The Legend of de Marco

The mushy feelings Gracie had been feeling ever since Rocco had taken her hand dissolved. To think that she’d actually been about to tell him the real reason that she possessed a new passport! She cringed now at how he would have laughed at her.

Instead she tossed her head and smiled, drawing herself back deep inside and hating him for giving her such an amazing experience with one hand and then tainting it with the other.

‘That’s exactly it. We were thinking Australia, actually. A totally new and fresh start. Is that what you want to hear, Rocco? Because I can tell you what you want to hear until I’m blue in the face but it won’t change the fact that it’s not the truth.’

With that, she turned back to the window, drawing in a shaky breath. His inability to trust had taken her by surprise. It was as if once again she’d forgotten what lay between them. The inherent distrust and enmity. The waiting game until Steven came forward.

Steven. Abject guilt lanced her like a physical pain. How could she have not even thought about her brother? A lurid image from the previous night answered her question. She had no way of knowing now where he was or how he was, and for the first time she actually wanted Rocco’s men to find him. Because at least that way she’d know he was safe and could then fight to protect him from Rocco’s wrath. Also … Rocco would have no more reason to keep her as some sort of insurance. Because that was all this was to him: an indulgence, a convenient slaking of mutual desire.

As Gracie stared stonily out of the window, her hands clamping the armrests with a fear she refused to show at her very first take-off, she vowed not to let Rocco de Marco get under her skin, where he could do serious damage like all the other people in her life who’d hurt her. One by one they’d all left their indelible marks: her father, whom she barely remembered, her mother, grandmother, first boyfriend. She’d been abandoned or rejected by each and every one of them eventually. Steven was the only constant she’d ever known, and he needed her to be strong so that she could defend him again.

Ultimately Gracie could trust no one but herself, and the sooner she remembered that and stopped feeling things for Rocco de Marco that should never be given life the better.

An hour later Rocco sighed with frustration, spearing his hands through his hair. The tension between him and Gracie was thick enough to cut. And he couldn’t stop feeling as if he’d done her some grievous injury. She was turned so resolutely towards the window that she was going to get a damned crick in her neck!

‘Gracie …’

There was no reaction.

Rocco wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say. Sorry? How could he be wanting to say sorry and believe in her innocence when he had every reason to believe that she would be firmly on the side of her brother? He’d seen the photo of them as kids; they were as thick as thieves. Why else would she have a brand-new passport …?

He looked more closely at Gracie now and saw that she was breathing steadily. But she looked extremely uncomfortable. Because she was hell-bent on avoiding him? Her words came back to him accusingly: ‘I can tell you what you want to hear until I’m blue in the face but it won’t change the fact that it’s not the truth.’ Cursing softly, he put aside the papers that he’d been failing miserably to concentrate on anyway and got out of his seat.

He bent over Gracie to see her pale cheeks. She was asleep. Lashes, long and dark, highlighted the translucence of her skin. And everything in him stilled when he saw the distinctive salty track of a tear down one cheek. His belly clenched hard. She’d been crying.

Cursing more volubly now, Rocco undid Gracie’s belt and scooped her up out of the chair. She came awake groggily in his arms as he made his way down the centre of the plane, moving against his chest, making his blood go hot when he felt her soft breasts.

‘Shh, you fell asleep. I’m just going to make you more comfortable.’

Gracie was too sleepy to come out of it completely. And she didn’t want to—not when she felt so secure and safe with Rocco’s arms around her. She knew she should be fighting something, but she couldn’t drum up the energy to figure out what, exactly, and she didn’t want to look at why she felt the remnants of anger at Rocco.

She felt herself being lowered down onto a soft surface, and then something deliciously silky being lifted over her. Her shoes were being removed. And then the bed dipped and she felt the slightest touch to her forehead. So light she wasn’t even sure if it was a kiss.

Much later Gracie woke up, completely disorientated, with a strange sound in her ears. She slowly came round and realised the sound was the relentless hum of the plane. She looked around the dimly lit room, her mouth opening. She was in a bedroom, on a plane.

She put back the cover and padded over to one of the porthole windows and looked out. She could see bright sunlight, the

curvature of the earth, and down far below majestic white-capped mountains. She’d never seen anything so spectacular.

She stood up and stretched, and tried to piece together how she’d come to be lying in the bed. She remembered being in Rocco’s arms. And a kiss? She frowned. Perhaps it had just been a dream?

Her hurt at his blatant mistrust seemed to have faded. Logically Gracie knew that there was no way he’d ever really trust her. Her brother was missing with a million euros and she looked guilty as hell because she’d gone looking for him. And she insisted on defending him when even she had to concede that he had to be guilty.

She shut off her brain from wishing things could be different and explored the bedroom. She found an en suite bathroom, complete with fluffy towels and a bath and shower. Stocked to the brim with toiletries. Feeling sticky and gritty, she took the opportunity and stripped down to step into a steaming shower. She couldn’t get her head around the fact that she was having a shower thousands of feet in the air and smiled gleefully, choosing for a blissful moment to forget what lay beyond the doors.

When she emerged back into the bedroom with a towel wrapped around her body she spotted numerous shopping bags and boxes. Unable to help investigating, she saw that they were all women’s clothes. For her?

She quickly dressed, in her own jeans and a fresh shirt from her own suitcase, and went to find Rocco. When she opened the door, though, the plane was quiet and still dimly lit. There’d only been one flight attendant when they’d embarked—a man—and Gracie imagined he must be sleeping somewhere too.

She couldn’t see Rocco’s head, and crept up the aisle—only to come to a halt when she could see that his seat was back as far as it would go and he was asleep. Guilt spiked her, because he couldn’t be as comfortable as she’d been in the bed.

One arm was flung up; the other rested over his chest. He looked so much younger that she sat down on the arm of the seat opposite and let her eyes rove over his face. He looked so much more approachable when in repose, and she had a sudden aching desire to know what it would be like to see him really relaxed, without that brooding intensity or that constant sardonic smile.

Suddenly he shifted and Gracie sprang up, aghast at the thought of being found staring at him like some lovestruck groupie. She was glancing left and right before she looked down again and saw him coming awake. Still managing to look gorgeous and not half as bleary as she felt.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t meant to wake you.’ To Gracie’s surprise Rocco looked uncharacteristically disorientated. She was so used to seeing him in full control at all times this was like seeing a chink in his armour, and it made her heart turn over. And then she remembered his caustic comments and felt hurt all over again.

Before she could do anything, though, he’d recovered his composure with lightning speed and reached out to catch her wrist, pulling her off balance so she fell on top of him. She squealed and landed breathless on his wide chest. He had his hands on her waist and they were burrowing under her shirt to find her skin. His eyes were dark and heavy-lidded from sleep.