FIERCED 3: Finale of the Stepbrother Raider Romance Series (2 page)

Chapter THREE

As soon as Monica wafts away to greet some pompous hand grabber come to grovel to her, I throw myself down on the silk bed covers and snuggle up with my memories of Rocco. By closing my eyes and imagining soft sand instead of silk underneath me, I can conjure him up again.

My fingertips grazing across the rise and fall of the taut muscles in his back, holding him close to me as his pelvis rams into mine and we join in a way there's no going back from. My pussy clenches around the sensation of his wide blade entering me, stretching my walls to their limit, filling me up so my entire body gleams with satisfaction.

I have to slide my palms up my ribcage and over my swollen breasts, pressing down into the hungry bullet nipples. Just the imagined feeling of Rocco's powerful body covering mine, bearing down into me makes my nipples protrude eagerly and quivers of desire fly through my core.

In the most romantic city ever, in this luxurious and elegant hotel, my entire being is hollow without Rocco at my side. I could never have imagined such an unlikely perfect man as Rocco. But he's an enigma of a bad boy that takes layers of undressing to uncover. So strong and caring, so tough and so kind, interested in humanity and creativity, willing to support all my dreams.

Actually I could imagine that perfect man, have been picturing him my whole life. I just never dreamed that such a wild man actually existed outside my fantasies and that he'd come into my life and want me.

And then my body shook with fear. The chill dread of not knowing overwhelmed me. Does he want me now?

He definitely wanted me the night in the desert – all night non-stop he wanted me. But now, after my outburst of jealousy? Why is it that the one we like the most is the one we have to try to scare away?

Goosebumps prickle all the way down my forearms as I recall how enraged Rocco had been at me. How he dragged me to the bike saying he'd had enough and was taking
Principessa
back to Daddy. How he'd blasted the bike across the desert with me clinging to him, terrified of his rage as well as that we'd for sure wipe out in a dune the way he was driving at the edge of the engine's limits.

No more did his body melt into mine or his rippling sinew caress my breasts and stomach. Never again would his pelvis thrust backwards into the crevasse buried between my spread legs, rubbing my clit into a frenzy. He held himself distant as though filled with regret at ever becoming close with me. That hurt the most – the fact that he wished he'd never been mine through that beautiful, ecstatic night under the stars.

Never let me go.

I stand rigid as the dresser puts me into the rose gold strapless short gown and remember how carefully Rocco guided my naked limbs back into my clothes as dawn broke with the same shade of pink across the dunes. Every item of clothing was proceeded with a kiss to secure it before being covered. He kissed each foot as he lifted it into the pant legs. I didn't dare image how he lapped a deep kiss across my glistening slit before replacing my underwear, the same for each happily sore nipple. I was afraid the quivering need would throw suspicion on my dresser.

“Are you ready yet? We're going to be late.”

My father threw open the doors between our suites as though I deserved no life or privacy outside of what he deigned to allow me.

“It's only six o'clock, we're nowhere close to late.”

“Your mother says we have to arrive in the right light for the photographers.”

“Ah well, she's the expert on being seen in the right light.”

“Don't get snippy young lady. And make sure you smile at the cameras. No one wants to see your sulky face.”

Whatever. On the boat carrying us up the canal to the reception, I consider throwing myself in. Would I survive swimming in the Dolce and Gabbana gown? Unlikely and anyway another boat would fish me out and return me to my hell before I ever made shore. Still the crazy plans for escape run through my mind. If I could ride a bike across the African Sahara, I could damn well disappear from my pent up life as a political pawn daughter.

The red carpet extends down the floating dock and no sooner are we handed out of the sleek boat than we're ordered to turn this way and that, striking a pose for the army of cameras behind the velvet rope.

“Over here Miss De Angelis.”

“This way, Monica. Give us a smile.”

“How was your ordeal Miss Saint James? Have you recovered from kidnapping? Was it Al-Qaeda?”

So my father spun me after all. Taking any and every opportunity to put his name forward, he told the media I'd been kidnapped before he even received a ransom note. Most parents would keep it quiet, terrified for their child's safety. Why do I continue to expect to be loved by a father who has only one thing in mind?

“Signor Saint James, Sir, is it true you'll announce your intention to run for President of the United States of America?”

Whaaaat? The freaking fuck? You cannot be serious.

“You may be hearing rumors but I couldn't possibly comment.” My father makes his eyes twinkle so that everyone sees straight through his denial. Yeah, he's going to announce tonight.

