The Legend of de Marco (4 page)

The entire apartment was still and quiet. Gracie checked her watch. It was still early. Maybe Rocco wasn’t up yet? But even as she thought that she got to the doorway of the enormous kitchen and saw him sitting at a large chrome kitchen table. Her heart stopped. He was reading the distinctively pink
Financial Times.
His hair was damp and slicked back from that strong profile. Skin gleaming dark olive in the morning light. Immaculately dressed in a light blue shirt and royal blue tie.

And then he looked up, after taking a lazy sip from a small cup which should have looked ridiculous in his huge hand but didn’t. ‘Good morning.’

‘Good morning,’ she echoed faintly, for all the world as if she’d been some benign overnight guest and not one step away from being locked in her room.

Rocco gestured with a hand to the kitchen. ‘I’m afraid
you’ll have to help yourself. I’m currently without a housekeeper.’

Gracie tore her eyes away from his raw masculine appeal and helped herself to some coffee and toast, which was already laid out. She hated that her hands were shaking. Very little had ever intimidated her, but this did.

She stood awkwardly at the huge island in the middle of the room until Rocco said, a little impatiently, ‘Come and sit down. I won’t bite.’

Gracie gritted her teeth and reluctantly picked up her coffee and plate and sat down at the other end of the table. She didn’t miss his sardonic look. She felt very pale and washed out next to his vibrant masculinity.

She swallowed her toast with an effort and wiped away some crumbs, studiously avoiding Rocco’s eyes, and nearly jumped out of her skin when he said, ‘I spent a little time investigating your brother last night, and the full picture is very interesting.’

Gracie went cold inside and put down her cup. Frantically she rewound events in her head and froze. She’d told Rocco Steven’s real name by revealing her own. She looked at him with wide eyes.

Rocco looked almost bored, but she could sense the underlying anger as tangibly as if he’d started shouting. ‘He’s got quite an impressive rap sheet. Three years in jail for carrying Class A drugs. Not to mention the fact that he forged papers to get a job in my company so we couldn’t find out about his past. His crimes are mounting, Gracie.’

Feeling desperate, Gracie blurted out, ‘He’s not like that. He really was trying to make a fresh start, to use his intelligence and turn his life around. He did a degree. There has to be some good reason for what he’s done—he wouldn’t have risked jail again.’

Rocco was impossibly grim. ‘I think a lot of people
would agree that a million euros provides quite a good reason.’

Gracie sagged back into her chair and looked down at her pale hands. They were trembling and she clasped them together. Hot tears pricked at the back of her eyes. Rocco’s mention of the astronomical sum of money struck hard. She’d almost forgotten about it with everything else that had happened. How could Steven ever come back from this? He’d spend his whole life paying it back. And that was if he was lucky enough to get the chance.

She heard Rocco sigh but couldn’t look up, terrified he’d see her emotion. He said with palpable reluctance, ‘Nevertheless, I don’t think you’re about to phone him and tell him to give himself up?’

Willing the emotion down, Gracie looked up. Huskily she admitted, ‘I did speak to him yesterday, but he wouldn’t tell me where he was, or where he was going, and when I tried to call him back his phone was switched off. I think he’s thrown it away.’ She omitted to mention that he’d said he’d try to contact her when he could. Gracie vowed then that if that happened she’d tell Steven to stay away and never come back …

Rocco stood up and held out a hand. ‘Give me your phone.’

Gracie’s mouth opened and closed. Feeling bullish now, she said, ‘Why?’

Rocco’s mouth tightened. ‘Because I don’t believe you. Because I think you’ll make every attempt to get in touch with your brother and warn him to stay away. And because if he does try and contact you then we’ll have him.’

Gracie crossed her arms.

They glared at each other for long seconds and then Rocco bit out with evident distaste, ‘Don’t make me search you again.’

Something pierced Gracie at the thought of how he’d touched her the night before and how it had obviously repulsed him. In a bid to cover up her emotion she stood up, knowing that he would just find her phone anyway.

She stalked out of the kitchen and retrieved her phone from her bag and brought it back to Rocco, handing it over with a baleful glare. ‘He won’t call me again. He knows he’s in trouble.’

Rocco pocketed the phone and then said casually, ‘I have a proposition for you.’

Gracie blinked. She was fairly certain that any proposition from him would be more like a royal decree. Unconsciously she took a step back and could breathe easier. She missed the way Rocco’s eyes flashed at her movement.

