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“I would prefer it to have been a seamless transaction,” he muttered. “But then, we would never have come to know one another.”
“You wouldn’t have cared,” she said, forcing herself to remember that. “You would have met several other women in the time we’ve known each other.”
“Perhaps not several,” he growled against her flesh, his hand moving to the small of her back, guiding her forward.
She hated this man. She hated him, and what he was forcing her to do with Jack’s house, she hated his plans for the sweet, seaside hamlet, his ruthless commitment to development and progress; she hated him in so many ways, but she couldn’t fight her body’s desire for him. She didn’t want to. Was he right? Could these be two very distinct things?
“And I am glad I met you,” he admitted. “Even if you are a total pain in my ass.”
She pulled back and surprised them both by laughing. Laughing, because he was right—she supposed she could see that, from his perspective. And how inexplicable her resistance must have seemed, regarding the sale of the house.
“Believe me, that’s mutual. In fact, you’re such a pain in the ass, I wish we’d never met, but I suppose seeing as we have, there’s no point ignoring the silver lining in all this.”
“Which is?”
Her response? To bunch her hands into the front of his shirt and pull him towards her, kissing him with all of her angry, desperate, hungry, resolute passion. Kissing him without any care for the fact they were in a swanky, busy bar. Kissing him because, in truth, she’d been waiting all day to do exactly that, only this time, she didn’t want it to end.
She’d seen his hotel room once before, and even if she hadn’t, this was not the time to observe the details. The moment the elevator doors pinged open, and they stepped into the luxurious suite, Rocco was lifting her against his chest—so broad and strong—and carrying her with long, impatient strides towards a door that sat slightly ajar. He shouldered it inwards to reveal a large bedroom with exquisite views of Manhattan, placed her on the edge of the bed, then stepped back to study her.
“Do you need more reassurance?” She asked, standing when he’d sat her down. Standing to be his equal, standing to get closer to his eye height. Standing because she didn’t want him to change his mind, now, of all times. Don’t let him get an attack of conscience when they’d spent the last few minutes kissing like desperate teenagers, and she was so hungry for him she couldn’t believe it.
A muscle throbbed in his jaw. She reached for the buttons of his shirt and began to unfasten them, one by one. His chest jerked as he sucked in a sharp breath and she bit back a smile; a deep, curdling sense of satisfaction. If she was willing to eat out of the palm of his hand, then he was likewise.
“I trust you,” he said, after a beat.
It was a strange thing to say, and yet Maddie liked hearing it.
“You tell me this means nothing? I believe you. You tell me you can separate this,” he gestured from his chest to hers, “from the house? Good. Because you need to understand both of these statements are true for me.”
Her eyes lifted to his. On one hand, how could she not find that slightly offensive? On the other, his honesty was refreshing. He was a wolf in wolf’s clothing, unlike Brock, who’d pretended to be something so soft and gentle. Who’d pretended he was decency personified and then turned into the devil when she’d broken up with him.
Maddie pushed the thought aside; this was not the time to think of Brock, nor his awful betrayal of her trust.
“We understand one another,” she agreed, pushing his shirt off to reveal a tanned, hair-roughened chest that took her breath away. Her fingers ran over it of their own accord, and a thousand bolts of lightning seemed to ignite in her bloodstream.
He had the physique of a man who engaged in some kind of demanding physical job. He wasn’t honed as a man who worked out in a gym might be, but rather well-built. Strong all over, defined, muscular without being sculpted. It was sexy as all get out, but more than that, it spoke to some deeply concealed, unwanted, primal part of Maddie’s psyche that yearned to be protected and cossetted. It spoke to the woman inside of her who’d sought protection all her life—from her mother’s partner, from loneliness, and then from Brock.
It was a ridiculous way to feel, particularly because it was inspired by the mere sight of his broad, ruggedly naked chest, so she refused to dignify it with any more examination. He was just a man, she was a woman, and this was just one night.
Rocco rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, biting back the string of Italian curse words that had threatened to explode from between his lips.
What the hell had that been?
Sex.
Just sex, he reminded himself. Ignoring memories of the way it had felt to plunge deep inside her tightness, to feel her muscles squeeze his length, to feel her lose herself again and again as he shifted and moved. Her abandon, her total euphoria, her pleasure, her willingness to give. For the first time in a long time, Rocco had needed to concentrate not to come within a minute of taking a woman. He wasn’t a teenager any longer; it had been a long time since he’d felt inexperienced and gauche, but sex with Maddie had been a revelation. She’d stirred parts of him he hadn’t known existed, and when finally, he’d given into his body’s urges—or at least stopped fighting them with every fiber of his being—he’d exploded in a triumphant burst of release that had surely been felt on the moon.
It was totally unexpected.
He enjoyed sex. A lot. He was able to say that he was experienced and knew how to pleasure a woman, and he knew that chemistry varied. He’d also known that something about Maddie called to him and had done from the first moment she’d stormed into his life, looking at him as though he were the devil incarnate.
But he’d expected this to be a tension release. The lifting of a pressure valve; a way to get the sex out of the way and focus on the business at hand. He’d presumed they could sleep together and move on.
Now that he’d had her? Moving on was the last thing Rocco Santoro wanted. At least, it was for now…
She was still on his mind the next day, when a call came in from his youngest brother, Rafaello. So much so, Rocco thought about not answering. He didn’t want to talk to anyone. He didn’t want to do anything that might dispel the memories of how being with Maddie had felt. Her skin, so soft, like velvet. Her touch, so uncertain at first, so sweetly tentative, and so boldly possessive by the end.
The end.
