The Legend of de Marco (14 page)

Gracie put a hand on his arm. Her voice was choked. ‘Oh, Rocco….’

He shook her hand off and speared her with that black gaze. ‘I’m not telling you this for sympathy. I don’t need sympathy. I never have. She didn’t love me. She was too in love with getting her next fix or a wealthy patron.’

Gracie swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘I’m sorry.’

He looked away again, and Gracie cradled her hand against her belly.

‘I confronted my father one day outside his city
palazzo.
I knew where he lived. My mother had pointed it out
to me enough times. It was just after she’d died. When I confronted him he spat at me and pushed me down and stepped over me. My two half-sisters were with him and didn’t even look my way, even though they’d heard me call him Father. I watched them step into a chauffeur-driven car. I watched how they could just walk away from the unsavoury truth. I envied them their ease and protection. I envied their wealth, which gave them that protection.’

He smiled then, and it made fear inch up Gracie’s spine.

‘My father obviously had a word with one of his
men.
As soon as the car pulled away I was dragged into a nearby lane and beaten so senseless that I ended up in hospital. It was an effective warning. I never attempted to see him again. I left Italy and I vowed that one day I would look into my father’s eyes and know that I had earned my place in his world, despite his rejection.’

Gracie looked at the hard jaw and the bunched up shoulders. She saw the faint scar running from his temple to his jaw and the smaller scars. She could well imagine that meeting between father and son, and could almost feel sorry for his father. She longed to reach out and touch Rocco now, to soothe his pain. But he was like a wild animal. He was raw.

She remembered something and said, ‘That scar … on your shoulder. It was a tattoo, wasn’t it?’

Rocco nodded. ‘It meant I belonged to a certain part of the slum.’ His mouth twisted. ‘A certain faction. I got it removed when I came to England.’

‘That’s why you never speak Italian. You hate any reminders.’

Rocco dropped his head between his shoulders and said, in a deceptively soft voice, ‘Just go, Gracie … leave me alone.’

Gracie took a step back, hurt blooming out from her
heart all over her body. She was terrified she’d start crying. She ached to comfort him. She started to step away, but got to the door and looked back. She saw Rocco standing there, head down, and realised that he’d always been a lone figure. Fighting the world around him while simultaneously longing to be part of it.

Resolution fired her blood, and she kicked off her shoes and walked back over to him. She slipped under one of his arms and came up so that his body formed a cage around her.

She looked up, straight into Rocco’s face and his dark eyes. ‘No, I won’t leave. Because I don’t think you really do want to be alone.’ She reached up and placed her small palm on his rigid jaw. Her eyes caressed his mouth. ‘I want you, Rocco. So much.’

The tension was thick enough to touch, and then suddenly it snapped. Rocco issued a guttural, ‘Damn you!’ and hauled Gracie up into his body so tightly she thought her back might break, but she bit her lip. She would not say a word. She could sense the violence in him, the untamed wildness that needed release, and she wanted desperately to be there for him in the only way he would allow her to be.

Rocco demanded and Gracie gave—over and over again. His kisses were brutal and electrifying. Their clothes were shed as they moved through the apartment, ripped and torn from their bodies in desperate haste.

Afterwards, Gracie couldn’t even remember how they’d got to the bedroom—only that what had happened there had shown her how restrained Rocco had become to tame the natural wildness in him. And the long-simmering anger. Her body ached all over, but pleasurably. She knew her pale skin would be bruised. Rocco had nipped her with his teeth, and she shivered now to think of how she’d
wanted him to bite her harder. He’d taken her from behind, with her hands wrapped around the bedposts, and it had been the most erotic thing she’d ever felt. The heavy weight of his body on hers as he’d crushed her to the bed and thrust into her over and over again.

She lifted her head now and looked at him. The innate tension in his body told her that he wasn’t asleep. ‘Rocco …?’

To her surprise he put an arm over his face and wouldn’t look at her. She tried to pull it down and he said roughly, ‘I can’t look at you. I … I took you like an animal.’

Gently but firmly Gracie pulled his arm down and then moved over Rocco’s body so she was lying on his chest with her legs either side of his hips. She put her hands to his face.