‘I don’t have a housekeeper at the moment. I need one.’ He flicked a faintly contemptuous glance up and down Gracie’s casual clothes. ‘I don’t see how you could mess up such a basic job. You wouldn’t even have to cook. I have a chef who prepares food when I need it. You’d just have to clean and manage the apartment. Deliveries, etc.’

Gracie was struggling to take this in. ‘You’re … offering me a job?’

Rocco grimaced slightly. ‘Well, it’s not so much a job as something to keep you busy while you’re here. Because you’re not leaving my sight until we have your brother.’

Gracie’s heart palpitated in her chest at the thought of spending more time with this man. She crossed her arms. ‘You can’t do this. It’s outrageous. You can’t just keep me prisoner.’

Rocco arched a mocking brow. ‘You have nowhere to go and no job. You’ve got a grand total of fifty pounds. You’re hardly in a position to assert your independence
or freedom. I think you’ll find I’m doing you a favour—which you certainly don’t deserve.’

Gracie gasped. ‘You looked through my things.’

Rocco shrugged slightly. ‘Of course I did.’

Gracie felt ashamed to have her pitiful amount of money laid out between them like this. She actually had slightly more than that in a bank account, but it was paltry. Since she’d finished her art degree she’d been struggling just to survive, never mind follow her dreams and ambitions. Rocco de Marco had most likely never even known what it was like to have to eke out a living.

Forcing herself to not crumble, she said caustically, ‘So you’re offering me this
job
out of the goodness of your heart?’

He smiled, but it was completely without humour. ‘Something like that, yes. You’re really in no position to argue, Gracie. You and your brother have got yourselves into this situation. Look at it this way: you’re worth a million euros of collateral until your brother turns up.’

Her mind frantically searched for a way out, but right then she couldn’t see one. She was well and truly trapped. As much as
she
was the link to Steven for this man,
he
was her last tangible link to Steven. And there was no way she was going to leave her brother to face this man’s wrath alone when they did find him.

Gracie straightened her spine and drew herself up, determined to regain some measure of control amidst this awful powerlessness. ‘If I’m going to be your housekeeper then I want the same amount that I was being paid in the bar. I have to keep my student loan repayments up.’

Rocco crushed down his surprise at her visible decision to stay without a fight and tried to ignore the prickling of his conscience. If she was guilty wouldn’t she be doing her best to persuade him to let her go so she could meet
her brother? And, also, why would she have been stupid enough to come where Steven worked? Rocco crushed the questions. She was up to something—probably just acting this way so that he
would
doubt her guilt.

Curious despite himself, he asked tightly how much she’d been paid and waited for her to triple the amount, which he had no intention of paying. Not with a million euros missing.

Gracie mentioned a figure and Rocco had to stop his shock from registering on his face. Her expression was so guileless and innocently defiant that he found himself inexplicably agreeing to pay her the pathetic sum, and had to wonder if that was even the minimum wage.

Gracie watched as Rocco pulled pen and paper out of a drawer and scrawled a couple of numbers and names on it before putting it into her numb hand.

‘That’s my executive assistant’s number if you need to get me. I’ll be in meetings all day on the other side of the city. You can use the phones in the apartment.’ His eyes flashed. ‘Needless to say, any calls to your brother will be recorded. I’ve also written down my old housekeeper’s number, so you can call to consult with her on what I’ll expect.’

Gracie looked down at the paper and then heard his mocking voice.

‘My main head of security is positioned right outside this apartment and he can see every movement in and out of the building. If you attempt to leave you’ll merely be brought back.’

She looked back and held up the paper, muttering caustically, ‘You mean I don’t have a direct line to God?’

Rocco smiled and it was wicked, making Gracie’s heart-rate and body temperature soar.

‘I reserve my private number for people I wish to speak to—not miscreants and thieves.’

His words had an instant effect on Gracie, causing a hot flush of anger to rise when she thought of the long struggle she and her brother had faced to drag themselves out of their adverse circumstances. ‘You know nothing about me.
Nothing.
’

His eyes turned cool. ‘I know all I need to know. Keep out of trouble until I see you again.’

Gracie watched as he turned and strode away, and shamingly her anger drained away as she found herself wondering what kind of person someone like Rocco would want to give his private number to and speak with in low, intimate tones.

