“How’s your dad?” Rocco walked around Grace’s room without even bothering to knock on the door. She cringed as he took in the piles of clothes and magazines on the floor, the shelves stuffed with knick-knacks she’d picked up in thrift stores, and the sewing patterns and pieces of material strewn across every surface. Yes, her room was a disaster. Some day she would get around to cleaning it, but she never seemed to have the time.
“Better, thanks. He’s out of the ICU and in a recovery room.” Her voice felt tight, and she took a deep breath and then another. If she didn’t relax, she wouldn’t be able to sing, but how could she relax after what her father had said? He had planted a seed of doubt, and despite her best efforts it had taken root over the course of the day.
“Has he talked to Nico yet?” He picked up a picture of Grace and her mom together, both of them dressed in blue, their hair up, identical smiles on their faces.
“He was about to call Nico when I got there. I’m sure he’s talked to him now. He said he would get the Forzanis out looking for Tom, and he wanted to handle my security.”
Rocco put the picture down and turned slowly to look at her. “What security?”
She sucked in her lips and shrugged. “He wanted to give me a bodyguard. I told him I didn’t need one because I had you.”
“I’m sure that didn’t go down well.”
“No.” Her heart drummed in her chest as she tried to work up the nerve to ask the question she didn’t want answered.
“Dolcezza?”
“Yes?”
“You’re going to wrinkle your dress.” He gestured to her hand, tightly fisting the skirt of her dusty rose-colored dress. It had a cream lace overlay that would hide the damage she was doing to the silk beneath, but still, she didn’t want to go on stage feeling like she was hiding anything—even if it was just wrinkled silk—when her songs came from a place of honesty in her heart.
“Right.” She smoothed down her dress.
“What’s wrong, Gracie?” His voice was so soft, so gentle, her eyes watered with the force of the emotion she’d been holding back since this afternoon.
“Nothing.”
“Are they not taking good care of your dad? You want different doctors? A different hospital? I can talk to Nico. You just tell me what you need.”
“He’s good. He’s recovering.”
“Is it the gig tonight? You know I won’t let anything happen to you. Anything goes wrong and I’ll stop the show.”
The vehemence in his tone eased some of her anxiety, and she blinked back the tears, knowing he’d seen them and he wasn’t going to let her distress slide. “I know. You own the club.”
“That’s right.”
“Maybe you should wear a jacket and tie.” She tried to put a teasing note in her voice. “There aren’t many jazz club owners in leather jackets and jeans.”
“Don’t own a jacket.”
“Ethan could lend you one. You’re about the same size.”
Rocco snorted. “Not borrowing a jacket from Ethan.”
“Why not?”
“He wants you. If I borrowed his jacket, I’d have to return it in pieces so he’d get the message that you’re mine.”
Mine.
Her heart ached with longing. For the last few weeks, she had been living a fantasy, when the reality was there was a chasm between them so wide she didn’t know if one word was enough to bridge the distance.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said. “You sing without the mask and I’ll wear a jacket.”
A smile tugged at her lips. “And a tie?”
“Don’t push it.”
She’d sung with only half a mask before, and in Rocco’s club, with Rocco there, she was pretty sure she could manage to go without. “Okay. But I have to see you in the jacket first before I go on stage.”
“I’ll be right there, cara mia. Just like I promised.”
“Papa said I should stay away from you,” she said, watching him.
“If I had a daughter, I’d tell her to stay away from me, too.” He folded his arms, leaned against her dresser. With her pastel shabby chic furniture, flowery prints, and white lace curtains, he stood out for his darkness.
“He said you didn’t have any lines you wouldn’t cross.”
“I have lines.” Rocco stared straight ahead. “I would never hurt a civilian or a woman.”
She smoothed down her dress even though the damage was done. “What if that person was a threat? What if they meant to hurt someone you cared about, directly or indirectly? Would you hurt them then?”
He answered so quickly she wondered if he’d even heard the question. “Yes.”
“So it’s not really a line you won’t cross, it’s a line you prefer to not to cross, but under the right circumstances you will.”