‘Rocco de Marco.
Look
at me.’ He opened his eyes, and she could have wept at the shame she saw. She swallowed back her own emotion. ‘I am fine. I liked it.’

She pressed kisses to his jaw and mouth and down his neck. He put his hands around her upper arms and forcibly moved her back, coming up so that she had to lie on her back again.

‘No. I can’t do this.’

His expression was unreadable in the gloom. Gracie’s heart stuttered as she watched Rocco get out of the bed, his tall, naked form magnificent in the dim light.

He said, without looking her way, ‘Get some sleep, Gracie. We leave tomorrow at lunchtime.’

It was the hardest thing Rocco had ever done, to walk away from Gracie in that bed. He headed straight for the pool and dived in. He’d been aching to plunge into her body all over again as she’d straddled him.
‘I am fine. I liked it.’
Her fervent words had scored his insides like a serrated knife.

She’d seen too much. Got too close. He’d never told about his past. He’d been so careful not to. Yet with the smallest amount of encouragement he’d spilled it all out to Gracie. And she’d accepted it unconditionally. Embraced it.

He’d taken her brutally, and she’d welcomed him every step of the way—had encouraged him. And in the process he had assuaged his pain so that his intense anger had faded and been replaced with a kind of strange peace. Even the shame he’d felt initially was fading.

As Rocco powered up and down the pool he hoped that the physical numbness he craved would somehow numb the feelings inside him. Because these were new feelings, not dark and twisted like the old ones, and somehow they were far more frightening than anything else he’d ever known.

At lunchtime the following day Gracie still felt a little shattered. It was as if an earthquake had happened last night, and she wasn’t sure where anything stood any more. She’d woken late, after tossing and turning once Rocco had walked out so suddenly, and Consuela had informed her that Rocco had gone to his office.

She heard a noise and looked up from the TV. She hadn’t been able to concentrate on the rolling news channel. Rocco stood in the doorway, looking incredibly austere and stern. Her stomach fell. She didn’t need to wonder how things stood after last night. It was written all over him: rejection.

Gracie told herself she shouldn’t be surprised. She’d pushed Rocco too far. He’d never forgive her for making him spill his guts. He was too proud.

She stood up slowly and tried to match his cool reserve, even though she shook on the inside. ‘I’m ready to go.’

Rocco held up a piece of paper in his hand. ‘Do you want to explain this to me?’

Gracie frowned and glanced at the paper. ‘What are you talking about?’

Rocco held it up and read aloud in flat tones.
‘“Steven, where are you? Are you okay? Please contact me, I have so much to tell you. I need to know you’re all right. Please, just let me know where you are. Send me a number so I can call you. We need to talk—I can help you.”‘

Gracie blanched. ‘How did you get that?’

Rocco’s eyes were black, and he bit out, ‘It’s his work e-mail address. I have someone checking Steven’s inbox around the clock.’

Gracie’s belly cramped. She felt guilty even though she had no reason to. ‘I didn’t tell you yesterday because you seemed so angry when you came back to the apartment. But I would have told you that I’d tried to contact him.’

Rocco arched a brow in a way Gracie hadn’t seen him do for days. She wanted to hit him.

‘You had a whole evening to tell me. This e-mail reeks of collusion. You were trying to warn him to stay away, or to arrange a meeting somewhere.’

Gracie swallowed. She could see how, in a certain frame of mind, it might read like that. If you mistrusted the person who wrote it—which Rocco patently did. She straightened her back and tried to ignore the feeling of her heart aching.

‘That’s how it might read to you. It’s not how I meant it. I meant exactly what I said—I’m worried about him and want to know where he is. When I said I could help him I meant just that—if he gives himself up I intend to help him through whatever repercussions emerge from his actions.’

Rocco lowered the paper and smiled harshly. ‘So
noble—and such lies. I think you were going to tell him you’d inveigled your way into his boss’s bed and fed him stories designed to gain sympathy. Perhaps you wanted to be sure to corroborate each other’s stories before he came forward like some penitent?’

