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CHAPTER TEN

ROCCO

R occo stood alongside Dario in front of the car. They were on the Strip with the Bellagio fountains in the background. He slipped his fingers under the collar of his racing suit and plucked it away from his damp skin.

“What the hell are we waiting for?”

Dario shrugged. “Don’t know.”

Rocco tapped the shoulder of a passing crew member. “Do you know what’s going on? Why are we waiting?”

“Nico’s changing in the trailer.”

He stared at Dario. “Why does she get to change?”

Shaking his head, Dario raised his shoulders. “Maybe after she’s done, then you’ll change.”

Rocco tapped the shoulder of another crew member. “How long’s she going to be in there? You don’t have another trailer for me to change?”

“I think the photographer wants you to stay in your racing suit. Originally, he’d planned to have you in a tailored suit, but I guess he changed his mind.”

Rocco stared at his cousin.

“Or had his mind changed by one Celeste Bellerose.”

Dario frowned. “Why Celeste?”

“Because she’s trying to get back at me for deciding last minute to do this photoshoot. So, she’s more than happy to see me sweat.”

As he said the word, it was as if he’d signaled his body to send a river of it down the middle of his back.

“God, I want out of this damn racing suit! If she’d stayed in hers, we could have been finished by now.”

Just then he heard the trailer door bang open and shut.

“It’s about time,” Rocco huffed, lifting himself from the car and turning around.

The photographer was coming this way. He was followed by Celeste. And Celeste was followed by her.

Now she looked. Really. Different.

She was wearing a dress like the one Marilyn Monroe wore in that famous photo where she stood over the subway grate. She turned, and he could see the dress was a halter, which left her entire upper back bare, exposing olive skin that glistened in the sun.

He stared at her collarbone. It was stunning, an elegant line rippling beneath the surface of her flesh, hinting at its presence as it emerged and then quickly disappeared behind the white silk only to resurface as it met up with her delicate shoulders.

They’d piled her hair on top of her head into some kind of messy bun. A few strands fell loose across her cheeks. Her neck was.

Bare.

Naked.

Exposed.

Once she was standing beside him, he shook his head to shake those thoughts from his brain.

“How come you got to change?” he demanded at the very same moment she demanded, “How come you didn’t have to change?”

There was a beat of uncomfortable silence.

Dario smiled. “You look great, Nico.”

Staring at her feet, she crossed her arms. “Thanks.”

Dario nudged him.

Rocco swallowed. “Yeah, you look, uh … nice.”

All he got in response was an exasperated sigh. She didn’t even look up at him.

“Celeste wants me,” Dario said as he waved.

But when Rocco looked over, he saw Celeste had her back to them. Dario took off before Rocco could say anything. The guy couldn’t get away fast enough.

“Nico, stand beside Rocco in front of the car,” the photographer shouted.

“What took you so long?” Rocco hissed.

“You have somewhere else to be?” she hissed back. “Go ahead and leave. And why aren’t you in a suit? They said you’d be wearing a suit.”

“Yeah, well a suit would hardly be much better,” he said, pulling his collar as he felt rivulets of sweat make their way to a pool of hot damp he felt between his thighs.

“Would you rather be wearing this dress?”

“At least it would be cooler.”

“Trust me, if it was up to me, I would not be wearing this dress. But it wasn’t up to me. And if you’re wondering why it took so long, ask the wardrobe lady.”

He glared at her. “Do you ever take responsibility for anything?”

Those dark eyes glared back. “Do you?”

There was a moment of silence. The only thing he heard was exasperated breathing. He wasn’t sure if it was coming from him or from her.

“I don’t want to be wearing this ,” she hissed behind clenched teeth, “while you’re wearing that .”

His heart was pounding. “Well I don’t want to be wearing this while you’re wearing that .”

His eyes drifted down her neck and stopped at that collarbone.

“Ahem!”

He blinked and looked up.

Her eyes narrowed as though pinpointing the most precise target to do maximum damage with those laser beams.

His heart was racing. He actually felt it pounding in his ears.

He glared back at her, but those dark eyes didn’t flinch.

He told his eyes not to move, but they did of their own accord as though they’d been drawn by some kind of magnetic force beyond his control. They wandered and only stopped when they’d reached that collarbone again.

