The Legend of de Marco

Gracie looked after the little vehicles wistfully, before her attention was taken by something else. Rocco stared at her face, enraptured by all her expressions, before he realised and broke his gaze away. He cursed himself. He had occasionally brought women on business trips, especially if he needed a companion for the ubiquitous social engagements. But he knew well that he’d never been so effortlessly distracted before.

He could well imagine the blasé reaction of someone like Honora Winthrop to Bangkok. Some people hated it, but it was one of Rocco’s favourite cities and he couldn’t help the warm feeling at seeing that Gracie looked as if she was going to love it too.

When they arrived at the hotel Gracie scrambled out of the car before the driver could open the door. She was like an irrepressible puppy. She turned around to face Rocco, a huge smile on her face. ‘I love this heat. It’s like standing in a warm shower after the water has stopped. And the smells are so exotic …’

Rocco tried not to notice how the silk of her shirt was already damp with her body heat and clung to her breasts, outlining their firm shape, the thrust of her nipples. The new clothes hugged her lithe figure, attracting attention, making him suddenly wish she was still dressed in her plain clothes.

He gritted his jaw and took her arm to lead her into the most exclusive hotel in Bangkok. It was one of the prestigious Wolfe chain of hotels, and he knew Sebastian Wolfe, the owner, personally. When they were on their way up in the lift Rocco looked at Gracie. He found that he was already anticipating her reaction to the room. And when the manager showed them in he wasn’t disappointed.

Gracie walked around, speechless. She touched the backs of chairs and ran her hand along gleaming table tops. She found sliding doors and opened them, to step out onto a huge terrace which overlooked the Chao Praya river.

Rocco put down his laptop case and strolled towards the doors. The manager had left, after assuring Rocco fervently that he must call him any time of day or night if he needed anything. Rocco smiled. He didn’t doubt that he had been personally informed by Sebastian to take care of him.

Rocco was reminded for a minute that Sebastian had recently married his beautiful Indian wife, and only a few weeks later she’d given birth to their baby boy. Sebastian had sent Rocco a picture of the three of them together, and it was an image of family bliss that Rocco had found almost difficult to look at. He pushed the memory aside now, frowning when he couldn’t see Gracie.

Suddenly she appeared from around the corner, where a huge bamboo tree swayed gently in the breeze. ‘There’s a pool! Our very own private pool.’

He smiled and put his hands in his pockets, because he didn’t think he’d be able to stop himself from touching her. ‘I know.’

Her face fell, and it had an instant effect on his mood. ‘Oh, of course you do. You must have been here a thousand times before.’

He gave up the effort it took to restrain himself and walked over, hating her crestfallen expression. He put an arm around her, pulling her close, and tipped her chin up. ‘Not quite a thousand … a lot of times, though. You like it here?’

Gracie smiled and looked embarrassed, ‘Like it? Are you crazy? This place is like Eden. I’ve never seen anything like it. The city is … overwhelming, breathtaking. This hotel is like … another world.’

Rocco pulled her closer and spoke without thinking. ‘You’re breathtaking.’

Gracie’s cheeks went a delicate pink, and she buried her head in his chest and mumbled, ‘No, I’m not.’ She looked up then. ‘I’m just normal, and I think that’s a novelty for you.’

His heart clenched. If only she knew. He lifted up a hand and kissed it, noticing that her palms had already started to soften. The realisation forced him to make his voice sound light. ‘I have to meet with some clients downstairs. Why don’t you have a nap and settle in? The jet lag shouldn’t be too bad as we slept on the plane. We’re going out tonight to a function, and then I’ll be at meetings most of the day tomorrow.’

Gracie just nodded, out of her depth in more ways than one. His words sank in—one in particular. Function. She bit her lip.

‘The function tonight … will it be very grand?’

Rocco nodded, with a serious expression on his face. ‘It’ll be disgustingly grand, and there’s going to be a huge buffet—so you’d better bring a suitcase to fill for any needy neighbours.’

It took a second for Gracie to realise he was making fun of her. She mock-hit him, but trembled inside at his easy humour. Lord, when he turned on the charm he needed to come with a health warning.

‘Seriously, though, I’ve only ever been to that one in London. What if people talk to me?’

‘Talk back.’ He quirked a dry smile. ‘You didn’t seem to have a problem talking to me that night. Just don’t assume everyone’s security.’

And then he was letting her go and stepping away. Gracie felt ridiculously insecure, but kept her hands by her sides.

‘I’ll see you in a few hours.’ And then he’d turned and was striding away with that mesmeric athletic grace.

That evening Gracie gave herself a last once-over. Rocco was waiting outside, in one of the suite’s main lounges. They each had their own bathrooms and dressing rooms. She still couldn’t take in the opulence of it all. Everything was dark wood and dimly lit. Asian antiquities were lit up in artful cubbyholes by spotlights. Gorgeous ornate silk coverings and cushions littered the sumptuous furniture and bedroom. The bathroom had two showers—one was open to the elements. The bed in their room alone would have slept a football team comfortably.

Inside the suite was almost cold with the air-conditioning, and when she stepped outside it was like stepping into a warm oven.

She took a deep breath. The dress she wore shimmered with a million varying shades of red and burnt orange. It should have clashed with her colouring, but it didn’t. Made of some kind of delicate lamé material, it fell to the floor in a swirl of different colours. It was V-necked and sleeveless. Gracie looked very pale. She felt so insecure about what she should wear, but how could she ask Rocco for advice? He was a man. She should know these things.

She wore high-heeled strappy red sandals, and she’d made an effort with make-up. She’d dithered with her hair for ages and had finally managed to tame it into a chignon. Taking another deep breath, she turned away and picked up a small gold clutch bag. She walked out slowly in the heels, and saw Rocco standing at the now closed sliding doors. His hands were in his pockets and his back looked impossibly broad in the black suit. Hair curling a touch over his collar, exactly as she’d noticed that first night in London.

For a heart-stopping moment Gracie had an overwhelming instinct to run far away and fast. But at the same moment he must have heard her, and turned to look around. His eyes dropped and then came back up, widening imperceptibly.

Worried, she asked huskily, ‘Is it okay? I wasn’t sure what would be appropriate—’