Inveigled your way into his boss’s bed. Stories.
The words dropped into Gracie’s head like poison-tipped arrows. He thought she’d set out to seduce him? The idea was laughable. She thought of the private things she’d shared with him. The fact that he saw them now as mere
stories
to gain sympathy nearly made her double over with pain.

She shook her head. It whirled dizzily. ‘That’s ridiculous.’

‘No,’ Rocco said harshly. ‘What’s ridiculous is that I’ve seriously underestimated you for so long. You’re a conniving thief, just like your brother, and the lengths you’ll go to to protect him are truly unbelievable.’

Gracie was shaking in earnest now. ‘Need I remind you that
you
seduced
me
?’

Rocco’s face was drawn from granite, the lines harsh. It was as if he couldn’t hear her. ‘From the moment we met at that function in London you’ve been playing me. You and your brother. He messed up and you’re cleaning up his mess.’

Gracie looked at him. A numbness was spreading through her body. Rocco was immovable. A million miles from the raw, emotional man of last night. She wanted to accuse him of lashing out at her because she’d gone too deep and too far and exposed him. But she’d already exposed herself enough. If she displayed the emotion she was feeling it would show him that she felt something for him, and right now she would rather die than let him see that.

So she drew inwards, deep inside, to the place she’d
always retreated to for years. Whenever things got really bad. When her mother had left, and later when her nan had handed them over to Social Services. When her first lover had stood there and called her a slut for giving him her virginity. And when Steven had been taken to jail and she’d been alone.

She drew into the place where Rocco’s words couldn’t touch her any more and said woodenly, ‘You seem to have it all figured out. What more is there to say?’

She looked at him but didn’t see him. She only saw pain and anger at her own folly for thinking for a second that last night meant anything. For thinking that any of this meant anything.

His voice was clipped, harsh. ‘There’s nothing more to say. It’s time to go.’

The journey back to London was a blur. Gracie had slept in the bedroom on the plane alone, tortured by vivid dreams of looking for Steven only to find Rocco waiting around corners with a savage expression on his face.

As Rocco’s car pulled up outside his building in the cool dark night Gracie acknowledged that the effort to keep up her icy control was fading fast, and was being replaced by a flat, empty ache all through her body. She resolutely ignored Rocco when he joined her to step into the building.

For a split second she looked longingly at the empty street, and then felt her arm taken in a harsh grip. ‘Don’t even think about it.’

Gracie wrenched her arm away and glared up at him, her fire returning. ‘Don’t touch me. I’m not going to leave my brother to your mercy now.’

They were silent in the lift going up to the apartment, but to Gracie’s chagrin, with the dissipation of the icy control she’d wielded all day, emotion was creeping back,
and she had to consciously stop herself from remembering Rocco’s tangible pain the night before, and the awful picture he’d painted of his life in Italy. He didn’t deserve her sympathy. Not for one second. Especially not now.

When they got to the apartment George was there to greet them. Gracie felt like running into his huge barrel chest and blubbing all over him, but she didn’t.

He handed some newspapers to Rocco and said, in a serious voice, ‘There’s a picture of you and Gracie in the tabloids.’

Rocco came in behind Gracie and opened out the next day’s paper. She crept closer, forgetting her ire for a moment at the sight of a huge picture of her and Rocco at the party in New York and a caption underneath:
‘Who is de Marco’s latest flame-haired mistress?’

Gracie felt sick. Rocco closed the paper after a long moment and said, ‘Now we’ll see how protective your brother really is.’

Gracie looked at him stupidly, trying to figure out what he meant, and then it hit her. Her mouth opened. She was aware of pain, even more pain, lancing her insides. ‘You …’ she framed shakily, ‘you accused me of seducing you, but
you
set the whole thing up … taking me away with you so that my brother might see pictures of us and come out of hiding.’

Rocco’s face was unreadable. His mouth thinned. ‘It’ll be interesting to see if your bond is as strong as you say it is.’

Gracie looked up at Rocco and couldn’t see an inkling of the man she’d thought she was falling for. He’d never looked so cold and ruthless. ‘You’re a bastard.’

He smiled then, and it was cruel. ‘You’re absolutely right. I am.’

