“I’ve not been in Manhattan for ages,” she said softy, sadly. “But it doesn’t matter.”
He gritted his teeth. Not going to fall for the disappointed spoilt schoolgirl act. Except he knew she wasn’t that spoilt. And she wasn’t a schoolgirl anymore.
Varsity girl, fool. Not that much of an improvement.
Still too fucking young.
He rolled his shoulders and wished he could take his coat off but he was hoping they’d be at the hotel soon enough. He glanced out the window. Freaking taxi was moving slower than a slug over broken glass. There was too much traffic. It would’ve been faster to keep walking but it was too cold out there for her.
However he needed the frigid wind to keep his head. That’s why he’d taken so long following her before saying anything. He’d needed to cool down from listening to Logan shout at her like that, and to temper his own response to seeing her again.
Danielle Hughes was too pretty for her own good.
“You sure you have room at your hotel?” Her voice had more of an edge as she asked. “I heard it was booked out months in advance. Very popular.”
He longed to put her in one of the suites far, far away from his. He wanted floors between them. As much distance as possible.
Except he didn’t trust her. Couldn’t. She ran away at every opportunity.
Not that he blamed her. Her father was a bastard of the highest order. Rocco had witnessed the callous way he’d treated his sons and he knew it from personal experience. The old man would do anything to get his own way.
But she was right. The hotel was very popular. Held the highest occupancy rates in the city. Right now it was full.
He allowed himself the merest glance at her. “I can work something out.”
She was looking directly at him. Her blue eyes were shadowed but he saw the glint of some kind of fire in them. He figured it was resentment. He hoped it was resentment.
“Sorry to cause you trouble.”
Yep, resentment. She couldn’t have sounded less sincere.
His heart thudded uncomfortably hard. He shifted imperceptibly, trying to relax. He wasn’t old enough to have a heart attack, yet here he was feeling hot, tight in the chest and unable to breathe.
He needed fresh air. Or a barrel of ice to jump into.
Logan had warned that Dani would give him nothing but trouble when he’d offered to go after her. But the trouble wasn’t the kind Logan had been thinking of. And it was a good thing Logan had no idea of the thoughts spinning in Rocco’s head. No idea what an exercise in self-restraint this was.
Rocco had avoided looking too closely at Danielle Hughes since she’d gone from being a barely there ghost of a girl, into a sultry in-your-face teen. Fortunately she’d been packed off to boarding school for years, so she’d been away most of the time when he’d slaved his way through every menial job going at the Hughes’ Summerhill resort until he’d gotten the skills and saved the funds he needed.
He rarely went back to the ski town now. Sure as hell didn’t go near the award-winning restaurant that still bore his father’s name. His name.
And Dani had waitressed there? Had taken orders from the man who’d destroyed Rocco’s childhood?
The thought her being anywhere near Bill infuriated him. And that she’d seen and spoken with his mom? The half brothers he hardly knew?
He couldn’t think about it. Wouldn’t ask her how they were. What they were like.
He didn’t want to know. Ever.
But a few nights ago he’d had to return to the Hughes’ resort—to support Logan and Connor. Dani had sashayed into that gruesome anniversary party for her parents wearing a sapphire dress that fell to the floor in a clinging swathe of liquid-looking material. Single-handedly she’d sent the temperature in the arctic atmosphere soaring. Rocco had made the mistake of looking for too long. For one heady moment, she’d looked back.
Then Rocco had remembered just why he didn’t look.
Her brothers. His best friends. Loyalty.
Today her stunning form was encased in black skinny jeans, a sleek black sweater and a denim jacket that was too light for this weather.
Not that Rocco was looking any lower than her eyes now. Not noticing her full mouth or her luminous creamy skin. Definitely not noticing her curves that made his hands tingle with the urge to caress.
No. He wasn’t noticing any of that. Just as he’d never noticed those things about her. He refused.
Because Danielle Hughes was little more than a kid. She was the baby sister of his two best friends. The guys he owed. The guys who were the only thing resembling family that he still had. He’d do anything for them. Never do anything to hurt them.