“What happened to you will never happen again.” He crossed the distance between them, cupped her face in his palms. “I failed you, dolcezza. I will never fail you again. I won’t let anything hurt you. I will keep you safe. And if that means I have to break the rules, then I’ll break them.”
“What about here?” She touched her heart. “What if you had to do something that would hurt me inside?”
“Never.”
“But what if you had no choice? What if … you … Cesare gave you a contract that would hurt me?” It was as close as she could get to asking him the question without suggesting she didn’t trust him.
“I wouldn’t do it.” His arms slid around her body, pulling her close.
“I thought death was your only way out.”
“It doesn’t have to be my death.” He bent down and kissed her, his mouth moving against hers so softly and gently she almost couldn’t believe he was suggesting he might kill Cesare.
“But … what will you do?”
“You.” He groaned into her mouth, and she wove her fingers through his hair, pulling him toward her. She wanted more. More kissing. More of his hot body against hers. More strong arms holding her tight, protecting her. He kept her safe. He had always kept her safe.
And yet her father’s words were an irritated niggle in her mind.
They are not good men.
A man is defined by the lines he won’t cross.
They will pretend to be your boyfriend, your lover, your friend …
Her head spun, and she clung to him, savoring his taste, the illicit thrill of being wrapped around a mobster in her bedroom even after her father had warned her away, where there was nothing but the faint sound of traffic, the rumble of the bass as Miguel practiced in the living room, and the occasional thud of footsteps as Ethan got the equipment loaded for the gig. Why couldn’t she have this, have him? Why wasn’t it enough that she knew his heart and accepted who he was inside?
“I want you.” She ground her hips against his, feeling the hard length of his erection beneath his fly. “Here, Rocco. Now.”
She needed to feel their connection, to know she was right and Papa was wrong.
A growl of pleasure rumbled in his chest. His hands slid up her thighs to her hips and under her skirt. “That’s a dangerous wish. I’m not in a gentle mood.”
“I don’t want gentle.” She nipped his bottom lip and his fingers curled into her ass.
He cupped her sex with his warm palm, and she felt an almost frantic need to connect with him and wash her father’s words away.
“This isn’t you,” he said softly.
No, it wasn’t her. She had never been sexually aggressive. When she’d been with Rocco, he had always taken the lead. He had been her teacher in all things and she had been a willing pupil. After she moved to Vegas and started dating other men, she’d tried asserting herself, but it didn’t give her the same kind of thrill, and she had never met a man as dominant as Rocco.
“I’m discovering a whole new me. I’m embracing the chaos I’ve been running from all my life.”
His lips quirked at the corners. “I’m chaos?”
“Yes, you are.”
With a low growl, he shoved her panties aside and slicked a finger through her wetness. His eyes darkened almost to black. “You’re wet.”
“For you.” She rocked her hips against him, pressing into his fingers.
“Grace…” His voice cracked on a moan, broke.
“Please. Right now. I need you. I need to feel close to you.”
“Fuck. I could never say no to you.” He pushed a thick finger inside her and she gasped.
It must have been the gasp that broke him, because he crushed her mouth in a fierce kiss and pumped his finger hard and deep into her wetness.
“Oh God. Yes.”
“Tell me what you want, Gracie.” He added a second finger, curling them to prime the sensitive spot inside her that his piercing would stroke when he finally got around to fucking her.
“More.” She didn’t just want his fingers or the rough way he handled her; she wanted his dirty talking, the unfiltered words that made their every encounter seem dangerous and sordid.
“More what?” His voice was a sensual whisper in her ear. “You want more fingers in your slick pussy? You want my cock pounding into you? You want my teeth biting your nipples? You want my mouth on your hot, tight, wet cunt?”
She moaned as his words ratcheted her arousal up one hundred degrees. No one had ever talked to her the way Rocco did. His words made her feel desired and dirty at the same time. “I want it all.”
“Greedy girl.” He added a third finger and thrust harder, his palm rubbing against her clit, his other hand sliding under her shirt to cup her breast.
Grace arched against him, rubbing her breast against his hand, grinding into his fingers. She felt wanton and wild and desperate for release.
