Bared for Me(8)

He didn’t. Nor did he answer.

She got the courage to lift her chin and look into his eyes again. This time the glint was brighter, harder. Wicked.

Then she felt it. His hand at her waist slid around to her side and trailed higher. His thumb stroked almost idly. A sweep up towards her ribcage.

The smallest spasm hit. Insane pleasure.

She felt his muscles tighten against her. He pushed her very slightly onto him. In reflex she squeezed her most intimate muscles. Her nerves tightened, seeking closer contact. In a flash she ached for the ultimate release.

“I guess you’re happy to see me?” she tried to joke but her mouth had dried and made her voice all croaky.

“One part of me is always happy to see you,” he answered, equally rough. “Just as part of you is always happy to see me.” He applied more pressure, rocking her against him.

“And the rest of you?” she asked, breathlessly trying to retain focus.

“Not happy at all.” He met her gaze intently, brutally. “You need to have dinner. Go to bed. Alone.”

“You say that while rubbing your hard-on against me?” she said. “You really think we can resist this?”

Because she couldn’t. She’d do anything he wanted, right here, right now.

And he knew it.

“We have to,” he said. “So don’t tease me, because I’ll tease you right back.”

“But what if I like your tease?” Her cheeks burned at her boldness. But it was the truth.

She heard his muttered oath and shivered.

“If you don’t want this,” she said. “You’d better let me go.”

“Stop talking.”

Her eyes widened as she read the expression in his—the barely leashed emotion. Instinct told her to push on. To taunt.

To provoke.

“No. I’m going to stay up all night and talk to you.” She uncurled her fingers and spread them wide on his chest. So hot.

She felt the rough jerk of his arm hauling her closer. Startled, yet exhilarated she lifted her chin to maintain eye contact. But he moved his head in a quick, angled descent. She felt the merest brush of his lips. Her heart seized, she lifted her chin, needing more.

He’d kissed her. Rocco had actually kissed her. But it was far too freaking quick. She breathed in as the disappointment stabbed. For a split second she met his eyes.

Anger flashed.

But before she could think, he kissed her again.

She gasped as his mouth crushed hers. Not gentle. Not brief.

This was what she’d wanted. Rocco holding her so close she couldn’t breathe. Closer still. Devouring.

She opened up and let him. Then sought out what she needed—to discover him. His taste, his heat. She spread her hands, learning the scope of his shoulders. She rose on tip-toe to wind her arms round his neck, pressing her tight, needy nipples harder against him. Thrust her hips in an instinctive dance. She couldn’t get close enough.

He helped. His arms hauled her in tight, yes. But they held. He swept one hand over her curves, rubbing as he drew her closer and closer still, rocking her against him in time to the possessive rhythm of his tongue.

Oh yes.

Lust launched her straight into the heart of a firestorm. She kissed him. Kissed again and again, her tongue tangling with his. But he claimed dominance. Plundered her mouth the way she ached for his cock to take her body, until she melted utterly. Surrendering it all, she let him meld her against his rigid body. Curling her fingers into his hair, she opened up, pouring her energy, her soul, into the kiss. Because he touched so much more than her body.

And she moaned, giving in to the desire to let him inside. All the way. Any which way. She craved for him to take her.

He stiffened. Not in a good way. Abruptly he lifted his mouth from hers.

Suddenly wary, she pushed out of his arms. He released her immediately. He looked—shocked.

“Don’t do this because you think my ego is wounded because Pete said I was too soft in the body to be good for anything other than tittie pictures,” she said, offense her only defense.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” The hard look was back in Rocco’s eyes. “And you’re not to lose any weight.”

Okay, maybe her ego needed that lift. And she definitely needed to not talk about what had just happened. Not going in for dissection or listening to more reason why not. She couldn’t bear it. “I knew it was unlikely. The only way I’d be a success is because of my name. My connections. Not me,” she babbled. “But I don’t really want that either.”

