Page 52 of Sasha’s Secret

“There are no more Spectrum people over here?”

“Only one, and he’s on assignment. Don’t worry, I’ll work it out. No problem is insurmountable. Did you manage to organize the dress thing?”

Sasha laughed. “The dress thing? Yes, I organized the dress thing. Every last one of them was only too happy to help out one of the biggest names on the current music scene. They know the media coverage will focus on her, and if she’s wearing one of their designs, the value of that publicity for them is incalculable.”

Not for the first time did the chasm between the haves and have-nots strike Rocco in a way that left a bad taste. Here was someone who had everything, and all she could do was fuss about what she was going to wear in front of some cameras for a couple of hours, when there were plenty of places in the world where people were starving to death. He’d seen more than his fair share of the latter while he’d been deployed.

“Hey. Earth to Rocco.”

It was the gentle contact of her palm against his cheek as much as her soft words that brought Rocco out of his memories. He covered her hand with his and moved it so he could kiss her fingers. “Sorry. I was miles away.”

Miles and years, when he should be focusing on the here and now. “Time to call it a day and get something to eat. Your place or mine?”

“Yours, and when we’re done eating, I’m challenging you to a strip poker tournament. Get ready to kiss your shirt and everything else you’re wearing goodbye.”

He admired his woman’s confidence. Pity it was so misplaced. “Don’t count on it, sweetheart. Don’t count on it.”

* * *

Sasha was aware of Rocco’s absence almost as soon as she opened her eyes. Without lifting her head from the pillow, she looked to the side of the bed he’d occupied. His pillow still bore the depression where his head had rested, and when she reached across the space, the heat of his body still warmed the sheets. Wherever he’d gone, he hadn’t been gone long.

Then she heard it, the rumble of a masculine voice in the living room. Either someone was here, or Rocco was on the phone. For once, he’d left his watch on the nightstand. Sasha sprawled into his space and squinted at the dial.

Zero five-thirty. Great.

On a Sunday. Even better.

She yawned. In spite of spending a good portion of the last eighteen hours in bed, she was still sleepy. Hardly surprising, given that most of that time had been taken up with the best sex of her life and many, many losing hands of strip poker.

Sasha was about to turn over and burrow under the sheets when Rocco raised his voice. She still couldn’t make out the words, but the agitated tone was unmistakable. She grabbed the nightgown she kept handy but never needed while she was with Rocco, and tiptoed over to the door that stood between the bedroom and the rest of the suite. Very carefully, she eased it open a crack, praying it wouldn’t make a noise and betray her.

Rocco was deeply involved in an impassioned conversation in Italian on his cell. He might have told her they didn’t talk, but she’d bet everything she possessed that his father was on the other end of the call. Something about Rocco’s tone and demeanor suggested that this was a discussion that had taken place many times before.

Sasha was torn. Her heart wanted her to go and sit with him, to be his strength during what was clearly an emotional exchange, but her head counseled her somewhat differently, that he’d cut her off the one time she’d asked about his father, that this was none of her business, and he didn't need her to help him fight his battles. She closed the door as quietly as she’d opened it, stripped off her nightgown, and returned to their bed. She could at least be there if he needed her when the call finished.

A few minutes later, the bedroom door opened. Sasha leaned over to switch on the bedside lamp. As she resumed her position, Rocco was sliding into bed beside her. Without a word, he grasped the sheet and pulled it away from her. She gasped as his teeth closed on her nipple, and shivered as he began to suckle hard on the aching bud.

Without breaking contact, he bore her back to the pillows. Her head was swimming with the unrelenting attack of licks and nips, all doing a crazy jive with her flaring libido. She reached toward him, eyes widening when he grasped her wrist and pressed it to the bed.

Rocco raised his head. “I need this. I need you, Sasha.”

She might not have known him long, but Sasha’s instincts seemed to have little trouble tuning into this man and his moods. Something dark was riding him, and it had to be connected to his father. “You have me,” she whispered. “I’m all yours.”

That darkness made him a fierce lover. He rolled away from her, releasing her only long enough so he could remove his boxer briefs, then he closed in. As his mouth claimed hers, his cock—hot, long and hard—branded her thigh.

He took control of their loving in a way that was thrilling and exciting, and more than a little overwhelming. Then again, she was no shy virgin—she was the woman he needed, and she met his challenge kiss for kiss, caress for caress. And afterward, when he lay exhausted in her arms, she held him until he was ready to talk.

“I shouldn't let him get to me. It’s been years.”

Sasha needed no further explanation. “He’s your father. No matter what’s happened between you, you still love him. He still loves you.”

“He still wants me to go home.”

It wasn’t so much Rocco’s words that intrigued Sasha, as the tone with which he delivered them. There was doubt in them, where there had been cast-iron certainty when he’d told her he and his father were estranged. “Do you still feel the same way about that?”

“When I said we don’t talk… All we talk about is me going back.” Rocco’s laugh was short and bitter. “He talks. I tell him no. The conversation ends. It’s been that way for years. Going back would be… a dead end.”

Except… he sounded less than convinced. With the luxury of objectivity, as Sasha saw it, if he’d been so adamantly opposed to cutting himself off from his father’s side of the family, he could have changed his number years ago. However, family was family, and roots tended to run especially deep in the Italian communities she’d encountered over the years. Even the direst of circumstances wouldn’t always be enough to sever family connections.