Anger at her wayward imagination made her call defiantly after him, ‘Don’t think you can get away with this. You’re nothing but an … autocratic megalomaniac.’

Rocco turned around and Gracie’s heart stuttered to a halt when she saw the anger on his face. Fear gripped her, but it was fear because of her helpless physical response to him. This awful weak yearning he effortlessly precipitated.

‘If you’re so concerned then by all means call the police. And while you’re onto them you can fill them in on your brother’s recent activities. I’m sure they’ll be delighted to hear about his progress in the real world since prison.’

Gracie gulped. She felt sick. ‘You know I can’t do that.’

In that moment Gracie could see the long lineage of aristocratic forebears stamped onto Rocco’s arrogant features. He had her all boxed up and judged and right where he wanted her.

‘Well, then, you’d better get acquainted with this apartment—because it’s your home for the forseeable future.’

After he’d walked out Gracie tried hard to drum up
anger or even hatred, but to her intense chagrin all she could seem to think of was the way he’d insisted on feeding her the previous evening.

R
OCCO
sat in the back of his chauffeur-driven car. The London traffic was at a standstill. He could sense the tension in his driver and leaned forward to say, ‘Don’t sweat it, Emilio. I’m not too bothered about time.’

The driver’s shoulders visibly slumped a little. ‘Thanks, Boss.’

It was only when Rocco sat back again and flicked the switch to raise the privacy window that he went very still. He never usually went out of his way to put people at ease. He thrived on knowing that people never knew what to expect from him, or which way he’d jump. He was never rude to employees. He was scrupulously fair and polite. But he knew he possessed that edge. People were never entirely comfortable around him.

Except for Gracie O’Brien. She wasn’t comfortable around him either, but she stood up to him like no one else ever had.

With the utmost reluctance Rocco had to concede that there was a strong possibility she wasn’t lying when she said that she’d had nothing to do with her brother’s plans. She’d looked far too shocked the previous evening when he’d mentioned jail, and if she’d known what he’d done she’d have to have been aware that jail was an option. Plus
there was the fact she’d come to the offices in the first place.

Nevertheless, he’d learnt a lesson about trusting his instincts when it had come to her brother, so he’d be a fool to trust her for a second. Even if everything else had checked out once she’d told him who her brother was.

His security contacts had access to confidential information. She was listed as his sister, no criminal record—unlike her brother. No other siblings. No mention of parents. A grandmother appeared to have brought them up briefly and then Social Services had taken over. They’d come from one of the roughest parts of London, and without even knowing the details Rocco could close his eyes and imagine the scene. Disadvantaged areas were the same the world over.

Going through her pitiful personal possessions, he’d come across a file full of sketches and text. It looked like a mock-up of a children’s book and he had to admit it was surprisingly good.

He’d also come across a photo of what had to be her and her brother when they were kids. She’d been freckle-faced, with a huge gap-toothed grin, red hair in pigtails, her arm tight around her smaller brother, who had looked skinny and nervous, shy behind thick glasses.

Rocco felt his chest grow tight. His fists clenched. He would
not
let those huge brown eyes get to him. Or her apparent vulnerability. She was as tough as nails. Clearly out to protect her brother at all costs, whatever her involvement. He’d never really known what that kind of loyalty was like and didn’t like the sensation of envy which lanced him. It was further evidence of their bond, and he would watch her like a hawk until her brother resurfaced.

Rocco would not admit on any level that this desire to keep her close had anything to do with her enigmatic
personality or her physical appeal. This was about seeing justice meted out. That was all. One million euros of it.

It was only when he looked at the leafy suburbs passing by outside the car that Rocco realised he hadn’t thought of Honora Winthrop once. Determined not to let the arrival of Gracie O’Brien derail his life any more than she already had, Rocco made a call and ignored the sense of claustrophobia that spiked when Honora Winthrop answered her phone.

Gracie woke from a fitful sleep at five the next morning. She was still disorientated at first, and a familiar knot came into her belly when she realised where she was. A grey dawn light was breaking over London. Her mind went over the previous day and evening. Thankfully she’d been in bed by the time Rocco had come home, and she’d only heard faint sounds as he’d moved around.

He’d made a curt phone call late in the evening to inform her that he’d be dining out and she’d made a face at the phone, hating herself for wondering who he was dining with. After Rocco had left the apartment that previous morning Gracie had looked wistfully at the apartment door and had even opened it—only to find a large atrium outside and a huge barrel of a man sitting at a desk which seemed to have a dozen monitors.

