Taken by the Italian Mafia(16)

With a sharp inhalation and a jump, Rocco woke up. The dark eyes from  his dream now peered into him in real life, just as gorgeous as they had  been while asleep. Whitney was beautiful. As he gazed at her, he knew  yesterday's failures hadn't been the result of coincidence. He hadn't  found it in himself to kill her because he wanted her all for himself.

No matter how much the professional in him urged him to end her life, he  knew he couldn't bring himself to do it. Rocco would keep the one  person who made him feel this way safe no matter what she knew. If she  felt anywhere near the bond that he felt with her, he knew that his  secrets would be kept safe.









Chapter Fourteen





Whitney





When Whitney opened her eyes, the room was bathed in morning light. She  began to piece together where she was and all that had happened the  night before. An abduction. An attempted murder. A near rape. All of it  seemed so distant now, as though it had happened to her in another life  instead of in another day.

By all rights she should have been terrified, and yet Whitney couldn't  bring herself to feel fear when it came to Rocco. The way he'd protected  her and kept her safe from Arturo's evil was more telling of his  character than the man she'd encountered behind The Avenue. It was  foolish, but Whitney wanted to believe that beneath it all, Rocco was  good.         

     



 

As Whitney's sense of surrounding returned, she realized that Rocco  still spooned her. Rocco mumbled something in his sleep and tightened  his grip around her waist. With a shift of his hips, he brought himself  closer. In their new position, the lower half of his body cupped  Whitney's ass. Usually she wouldn't have cared, but this morning Rocco  had morning wood. The hardened length of his shaft pressed against the  back of her jeans with insistence. Whitney's thoughts returned to his  nude form, dripping wet from the shower. The member pushing against her  felt way bigger than what she'd seen, and what she'd seen was already  impressive. Whoever Rocco took to bed at night had to be satisfied every  time.

In this case, Whitney thought with a tiny thrill, she was the one Rocco had taken to bed.

Heat rising to her cheeks, imagination twisting through scenarios,  Whitney thought about what would have happened between them if the  circumstances were different. If the handsome man had come into The  Avenue and stayed at the bar, what would have gone differently? She  imagined Rocco staying to chat, charming and slick. When some douchebag  drunk slurred at her about her skin tone or sex, Rocco would've beat him  down with the same venom he'd used in his fight with Arturo. Then, like  it was nothing, he would have grabbed Whitney's hand and guided her  from behind the bar and into the club as Cassandra looked on in awe. In  the back alley, where the hit had taken place, Rocco would have pushed  her up against the wall and kissed her hard. The lingering taste of  coffee liqueur would cling to his lips, and she'd melt into him despite  the cold. And then, when the kiss heated and their bodies began to crave  more, he would have run his hand down her side, along her thigh, and  inward until...

Whitney closed her eyes as the fantasy continued. Need spread through  her lower abdomen and soaked into her groin. Tingling with desire, body  craving the cock that pushed against her, she pushed back against it and  rubbed in slow, small movements of her hips. If only the night had  played out differently. If only she hadn't been dragged into this mess.

Then Rocco moaned.

Terrified that he would wake up to find her rubbing against him like a  cat in heat, Whitney pulled away and rolled over. With any luck, he  wouldn't know what she was doing. She'd pretend she never felt the  erection that had inspired her imagination and left her drenched at the  thought of his body.

Rocco woke up.

Blue eyes like sapphires stared into hers, but lacked the intensity and  cold calculation they boasted during the day. Until Rocco woke up in  full, the killer inside wouldn't surface, and the years of emotional  restraint he'd built up wouldn't set in. For now, he was raw, pure, and  unapologetically beautiful.

Whitney pressed her lips together and kept her eyes on his. What was it  she saw in those blue eyes? Whitney thought she knew, but was too shy to  acknowledge it. It was adoration, affection, a kind of connection far  deeper than a mobster was supposed to share with his hostage. And  although she was reluctant to admit it, Whitney felt as though she  returned those same emotions, and that Rocco could read her like a book.