“Jesus Christ, you’re on fire, dolcezza. I could play with your body all fucking day.” He leaned in and took her mouth, his kiss fierce and passionate, his tongue sweeping every inch. Demanding. Dominating. She’d missed it. Missed him. Missed everything they had together. Six years she’d lost by running away. Now, she wanted it back.
“Give it to me, cara mia.” His voice dropped low and husky. “I want to feel you come all over my hand. I want your juices all over my fingers.” He increased his rhythm, firmly pressing his palm over her clit with each stroke. Grace writhed in his grip, widening her legs to accommodate his hand, just as he’d taught her the first time he’d used his fingers to bring her to climax.
“You close?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Let it go.” He pressed his palm hard against her clit, and her orgasm slammed into her, rocking her body from the inside out. Rocco swallowed her scream with a kiss, his skilled fingers drawing out her orgasm until her knees went weak. Before she had fully come down, he had pulled a condom from his pocket and freed his cock from its restraint.
“You ready for me?”
“Yes.” Her heart was still pounding from the rush of orgasm, but she still ached for more.
Rocco tore away her panties like they were made of tissue. Then he curled his hands under her ass and lifted her easily, bracing her against the wall as she wrapped her legs around him.
“Tell me you want it.” His eyes, fierce and hard, burned into her. “Use the words I like to hear.”
“I want it, Rocco. I want your cock. I want you to fuck me. Make me yours.”
She wanted to be his, to be anchored to the ground because the urge to run away after her father had warned her about the De Lucchis was almost overwhelming. But this time was going to be different. She believed in him, believed in herself. If it felt right between them, then nothing else mattered.
His big hands clasped her hips, the smooth head of his cock teasing her entrance. Her breath caught in short, wild gasps and she clung to him, nails deep in his shoulders as he held her up, cool night air brushing her heated flesh. Waiting. Waiting for the anchor to come.
“Rocco. Please.” She levered her hips up, tried to push down over the head of his cock. His hands tightened on her hips in warning, and he retreated just enough that she could feel the heat of his flesh near her entrance but nothing more.
“Shhh. Let me enjoy you.”
“I don’t want to be enjoyed. I want to be fucked.” This time the crude words slid easily from her lips.
Slowly, he pushed into her, inch by thick inch, his piercing a mouth-watering erotic burn against her sensitive flesh. She shifted her weight, widened her legs to take him all in.
He groaned, then slammed all the way in, stretching her, filling her so deep her breath caught, and yet she took him, reveled in his power and strength, felt the climax build and was determined to hold back until he could come with her.
“Yeah, baby,” she whispered. “Fuck me hard. Give me all that hard, thick cock.”
His strangled cry encouraged her, made her feel the strength of her femininity. She leaned down and kissed the sensitive spot between his neck and shoulder and then bit down hard.
“Jesus Christ.” Rocco pounded into her, his body taut and hard with restrained power. Faster, stronger. Her body trembled as he gently rubbed his fingertip around her clit, dipping down to her wet pussy for moisture, then stroking up again.
Grace moaned out loud. She’d never felt so tightly connected with anyone as she did with Rocco.
Her orgasm peaked without warning. A scream exploded out of her and she buried her face in his shoulder as she came around his cock.
With a fierce cry, he slammed into her and joined her in climax, his cock swelling against the clenching muscles of her pussy as he pumped his seed inside her.
“Grace?” Ethan thumped on her door. “You ready to go?”
“Fuck,” Rocco murmured. “Perfect fucking timing.”
“I don’t remember you swearing quite so much when we were together before,” she said as he released her.
“There wasn’t as much shit going on that needed swearing at.” He turned to dispose of the condom and then they quickly straightened their clothes. Grace held her arms out by her sides and twirled in front of him.
“How do I look?”
“Like you’ve been well fucked.”
Laughing, she ran her fingers through her hair, straightening it out, her fingers brushing over the smooth skin on her cheek. Every time she was with him, she forgot about the scar. He didn’t see her ugly, so why couldn’t she stop seeing the scar?