He’d stood up to an alarming height and asked easily, ‘Need to go somewhere, Ms O’Brien?’

Gracie had shook her head. ‘I was just having a look around.’

Perfectly friendly, the man-giant had said, ‘I’m George, and I’m here to take you wherever you want to go, so if you need anything just shout.’

Gracie had mumbled something incoherent. Evidently George was also there to make sure she didn’t go anywhere
without him as her close companion. Exactly as Rocco had warned. She’d gone back into the apartment and made a phone call to the last housekeeper, who sounded like a pleasant older woman. She’d cheerfully outlined for Gracie the list of chores Mr de Marco would expect to be done.

Gracie had stood in Rocco’s bedroom and looked at the tousled sheets. His unmistakable scent had hung tantalisingly in the air. Musky and male. The indentation caused by his body had been evident, and Gracie had gone hot when she’d found herself wondering if he slept naked.

Feeling hot all over again, thinking of that bed and those sheets, Gracie registered that she was thirsty and got up. She stumbled out of the room, still foggy with sleep.

She was only belatedly aware that the kitchen light was on when she walked in and had to squint her eyes against it. When she saw a big dark shape move she screamed, suddenly wide awake.

Eyes huge, she took in the sight that greeted her. Rocco de Marco was standing in the kitchen, bare-chested and in nothing but a low-slung and very precarious-looking towel, which hugged his hips and barely covered his thighs.

A million things hit Gracie at once, along with a shot of pure adrenalin: he must have just showered as his hair was still damp; his skin gleamed olive in the light; his chest was broad and leanly muscled with a light covering of crisp dark hair that tapered down to that towel in a tantalising silky line.

He was more beautiful than any man had a right to be.

Realising all of those things, and also that she was looking at Rocco as if she’d never seen a man before, she tore her gaze away and blurted out, ‘You’re meant to be asleep.’

‘Well,’ he pointed out dryly, ‘I’m not. I always get up around now.’

Gracie refused to look at him, hovering in the doorway.

Her heart was still hammering from the shock. ‘Shouldn’t you … put on some clothes or something?’

Again with that dry voice he pointed out, ‘You’re equally undressed. I might ask the same of you but I’m not sure I want to.’

At that Gracie looked at him, and felt scorching heat climb up her chest to her face. Rocco’s gaze was dark and lazy, taking in her bare legs, the T-shirt which came to the top of her thighs, and then moving back up to her face. Gracie knew she must look a sight, with her hair all over the place and wild. She couldn’t for a moment dwell on the fact that she might have seen a predatory gleam in
his
eyes. She could remember the distaste on his face when he’d stood back from frisking her.

Her throat was so dry, but she fought the urge to swallow. It made her voice sound rough. ‘I just wanted to get some water.’

Rocco gestured with a hand. ‘By all means. Never let it be said that I deny my prisoners the basics.’

That sardonic delivery restored some of Gracie’s composure and she willed herself to move forward to the shelves. Very aware of her bare feet and Rocco’s lazy gaze, she ignored him and reached up to get a glass on a shelf far too close to him for comfort. And then … couldn’t reach it. Not even on tiptoes. She was very aware of her T-shirt riding up over her bottom and cursed silently, thinking of her very worn plain white knickers.

Suddenly a wave of heat emanated from behind her, along with a distinctive scent, and a very muscled brown arm was reaching up past her to pluck a glass down. His front was almost touching her back. Gracie knew if she stepped back she’d walk right into him, and felt weak at the strength of longing that rushed through her to know what it would feel like to have his arms wrap around her.

But then he put the glass down on the counter beside her with a clatter and moved away, taking that heat with him. Gracie gripped the glass and slowly turned around. For a big man he moved incredibly silently and gracefully. He was already on the other side of the kitchen island, sipping from a mug, regarding her as coolly as ever.

Gracie felt as if she was wading through treacle just getting to the sink to pour the water. The air had become dense with some kind of tension that was completely alien to her. She felt as if it was coiling deep within her, making her feel alternately light-headed and shaky.

‘There’s bottled water in the fridge.’

Gracie filled the glass and cursed herself for not going that route in the first place. ‘Tap water is fine. Bottled water is a waste of money.’ She turned around with her glass clutched in both hands like a shield.

Rocco raised a brow. ‘Now you’re an environmentalist?’

