The Legend of de Marco

Rocco walked back over to the bed and sat down, smiling when he saw a small frown pleat the smooth skin between her eyes. Her mouth was in a delicious moue, still a little swollen. He bent and pressed a kiss there and her eyes opened.

He drew back for a moment, to see her looking at him with those wide, serious and wary eyes. Then she just said, ‘Hi,’ with a husky voice.

It was so simple and lacking in artifice that something turned over in Rocco’s chest. All his recent assertions suddenly felt very flimsy, and to avoid looking at why he just bent his head and kissed Gracie until she was breathless and arching her body into him and he lost himself in the bliss of her again.

When Gracie woke she blinked and squinted against the sun streaming into the bedroom. Rocco’s bedroom. As realisation sank in she squeezed her eyes tightly shut and groaned softly. And then she registered that she was naked and half uncovered. She scrabbled around for the sheet and pulled it right up over herself, and then peeped out to look around the room, trying to ignore the ache between her legs and in every muscle of her body.

The room was empty. All was still and quiet. She looked at the bedside clock and saw that it was one pm. With a squeal she sat up. And then lay back down again when she felt dizzy. Images started to flood her head. The endless night of being entangled with Rocco. His powerful body surging into hers over and over again, until she’d been weeping from an overdose of pleasure.

And then that morning, as dawn had broken outside, she’d woken to find him sitting there, just looking at her with such an intense expression, eyes dark. And he’d kissed her, and it had started all over again. Her body had been sensitive, but Gracie had loved the feel of Rocco moving so urgently within her.

But now when she moved a leg she winced. Sitting up again, Gracie cautiously got out of the bed, hugging the sheet around her, and went into the bathroom. Rocco’s used towels lay on the floor and over the sink. His distinctive smell made her reel with a fresh onslaught of memories.

Gracie’s brain shied away from trying to figure out how she could have given herself so freely to someone like him. He not only didn’t trust her—he was a world away from her world. She came from an ugly council estate surrounded by grim flats and few opportunities. He came from a country steeped in beauty and undoubtedly from a lineage in which he could list his ancestors back as far as Caesar.

Gracie couldn’t shower in his bathroom now. Not with his scent so fresh and mocking. She got to his bedroom door still with the sheet clasped around her and opened it quietly, half terrified she’d see him on the other side. No one was there. Gracie hurried back to her own room and shut and locked the door behind her.

And then she dived into her shower and scrubbed herself until her skin felt raw and sore muscles finally relaxed back to some semblance of normality. When she got out she dressed in loose pants and a shirt, as covered up as she could be. She tied her hair back into a ponytail.

When she opened her bedroom door she heard a noise coming from the kitchen and heat flooded her face when she thought of the carnage they’d left behind them. Her dress ripped open from neck to hem! Her discarded knickers!

Gracie imagined huge George in the middle of it, looking around with a scandalised expression, and with her face flaming she rushed to the kitchen. But the sight that greeted her was so unexpected that she stumbled to a halt. A small woman was mopping the floor, and the kitchen reflected nothing of the previous day or evening. Everything was tidied away, and fresh flowers stood on the table where Rocco and she had—

‘You must be Gracie.’

Gracie looke

d stupidly at the middle-aged woman who was smiling and coming towards her with an outstretched hand.

Numbly Gracie shook her hand and nodded. ‘Yes … I’m Gracie. I’m sorry, but … who are you?’

The woman smiled broadly. ‘I’m Mrs Jones. I’ve been retained by Mr de Marco as his new housekeeper subject to a month’s trial period.’ She leaned on her mop and said conspiratorially, ‘I’ve only just started back working full-time now that the kids are in college, so I don’t know how it’ll suit, but he seems nice …’

Gracie thought a little hysterically how nice didn’t do him justice, and just looked at the woman who was chattering away as if nothing was wrong. If this woman was now the housekeeper, then what on earth was she?

‘Are you all right, love?’

Gracie’s focus came back to the housekeeper. Vaguely she nodded. ‘Is George outside?’

The woman’s eyes grew round. ‘Is he the big man?’

Gracie nodded again and backed away, saying something about it being nice to meet her. She went out of the apartment to see George calmly reading a paper. He looked up and smiled. Gracie looked at him suspiciously. He didn’t appear to be traumatised by anything he’d seen. Perhaps he’d not been into the kitchen?

She took a shaky breath. ‘Do you know where Mr de Marco is?’

George frowned. ‘He should be in his office. He went there a couple of hours ago, just after the new housekeeper arrived.’

Gracie nodded and made for the lift. She stopped when George called her name gently and turned around to follow his gaze—which was on her feet. Her bare feet. Smiling weakly, she went back inside to get some shoes.

Rocco was standing at his window. He ran a hand around the back of his neck. He couldn’t ignore the steady hum of pleasure in his body, as if he’d just gorged on a feast. He grimaced. He had. A feast of Gracie.

His skin tightened imperceptibly and he stilled. He recognised instantly when the energy around the office changed. Slowly he turned around to see a pale-looking Gracie, covered from neck to toe in loose drab clothes, heading for his office. Her hair was tied back, making her look young. His gaze narrowed on her and with fatal predictability his body reacted. He regretted the countless glass windows and lack of privacy even more. And then his conscience struck him as he had a lurid image of what he’d like to do to her in his office. Gracie must be sore. She was so much smaller than him and she’d been so tight …

And yet she’d met him head-on every time, until exhaustion had finally claimed them both.

Gracie was almost at the door, her dark eyes on him with unwavering intensity in an unsmiling face. This was so far removed from any other morning-after situation he’d been in it was almost funny. But Rocco wasn’t laughing when she walked in.

CHAPTER SEVEN