"Why did you take me?" she asked, keeping her voice barely above a  whisper. "There were so many times you could have killed me or left me  to die, but you didn't."

"You know why," Rocco murmured in reply. Although Whitney had moved away  before he woke up, there was still scarce distance between them.

"I don't," Whitney murmured. "All I know is that you ran at me when I  was out taking out the trash. It wasn't until we got in the car that I  saw the blood. You could've just walked away. I would have just thought  that the hot guy from the bar was done with tonight, maybe caught up in  drugs or something. Was there something more to it? Am I caught up in  something I don't know about?"

She'd called him hot. Again. Whitney shifted uneasily in the bed,  embarrassed. The need between her legs ached for him, and yet she knew  it was wrong. Rocco wasn't the kind of guy who she should get involved  with. She'd left that kind of life behind with her high school days. Men  who were caught up in illegal dealings were trouble, she'd dated enough  thugs to know that. But then again, Rocco was no thug. This was the son  of the Don, an intelligent, brutal, efficient killer whose family had  most likely been in this business for decades. Rocco wasn't doing this  because he came from a broken family - he was doing this because he  loved his family with everything he had.

"There's nothing you're caught up in," Rocco told her. She believed him,  and it looked like he believed her as well. "You came out after I shot  the guy I was supposed to meet up with, and you were looking right at  me. What was I supposed to think?"         

     



 

"Well I mean, I wasn't screaming or panicking. I was only looking at you  because... Well, because from the first time I saw you in the club, I  thought you were attractive. I was letting myself indulge in a few  fantasies about you and... Well, then you rushed me with a gun, and here  we are."

Rocco's gaze moved down her face to look at her lips, then moved back to  her eyes. Another thrill lit up inside of Whitney. Was he interested?  He had to be.

"You're a good girl," he told her. "Honest, street smart, pretty... I'm  sorry I got you mixed up in all this. No matter what, I'm gonna fix it,  okay? You're gonna be just fine." And then, to seal the deal, Rocco  planted a delicate kiss on her forehead. His lips were firm, but not  harsh. Whitney couldn't help but imagine how Rocco's lips would feel  upon hers. Down her neck. Across her shoulder. Lower...

"Thank you," she whispered, closing the distance between them to cuddle  up to his chest. Rocco tensed for a long moment, then relaxed as she fit  her head beneath his chin. Like two puzzle pieces come together at  last, they fit each other. Whitney had never felt so comfortable.

"I guess you were wrong about me," he murmured, the words fleeting as  though he spoke to himself. "You must not find me attractive after  everything I've done to you." One of his hands slipped over her waist,  and his fingers ran slow circles along the small of her back. The gentle  touch sent shivers down Whitney's spine, and she pressed herself  closer. Once more she felt Rocco's erection through the thin cotton of  his boxers against her, this time against her crotch. If only she  weren't wearing pants.

"No," Whitney replied. "You made a mistake, a big mistake, but that's  not what defines you in my eyes. What defines you is how you risked  yourself to save my life from Arturo. No stone cold killer is going to  beat his brother to save the life of some hostage he wants to kill  anyway. When we ran into each other in the alley, you weren't really you  - you were just on the job, thinking on your feet. The Rocco I saw save  my life is the Rocco I think is the real you, and I think that man is  attractive as all hell."

A smile crept across Rocco's usually serious expression. The hand that  traced circles along her back slipped beneath her oversized t-shirt to  trace them directly onto her skin. Fresh arousal swept through Whitney,  and she closed her eyes and breathed in deep to try to relegate it.  Rocco lit her soul on fire.

"For your sake I hope you're right," Rocco said. "These days, I find it hard to tell who the real me is."

The sound of his voice, tender and truthful, filled Whitney's heart and  implored her to draw away just a little to look up at him again. Rocco's  eyes met hers, and a shiver of a different kind passed down her spine.