Then, he had.
“It can never happen again.”
His deep voice had reached across the kitchen island and frozen the banana in her mouth, mid-bite. He’d exited without another word, leaving her alone to watch him go.
They hadn’t spoken since.
Somehow, in their silence, Blue had still managed to be bathed, fed, loved, and nurtured the way she deserved. If she was experiencing any post-traumatic stress from being surrounded by two emotionally challenged people who no longer knew how to communicate with each other, she didn’t show it. If anything, she seemed to be thriving, happier and more talkative than ever, which was what had driven Stella to show her the picture of Troy and teach her how to say ‘Papa’.
As Stella and Blue stared at the closed door in Rocco’s wake, she couldn’t help but wonder just how long they could continue like this.
——
Rocco clenched his teeth and shoved the palm of his hand into the zipper of his black cargo pants, willing the hardness pressing against it to get out of his life. If not forever, then at least for the moment.
But it wouldn’t relent.
Neither would the memory that’d been burned into his brain for a week. The taste of her lips as he’d drawn them between his. The softness of her mouth and the thought of how wet it would feel wrapped around the dick throbbing against his hand. The sound of her voice when she’d moaned. The scent of her perfume, wafting up from her ample cleavage, heaving hard against the hemline of her green dress.
His dick swelled to the point of pain.
“Wolfe!”
Rocco sucked in a breath as a voice barked next to him, snapping him out of his reverie. His green eyes shot across the parking lot to Justin.
“Wake up!” Justin screamed.
And, just like that, the world around Rocco crystalized. The sight of Justin—crouched behind the door of the black cruiser parked just a few feet away from him, aiming a rifle at the bank across the street through the car’s open window—sobered Rocco in seconds. The yellow crime scene tape wrapped around every building on the entire block hit him next. Then the dozens of other police cruisers that also faced the bank, surrounding him from every angle. The backfiring of police radios. The news crews that surrounded the yellow tape with cameras and microphones, all clamoring for updates. The rifle that was trembling in his own hand from behind the flimsy protection of his own cruiser door. And most of all, the screams. The screams that had been coming from within the bank for nearly an hour—just muffled enough to be barely inaudible, but just loud enough to send a cold chill down his spine.
It all hit him in a flash and drew a shocked gasp from his lips. Shocked because he was supposed to be leading this op—his team—and he’d managed to disappear into a completely different world.
Even as he blinked rapidly and re-focused on the bank before him, his dick remained as hard as a rock, proving that full control was still very much outside of his reach.
At a time when he needed it most of all.
——
Stella’s nostrils expanded as she breathed in the lavender and eucalyptus aroma that filled the massage room to the brim. The dim mood lighting, mixed with the black towel slung over the massage table he was lying face down on, made the slippery oil she was rubbing onto Mr. Devereux’s tan skin glow like a yellow diamond peeking out from a lump of black coal. His muscles tensed and contracted in anticipation whenever her kneading hands came near as she patiently worked her way down his back.
Instead of his usual Mozart, he’d requested that CNN play on the TV hanging overhead instead, leaving a Morning Joe segment playing at a low volume instead.
It had been weeks since Mr. Devereux’s first appointment with her, and much to her relief, he’d been much better behaved. He came to see her twice a week and no longer propositioned her inappropriately. He also hadn’t brought up the raid at Michelle’s again, nor the fact that he’d seen Rocco handcuff her with his own two eyes, yet curiously, she still walked free.
She found herself thanking God for the millionth time that he’d finally seemed to let it go. That he didn’t appear to have any plans on implicating her or Rocco. Perhaps because it would also mean implicating himself, since he’d been there during the night of the raid as well.
Besides, she needed him. He was her best client. Never left that spa without tipping her at least three stacks—enough to cover most of the mortgage and well above the pennies she received from the other clients she managed. It allowed her to help Rocco out with money even more than she’d ever imagined she’d be capable of, and it felt good.
Now that she knew he was harmless, it relieved Stella to know she hadn’t told Rocco about Mr. Devereux. He would’ve overreacted. Gone overboard. He would’ve found Mr. Devereux himself, she had no doubt, and taken action that would’ve put them all at risk. Like hitting him. Maybe even killing him, if things escalated enough.
She flashed back to the night of the raid when Rocco had taken Mr. Devereux around the neck, just for looking at her a second too long. The rage she’d seen in his eyes had stolen the breath from her lungs. She’d had no doubt that, if Mr. Devereux had pushed his luck, Rocco might’ve hurt him even then.
She couldn’t help a small smile, even though she knew smiling was the last thing she should be doing when thinking about Rocco’s penchant for anger. It still made her feel warm. Safe. Knowing there was someone out there willing to fight for her and Blue.
Her smile did vanish, however, when the memory of his lips on hers took over her thoughts a moment later, the way it had been all week. How softly he’d kissed her and how different the gentle caress of his lips on hers was from the vicious way he’d choked out Mr. Devereux during the raid. She’d had no idea Rocco was even capable of such tenderness. Not until she’d felt it suckling at her bottom lip, drawing it into the warmth of his mouth. So wet and slippery her body couldn’t help but respond and wonder what that tenderness would feel like on the rest of her.