He could tell she was breathing more deeply.

And if he’d had to guess, he’d wager her heart was beating fast too.

His eyes drifted to her breasts. It was hot enough to fry a tamale on the sidewalk, and yet her nipples—his fingers twitched, and he fisted his palms. She quickly crossed her arms. His glance slipped down to the hem of the dress.

It was just past her knees. If there was a strong enough wind, that dress might—

“Ahem!”

He stared a moment longer before looking up and meeting her gaze.

Say something. But his brain was flooded with the image of her leaning over him when she’d brought him the sugar, only now she was wearing that dress.

Say.

Something.

“You could have said no ,” he said.

But not. That.

She blinked. “What are you talking about?

You’re stuck with it now.

“When I asked for the sugar. You. Could. Have. Said. No . What’s more, you could have just handed me the sugar and walked away.”

“Why are you talking about that?” She uncrossed her arms, fisting her hands. “You were the one who wanted me to lean in close so you could talk without anyone else hearing.”

He shrugged. “Yeah. But like I said, you could have said no . If you’d just stood there, I would have been forced to get out of that chair. In which case, your hair never would have gotten caught in my zipper. And then those photos of you with you …”

“What?” she spat.

“You know.” His eyes drifted down. Damn, he wanted to bite those nipples. Hard. He grinned and then met her glare. “With you leaning over like that.”

She was grinding her teeth. It made her jaw even more bold than it already was.

And then in an instant, her jaw softened.

She took a step back, and her lip curled as her eyes drifted down his chest and his torso. She didn’t stop until she’d reached the spot right between his thighs.

Heat swarmed like dragonflies as that terrain became muggy, thick, and swampy. That he could have handled, but his crankshaft had begun to rotate.

Up.

And.

Out.

Damn it.

She was smirking.

Finally, she raised her eyes and met his.

Her pupils narrowed like the two sharp blades of a cat’s eyes.

Damn her eyes are dark.

Are they black?

They could be black.

His body twitched involuntarily.

It’s only because of that damn dress she’s wearing.

He stared into that dark abyss and pitied any man who got entangled with this woman enough to really venture in.

Even with a desert or a wasteland, you could see what lay before you.

But her eyes? A space that was completely devoid of light?

You’d never find a way out if you made the mistake of hazarding it.

She looked like the kind of woman who would put a guy’s back up against the wall. She probably would bite his lip. Either that or kick the shit out of him.

“Excellent,” the photographer cried. “We’re getting some really good stuff here. Gotta get another roll.”

Fuck. Not again!

Why doesn’t he tell us when he’s going to take photos? Isn’t he supposed to do that?

Rocco noticed that a crowd of onlookers and fans snapping photos with their cell phones had begun to gather.

Some guy from the crowd yelled, “Get up on the hood and flash us some thigh!”

That was followed by a series of laughter, hoots, and catcalls.

“Come on! You’re a total snack!” the guy cried. “Let’s see some cake up on the hood of that car!”

Nico faced the man and invited him to jump up. “Be my guest.”

This received a hearty round of applause.

Rocco grinned, but he could see a blush traveling up her neck and bursting into a deep red on her cheeks.

Why couldn’t they have finished the shots out in the desert without any other people around?

“Hey,” he said in a low voice, “just ignore them.”

“They’re not the problem!” she hissed. “You are!”

“Me? What did I do?”

It was too damn hot. He couldn’t think. The two hemispheres of his brain were like polar ice caps, and they were melting fast. He could almost swear he heard a crack as the left and right hemispheres broke apart into two separate sheets of ice, making it impossible to communicate with each other.

Not to mention the south pole, which was doing its damnedest to point north.

He wiped his brow.

“It isn’t me,” he said defensively, “it’s that dress.”

“What the hell is wrong with this dress?”

There was nothing wrong with the dress. Not really.

“I asked you what’s wrong with this dress.”

He rounded on her. “What’s wrong is the way you look in it, okay!”

He cringed. Not only had he said it, which in and of itself was a real blunder, he’d said it loud enough for others to hear. He never would have made such a mistake if it wasn’t for this heat. He cursed the sun.

The red in her cheeks deepened, and she turned away.

