Chapter 27
Rocco
Harper spends her entire breakfast making sure Danny doesn’t make a mess. If a crumb lands on the tablecloth, she brushes it off into her hand. If a piece of scrambled egg misses his mouth and falls to the floor, she immediately cleans it up, her gaze darting to me anxiously.
I’m thirty seconds away from dragging her onto my lap and feeding her myself. It pisses me off she’s this worried about the boy making a mess. He’s a damn child.
Leaning back in my chair, I widen my legs and pat my thigh. “Kitten, come here.”
She glances up, her fork paused midair with a scoop of eggs for Danny, although he keeps spitting them out. “What?”
“Come here.”
“But—”
“Let him eat. I don’t care if he makes a mess—messes are good. My nephews have had full-on food fights in this room.” They were forced to clean it up after, but that’s beside the point.
Mrs. Harris busies herself at the sink, pretending not to notice our little arrangement while Alexei scrolls through his phone, giving us a sense of privacy without leaving. The goal is to get Danny acquainted with him before they travel together.
Not only is Alexei ruthless, but he also cares for his younger brother.
No matter how much Nikolai fucks up, Alexei is there for him and never loses his patience.
It borders on enabling, so hiring him as Harper’s security serves two purposes.
I want him to channel that patience and ruthlessness into caring for and protecting Harper and Danny, and I want Nikolai to have a chance to grow up.
He’s twenty-one, trying to relieve his heartaches with booze and women, struggling to reach his potential on our AHL team, and needs to get his shit together without his brother always coming to the rescue.
Harper hesitates, her gaze flicking between her son and me. An internal battle plays out across her face—the urge to make everything perfect warring with her desire to trust me, please me.
Reluctantly, she sets the fork down and rises from her chair. She pauses in front of me, and I reach for her, guiding her onto my lap. She’s stiff, perched awkwardly on my thigh. Danny watches us for a moment, his eyes curious, before he returns to mashing scrambled eggs between his fingers.
“Relax.” I pull her plate over from where she was seated. Her breakfast is barely touched. “You need to eat, too.”
Her cheeks flush pink. “I will. After Danny’s finished.”
“No, you won’t.” I wrap an arm around her waist and anchor her to me. “You’ll make sure he eats, then you’ll busy yourself with cleaning.”
She opens her mouth to protest, but I cut her off, my voice low.
“Eat. It’s getting cold—or I’ll feed it to you.”
A frown creases her brow. “I’m perfectly capable of feeding myself.”
“I know.” I slip my hand under her sweater and caress her side with my thumb. “But you’re not, and you deserve to be taken care of for once.”
Her expression softens, her wariness fading. She adjusts on my lap, getting comfortable, and takes a bite of hash browns.
Testing my limits, I lean in and whisper, “Good girl,” then press a kiss to her neck. “Thank you.”
A shiver runs through her. God, I love how responsive she is to the simplest praise. The way she melts for me is addictive.
I’ve only been dominant with a woman in the bedroom. I’ve never been possessive or protective, and never has a woman consumed my every thought—until now.
With Harper, it’s different. Instinctive. She needs safety, security, someone to care for her while she cares for her son, my future son. I’ve always been the fun, bachelor uncle, never the father figure. This is unfamiliar territory, but it feels right.
I sip my coffee while she eats. Danny has created an egg mountain on his plate and is driving his fork through it like a bulldozer, making engine noises. I make a mental note to get him some toy cars and trucks.
Alexei sets down his phone and clears his throat. “Hey, little man, those eggs don’t seem to be your favorite. What would you prefer instead? Pancakes? Waffles?”
Danny’s blue eyes widen. “Chocolate chip pancakes?” He glances at Harper for permission.
His speech has already improved since they’ve been in New York. I worry he wasn’t given the chance to speak freely before, to babble and play and develop.
“Oh, no.” She shakes her head. “He doesn’t need anything more. He’s fine. Thank you.” She reaches for his fork.
I place my hand over her midsection to stop her. “It’s okay. It’s no inconvenience.”
Eyes narrowed and lips parted, she peers over her shoulder at me. “But—”
“Kiss me,” I coax. “There’s something I want to discuss while Danny’s distracted.”
“Chocolate will ruin his new clothes,” she frets, but she still gives me the kiss I requested.
“Then we’ll change him. I don’t give a shit about the clothes.”
Drying her hands on a towel, Mrs. Harris turns from the sink. “I got it, dear,” she tells Harper. “I’m a professional at removing stains.”
She’s nannied a dozen or so kids in this house and has dealt with worse than chocolate.
