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‘And who is your companion?’
Gracie smiled tightly at the anaemic-looking woman with hair so set in a ball around her head that she feared it would go up in flames if she stood too close to a light. She could have been anywhere from forty to sixty-five, her face was so immobile and smooth.
‘Gracie O’Brien,’ Rocco was murmuring beside her.
The woman sent a disparaging look up and down, taking in Gracie’s sparkling black floor-length dress.
‘Ah, yes. Well, I might have imagined you’re Irish, with the red hair and pale skin.’
Gracie smiled sweetly. ‘Actually my mother was English, and I was born and grew up there, but, yes, my father was Irish.’
The woman’s brows arched. ‘I see.’ And then, as if thoroughly bored by Gracie, and also not happy that she’d even spoken, she turned to Rocco and linked her arm with his. ‘Now, Rocco darling, tell me all about Bangkok. I’m dying to hear about your deal with the Larrimar Corporation.’
The woman was expertly manoeuvreing Rocco away from Gracie, but he stalled in his tracks, forcing the woman to stop too. He smiled at her, but Gracie shivered. She’d seen that smile many a time, and was glad it wasn’t directed at her for once.
He extricated his arm from the woman’s claw-like clutch and took Gracie’s hand, pulling her firmly to his side, saying nothing but making it very clear that she was not to be ignored. Gracie tried to ignore the jump her heart gave, and watched with amusement as the woman constantly tried to force Gracie out—only to have Rocco pull her even more firmly into his side.
Gracie tuned the conversation out. People-watching was too fascinating. They were in a function room in an exclusive hotel on the other side of Central Park from Rocco’s apartment. They’d just eaten a sumptuous dinner at a huge banquet table with about two hundred guests, and had now moved into another exquisite room which led to an emormous terrace lit with hundreds of candles.
Gracie saw people milling around outside and suddenly wanted to breathe some fresh air. She tried to break free from Rocco, but his grip was like iron. She had to elbow him in the ribs before he looked down.
She smiled sweetly at the snobbish woman and said to Rocco, ‘I’m just going to get some air.’
Rocco had to battle a huge reluctance to let Gracie go but finally he did. He watched her walk away through the crowd, her red hair like a glowing beacon, making people stop and turn around to look at her. She was so vibrant and alive compared to most people in the room. How had he only really noticed that now? And yet wasn’t that what had caught him the very first time he’d seen her?
When they’d been driven the short distance in the car from his apartment to the hotel earlier, Gracie had said to Rocco wistfully, ‘We could have walked through the park.’
Rocco had looked at her and shook his head. ‘No, Gracie, we couldn’t.’
She’d stuck her tongue out and said, ‘Spoilsport,’ and he’d remembered what she’d said earlier, about missing him, and he had all but fallen out of the car in his haste to get away. And yet just now he hadn’t been able to let her go.
‘She’s different.’
Rocco swung back. He was afraid he’d spoken out loud. ‘I’m sorry?’
Helena Thackerey was an inveterate snob, but she was also very shrewd and a tough financial negotiator.
‘I said, she’s different.’
Rocco schooled his features, defensive hackles rising. ‘Yes, she is. But there’s nothing more to our relationship than any other I’ve had.’
The older woman snorted and looked a lot more human for a moment. ‘Tell that to someone who might believe you, de Marco.’ She leant forward and said, sotto voce, ‘I like her. She’s got spunk. Not like those asinine uppercrust bores you usually date.’
Gracie ploughed her way through the crowd, oblivious to some of the wealthiest people in Manhattan, and made it out to the terrace. She grabbed some water from a passing waiter and stood taking in the magical view of New York at night. She stretched out over the wall to try and see as far as she could.
A voice came from right behind her and sent a shiver through her. ‘That’s Harlem up to your left.’
Rocco stepped even closer, so her back and buttocks were flush against his front, and she could feel him hardening against her. She leaned her head back against his chest and said breathily, ‘You’re insatiable.’
He put an arm around her middle and pressed even closer. She heard a throaty, ‘Let’s get out of here. I’ve had enough of New York’s finest for one evening.’
Gracie turned in his arms and looked up. She rolled her eyes and said, ‘Me too, and I’m so over these views of Central Park.’
Rocco bit back a laugh and bent his head. Gracie hated the way she loved how she could make him laugh.
He said, close to her ear, ‘That’s a pity, because when we get back I want to recreate this exact position—except I want your dress gone and your legs around my waist.’
Gracie gulped and put her glass down on a table as Rocco unceremoniously hauled her from the room.
