Bared for Me (Be for Me 3)

“I can do a bun,” she said mock piously. “I’m going to be a spinster virgin librarian. I’ll get a few cats and then really fulfil the stereotype.”

“You’ll need to wear glasses too.”

“Right. Glasses. And ugly clothes.”

“Doesn’t matter what you wear,” he leaned close and whispered. “You’ll never be ugly.”

She was too startled to speak.

“And I hate to break it to you,” he added with a wicked glint in his eye. “But you’re too loud to work in a library. They’d boot you out of library school. Is there such a thing as library school?”

“Yes there is and not all libraries are deathly silent places these days. They’re creative stations or ideas hubs.”

“Hubs?” he chuckled.

“You said you wouldn’t laugh.”

“I’m not. Only a little.” he shrugged. “At least I’m not being serious all the time.”

Had that comment pinched? Good.

“You’re the one who has his books all sorted.” She pointed out. “It seems we do have something in common. Books are my friends.”

“You should have real friends too,” he said. “How come you’re not glued to your phone like everyone else? You haven’t even asked me for it. Why aren’t you in withdrawal from not having updated your online status?”

She shrugged. “There are some people at varsity.” She didn’t want him thinking she was a total loner loser. She wasn’t. She just wasn’t that close to any of the other students. She had different goals. “I’m not into social media. Look what happened to Logan. I’d be crazy to put anything online.”

“Hmmm.” He looked at her sideways, his forehead wrinkling in confusion. “You know, I really don’t think your parents would be that bothered about you wanting to work in a library. Have you talked to them about it?”

“Are you kidding?” She laughed bitterly. “I might have been a lot younger, but I saw what happened to Logan—all that ‘you must win’ pressure, and it never stops. In everything, we must win. Must be the best. Must be seen,” she said.

She’d tried to stay under the radar and not be bulldozed that way. But the pressure was inevitable. So she’d tried to live up to the standards set by her brothers. Her father. Her too-beautiful, too-perfect mother. She’d studied ultra-nerd hard. The tantrums had only been at home because she’d hated going to school so far away. She was no wild rebel really. But whatever she achieved, it wasn’t going to be enough.

“Now Connor is CEO of the family empire, Logan is CEO of his own offshoot. How can I compete with that? They’re more than successful. They’re glamorous.”

And working in a library so wasn’t. Her father would have a fit.

“Is that why the modelling idea came in?” Rocco asked astutely.

“I guess... I know I can’t live up to them. You know my father has already signed me up for law, because according to him, I’m going to be the family’s first female judge or something.”

“Your grades are that good?”

She smiled at his teasing tone, but her answer was painfully honest. “They’re never good enough for him.”

Nothing was ever good enough for him. So ironic when her father was the least ‘good’ of them all.

Silence bloomed. Rocco didn’t reach for her hand again. She wished he would. But he shifted, reaching into another drawer beside the books and pulling out a soft blanket. He unfolded it so it fell over her.

“It’s getting very late sweetheart,” he finally said as he lay back down beside her. “You should close your eyes.”

She was so glad he’d lain back down. “Is the snow going to settle?”

“I don’t think so, no.”

No chance of being snowed in and having to stay here locked away in his room for days? Bummer.

“Stay with me?” she asked softly.

“That I can do.” He ran the tip of his finger down her cheekbone. “Sleep.”

“You’re not making me like you any less,” she admitted sadly.

“Shhh. Sleep.” He opened his arms.

Just one night.

She wriggled forward to rest her head on his broad chest. A second later she snuggled closer, her stomach pressed to his side.

“You have to lie still,” he complained.

“You want me to play dead?”

“No.” His chest lifted as he chuckled. “Just lie still, so at the very least, we can enjoy this.”

“You’re enjoying this?” she asked softly.

“So much,” he whispered back, wrapping his arms more tightly around her. “More than I should.”

Her silly heart glowed like she was E.T.’s cousin. She wanted to savor the moment, stay awake and just enjoy, but sleep had her in its clutches and was dragging her down. She burrowed closer to Rocco, letting herself fall into his warm strength. This was all she was allowed and she was going to have it.

For just one night.

Chapter Nine

ROCCO WOKE suddenly. For a moment his mind was blank, he was aware of only a soft, sweet fragrance, only warmth. Utter relaxation. Utter happiness.