So that's why the fantabulous new wife and obsession with my behavior. He's set his sights on being the ultimate powerhouse. Double big badda groansville. I may as well lie down and give up my own life right now. He'll have to resign as ambassador then we'll all go back to the States for a couple of years running all over the country shaking hands with thousands. I'll be on the opposite side of the world from Rocco, as far as possible away from him.

When will I ever get the chance to connect and make it right with him? Four years, maybe eight – fuck, I'll be over thirty, an over the hill decrepit before I'll be allowed a life of my own. If only I'd been smart enough to stay in the desert where he'd never stretch his diplomatic fingers to extricate me.

After I smiled and nodded shyly as my father liked me to do, we go into the stunning old palace ballroom. At the door we're each given a stunning handmade Venetian mask – this party is to be a masked ball. Mine is beautifully constructed and dripping with jewels. But I'm too angsty and miserable to take in much of the incredible renaissance murals covering the walls, the massive chandeliers and the all-white flower arrangements bigger than boats.

I do manage to grab a couple of the exquisite canapes from the silver trays shouldered by the waiters as I head for the bar and a glass of prosecco – the Italian champagne.

After downing a couple of the carved crystal flutes of ice cold bubbles, I feel a little more able to cope but still loiter close to the gilded walls, not wanting to answer too many questions about my alleged kidnapping. The waiters must feel sorry for me as they keep passing with amazing platters of shrimp and tiny concoctions of raw beef in a tiny basket made of wonton.

I grab another flute and head out to the terrace hanging over the Grand Canal. My heart rips at the total romance of the view, the water lapping gently beneath my Italian satin pumps, the glow on the water as the sun sets across the lagoon.

As darkness falls, the lights in the palaces edging the water cast a thousand twinkles in the water. I clasp my own elbows in a faux hug wishing deeply that Rocco was encircling my whole body with his powerful arms nestling me into his hold and keeping me safe from everything bad in the world.

Where is he now? Probably on his way back to Tenley. She'll be waiting for him to return and stay in the camp with her for weeks, as she'd called out to him before he sent me home. They make such a beautiful, model perfect couple and she plainly adores him so I can hardly blame him for dashing back to her. I just wish he'd come back to me.

“A beautiful girl should never be alone in Venice.”

I whirl around to see the face of my admirer hidden behind a black mask with an impossibly long nose. So ugly amidst all this beauty.  What on earth could be the significance of that protuberance? There's something about his mouth where the mask stops, making that vile nose even more creepy.

“I just wanted to enjoy the view,” I say. There's something about this guy that's familiar although that's hardly possible as I've never been to Venice before.

“May I join you, Lisa?”

“How do you know my name? Have we met?”

“I've been waiting for you.”

What is it about his voice, as well as the lips? It's low and rough, but it still seems familiar. The man has a wide chest that he uses to press me into the low wall surrounding the terrace. He's enjoying his power, as though he's been working out for the purpose.

“I'm not really in the mood for socializing,” I say, concerned by his creepy stalking of me.

“After your abduction you must be very sensitive to men coming on to you,” he says.

At least he's got some empathy. Still he makes me uncomfortable as he presses too close to my body, almost pinning me to the wall. If I make a wild move I could go right over the edge into the dark water.

His face is too close to me and far from mysterious, his mask is really freaking me out. The long black nose seems evil and his breath is rasping fast as though he needs something far too urgently. He lifts his gloved hand and strokes it along the curve of my naked shoulder, down my upper arm making my shiver and the goosebumps rise cold.

“I have to get back to the party now.” I attempt to slither around his rigid body, but no dice. He slams a leg against me and forces his mouth over mine, squashing that vile tuber into my cheek so I can hardly breathe. I push back on him and he steps away, shocked at my dismissal, then raises a hand to slap me.

“Don't be a bitch your entire life, Lisa. You know you want me.”

“I don't even know you, get the fuck away from me,” I choke.

The shock of the smack on the side of my head has my ear ringing. I don't hear the speedboat kick up a gear and rev across the Canal, weaving its way across the traffic in the wrong direction, swerving in and out between the hundreds of crafts plying the wide waterway.

Chapter FOUR

Rocco

I knew it was her from a thousand yards away. That delectable body leaning out across the balcony. Her naked shoulders and the rising swell of her perfect breasts. I could almost smell the sweet perfume of her warm soft skin in my nostrils again. The skin that merges into mine like cream into coffee.

One second she was sipping champagne alone, all dreamy like she was thinking of another night under the stars. Next instant some asshole emerges from the shadows and steps up beside her. The rage I felt when the man pushed himself on her was indescribable. Or the only word to describe it was murderous. I wanted to make him die a slow agonizing death.

