Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 72325 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72325 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
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. “Rocco. 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 Tommy something Italian, but his mother was set on Tommy. 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. “Maggie.” 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 Maggie 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 Rocco 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.
Rocco 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.
"Rocco," I whispered, my voice barely audible.
He looked deep into my eyes, the hunger apparent in his gaze. "Maggie," he murmured, voice husky and heated, "you have no idea how much I've wanted this."