Pride stiffened Gracie’s backbone. ‘I do care about the environment, as it happens.’

Before he could question her again, or make some acerbic comment, he put his cup down. ‘If you’ll excuse me I’ve got a busy day ahead.’

He moved towards the door with all the lethal grace of a jungle cat, and yet looked as suave as if he was fully dressed. Gracie’s eyes felt burnt just from looking at all that bared skin and taut musculature.

He turned at the door and said with a definite glint in his eye, ‘Remind me to show you how to do hospital corners. That’s how I prefer my bed to be made in the future.’

She looked at the empty door after he’d disappeared and it took a few seconds for his words to register. When they did, she wanted to throw the glass into the empty space he’d left behind. The arrogant so and so. She clamped her
lips tight together. She would
not
let him get to her. She repeated this to herself as she went back to her bedroom, feeling very skittish.

Rocco stood under the punishing spray of a cold shower just a few moments later. Damn that woman. When she’d appeared in the doorway in nothing but that flimsy T-shirt and bare legs he’d blinked because he’d thought she was an apparition. He’d only just had a shower which he’d had to turn to cold because he’d woken from lurid dreams of stripping Gracie O’Brien bare and laying her out on his bed in all her pale glory.

When he’d realised she wasn’t an apparition the blood had rushed south and hardened his body with an embarrassingly immediate effect. Thankfully she’d been so shocked to see him he didn’t think she’d noticed.

He’d been unable to compose himself, as if confronted with a naked woman for the first time. He cursed volubly. What was it about her that turned him on so effortlessly? She was wild and untamed. As unsophisticated as you could get. Freckles, for crying out loud. All over. All down her legs and arms. And, he imagined, on her breasts, which would be so pale against his skin …

He cursed again when he thought of her stretching up to get that glass. His eyes had been glued to her smooth pale thighs and the pert curve of her bottom, that tantalising glimpse of white cotton. Never had such an unsexy fabric looked so sensual. Like a fool he’d moved closer, ostensibly to help her reach the glass, only to come so close that he had been able to smell the surprisingly sweet and clean scent of her shampoo. No perfume, just something faint, like wild flowers. More subtle and alluring than he would have imagined possible.

Her hair had brushed his bare chest and the nearly overwhelming
urge to press close and slide his hands up and under that shirt, around to cup her breasts and feel their weight and firmness, had had him jumping back and away like a scalded cat to the other side of the kitchen.

Rocco shut off the shower and stepped out for the second time in the space of half an hour. He vowed at that moment to do everything in his power to find Steven Murray, so that he could draw a line under this incident once and for all and get this woman out of his head.

For two days Gracie managed to avoid Rocco by making sure she was up after him in the mornings and in bed before he came back to the apartment at night. Luckily, he seemed to be busy. She was congratulating herself on having evaded him for the third morning in a row when he suddenly emerged from the study in the apartment, issuing a string of expletives, looking seriously disgruntled. And absolutely gorgeous in faded jeans and a T-shirt.

Gracie couldn’t avoid bumping straight into him, and sprang back as if burnt, heat washing through her body like a tidal wave. She went hot and cold all at once. She could smell his scent on the air, musky and masculine. He glowered at her from his superior height and Gracie fought the urge to apologise.

To fill the silence and deflect him from her embarrassment she blurted out, ‘What are you doing here?’

Looking seriously disgruntled now, he said, ‘Sometimes I work from this office—if that’s all right with you?’

A little redundantly she found herself asking, ‘Is there something wrong?’

Rocco’s dark gaze swept over her and Gracie burnt up even more.

‘My chef has just rung to say he’s ill, and his replacement is busy. I have someone coming for dinner this evening
and I didn’t want to go out, but now it looks as though I’ll have to.’ Rocco chafed at having to look at the reasons why he
didn’t
relish being seen out in public with Honora Winthrop, when just a few days ago he would have welcomed the prospect. The woman standing in front of him, who’d been avoiding him zealously for the past two days, was far too close to those reasons for comfort.

Something pierced Gracie’s insides as she wondered churlishly if this dinner was a date. His mistress, perhaps? Again, almost without thinking, she found herself saying, ‘I can cook if you like?’

Rocco smiled mockingly. ‘You? Cook?’

His obvious incredulity combined with her recent disturbing flash of something which felt awfully like jealousy made her say waspishly, ‘I can do better than baked beans and toast, if that’s what your tastes run to.’