How fucking dare he? The cocksure wimp out little prick. I've never been so infuriated at another dude trying to get in on what's mine. A woman is her own master, able to choose her preferred partner. And fortunately they always choose me. Not that it bothers me too much if they don't, there's always another gorgeous lady ready to take the last one's place. In fact, being seen around with one stunner is pretty much a guarantee that ten more will want to shove her aside and get themselves into her Louboutins.

I'm pretty well known in Venice. There aren't too many women left that I haven't delighted in and the frequent masked balls allow for a degree of decadent behavior even I might usually hold back from. The masquerades allowed people to indulge themselves in the depraved activities of old times and I must say I've fully engaged in as much decadence as I could find.

Although I don't believe in stealing a woman from another man, when the guy is an obvious asshole, I let myself go. Over the years. I've been in every one of these palaces and had way more than my share of fast hard sex in the illicit corners, behind the enveloping drapes, even up in the servants quarters under the roof. I'm happy to engage in illicit encounters with women from all walks of life and in a variety of locations.

I guess that's a long way round of finally admitting to myself that's all changed now that Lisa is mine. I've claimed her with my body and now I've come back to physically take her. No asshole is stepping in on my woman.

So when I saw the guy approach her, I was shocked by the violent reaction in my gut that replaced the equally aggressive stirring in my jocks. My cock was delighted to see her again and was eagerly pressing against the tight black pants I’d swung into for a party (mostly because to show up in my leathers would immediately give away my notorious identity).

Then when I saw him strike her I was like a madman, incensed as a raging bull in the ring. I gunned out the speedboat so its engine roared up and down the Canal, sparking the staid society out of its placid watery meanderings.

No one hits my woman. I know Lisa can be maddening and stubborn as a she-wolf, but no real man ever touches a woman. And he definitely doesn't lay one single wormy fucking finger on my woman. It looked as though the fuckwit was holding her trapped against the wall, the way she was leaning back away from him.

But that girl has balls. She's no one's victim. Man, the way she laid into the warrior guerrilla in Africa, I thought she was going to kill him. Of course out in the desert, she wasn't corseted into a strapless frilly dress and no doubt some Geisha girl shoes designed to prevent her taking more than two steps.

I was out of the boat before it stopped alongside the dock. I leapt onto the prow and sprung to catch the edge of the wall and from there swing myself up over the parapet. That was my first move. My second was to knock the guy out with my fist. He fell to the floor like a maiden's nightgown and I pulled my own maiden into my grasp.

“Did he hurt you?”

“Hallo to you too,” she says, smiling bigger than I've ever seen. Her lips like plump plums pleading to be bitten into.

“I said, did he hurt you.”

“I know you did. It seems to be your usual mode of greeting as far as I'm concerned.”

The tension in my upper body floods out of me when she makes a joke like that and I know she's okay. Not only okay. I can tell she's excited to see me as much as I am her. It's going to be a good night.

“Well I took care of that other asshole that hurt you too, baby. I promised no one would ever hurt you and I'm a man of my word.”

“Baby??  What happened to
Principessa
? Have I been demoted?”

“There's no higher royalty than being my baby, at least in my book.”

“But you were so mad at me. You barely spoke to me the entire ride out of Africa.”

“I'm sorry, Babe. I should never have brought you back in a rage. I guess I was part messed up about how fast everything went between us and part guilty about Tenley wanting more out of me.”

“So you and her are a thing?”

“No. We
had
a thing at one time but we aren't
a
thing and I never led her to believe it was more than it was, I promise you.”

“Sometimes us girls get carried away with our fantasies. Magical thinking let us easily transform our wishes into reality.”

“That's why us guys have the tendency to freak out when we get close. We know that after great sex and sometimes even bad sex, a woman gets herself involved to the point that she can't let go.”

“Which category did I come under?” I can't resist asking and Rocco's lips curl into a filthy secret smile as he leans his solid upper body toward me. Those lips come close to my ear so I feel his warm breath on my neck.

“You know as well as I do that was the greatest sexual encounter ever. Your body fits into mine and mine in yours like a key in a lock.”

“You unlocked me that night.”

“And you me, babe, and you me. I just had a hard time letting you in.”

“I think I like that revelation.”

“Here's another. Have I told you yet how shockingly beautiful you look tonight?'

“So you like the princess gown and updo?”

“I like it. I like you in a baggy muscle shirt of mine with your hair all blowing. I like you naked and sweaty underneath me. I guess I just like you.”

