The taxi finally pulled over to the curb, out the window he saw the familiar lights of his hotel. He opened the door and inhaled like he’d been suffocated for the last century. Cold air cut into his lungs. The rest of him still burned.
He strode through reception, shrugging off his coat as he walked. Irritated, he watched her walk alongside him, her interest in the decor obvious. He was stupidly curious about her reaction—did she like the style of the place? People either did or didn’t. With one look at the decor, you knew you were at The Trove, which was just as he wanted it. Unique.
He wanted her to like it.
He ignored the outrageously curious glances of his staff. Yeah. The only private guests he brought to the hotel were the guys. Hunter, Xander, Logan. Connor on the rare occasions he was in town. No family. No lovers. No exceptions.
Only now Dani was here, striding alongside him, her nose in the air, her attitude all but bouncing off the walls. And while he didn’t ordinarily give a monkey’s about gossip among the staff, he’d be sure to let it get out that she was a young relative staying. A cousin. For her sake, right?
Okay. To remind himself. She was untouchable.
She said nothing as he punched in the code enabling him to override the elevator’s security function. He clenched his fists as he was forced into too small a space with her again. Her fragrance was too tempting—light, soft, mouth-watering.
As soon as the doors slid open on the fourth floor he stepped out, walking to the end of the corridor. He punched another code and opened the last door in the line. Then he stepped back to let her go through first and braced himself.
It took only a few seconds for her to cast her intelligent, assessing glance around and realize the truth.
“This unit is occupied.” Standing smack in the center of the room, she faced him off. “It’s yours.” She jammed her hands on her hips and glared at him. “I’m not staying here.”
Rocco refused to let his temper ignite. As it was he was too tempted to physically restrain her and touching her again was not, repeat not, an option. He’d play it light. “Why not?”
She marched over to the open doorway on the far side of the room and peeked through. When she turned back, her skin was scarlet. “There’s only one bedroom.”
Yeah there was that slight flaw in the plan. He’d taken the smallest suite available in the place. One single bedroom, one bathroom, one living room. But it was sensible business practice to have his customers pay for the best space and not hog it himself. He didn’t need it.
“I’ll take the sofa in here.” He tossed his coat over the back of a chair and rolled up his shirt-sleeves, still steaming. “And just so you know, I sleep light. You won’t get past me in the middle of the night.”
Her gaze seemed fixed on his forearms. “You think I’m going to run away?”
He snorted. “You’ve run away from two different locations in the last forty-eight hours. Baby, you got form.”
“Don’t call me baby.” She shot him a death look and started prowling round the edge of the room, like a cornered kitty seeking an escape.
He’d called her that to remind himself he was nine years older than her.
Visibly uptight she inspected the room. He watched her glower at the half-drunk coffee he’d left next to the spread paper on the small countertop. As she paced, her glance darted to his computer running on the desk in the farthest corner, to the painting above it, to the dining table, to the window, to the sofa. Her restlessness stirred a matching response in him.
The suite was too fucking small.
“So you’re going to be my jailer?” She finally looked back at him.
Rocco tensed. He didn’t like that look. Or that tone. She was taunting him?
“Not what you’re used to, Princess?” he asked, determined to keep his humor. Or at least pretend to. “The thought of not having your own palace bothering you?”
“You know I’m not a princess. I’m used to a single cell in a school or university lodge and this is way more fancy than that.” She ran a finger along the frame of the painting on the wall. “Even if it is a little... impersonal.”
“It suits my needs,” he said gruffly, annoyed that her judgment pricked under his skin.
He had very few needs. He’d learned early on that there was a lot he could live without. He’d had to. And he’d discovered he liked it simple. Everything was easiest that way.
“It’s boring.” She walked over to the counter and disdainfully flicked over a couple of pages of the newspaper.
“Maybe I’m boring.” And he didn’t give a damn what she thought of him.
Why was she so restless? Why wasn’t she looking at him? Why did he give a rat’s ass?