So he was fixing his gaze on her eyes only.
Trouble was, her eyes were a deep, beautiful, bruised blue. Yeah, that’s why he’d had to walk in the other direction at the party the other night. It wasn’t her body that had done him in, it was the look in her eyes.
He knew that look and it wasn’t all resentment.
Damn Hunter for being away this week. Damn Xander for being too busy with his woman.
Damn Logan for accepting Rocco’s stupid offer—that he’d take care of her?
One night. Surely he was man enough to handle that. One night, then he’d send her home.
And he was not going to feel bad about it.
The taxi finally pulled over to the curb, out the window he saw the familiar lights of his hotel. He opened the door and inhaled like he’d been suffocated for the last century. Cold air cut into his lungs. The rest of him still burned.
He strode through reception, shrugging off his coat as he walked. Irritated, he watched her walk alongside him, her interest in the decor obvious. He was stupidly curious about her reaction—did she like the style of the place? People either did or didn’t. With one look at the decor, you knew you were at The Trove, which was just as he wanted it. Unique.
He wanted her to like it.
He ignored the outrageously curious glances of his staff. Yeah. The only private guests he brought to the hotel were the guys. Hunter, Xander, Logan. Connor on the rare occasions he was in town. No family. No lovers. No exceptions.
Only now Dani was here, striding alongside him, her nose in the air, her attitude all but bouncing off the walls. And while he didn’t ordinarily give a monkey’s about gossip among the staff, he’d be sure to let it get out that she was a young relative staying. A cousin. For her sake, right?
Okay. To remind himself. She was untouchable.
She said nothing as he punched in the code enabling him to override the elevator’s security function. He clenched his fists as he was forced into too small a space with her again. Her fragrance was too tempting—light, soft, mouth-watering.
As soon as the doors slid open on the fourth floor he stepped out, walking to the end of the corridor. He punched another code and opened the last door in the line. Then he stepped back to let her go through first and braced himself.
It took only a few seconds for her to cast her intelligent, assessing glance around and realize the truth.
“This unit is occupied.” Standing smack in the center of the room, she faced him off. “It’s yours.” She jammed her hands on her hips and glared at him. “I’m not staying here.”
Rocco refused to let his temper ignite. As it was he was too tempted to physically restrain her and touching her again was not, repeat not, an option. He’d play it light. “Why not?”
She marched over to the open doorway on the far side of the room and peeked through. When she turned back, her skin was scarlet. “There’s only one bedroom.”
Yeah there was that slight flaw in the plan. He’d taken the smallest suite available in the place. One single bedroom, one bathroom, one living room. But it was sensible business practice to have his customers pay for the best space and not hog it himself. He didn’t need it.
“I’ll take the sofa in here.” He tossed his coat over the back of a chair and rolled up his shirt-sleeves, still steaming. “And just so you know, I sleep light. You won’t get past me in the middle of the night.”
Her gaze seemed fixed on his forearms. “You think I’m going to run away?”
He snorted. “You’ve run away from two different locations in the last forty-eight hours. Baby, you got form.”
“Don’t call me baby.” She shot him a death look and started prowling round the edge of the room, like a cornered kitty seeking an escape.
He’d called her that to remind himself he was nine years older than her.
Visibly uptight she inspected the room. He watched her glower at the half-drunk coffee he’d left next to the spread paper on the small countertop. As she paced, her glance darted to his computer running on the desk in the farthest corner, to the painting above it, to the dining table, to the window, to the sofa. Her restlessness stirred a matching response in him.
The suite was too fucking small.
“So you’re going to be my jailer?” She finally looked back at him.
Rocco tensed. He didn’t like that look. Or that tone. She was taunting him?
“Not what you’re used to, Princess?” he asked, determined to keep his humor. Or at least pretend to. “The thought of not having your own palace bothering you?”
“You know I’m not a princess. I’m used to a single cell in a school or university lodge and this is way more fancy than that.” She ran a finger along the frame of the painting on the wall. “Even if it is a little... impersonal.”