The body at our feet starts to stir and Rocco lifts his arm from the floor to drag him toward the stairs.

“Miss Saint James, your father's looking for you. He wants you inside.” The most stupid of the black suit brigade, a headphone wearing automaton is staring at me as though I'm one of the delectable canapes on a platter. He doesn't notice Rocco hauling the body to the stairwell where water is lapping at the lower steps. My devil bad boy grins at me from behind the wall of dumb man meat and pulls the mask, the protruding, almost explicit, mask from the body on the ground and I gasp.

Of course.

Why hadn't I recognized that slimy silken voice? Because he put a frog in his throat like a laryngitis patient precisely so I wouldn’t recognize him. Rocco identifies the prone body of Ryan in the same moment I do and with a shove of his foot, rolls the body into the water. He steps back out onto the terrace wearing the depraved disguise.

“Come along then, Ms. Saint James,” He takes my arm to lead me away from the controller and toward the parry. “I think it's time you introduced me to your father.”

“Are you nutso?” I hiss as we enter the party, now crowded with revelers all wearing masks. “My dad will know it's you in a flash and your mom's here somewhere.”

“Let's see how clever Pappy is. And as for Monica Moviestar, she'd have to stop flirting with all these gilt mirrors long enough to notice my appearance.”

His hard fingertips grip the flesh of my arm deliciously and shivers of lusty hunger run through my body so I can hardly stand. I want to press myself into him, feel his arms encircle me and crush me into him. Never let me go. I want him inside of me pressing deep into my inner channel, stretching me open for him, claiming me and making me his once more.

As though reading my mind, he swirls me into his arms and onto the dance floor. We rest in the crush of bodies, our own joined skin to skin, searing heat all the way from temple to toe.

“Don't ever leave me again,” I murmur into his neck. His strong heartbeat pulsating against my lips.

“I should never have left you there in that doll house,” he whispers into my hair. I feel his hot breath against my temple and it's all I can do not to pull his mouth into mine right there in front of all Italian society. “But I came back for you.”

“I want you so bad.”

“I want you too, baby. I need your sweet pussy wrapped around me, tugging me further inside you like I never needed anything before. It's worse than a desert thirst.”

Now I'm alight and glowing with excitement for what's coming next.

And then he's back – the security agents have jostled rudely through the dancers and whisk me away from Rocco before I know what's happening. Suddenly jolted out of our intimate plans, Rocco cannot reach out for me fast enough and before I know it, I'm lined up with my father and the step-mommy for the eyes of the world. The ballroom lights lower and my photos of the raid at the camp blast up onto a screen.

The room is stunned into silence at the pictures of suffering and senseless violence. I scan the crowd for signs of Rocco but I can't locate him anywhere. Perhaps he went to the bar, or to see about dealing with Ryan. I don't get it. How could he leave right at this moment? When everyone is finally exposed to the injustice and when I need him at my side.

The second the lights come back up, my father interrupts the applause to make the announcement that he will indeed run for the presidency of the United States. Despite the advance warning as we came into the party, I'm still stunned into shock at what this entails. If I thought FBI control over my life was bad, now I'm going to be nothing but a sock puppet.

It's over an hour of pumping the flesh and answering the same inane questions about whether I'm excited to be back with my family and proud to be a presidential daughter. Would it be impossible for them to ask a question less than completely moronic? It appears it would. I haven't noticed much intelligence in most journalists, who are only really looking for the next big car crash.

All that time I'm searching and scanning the sea of faces for the most sexy and handsome one I’ve ever seen, without success. For an instant I'm crushed. Maybe he's found some supermodel type in the crowd that he'd rather come on to. He can have any woman in the stratosphere.

Then I put that stupid insecurity out of my mind. Rocco may be a player but he's honest and his integrity is something he lives by. I feel adored and safe with him, knowing he'd never hurt me.

And then I get my reason.

“If you’re looking for your step brother you can stop. He's gone,” my father hisses through a clenched grin for the photographers who can't stop shooting the same picture of our happy family. How the fuck many do they need?

“What have you done to him?”

“You didn't think that pathetic vulgar mask would hide him, seriously? You should know by now, Darling, that nothing gets by me.”

“I'm really tempted to tell all these journalists what you're really like. And how you've allowed yourself to be influenced by that Mafia boss since we've been in Italy.”

For a moment Daddy's grin collapses then he manages to plaster it back on as he gives his new bride a kiss on the hand.

“You didn't think I knew nothing about that, seriously?”

“I suggest you play nice if you ever want to see your precious step brother again.”