other hand over his face.
“I felt the heat the moment I walked in. Feels amazing.” She smiled. “Thanks for finally fixing it.”
He remained stone-faced, narrowing his eyes toward the wall clock over the TV.
“Back early.” His deep voice seemed to encase her, suddenly making the newly repaired heating system feel way too hot. She watched as darkness seemed to wash over his face as if every second of consciousness that continued to revitalize him brought forth a nightmare he’d much rather forget.
“Yeah…” she whispered. “After my date saw the text from you demanding his full name, home address, and both a head-on and profile picture of his face… kinda killed the mood. I told him we lived together and saw the exact moment he lost his hard-on forever. Told him you were a cop and swore he’d walk right out. Told him I was a widow and damn near gave him heart failure. Decided to leave early, before I told him I had a kid and finished him off for good.”
He didn’t laugh or even crack a smile. His eyes ran her face silently.
Her gaze fell away, unable to take whatever she saw in his eyes, and focused instead on the arm she still had slung across his chest. Still clutching the blanket, she released it, letting her hand lay on his shoulder instead—his skin, soft as silk and rock hard all at once.
He sucked in a breath.
She did too, watching herself touch him, hearing her own breathing as it picked up.
Or was it his?
Her gaze found his once more, and his eyes were there to catch hers.
“So you ditched him,” he said.
She clutched her fingers around his shoulder, letting her nails sink into his skin. “He’s perfectly nice. He’s educated. Smells good. He has a great career. It’s just… I mean, he’s just… he’s not…” She se
arched his eyes, caressing his skin, her chest rising in a deep breath as her gaze slowly fell to his lips. “He’s just… not…”
His eyes danced back and forth between hers, chest rising and falling in pace with her bosom, picking up speed every moment until the only sound filling the living room was that of their heaving breaths.
Brown eyes still riveted to his lips, her voice lowered to a whispered. “He’s not…”
“Troy.”
Her eyes flew back up to his, mouth falling open and blinking rapidly.
“Yes,” she croaked. “Right.”
He held his breath.
“He’s not…” Her hand left his chest and sliced her through her hair mercilessly, eyes darting all over the living. “He’s not Troy. That’s… exactly right…” Sneaking a look at him from the corners of her eyes, finding his green orbs hadn’t moved from hers, her words trailed away once more. She dug her nails into the side of the couch, inches from his heaving stomach, where his abs appeared to have tightened to the point of pain.
The crinkle of the note hidden in his hand rose into the air as he tightened them into fists. Was that note the only reason he’d given up everything to stay with her and Blue? If not for that note, would he have skipped town without another word, thanking the gods for freeing him from her, the woman he’d once hated most of all. She knew he didn’t hate her anymore. Hell, he’d even gone so far as to refer to her as a friend. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t still be a burden. A torturous task he felt forced to complete with a half-hearted smile, instead of something he’d chosen to do from the deepest pits of his heart. Did he have to read that letter, every single day, just to stomach the thought of being around her?
Her own stomach tied in a knot at the thought.
So deep in her own introspection, and how sick it was making her feel, she didn’t even realize how intensely she’d been staring at him, and even less so, how intensely he’d been staring right back.
Not until he reached out with his free hand and cupped her cheek.
They both drew in sharp breaths the moment his skin was on hers. Every muscle in her body stilled as his thumb stroked her jaw, sending warmth flush through her body and shifting her already racing heart into a turbo gear she hadn’t even known it was capable of. She reached up and wrapped her trembling fingers around his wrist, feeling his pulse throbbing the same way.
Eyes never leaving hers, he leaned up from the couch, cupped her other cheek, and covered her lips with his, catching the soft gasp that parted them before it had a chance to escape her aching body.
He moaned as he drew her bottom lip between his as if the taste of her gasp was sweeter than candy.
Every bone in her body melted, sank, as she responded, capturing his top lip between hers, tasting his sweet flavor too. Just as soon as her body softened, it hardened. Every inch of her until even her nipples became erect, pressing insistently against the fabric of her dress, throbbing with the need to be drawn into the warm cavern of the mouth still covering hers. Desperate to feel the wetness of his tongue, swirling it them, quelling the scorching fire that’d made them hard as a rock. Yearning for the gentle nip of the beard that was grazing at her lips right then. Blood charged through her body until she was sure it might burst through her skin, eventually pooling between her thighs until she could feel the slickness of her folds. The hot air from his nose warmed her cheek as his breathing picked up, and they tilted their heads together, claiming each other’s lips from a different angle, deeper, one that tightened Stella’s bones to the point of pain. Making her cavern bang like a drum-set between her thighs. As they sucked each other’s lips, she didn’t even notice the hand she had around his wrist—gently nudging it downward toward that pulsing bud at her center—until it caused the note to fall from his fingers.
His lips left hers with a smack the moment the paper tumbled down from his hand and landed between her clenched thighs, stopping just inches away from the apex she’d been unwittingly ushering his hand to.
At the sight of that paper, the color drained from his face, and something flashed across his eyes that made every bone in her body go still.
His stared down at it for several moments before his green eyes shot back up to her face, sobering like a drunken man who’d just been splashed with ice water. He looked upon her as if she was someone he’d never seen before. As if he had no idea how he’d landed on that couch, hands on her cheeks, with the flavor of her lips lingering on his tongue just like his was lingering on hers.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
Her heart froze in mid-beat. She tried to speak, but nothing came.