“We want to see you up on the hood!” someone from the crowd shouted. It sounded like the same guy.

Just then the photographer returned only having heard that last shout from the crowd. “Not a bad idea,” he said, “let’s give it a try. One of you get up on the hood.”

“Okay,” Rocco said, crossing his arms.

She crossed her arms likewise. “Okay.”

“Well …”

“Well, what?”

Rocco could hear clicking.

Is he photographing us now?

He shoved that thought aside, pushing it to the background.

“Go ahead,” he said.

“Go ahead and what?”

“Get up on the hood,” he muttered between clamped teeth.

“You get up on the hood.”

“He said you were to get up on the hood.”

“No, he didn’t. The photographer said one of us should get up on the hood.”

“Well, okay, not him but the asshole in the crowd.”

“Well, we agree on one thing: He is an asshole. But even the asshole never mentioned me by name.”

“No, but he said—” He stopped himself.

Her eyebrows flew up like green flags.

He could practically hear her thoughts.

Assholes, start your engines .

“What?” she demanded.

He didn’t respond.

“Flash us some thigh?” she ventured. “You’re a total snack? Let’s see some cake up on the hood?”

He sighed. “Will you stop already with the semantics. It’s obvious what he meant.”

“Why? Because I’m a woman?”

“I notice you pull that card out whenever it suits you.”

“I wasn’t the one who pulled the card out, you were.

And trust me, that card never suits me. But I guess I can’t expect you to understand because you don’t know what it’s like to go through this world as a woman.

Not to mention what it’s like to go through this Formula 1 world as a woman.

The fact of the matter is I never would have done that coffee stunt if you hadn’t made it clear to everyone how I should be viewed.

Not only as a woman but only a woman. Certainly not as a serious driver.

Not as anyone who has just as much hope and dreams and drive as you do.

Not as someone who’s worked her ass off to get here.

No, not any of that. You made it clear that I should only be seen as some twit who’s only here to serve a man—and in particular—to serve you . ”

He stared at her throat. It looked as though she were choking out the words and it was difficult to swallow.

Her dark eyes glistened.

Fuck. She’s not going to cry, is she?

He felt like shit.

“Come on, Nico,” a guy in the crowd yelled, “show us some leg.”

“Among other things,” another guy cried.

That was followed by laughter and some lascivious gestures.

“I don’t care anymore,” she muttered in a voice barely above a whisper. “I just want this over.”

She stepped forward, but his arm flew out, stopping her.

“No!” Rocco growled, glaring at the man.

His arm accidentally brushed up against her breasts. He heard the flow of her breath suddenly halt and he hastily lowered it.

He clenched his teeth and glowered at the man. “You. Are. Not. Getting. Up. On. That. Hood.” He sighed. “I am.”

He turned and jumped up on the car.

The crowd went wild hooting and hollering.

“Okay, Rocco,” the photographer cried, “lie across the hood on your side, looking this way.”

He did so, propping his head up on his elbow.

He felt like a fool and was fairly certain he looked like one.

“Tilt your head more,” Dario shouted. “and thrust out your hip.”

“Lick your lips,” Celeste cried, “and give that come-hither look.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Rocco yelled back. “Let’s get this over with already,” he said testily.

“Nico,” the photographer shouted. “Stand in front of him, just don’t block his face. Yes, that’s perfect. Now just lean against the car.”

“Sorry,” he said in a low voice. “When I put my arm out like that, I didn’t mean to, um—”

“Get handsy?”

She didn’t turn around, so he couldn’t see her face when she spoke.

“Yeah,” he said. “That.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” she said, her voice suddenly sounding a little lighter. “Given you clearly suck at it.”

A laugh escaped his lips despite himself.

She glanced over her shoulder.

“Thanks,” she murmured.

Why this hit him in the way it did, he couldn’t say. But it compelled him to do something he hadn’t planned—something that surprised him every bit as much as it probably did her.

When she looked over her shoulder, a lone strand of hair fell in front of her eye, but before she could do anything about it, he took it between his fingers and slipped it behind her ear.

She turned back to face the camera so quickly he couldn’t see the look on her face. But even if he had seen it, he probably wouldn’t know how to read it. And if he’d been able to see the look on his own face? He probably wouldn’t know how to read that either.