R
OCCO
watched as Gracie finally turned around and walked away jerkily. He heard her door close and the lock turn. He cursed and threw the paper down, and went straight to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a whisky. His hands were shaking. He’d had a red mist over his vision all day, ever since his PA had handed him the printout of the e-mail when he’d been leaving his office to go and pick Gracie up.

He’d almost ignored it, thinking it was something irrelevant, but had then read it. At first he’d seen only the surface message. It had looked innocuous enough. But then, as he’d re-read it, he’d seen more and more—until by the time he’d got back to the apartment, where Gracie had been waiting so patiently, the words of the e-mail had become a gnarled black symbol of his humiliation at her hands the previous night. Lead had surrounded his heart.

All he’d been able to think about was how excruciatingly exposed he felt. How stupid he’d been to trust her so blindly, convincing himself all along that she was innocent. When he’d thought of the burgeoning sense of peace that had settled over him after his exhaustive swim, and how in the cold light of that morning he hadn’t regretted baring his soul to her, he’d wanted to punch something.

All that time she’d been trying to contact her brother
because she believed she had Rocco right in the palm of her hand. Rational thought had fled. There was no room for it in the state of paranoia that Rocco had been plunged into.

He’d said things to her that had made her pale and look sick and he’d felt nothing but numb. Even when she’d visibly retreated to somewhere he couldn’t reach and kept him at that icy distance he’d welcomed it. It was only when he’d spotted her wistful look towards freedom outside his building just now that something had pierced his fierce control. It had been a primal reflex not to let her go. To keep her by his side at all costs.

And now Rocco had to face the fact that he’d reacted from a place of deep, deep pain. A pain that could only be afflicting him because an equally deep emotion was involved. And he also had to face the fact that either every one of his cynical beliefs would be proved right, or he’d just made the most spectacular mistake of his life.

The following afternoon Rocco was pacing in his office by the window. Work was far from his mind. Gracie hadn’t emerged from her room, and she hadn’t answered when he’d knocked on her door. Only her hoarse,
‘Go away!’
had stopped him from breaking the door down. He’d just now rung up to Mrs Jones, who’d told him worriedly that she was still in her room.

He felt a curious prickling sensation on his neck and turned around to see a familiar figure walking towards his office. His heart sank like a stone. His employees had stopped to look too, because they knew what this meant. Rocco knew it meant something more, though—something infinitely more important than a million euros. His heart spasmed in his chest. As he watched Steven Murray walk
into his office with a furious look on his face he knew it meant that he’d made the biggest mistake of his life.

The only thing that roused Gracie from her catatonic state was a familiar voice. She was dimly aware that it was evening outside. She heard it again.

‘Gracie, come on. Open the door. It’s me.’

She sat up. It couldn’t be. She had to be dreaming. Feeling as if it really might be a dream, she finally moved her legs and got up and went to the door. She opened it, and saw her brother standing on the other side.

For a long moment she just looked at him stupidly, not believing her eyes, and then the emotion she’d been denying herself erupted into noisy sobs and she threw herself into his skinny arms. He grabbed her tight and stroked her back and shushed her.

Without knowing how they’d got there, Gracie found herself sitting on a couch, with Steven pushing a glass with amber liquid in it into her hand.

She sucked in a shuddery breath, her face and eyes felt swollen. ‘I don’t drink.’

Her brother insisted. ‘You do now—go on; you need it.’

Gracie took a sip and grimaced when her insides seemed to burst into flame. She coughed a little. As the drink brought her back to life and she registered that it was really her brother sitting in front of her panic gripped her. She grabbed his hand. ‘Wait. You can’t be here—Rocco is just downstairs. If he finds you—’

She stopped talking when she felt her skin tingle and saw Steven look at something—or
someone
—over her head. She turned to see a pale-looking Rocco with his hands in his pockets.

‘I know he’s here. He came to see me first when he arrived.’ Rocco smiled faintly but it looked strained.

Gracie was tense. She didn’t understand Rocco’s lack of anger, or her brother’s lack of urgency. She tore her eyes from Rocco. ‘Steven … what …?’