“Stella?”
She gasped softly and looked down at Mr. Devereux. “I’m sorry, what was that, sir?”
“My god, where did you go?”
“Guess I just got lost in my own head.”
“Seems like you’ve been lost in your head a lot this week.”
That did tend to happen to a confused woman who’d been thoroughly kissed by a man, only to be completely ignored by that same man every single day for an entire week.
“I really sorry,” she said again. “What did you say?”
“Just asking if you’d noticed we’d gone over by fifteen minutes. Please don’t get me wrong. I don’t mind. I just know you’re usually booked solid.”
She looked up at the clock, stunned to see that he was right. Their session had ended fifteen minutes ago, and she hadn’t even noticed, too busy falling into the memory of Rocco’s lips on hers, and how they would probably never be again.
“Gosh, sir, if anyone is booked solid, it’s you. You’ve probably got all kinds of important things to do and people to see, and here I am holding you hostage on my table.” She laughed softly and moved across the room, seizing a clean towel from the mirrored vanity and wiping her hands with it.
“I’m actually clear for the next hour. Perhaps in the hopes that you’d finally go over our time the way I always secretly wished you would.”
“Sir…” She lowered her eyes blushing.
“Please.” He looked pained as he sat up and faced her, slinging the towel over his groin. “Mr. Devereux. Sir makes me feel like someone’s grandfather.”
“Mr. Devereux…”
He searched her eyes across the space, a gentle smile on his lips. “You know… I’m known for a lot of things, Stella, but one thing I’ve never been known for is giving up.”
She held her breath.
“You make me so…” He sucked in a breath, eyes fluttering closed. When he couldn’t seem to find the words, he opened his eyes and looked at her as if he were in
pain once more. “Half a million.”
“Excuse me?”
“Singapore is closing in, and I can’t help myself a moment longer. I’ll give you half a million dollars to spend the night with me before I go. The memory alone will help get me through what’s sure to be a long, arduous undertaking with a stockpile of very wealthy, very somber Asians.”
“Perhaps you should tell your wife what a long, arduous undertaking it would be so she can figure out how to settle it for you.” She clapped her mouth closed the moment the words left her lips, stunned at herself.
Welp, there went those three thousand dollar tips.
But Mr. Devereux smiled in response, and that smile bubbled into a laugh a moment later, the sound filling the room so fully that it overpowered the news report playing on the television.
“Perhaps she could if we even knew how to speak to each other anymore,” he said. “I meant no offense. I simply can’t help myself. You’re a tough one to shake, Stella Armstrong.”
“It seems you’ve been banking on me being a total idiot since day one, considering your price has quadrupled since the first offer.”
“My first offer is rarely my best. Few people ever have any idea how high I’m willing to go. Except you.”
“Only because you’re assuming I’m negotiating, but I’m not.”
“If you’re still in the room, you’re still negotiating.”
“It’s my job to be in the room.”
He gave her a moment, then smiled softly. “Sure.”
Her heart skipped a beat at his tone. His sure smile. Almost as sure as the smirk that had been on Rocco’s face when he’d called her “a different breed” right before her date with Paul. Maybe there really was something about her that was clear as day to them, that she couldn’t see in herself. Would any other woman have walked out on Mr. Devereux after the first offer? Slapped him across the face? Told him where he could stick it?
They had met in a seedy parlor, after all. Did she really have the right to be acting so sanctimoniously? Maybe she really was different. Capable of the kind of illicit behavior most women would never dream of, even in their wildest dreams.
“A million,” Mr. Devereux whispered.
Her eyes widened.
When she struggled to respond, she had her answer.
Rocco had been right.
She was a different breed.
Her silence was the answer.
And it drove him. “Cash. No questions asked. One night with me at the Four Seasons.”
She gasped again. Not in response to Mr. Devereux, however but at the TV playing above his head on the ceiling, where the Morning Joe segment had cut away to live breaking news footage from New Jersey. A news crew was filming a bank from overhead, the chop of the helicopter’s wings and howling wind filling the TV’s speakers. Hundreds of flashing police cruisers and several SWAT trucks surrounded the bank, and crime scene tape had been wrapped around the entire block, lined with reporters and civilians alike.
At the sight of the dozen’s of SWAT uniforms posted all over the parking lot outside—some kneeling behind their open car doors and others lining the walls of the bank—all Stella could think about was the SWAT uniform Rocco had been wearing on his way out of the door that morning.
Tears instantly stung her eyes as a female news anchor spoke over the footage. “Breaking news, we’re getting reports of a hostage situation in a robbery gone wrong at a Bank of America in Hoboken, where a gunman is said to be holding dozens of people hostage and, according to local prosecutors, has already claimed the life of one New Jersey officer…”
The jolt of shock that ripped through Stella’s body sent her flying toward the door of the massage room, throwing it open and racing out before Mr. Devereux could say another word.
——
“Stella, you just need to calm down.”
