9

I shrugged. “I’m tougher than I look.”

“I’m beginning to realize that. But good luck getting Thomas to actually go to bed. Aim for eight-thirty but expect a lot of diversionary tactics.”

“Will do.” My voice was hopefully more confident than I thought.

Rock was staring at my face. Self-consciously, I pushed a strand back from my ear. It kind of felt strange to have it flowing free around him. Usually, at the bar, I kept it up and out of the way.

His hand replaced mine, his long finger brushing over my hair and then trailing down my cheek. “Thank you for this tonight, Margo.”

I froze and wasn’t able to even nod until he’d taken a step back. Then I followed him to the door and locked it behind him.

Then I went over to find out what was going on in the dinosaur world.

When the key turned in the lock, it was almost midnight. I dropped my phone and swung my feet down from the sofa, searching frantically for my shoes, but as Rocello was already striding toward me, I stood up in my bare feet.

“He asleep?” he demanded.

“Yeah.”

“How’d it go?”

“Fine. We—”

“Anything I should know about?”

Rocello seemed like he might fire an endless array of questions my way, so I decided to change up my answers. “I now know that some dinosaurs were smaller than chickens.”

The big man blinked as he raised an eyebrow.

“And some ate plants. And a pterodactyl isn’t really a dinosaur at all.”

Rock’s face broke into a crooked grin. “I should’ve known he’d like you.”

“I think he did,” I said honestly. “He told me twice that my hair was pretty.”

“That’s because it is.” Rocello reached out, but this time, he stilled his hand before it touched my hair. “You’re even shorter in your bare feet.”

He was too close. Too close, and just too big, powerful, and masculine.

“Yeah, um, that’s how it works.”

He broke the intense eye contact. “Want something to drink?”

I pulled myself together and gave him a small smile. “Isn’t that supposed to be my line?”

“Not tonight. Have a seat, I’ll bring it out.”

Settling back onto the sofa, I tried to figure out what was wrong with me. Eighty percent of my customers at the Rusty Bucket were guys. Why did I keep reacting so strongly to him and his men?

Rocello’s intense looks and his touch didn’t mean anything, I told myself firmly. He’d needed a favor tonight and I’d helped him. It was as simple as that.

Still, I couldn’t help wondering what we’d talk about when he came back. It was nice, getting the chance to find out more about him.

While I waited, I spotted one of my shoes under the coffee table. It had a plastic stegosaurus in it, so I decided to leave it where it was.

Rocello returned with an open bottle of Chianti Classico and two glasses.

“Nice,” I commented as he poured red wine for both of us. I’d never seen him drink wine at the bar, which made me wonder if he’d gotten it for me.

He handed me a glass and then sat down in the middle of the couch, his powerful body making the whole thing shift. I slid toward him an inch or two and was reminded of how I’d slid into Jumaine’s lap the other day.

Which brought me up short. If I’d almost kissed Jumaine—and I’d wanted to—why was I feeling this way about Rocello? But it had gotten to me, finding out that this big, tough man was a single father who clearly loved his son.

“Cheers—er, salute,” I said, clicking my glass against his.

Rock smiled at my attempt at Italian. “Salute,” he said back. “Or, cin cin. That’s less formal.” He glanced at my bare legs and grinned. “Since you’ve got your shoes off, maybe less formal is the way to go.”

“I’ll drink to that.” I took a sip, and it was delicious.

Rocello noted my reaction. “Italian wine is the best. Don’t let the French tell you otherwise.”

“I won’t,” I said, taking another sip. “Were you born in Italy?”

A shadow darkened his face. “No. Right here in Brooklyn.” He drained half his glass. “I’m trying to teach Thomas about Italian culture, but truth is, I don’t know a ton about it myself. No one ever tried to teach me when I was a kid.”

A memory surfaced. “Jumaine said you three met in foster care.”

“Right.” He set his glass down, and automatically, I poured him more. Apparently, you could take the woman out of the bar, but not the bartender out of the woman… or something like that. “We finally ran away from the group home and survived on our own for a while. Then we met a man named Emilio Roscano, and he took us under his wing. He was the first one to teach me about my Italian heritage. The only one.”

His words, and the obvious emotion behind them, touched me. Whoever this Emilio was, he meant a lot to Rock. “I’m glad he did.”

He looked a little embarrassed by his heartfelt words, and I spoke again to try to cover it. “Rocello. I like the sound of that.”

“It’s probably the only thing I can thank my own deadbeat dad for.” He drank more wine and leaned back against the leather sofa. “I wanted to name Thomas something Italian, but his mother was set on Thomas. If I’d known she was going to take off, I wouldn’t have listened to her.”

“I’m sorry.”

He looked over at me, his dark eyes intense. “Margo.” He said my name speculatively, like I’d just said his. “Maybe I should call you Margherita.”

I frowned, confused. “Like the drink?”

He smiled. “Like the Italian version of Margaret.”

Oh. That made more sense. But there was just one problem. “That’s pretty, but Margo isn’t short for Margaret.”

“It’s not? What’s it short for, then?”

“I don’t think I should tell you.”

His eyes narrowed. “You don’t trust me?”

Honestly? No. He was too powerful. Too dangerous. But that wasn’t why I didn’t want to tell him. “It’s just… it’s embarrassing.”

His eyes gleamed as he leaned in. “Now I have to know.”

His voice was low and seductive. Still dangerous, but sexy as hell. When he’d returned home, he spoke softly to keep from waking his son. But now his low voice seemed more about intimacy.

“Magnolia,” I whispered. It wasn’t something I often shared.

A handful of expressions crossed his face, surprise among them, but then I blinked, and his expression was neutral again. “That’s pretty.”

