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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 no
w 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.’
He smiled. ‘Liar.’
Immediately she exploded. ‘I’m not a liar. I’ve never lied …’
Rocco’s tone turned soothing. ‘I know, cara … but I’m afraid that you are lying about this.’
To her horror and disgust Gracie could feel tears spring into her eyes, and vaguely saw a horrorstruck look cross Rocco’s face. He reached for her and pulled her into him. It was heaven and hell. She couldn’t move in his tight embrace.
‘Damn you, Rocco.’ She spoke into his chest and then he pulled her back slightly.
His hands were around her jaw, caressing her face, catching her tears. He sounded tortured. ‘Don’t cry, piccolina … please. I don’t want to make you cry. Just tell me—what are you interested in?’
Gracie opened her mouth. She wanted to lash out at the hurt he’d caused her, and the beautiful pain he’d brought into her life by making her fall in love with him, but she couldn’t. She looked up into his dark, harsh face and could only see the man she loved.
In a quivery voice she said simply, ‘I’m interested in you, Rocco de Marco. I’m interested in everything about you. What moves you, what you want, what makes you happy. I’m interested in making you happy. I’m in love with you, and I’m interested in spending the rest of my life with you—not just having a brief fling. I want more than that.’ A kind of defiant confidence filled her now as her eyes cleared and she saw Rocco hadn’t yet run screaming from the room in horror. ‘Well? Is that what you wanted to hear? Is that truthful enough for you?’