He searched her eyes, then looked back down at the note still nestled on her quaking thighs.
“Fuck.” He stood swiftly from the couch without another word, moving toward the staircase with his hand over his mouth.
Stella watched him go, chest heaving, still crouched on the floor next to the couch.
But Rocco didn’t look back at her, turning the corner and jetting up the staircase two at a time, the stomps of his heavy feet on the stairs almost as loud as the heart pummeling her ribs.
16
“Come on, Blue, you can do it. I refuse to let ‘Rock’ be the only word you can say. It’s go time now. Papa…?” Stella bounced Blue on her arm while showing her the photo. “Papa?”
Blue slapped her saliva-soaked hand against the picture of Troy, which Stella was holding up, her tiny voice cooing and squealing out almost every sound but ‘Papa’, her breath smelling of apple sauce. Her dirty-blonde curls grew browner by the day and were now long enough for Stella to pull up into the two tiny pigtails that jutted out from either side of her head. Her weight in Stella’s arm seemed heavier even than yesterday and the two tiny teeth jutting out from her top gums solidified the fact that her baby was growing up way too fast. Stella couldn’t even decide whether she really wanted Blue to say the word ‘Papa’, lest she hasten the heartbreaking process of her baby no longer being her ‘baby’ anymore.
She and Blue gazed down at the photo of Troy, pictured smiling at the person in the frame, wearing a white button-down shirt that made him glow like an angel.
“This was the day your Daddy came home early from overseas. The whole family took him out for dinner. It’s my favorite picture of him because it’s the happiest I’d ever seen him. I was convinced he was so happy… he’d never leave again…” Stella pondered how wrong she’d been, kissing Blue’s forehead. “Blue, can you say Papa? Papa? Can you say Papa?”
Blue continued whacking the photo and mumbling incoherently, stopping only when the sound of heavy footsteps booming down the stairs behind them floated into the foyer.
Stella froze, heart stopping in mid-beat, and looked over her shoulder just as Rocco began bounding down the steps. Wearing black cargo pants, a black SWAT button-down shirt—rolled up to the elbows—and a black bulletproof vest, there was no question that he’d been short-called for an op. It made her stomach do a 180 as her eyes ran the many pockets on his vest that held the various radios, guns, and pepper sprays meant to help keep him alive.
Just the fact that he had to be kept alive made her want to scream.
She wanted to remind him for the millionth time—as he froze in the middle of the staircase at the sight of her as well—how much she hated how dangerous his job was, but the words wouldn’t come.
He didn’t speak either, taking another silent moment before he began down the staircase once more, slower this time, clearing his throat and avoiding her eyes.
Just another morning at the Armstrong/Wolfe house. Two people who’d shared a passionate kiss just a week earlier now pretending that they weren’t aware of each other, living in the same house, or raising the same kid.
When she realized she was still wearing a bright pink sleep bonnet on top of the bun on her head, she tore it off, heat creeping up her cheeks, and shoved it in the pocket of her black work pants. This man had seen her wearing that hair bonnet, m
ustache cream, jumbo magnetic rollers, and du-rags on more occasions that either of them could count, but she still cursed that pink bonnet’s existence anyway, tightening her fisted around it in her pocket.
She narrowed her eyes and turned away from him as he entered the foyer, the palms of her hands growing sweaty when they both reached for the coat rack next to the door at the same time. As she wrapped her damp fingers around her Birkin bag, he seized the black SWAT helmet hanging above it, making the skin of their arms brush. As the soft hairs on his forearm tickled hers, the sweat on her hand seemed to multiply, causing the leather handle of her purse to slip from her fingers, falling to the floor. He lost control of his helmet as well, and it crashed down onto the marble next to her purse. He cursed under his breath as they both bent down to seize their fallen objects, careful not to touch each other again, mumbling hastened apologizes as they stood once more and side-stepped each other, their eyes dashing all over the room.
Stella tugged at the hem of her black massage uniform shirt after she slung her bag over her shoulder, readjusting Blue on her hip as she looked down at the floor.
Even as their gazes darted all over the room, they still somehow managed to lock eyes every other second before one of them quickly looked away again, but when Blue seized the photo of Troy from Stella’s hand and offered it to Rocco with a proud smile, they could no longer avoid one another completely.
Rocco paused with his hand on the doorknob, looking down at the photo. He bit his bottom lip, took a deep breath, and accepted the picture from Blue, giving Stella another quick look as he shoved it in the pocket of his vest, snatched the door open, and stepped out without another word.
Her eyes fell closed when the door clicked shut behind him, and she cuddled Blue closer. Not even the feeling of her daughter placing her head on Stella’s shoulder was enough to calm the dull ache ripping across her body.
Closing her eyes didn’t help either, only serving to blast her back to the one moment in that entire week that Rocco had managed to find his vocal chords and speak to her: the morning after their kiss, when they’d been avoiding each other in the kitchen the same way they had in the foyer right then. The morning when Stella had been sure—as she’d hastily shoved a banana in her mouth before work—he wasn’t going to say anything to her at all.
Forbidden (War Book 1) Page 19