But to his surprise she laughed. A little, low, bitter laugh. “You could never be boring.”
She glanced over her shoulder, caught his gaze. Imprisoned it—him, in that sea of blue.
Heat washed over him, lighting a suspicion he couldn’t believe. Refused to.
But he couldn’t resist the urge to move closer. It was like she was the burning flame and he the very stupid, blinded moth.
He saw her touch her tongue lightly to her lips, like they were dry. He saw how her pupils dilated as he neared. Could be from fear, sure. But he knew it wasn’t. He knew that look. He felt it. The heat in his gut consumed him, driving him forward.
“What are you doing?” she asked as he breached her personal space. She spun round so her back was to the steel counter. She was facing him. Staring at him.
The princess had nowhere to run. Good.
“Look at me,” he said.
He needed to see that expression again. Confirmation.
“I am.” But she wasn’t looking at his eyes.
Fuck. Every muscle within him tightened. Rocco couldn’t believe it. Nor could he walk away. He leaned in.
“No, look here.” He pointed to his eyes.
She lifted her lashes, dragging her gaze from his abs all the way to his eyes. She lingered along the way, taking in his tight nipples, his shoulders, his throat, his jaw. Defiance shone from the sparkling blue. Defiance and something else. Something very particular.
“There’s no need to stand so close,” she whispered.
“No?” he mocked. She was both right and wrong. “You want me to step away?”
Her glance raked down his chest again. Damn if he didn’t want to suck in his abs and preen. And seeing that heat? That giveaway reaction? That blatant hunger?
Shocked, but reckless, he pushed. “Or do you want me to step closer still?”
This was so wrong but he ached to know. Ached to hear her say it. It was the only idea filling his head.
“I…” she swallowed, licked her lips again. “What do you mean?”
He leaned closer, not enough to touch, but so he could watch every tiny reaction in her eyes, could see the color bloom in her cheeks, could hear the hitch in her breathing. “You want me.”
“What?”
He’d laugh if he weren’t so strung out. She was all outraged indignation. But there was t
hat breathlessness, that blush, those blue eyes ultra wide.
And this close he could see it—she was almost shaking.
Not fear. Everything but fear.
There was no going back now. This was everything he hadn’t wanted. And yet he did. He wanted her answer—her honest answer—more than he’d wanted anything in his life.
But then, he wanted Danielle Hughes herself more than he’d wanted anything in his life.
“You want me,” he repeated. “That’s why you’re weird about staying in my room. Because you’re hot for me.”
“That’s some ego you’ve got.” Her voice was a thin, cracked version of its usual volume.
Every sinful thought he’d been holding at bay surged into his head in the one second. All the things he’d do and say, the way he’d hold her, the way he imagined she’d feel…
Jeez. He was fucked. He pushed his palms into the counter either side of her waist. Fighting for control. For cool. He couldn’t let this happen.
Because Danielle Hughes was the absolute definition of forbidden.
“Maybe,” he muttered. “But I’m right.”
He knew it, right in his bones. Her blush was now a nice match for the scarlet cushion decorating the sofa. But her eyes held that hunger, that heat. They raked over him again as she stood silent, her chin tilted at that daring angle.
He tensed, barely holding back from smashing his mouth on hers. He craved it. He wanted to thrust inside her mouth, to taste, tease, torment the way she freaking tormented him just by being. He wanted to make her sigh. Make her speak.
Make her scream.
“Danielle?” For a moment he didn’t know what he was asking.
He blinked, pulled back, pretty sure his wants had been written all over his face. It didn’t help that he had a hard-on the size of Jupiter to go with it. And she’d snatched a quick glance at his pants a second ago. And yeah, even though they were a relaxed fit, there’d be no mistaking the bulge.
So he might as well go all out honest. He was that desperate to hear her say it.
“Would it help if I admit I’m hot for you too?” he said, throat scratchy.
She actually trembled. For a sliver of a second he saw the tremor run through her. Then she stilled—with effort.