He smiled and looked tired. ‘It’s a long story. I’ve explained everything to Mr de Marco. I was blackmailed, Gracie, by some guys I knew in prison. They knew where I was working and they had some knowledge of fraud and inside trading. They threatened to expose me to Mr de Marco. I was terrified I’d lose the best thing that had ever happened to me … The whole thing escalated until they wanted too much money and I panicked and ran …’

Steven glanced at Rocco, and Gracie saw the respect in his face.

‘Mr de Marco has promised not to prosecute if I can help him track these guys down.’ He looked back to Gracie. ‘Depending on how much money we can recover, I’ll still owe a lot to Mr de Marco—but he’s offered me a job to get me back on my feet so I can start paying him back. Gracie, I don’t deserve this chance. But I’m not going to mess up again. I promise.’

Gracie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She was in shock. And then she heard Rocco say to Steven, ‘Would you give us a moment, here? Mrs Jones will show you to a room.’

Steven nodded and pressed Gracie’s hands. ‘Are you okay?’

Gracie wanted to laugh hysterically. She’d never been less okay. But she nodded her head and watched her brother walk out of the room with his loping, slightly awkward gait.

Rocco walked into her field of vision and Gracie could only look up at him, willing down the tendrils of sensation and feelings that were too close to the surface. ‘Why
did you do this? Why are you giving him a chance? After everything—’

‘Everything I said?’ he finished for her, in a voice so harsh she flinched minutely. Rocco cursed in Italian. ‘I’m sorry.’ He turned away then, as if he couldn’t bear for her to look at him, and said rawly, ‘God, Gracie. I’m so sorry.’

He turned back after long seconds.

‘I was an idiot—a stupid, blind fool. When I read your e-mail I twisted it so that I could believe the worst. Last night in New York you got too close, too deep. I’d never told anyone about myself before, and yet with you … it all came out. And you didn’t turn away in horror or shock. You embraced it.’

He pulled over a chair to sit in front of her. His eyes burned.

‘I didn’t set up the newspaper story. You have to believe that. When I saw the picture it was the first time I thought it might flush Steven out. I hadn’t even considered that possibility before. But I let you believe I had because I was so desperate to push you away.’

Rocco grimaced, and Gracie could see the wildness in his eyes—but this was a different wildness.

‘I knew deep down that you were none of the things I accused you of yesterday. I seduced you because I couldn’t not.’ He shook his head, disgust with himself palpable. ‘I lashed out because I’ve never trusted anyone in my life until you. And then when Steven turned up today and came straight to me, demanding to know what was going on between us, the sheer evidence of the lengths he’d go to to make sure you were okay humbled me. I had nothing left to hide behind.’

A tiny flicker of hope burst to flame in Gracie’s heart, as if a magical thaw was starting.

Rocco said fervently, ‘I should never have kept you here
in the first place, but the truth is that it always had more to do with how you made me feel rather than anything to do with your brother.’

The flame inside Gracie trembled. ‘What are you saying?’

Rocco took her hand. Gracie willed down the immediate physical reaction.

‘I can’t stop you leaving if you want to. But I don’t want you to leave. I want you to stay … for as long as you want.’

‘For as long as
I
want?’ Gracie asked faintly. The fragile flame inside her sputtered dangerously.

Rocco nodded. ‘We have something, Gracie. Something powerful.’

Gracie pulled her hand free of Rocco’s. What he meant was that they had
desire.
Physical attraction. And he wanted her to stay until it had burnt itself out.

Before she could say anything he was grimacing slightly and looking at his watch. ‘Look, I’ve got to go to a meeting. I can’t reschedule it. Think about what I’ve said. We’ll talk when I get back … okay?’

He just looked at her, and Gracie felt numb.

He said,
‘Please?’
and she realised that he wasn’t going to move until she said something. Dumbly she nodded. She saw relief relax his features.

He didn’t say anything else. Just stood up and walked out.

Gracie might have nodded to signify assent, but she knew what she had to do. She had to leave—to get away. Rocco wanted a brief relationship. He’d said nothing about love. And she couldn’t deal with that—not knowing how she felt. Not knowing how deeply in love with him she was. He could never have hurt her so badly yesterday if she didn’t love him.