My head shook on its own accord. “It’s ridiculous, but my mom liked it.”

“Not ridiculous at all.” He took my hand in his huge one. “It’s a tree—so it’s strong, like you. And it’s a flower—so it’s delicate and beautiful. Like you.”

“You don’t even know me,” I whispered.

“I want to,” he said. “And I’ve watched you at the bar.”

“Serving drinks.”

“Keeping customers happy. Making sure they’re safe enough to get home on their own. I pay attention. I notice things. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t still be alive.”

He inched closer. His fingers squeezed mine, and I couldn’t help staring at his lips. Those full lips of his that I never thought I’d be this close to—but now I couldn’t look away.

His looks had played a role. I couldn’t deny that. Every time Rocello walked into the bar, he turned most women’s heads. But the flare of desire I felt for him went beyond his looks. Beyond lust. It was his struggle. His iron will to raise that boy all by himself. Coupled with the hidden sensitivity he’d displayed tonight.

Rocello moved in slowly, giving me a choice. And when I made it, I leaned forward to meet him.

His lips were warm as they pressed against mine, and his hand immediately went to my head. He fisted my hair as he positioned me to accept his kiss. It was a possessive move, and I got the impression that he’d been wanting to do that for a long time.

I melted back into the couch as he pressed against me. He was everywhere, his broad chest and massive biceps creating a wall in front of me. I couldn’t have wiggled free if I wanted to—but I didn’t want to. My lips parted and his tongue darted in, teasingly at first. But then he took over, guiding me, dominating me.

I was lost in a sea of emotions, my blood pumping stronger, and delicious shivers playing across my skin.

Then he put his hand on my thigh.

That was all he did—just placed it there, but I gasped against his mouth. The heat from his large hand radiated up my leg and sparks of anticipation traveled down my spine. Every time his thumb brushed against the fabric of my skirt, I felt a flutter in my stomach. The sensations were overwhelming—it wasn’t just the physical touch but the intensity of the moment, the connection between us that seemed to grow stronger with every heartbeat.

His kiss was slow and deliberate—as if he’d been waiting a long time for this and was determined to do it right. It contrasted with the promise of his large hand grasping my thigh, so near to where I ached to be touched.

As his mouth moved over mine, his hand began to slowly, tentatively move up my thigh, sliding under my skirt. His fingers felt as hot as an iron, but I wasn’t afraid of getting burned.

I gasped, pulling away from the kiss for a moment, resting my forehead against his. The sensation of his hand, combined with the warmth from his body covering mine was intoxicating.

"Rocello," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

He looked deep into my eyes, the hunger apparent in his gaze. "Margo," he murmured, voice husky and heated, "you have no idea how much I've wanted this."

I grasped his shoulders and pulled him toward me. His body pinned mine against the couch, and he overwhelmed all my senses. And still, his hand gripped my thigh tightly.

And then I shifted my legs. It was subtle—I only spread them a little—but the gleam in his eyes told me he knew what I wanted.

His hand slid up my thigh, inch by agonizing inch, and my breathing grew louder. I pressed my lips against his, wanting him to devour my mouth again, and he obliged.

I couldn’t move, I couldn’t think, I could barely breathe—and it was the most erotic thing I’d ever felt. This powerful man had taken control of my body and my senses, and I loved it.

He curled his hand down, now more between my thighs than on top, and then the tip of his finger grazed across my panties. I jolted as if electrocuted, and he chuckled against my mouth. It was such a warm, sexy sound. I liked a man who knew the effect he had on me.

Rock took my mouth harder as his fingers explored. My legs parted further, and he wasted no time in pressing my damp panties against my slit—and hitting my clit.

I moaned and he pushed my panties aside, cupping me. “Your skin is so damn hot,” he rasped against my mouth.

My body was so damn hot—hot for him.

I wrapped my hands around his neck, only barely remembering not to hit the spot where he’d been injured, but he seemed not to care about that. He positioned himself over me for better access, and his lips traveled to my throat as his fingers glided up and down my slit.

Oh. My. God.

His fingers pushed inside me at the same time his tongue did, and I felt claimed. He was in control and that turned me on more than I’d ever dreamed.

He had two fingers inside me when this thumb stroked past my clit. I cried out, and his mouth clamped down on me, stifling the cry. Some distant part of my brain reminded me that I couldn’t get too loud, but Rocello wasn’t making that easy.

My hips lifted and pressed against his fingers as I clung to him. My head lolled back as his talented mouth nibbled and licked. His fingers pumped in and out as he worked my clit. Tension built inside me, and I wasn’t sure what was going to happen when it boiled over.

I gasped, fighting for breath as he pushed me to the point of no return. He pushed his fingers deep inside me, spreading my walls and that was all it took. My back arched and met the unmoving wall of his chest as waves rocked through me. I clamped down on the scream that wanted to escape and buried my face in the crook of his thick neck.

He didn’t let up, working me harder as my entire body trembled. I felt like I was on an out-of-control roller coaster—the ride wasn’t going to come to an end until he let it.

He groaned as I thrashed in his arms. At wringing out the last ounce of pleasure from me, he finally eased his fingers back and I gasped for air. No one had ever made me come that hard. No one had ever taken over my body and robbed me of my senses like that.

Rocello lifted me up and pulled me onto his lap. His arms went around me as I slumped against his chest, still out of breath. “That was so fucking hot,” he said. He raised his fingers to his mouth and licked them, one by one. “You taste better than the wine.”

Warmth flushed through me as he held me. When was the last time I’d felt this cherished? Rocello made me feel like there was nothing he’d rather do than to hold me.

He held me for a long time.