He closed his eyes again to savor it.

Danielle.

But regret swept in on a wide, unstoppable tide. He still wore his jeans and tee from last night. So did she. And that was right, right?

He’d done it. Survived the night without taking what wasn’t his to take. Without doing what he desperately wanted. He’d been so good, so why did he feel so fucking bad?

Desire, long held at bay, now burned a hole in his resistance. Never looking. Never noticing.

Always noticing.

Never admitting. Never allowing.

His spine stiffened as agonising want yanked him hard. He had to cool it before he did something stupid in these last moments. Something that he’d regret. Worse, that she’d regret.

Quietly, gently, he eased out from her hold. He couldn’t bear to wake her, to see her smile at him in that warm, sleepy way. He’d never resist then.

Quick as he could, he stole out of the room.

His now empty arms ached to hold her close again. Instead he ripped off his whiskey-stained tee and dragged himself into the bathroom. He splashed cold water on his face but still felt feverish.

Heading to the lounge, he checked the time. Already well after nine? His night manager had taken him at his word and not phoned. Good. Halfway to his computer he glanced at the sofa and saw—a knitting needle? He changed direction, reaching forward to pick it up from where it lay poking out from under the cushion. Yeah, a knitting needle. What, had she been planning to use it as a weapon when she’d gotten freaked-out over that horror movie? He looked about for the other needle, the one with all the wool attached. It was under the cushion, like she’d stashed it there to hide it.

Danielle was a knitter?

Rocco knew something about style from the years he’d spent imagining his own hotel when he’d been cleaning or serving or bartending and this little hat-thing she was knitting was stylish. Quirky as hell, sure, but stylish. He looked about for the pattern, but saw none. He carefully placed the half-finished creation on the table, looking forward to asking her about it when she woke.

Reluctantly, he sat at his computer to check his messages. He’d cancel any meetings for today and spend time sorting another suite that he could go to so she could stay here as long as she needed to. There could be no more nights like last, he’d never make it through another without taking what he wanted.

But, as he’d told Logan last night, he wanted her to stay, to work out her immediate future. He wanted her to have options.

His emails loaded and he quickly scanned the sender and the subject lines. He stilled as he saw the name on the third one down. An email from Pete Boulder, with an attachment? First time ever. A finger of foreboding ran down his spine. What picture did the bastard want to share?

Turned out there were two files. And a brief mes

sage.

Have booked the Silk Room with your assistant. As thanks, thought you might appreciate these from the Hughes’ party. No touch-ups, raw image. Enjoy.

Rocco clicked on the first file. Raw was right.

It was a portrait of Dani at the party. A split-second, unguarded glimpse of her, from her face to her waist. She was framed by a couple of people in the foreground, but she stood alone in that sapphire silk slip dress, looking at something out of the shot, just to the side of the lens.

But it was the luminous expression on her face that seized him. Her mouth was slightly parted, her glossed lips full, her eyes shadowed with frank, brutal desire. Streaks of color slashed down her sharp cheekbones—not make-up, he didn’t think.

The silk dress clung to her skin. Her unfettered breasts were full and tight. The points of her aroused nipples were clearly outlined.

She was more exposed, more vulnerable than if she’d been naked.

Because she looked aroused. She looked a mere breath away from the peak of feminine sensual strength and desire. As if all she needed, all she wanted, was one touch.

Utterly alluring.

Rocco’s already hard cock jerked in desperation. His skin was so fucking tight. The urge to touch her, to have her look at him like this, consumed him.

No. He crunched down on his muscles and swallowed hard. He had to remember to breathe. Rocco reached out for the computer mouse, forced himself to click on the second picture file.

Fuck.

It was the same moment—or a split second later. This time Pete had zoomed out, so more of the room was visible. So he could see what it was that Dani had been looking at. Not what. Who.

Rocco looked at the picture of himself. He was standing alongside Xander, laughing about something. He didn’t even remember the moment now.

But Dani had been there too, standing to the side, alone and apart from everyone, watching him. Rocco hadn’t seen her. Hadn’t known she was looking at him. Not like that. Never like that.

He’d spent so long not looking, he hadn’t seen.

Because it wasn’t just desire. Sure, that image of her was sexual attraction defined, but there was something deeper in her stance. Something elemental and fierce.

No one had ever looked at him like that. Not with such longing and lust and lo—