She was just a temporary diversion. Rocco would
choose an ice princess to be his partner some day, and Gracie wanted to hate him for that—but how could she when she knew how badly he craved that ultimate acceptance? When she knew how hard he’d struggled to leave his past behind so he could get it? Didn’t he deserve it after the tragedy and pain he’d endured? She of all people couldn’t deny him that.

Moving on autopilot, Gracie packed her paltry belongings and penned two brief notes—one for Rocco and another for her brother. She couldn’t even bear to see Steven right now, terrified he’d convince her to stay. When she went to the entrance of the apartment to leave a different bodyguard was on duty to let her out and she was glad. Seeing George might have shattered her brittle control completely.

Two weeks later.

Gracie was struggling through the dense crowd and had to hold the full tray of empty glasses practically over her head to get through. Even as she cursed, and sweat rolled down her back and between her breasts, she tried to stop herself from griping. With this job she would be able to afford to move out of the hostel in a few weeks and find somewhere cheap to rent. And once she had somewhere of her own she would put aside a few hours every day and work on her idea for the children’s book.

Gracie heaved a sigh of relief when she saw the kitchen doors ahead. She went in and put the tray down, but was immediately handed another full tray of champagne by her boss, who said cheerily, ‘They’re a thirsty lot tonight.’

She stifled a weary sigh and went out again. If anything the crowd seemed even denser now, and she looked at the vast, unmoving sea of men in black and women in
glittering finery and wondered how on earth she could get through.

Resolutely she started to say,
‘Excuse me …’
and,
‘Sorry …’
but she wasn’t making much progress. Suddenly a frisson of energy went through the crowd, as if someone special had arrived, and people were whispering. People were bunching together now and craning their necks. She rolled her eyes and clung on to the tray. No doubt it was some celebrity.

Then she heard someone say, ‘Oh, my God, he’s getting up on a table.’ And then, ‘Is that really him …?’

Through the hush that had fallen in the room Gracie heard a familiar voice ringing out. ‘Gracie O’Brien, I know you’re in here somewhere. Where are you?’

Her heart stopped dead. It couldn’t be. She was hallucinating.

The voice came again, with familiar impatience, ‘Dammit, Gracie, where are you?’

Now she knew she couldn’t be imagining things.

Tentatively she looked up, straining to see over taller heads, and her breath stopped in her throat when she saw Rocco way above the crowd, head swivelling back and forth, hands on hips as he stood right in the middle of one of the sumptuous buffet tables.

He turned in her direction and she ducked too late. She heard his growl of triumph and the sound of feet hitting the floor. She tried to turn and run but by now people had crowded behind her so she was truly trapped.

As if in slow motion the crowd in front of Gracie parted like the Red Sea and Rocco was revealed. Tall and dark and gorgeous. In a pale blue shirt and dark trousers. Hands on hips. Those dark eyes homing in on her like a laser. His jaw was stubbled and he looked wild. Her hands were shaking so badly now that the glasses wobbled precariously
on her tray. Rocco strode forward and took the tray out of her hands, passed it to a stunned pot-bellied man who stood nearby.

Then he turned back to Gracie. She just stood there and asked, ‘Why are you here, Rocco? I made it clear in my note that I’m not interested in an affair.’

His mouth tightened and his eyes flashed. ‘Yes, your succinct one-line note:
“Dear Rocco, I’m sorry but I’m not interested in an affair. Goodbye. Gracie.” Dio.
I wanted to wring your neck when I got that.’

The entire crowd around them was so silent you could have heard a pin drop, but Gracie could only see one man. Her body was already responding. She clenched her hands tight and kept her eyes up.

‘I meant what I said. I’m not interested in an affair.’

Rocco took a step closer and Gracie moved back.

‘Neither am I.’

Gracie shook her head. ‘But … you only said that we had
Something.
’

‘We do.’

Gracie felt futile anger rise along with confusion. ‘Rocco …
why
are you here? I want you to leave me alone. I’m not interested—’

He took a step closer again. ‘Tell me what you
are
interested in.’

Horror filled Gracie and she lied desperately. ‘I’m interested in nothing with you.’