Stella paused in the midst of pacing her living room and screamed into the phone. “Don’t tell me to calm down, DJ! It’s been twelve hours and nothing! He’s not answering his phone! No one at the precinct will listen to my questions! I drive down to the bank, and they won’t tell me anything! Not even a fucking head nod to let me know that Rocco and Justin are all right. Don’t tell me to calm down. You need to calm up!”
“Okay, first of all, ‘calm up’ is not a thing. And second of all, how many times have we been through this, huh? How many breaking news segments have popped up in the middle of a workout session or a Friends re-run and scared the shit out of us, only for our phones to ring with Justin and Rocco on the other end of the line a few hours later? They didn’t just sign themselves up when they decided to be cops—they signed us up too. We have to be just as brave and strong as they are every day.”
“An officer is dead, DJ.”
“Shot. No one’s been confirmed dead. That’s the media screwing with our emotions before they have all the facts like they’ve done many times before.”
“Okay, I’m hanging up. You’re level-headedness is pissing me off.”
“Fine. I gotta get back to work anyway.”
“Man, are you gonna feel terrible if one of them is hurt.”
“Okay, Stella.”
Stella hung up without another word, tears racing down her cheeks the moment she slammed her eyes shut. She had half a mind to worry that her rant had woken Blue upstairs, but when she opened her eyes and saw that, yep, the hostage situation was still underway, long after the sun had set, replaced by twinkling stars in the black sky, she couldn’t bring herself to worry about anything else but him.
17
It wasn’t until hours later that the jiggle of keys disagreeing with the door lock floated into the living room from the foyer, causing Stella to leap up from where she’d been sitting on the edge of the couch—knees bopping—with a scream. Abandoning Blue, where she’d been sleeping soundly on the couch next to her for hours, her white robe and white nightgown flowed in the air behind her as she raced into the foyer and grabbed hold of the door handle.
She ripped the door open before the key could even finish turning in the lock, and burst into tears when she came eye-to-eye with Rocco, launching her body into his arms with a sob.
“Hey, hey, hey,” he whispered, his breath warming her ear as he wrapped an arm around her waist and carried her back over the threshold of the door, using his key-holding hand to swing it shut behind him. “It’s alright. I’m alright.” He tightened his hold on her when her cries began making her body shake out of control, so much so that his own body vibrated with her. “Calm down. Breathe. I’m alright.”
She tightened her grip around his neck. “I ran out of the spa! I went down to the bank! I called and called! They wouldn’t tell me anything! I was so worried. How could you not call me back?”
“My phone died. And I can’t breathe.”
His words only drove her to tighten her grip around his neck, the absence of his SWAT vest leaving her free to seal every inch of her body to his. Her cries slowly calmed even as her hold seemed to tighten out of control.
Eventually, he relented, sinking into the embrace, slinging his own arms around her waist and hugging her back, surely realizing she desperately needed to receive as fully as she gave. They stayed in the hug for several silent moments until Stella’s breathing had calmed, coming slow and sure alongside his.
She pulled back and blinked up at him with tear-soaked lashes, sniffling when he instantly reached up to wipe the wetness on her cheeks away. Their eyes danced as his wipes slowly ebbed to strokes, the tips of his fingers caressing her cheeks.
“First time anyone’s ever been waiting at the door for me, in hysterical tears, after an op…” A soft smile touched his lips. “Feels nice.”
“It isn’t funny. The news said an officer was dead. I thought you were dead.”
He shushed her when he sensed she was on the way over the edge again. “I’m here.”
“I was so afraid.”
“If you know anything by now, you
should know that I’m never leaving. I’d never leave you and Blue.”
“As if you’d have a choice when there’s a madman with a gun!” She sucked in a breath. “I want you to quit.”
He smiled. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“I want you to call your commanding officer and quit today.”
“And who’s gonna pay the bills, Stella? Who? Tell me.”
She paused, pressing her lips together.
“This ain’t my first op, and it won’t be my last. It is the first op that’s left you a hysterical mess, though. Back in the day, I couldn’t even get a text from you after an op, even when an officer was dead. Remember those days? ‘Cause I do.”
“So everybody’s okay? Justin?”
“He’s fine. Nobody got killed except the bastard who held up a bank full of innocent people and then was stupid enough to open fire on us.”
Stella frowned at the memory of that asshole getting lit up by a hailstorm bullets on national TV, seconds after he’d run out of the bank and opened fire on the hundreds of police cruisers that awaited him outside. The news had cut to commercials as quickly as they could, but not before the entire city had watched him catch enough return fire to the chest to light up the Manhattan skyline on the Fourth of July.
Rocco’s face darkened, sobering. “Almost lost two guys, but…” He had to pause, eyes going to a faraway place as his thoughts seemed to shift completely. “They were counting on me. I was supposed to lead them. If they’d died… it would’ve been my fault.”
This time, it was her thumbs that came up to stroke his cheeks.
His eyes remained narrowed, deep in his thoughts, even as his arms slinked around her waist to pull her in closer.
Forbidden (War Book 1) Page 20
