Chapter 12
Rocco
Iwait outside the room while Harper settles Danny into bed. I’m desperate to help, to learn their routines, but I don’t want to overstep.
Deep in my bones, I know we’re destined to be a family. It’s only a matter of when.
Exhaustion weighs heavy on my shoulders, yet sleep is far from my mind. My body still hums from our kiss, from the feel of her in my arms. I wish she could be in my bed tonight, if only to hold her, but it’s not happening anytime soon. It’ll likely be a while before Danny can sleep without her.
Oh, and she’s married—not that I care, but I’ll do my best to be a gentleman, for her sake.
She emerges from the room, her gaze catching mine before darting away. “He’s out.” She suddenly becomes interested in the worn, outdated, red-and-gold runner beneath our feet, her cheeks flushed.
“We can replace the carpet if you want—whatever you want.” I seem to be tripping over my words, which is ridiculous, considering I’m a lawyer who negotiates multimillion-dollar deals. “I haven’t changed anything since my mother died.”
I’ve considered selling. There’s no reason to hold on to an estate this large.
It’s nothing but a money pit. Yet, I can’t bring myself to do it, especially not after Ethan returned with a family of his own, and now Harper and Danny.
With renovations, this could be the perfect place to escape the city. It’s also safe and private.
She raises her head, her brows knitted together. “No, I wasn’t thinking about the carpet. Sorry.”
I step closer and take her hand. Her fingers are dainty and delicate in mine. I can’t remember the last time I held a woman’s hand—the same goes for kissing—and I haven’t missed it. I had no longing for intimacy before Harper.
“What were you thinking about?” I trace my thumb over her knuckles.
“That it’s late, and I should go to bed before…”
She trails off as I lean in, tension thick between us.
I cup the back of her head, weaving my fingers through her hair, my lips inches from hers. “Before?”
“We do something we shouldn’t,” she whispers, disappointment and uncertainty in her tone.
“Look at me.” I raise her chin, and her gaze finally meets mine.
“We’re adults—older adults, let me add. We’re not doing anything wrong.
You have no reason to be ashamed. I won’t pressure you into something you’re not ready for, but I won’t pretend I don’t want you either.
Ask me to back off, and I will. I’ll give you space. ”
Her palms come to rest on my chest, neither pushing me away nor embracing me. “I want this—you. I’m just scared.”
“Nothing to fear.” I brush my lips over hers. “Have a drink with me? Tell me what scares you?”
“Okay.”
She doesn’t pull away. The kiss is gentle at first—hesitant, more a question than a demand.
Then she melts into me, her arms wrap around my neck, and I lose all restraint.
I back her against the door, my hand still cradling her head, my arm encircling her waist. Her fingers thread through my hair, and I devour her.
Her smell, her taste, is intoxicating. The kiss deepens, her tongue tangling with mine, and my cock is rock-hard instantly.
I slide my hand down to grip her ass, bringing her close, so she can’t miss how much I want her. A whimper escapes her throat. The urge to lift her, to wrap those slender legs around my waist and carry her to my bed, is maddening, but I promised I’d go slow, build her trust.
“Fuck, Harper.” I break the kiss and rest my forehead to hers, struggling to regain my breath.
Her eyelids remain closed, her lips pink and swollen. “This doesn’t seem real.” Her voice is distant, and a shiver runs through her.
I kiss her one more time, unable to resist. “Trust me. It’s real.”
She glances up, her eyes a midnight blue. “What if I love this house and want to haunt it like a witch?” she asks, with all seriousness.
Christ, she’s perfect. “Whatever you want, my little black kitten.” I lace our fingers together and lead the way down the hall. “But I will need to work in the city, unfortunately, and I hope you’ll come with me. We can stay at the loft once your apartment is finished.”
Soon, we’ll need to consider a school for Danny, along with therapy and other options more accessible in the city.
She studies the framed pictures on the fireplace mantel, and I pour her a glass of wine, fixing myself a whiskey.
I cross the room and offer her the glass, holding it by the stem. She accepts it with both hands, delicate and cautious, as if she’s afraid she might drop it. Her fingers graze mine and send a jolt of electricity up my arm, even though we were just making out like horny teenagers.
She takes a small, careful sip, and her eyes widen. “Ooh, that’s good. A bit strong, but delicious. Could be dangerous.”
Her Southern accent is more pronounced when she relaxes, and I can’t help but smile. “We’ll only have one.” I make a mental note to stock the wine cellar.
“Are these your nephews?” She turns back to an older picture of the boys, their arms around each other in front of the lake.
“That’s not all of them. I have a few more, but yes.”
She points to two of them. “That’s obviously the twins. Who’s this?”
“Alexei. Next to him is his younger brother, Nikolai.”
She examines the photograph. “They all look alike, save for this one.” She nods toward the blond-haired, blue-eyed boy at the end, his hand on his hip, his head resting on Nikolai’s shoulder. He’s wearing pink swim trunks and a wide grin. “He looks nothing like the rest of you.”
“Yeah, that’s Paxton,” I say with a warm chuckle. “My mother adopted him when he was about Danny’s age, actually. He’s the youngest of the bunch and spoiled rotten.”
Her forehead creases with worry. “He must miss her, being so young.”
“Yes. We all do.” I take a long sip of whiskey, savoring the burn, and sink into the leather couch cushions. “Mrs. Harris was a second mother to him. It’s not the same, of course, but they’re still close.”
She curls into the corner of the sofa, legs tucked beneath her. “Do you have any children?”
I shift to face her, one arm stretched along the back of the couch. “No.”
“You were never married? Engaged?”
“Nope.” I shake my head.
“Did you ever want to be?”
“Other than right now?”
She takes another sip, eyeing me over the rim of her glass. “Be serious.”
The corner of my mouth lifts. “I am serious.”
“That’s not possible.”
“That I want to? Because I do. Or that it’ll happen? Because I can be very persuasive.”
She finishes her wine in one, long swallow, then sets the empty glass on the table. “So I’ve heard.”
“Is that right?” I drain my whiskey and place my glass next to hers. “And what did you hear?”
“My brother says Rossi men are possessive. They don’t give up their loved ones easily.”
“Ever,” I correct. “We don’t give up our loved ones—ever.” To tone down the insanity a notch, so she doesn’t go running for the hills, I add, “Family is everything to us.”