I catch her eye over Harper’s shoulder. “Also, Mrs. Harris, would you prepare a room, make sure the boy has extra clothes?” I deliberately avoid using Danny’s name to surprise him later.
“Yes, sir.” She nods. “I’d love to.”
Harper stiffens in my lap. “That’s completely unnecessary—”
“And Legos,” I interrupt.
“He already has enough toys,” she protests, hands raised in front of her.
“Spider-Man bedding and pajamas, too.”
“Rocco—”
I tighten my arm around her. “Every time you argue, I’ll add something else. Someone has to spend my money. How about more dinosaurs?”
“Dinosaurs?” Danny questions, voice elevated, his whole body vibrating with excitement. “I want dinosaurs!”
“See what you started?” Harper mutters, but a hint of a smile plays on her lips.
Alexei pushes away from the table. “Alright, ometto—how about you help me make those chocolate chip pancakes? I bet you’re an excellent chef.”
The boy’s face lights up. “I am! I make pancakes with Jax!” He scurries down from his chair, leaving a trail of food debris in his wake.
“Oh my God,” Harper says under her breath, but she doesn’t rush to clean it.
Mrs. Harris smiles down at Danny. “To be my special helper, you have to wash up first.”
He races over to the sink, his egg-covered hands held high. “Okay.”
I squeeze Harper’s hip. “Come with me. I have something for you in my study.”
She stands and casts a hesitant glance at her son. “Now?”
“Your brother is coming over. I’d like to get this done before he gets here.” I take her hand. “Danny will be fine, I promise. And we can clean later.”
We haven’t had a child here since Paxton. People used to visit, but you know how it goes—families drift apart. Mrs. Harris is going to spoil Danny rotten.
I lead Harper through the house, past tall windows shrouded in thick curtains and a row of closed-up rooms. The hardwood creaks beneath our feet, announcing us to the ghosts of my ancestors.
At the end of the hall, I push open a heavy oak door.
The study has remained untouched since my father’s era—dark wood paneling on the walls, a stone fireplace, shelves lined with books, a massive mahogany desk dominating one corner.
I don’t come in here often, but I swear, the smell of his cigars still lingers in the air.
Harper hovers just inside. “Is Reece coming to pick us up?”
I shut the door behind me. “I hope not.” I stride to my desk and sink into the high-backed leather chair. “Come here.”
She doesn’t budge. “What’s this about?”
“Trust me.” I extend my hand. “Please.”
She crosses the room, her footsteps nearly silent. She’s wearing another thin sweater and a pair of baggy jeans, her hair in a loose bun. I remind myself to order her some new clothes as well, or take her shopping before she leaves.
I wait patiently for her to sit on my lap. Once she’s settled, I snake my arm around her waist and draw her closer, encouraging her to relax. She melts against me ever so slightly, and I count that as progress.
“I was up until the early hours in here, thinking about you and me.” I open the top drawer and remove my iPad. The screen lights up as I hand it to her. “I’ve prepared a contract—employment, benefits, housing, medical care for you and Danny, relationship dynamics—everything is here.”
“A contract? Is that necessary?”
“Yes. I need you to feel secure, to trust me. This is to protect you, offer clear expectations on both sides.”
She scrolls through the document, and her brows furrow. “This is…” She swipes and skips right past the termination clause and nondisclosure agreement. “Wow.”
“Take your time.” Drawn to her curves, I trace her hip with my thumb. “I’ve outlined everything—salary, financial support, living arrangements, roles and responsibilities.”
“Why would I have a salary if I don’t work for you?”
“I need someone to revitalize this house, and you’re interested in this ancient monstrosity, which makes you the most qualified candidate—and you get to stay home with Danny.
” Her loose jeans gape in the front, allowing my fingers to drift lower over her soft stomach.
“If, by chance, you ever become keen on real estate law and want to work in my office, we can renegotiate.”
Her breath hitches, her belly tensing under my touch. “What about the apartment?”
I tease a finger along the waistband of her panties. “The apartment will be entirely yours, in your name. No strings attached.”
She squirms on my lap, and her ass brushes my thickening erection. “And the divorce?”
“Covered under financial support.” I push my hand beneath the delicate lace to cup her pussy. “He’s being served papers today, while you’re here with me, getting finger-fucked until you cry my name.”
She gasps—whether from the news, my crude words, or my fingers sliding through her wetness, I’m not sure.
“Rocco—” She seizes my wrist, but her protest dissolves into a whimper.
I pause. “You want me to stop?”