“He talked to you at the party the other night?” Rocco stepped back from her, running his hand through his hair and ruffling it as he put yet more distance between them.

“He took a couple of pictures that night and showed them to me. Gave me his card.” Remembering this was good. It was uncomfortable—like having a bucket of cold water tossed in her face.

“What were the photos like?” He walked to the trolley and lifted the lids to peek at the dishes.

“Not safe for work.” She’d been in her slinky, slip-style dress. No bra. The expression in her eyes had been so obvious, as had the sharp outline of her peaked nipples poking through the silk. The pictures hadn’t been far off pornographic.

She’d been in that over-heated room, looking at Rocco. No blaming the cold.

“But he took them at the party?” Rocco frowned as he asked.

“He’s good at getting an angle.” She shrugged and sat at the place he had gestured to at the table. Her mouth watered, how long was it since she’d eaten?

“What did you do?” he asked.

“At the time, I ran away.” She picked up the cutlery and mentally debated between tasting the seared steak first, or whatever that puree was beneath it.

If she couldn’t have Rocco, she’d have this. The ultimate displacement activity—she needed something to get seriously stuck into. Something to help her avoid thinking about what had been stopped.

“Of course you did,” he mocked and sat opposite her. “But then he tracked you down here?”

“I called him. Desperate times...” She trailed off and took the first bite of her dinner.

“Not that desperate.” He grimaced. “And the lemonade in the champagne flute?”

She swallowed. “I wanted my wits about me, but didn’t want to look like a naive kid. I ordered before he got there, obviously.”

“So that get rich quick scheme failed.”

“It was a dumb-ass idea anyway.”

“Mmmm,” he agreed. “So what’s the next scheme?”

She had no freaking idea but she was determined to so something. It was years before she came into her trust fund—and even then only if her father didn’t do anything to prevent her from accessing it. Truth? She wanted to prove herself first anyway—gain independence long before that inheritance started paying dividends direct to her bank account. She wanted to succeed without any help from any of them.

But as she had no idea how, she avoided answering by eating.

“Why don’t you want to go home?” He filled in the silence, apparently not as starving or in need of distraction as she was. “You could work at the resort. Summerhill is massive, it always needs staff.”

Yeah, that was how Rocco had survived. But her father wouldn’t ever let her do the same.

“He’d never allow me front of house. It wouldn’t be the done thing to have his daughter as one of the hotel maids.” The guy was too obsessed with the family image. “Now Connor is so busy being the boss, he doesn’t know whether I’m there or not. I’m just I’m the pesky kid sister who kept running away from boarding school and not staying out of sight.”

She was supposed to stay out of sight, happily studying her ass off for exams she didn’t want to sit, until she took on the destiny her father had dreamed up for her. High-flying lawyer or whatever, in about eight years’ time.

“Is that why you took a job at St Clair’s?”

She stopped chewing and glanced at him. He’d barely touched his meal, was sitting abnormally still now. She didn’t know how long it was since he’d seen his mother. His half-brothers. Did he want to know anything about them?

She swallowed the suddenly tough piece of meat. “I wasn’t allowed to work at the resort and I needed to earn money. Dad didn’t know for a long time. Flipped when he found out.”

Rocco’s expression was fathomless. Wasn’t it ironic that it was her evil father who’d helped him and his own evil step-father who’d helped her.

Both to spite the other, no doubt. There was no love lost between those two men.

She waited, wanting to see if he’d ask. If he wanted to ask. It had been so long—did he miss his mom?

“So now what?” Rocco switched the subject back to her.

Fair enough.

“I want to make it on my own,” she said simply. “If Logan can, I can.”

“Logan had support from Connor,” Rocco said.

“You made it on your own.”

“I had support from both Connor and Logan.”

And she didn’t have support from anyone.

He stabbed his steak but still didn’t bother actually eating it. “Why didn’t you run to your boyfriend?” he asked grumpily. “Where’s he in all this?”

She held back from taking her next bite. “What boyfriend?”