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CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

NICO AND ROCCO

N ico stood looking out the window of the private home Rocco had rented.

Her gaze slipped from the olive trees and citrus groves dotting the sloping hills below.

Beyond that was another small medieval village situated on a peninsula that was bathed by the Adriatic Sea on the east side and the Ionian Sea on the west.

The days with Rocco’s family had been lovely.

She’d never tired of them although she was glad to be alone with Rocco now.

At his family’s home, every night he’d come into her room, and they’d made love in a way Nico hadn’t thought possible.

Quiet and hushed yet at the same time urgent and passionate.

During the day, there was nothing obvious to indicate they were lovers—no holding of hands, no kissing.

But there was the way they looked at each other, the fire in their eyes and the desire in their voices when they spoke.

Nico couldn’t tell whether or not his family noticed.

Although she frequently caught Sofia and Beatrice looking at her and then at him, smiling and giggling.

She was glad there was no public display.

She didn’t feel altogether comfortable making their relationship known to his family.

At least not yet. But, she thought with a pang, perhaps not ever.

She still didn’t know what this would look like when the season started up again.

And more importantly, she still didn’t know what he was thinking.

He must be as uncomfortable about it as she was—possibly even more.

After all, he never made any overture that would have told his family … what?

She couldn’t say they were in love. That couldn’t be true. If it were, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from making it known. Isn’t that what happened when people were in love? How could she know when she’d never experienced it herself?

Her phone rang. She jumped.

Ever since Monte Carlo, those mysterious calls from Italian phone numbers had stopped. She couldn’t decide whether she should feel relieved or more concerned.

Even now, she couldn’t decide when she saw that it was Charles. Her first impulse had been to heave a huge sigh of relief, but on the tail end of that sigh hung a vague fear that never seemed to leave her.

“Hello, Charlemagne.”

She’d already told Charles what had happened between her and Rocco. Charles filled her in on the latest details surrounding his relationship with Mateo and then made Nico describe where they were staying when she refused to describe the characteristics of Rocco’s penis.

“What about once racing starts up? How are you guys going to handle it?” Charles asked.

Nico swallowed the stone that lodged in her throat and sank to her stomach whenever she thought about going back to racing. It should be something she was looking forward to. It was. She wanted to race. But now her relationship with Rocco had complicated the matter.

“We haven’t talked about it. I keep meaning to bring it up and then something gets in the way.”

“His dick?”

Nico laughed. “No!”

“His ass?”

“Stop it!”

“And he hasn’t brought it up?”

“Uh-uh. But he must be thinking about it too. We return to racing in a week. You’re even thinking about it.” Nico paused. “Charles, why are you thinking about it? Are you thinking it can’t work once we’re back to racing? That we’ll have to end it? That we can’t have both?”

“No! Absolutely not! What I am thinking and what you two have to decide is whether or not you make it public.”

“Well, we can’t keep it private forever.”

If we continue after the racing starts , she thought. She couldn’t bring herself to say that out loud. It was painful enough just to think it.

Perhaps Rocco was thinking this was a romantic fling that would stop once racing resumed. That must stop once it did. He’d probably had such flings before, lots of them.

“I wasn’t suggesting you keep it private forever,” Charles said. “You might want to keep it private at the beginning. Or maybe until the season ends. And then take it from there.”

If there was anywhere to take it by then.

Charles was right, of course. How could they make it public? What would Casey say? The press? The other drivers? No, no, and no. It would be a mess.

But if they kept it private, didn’t that suggest all this was too much trouble, too much drama? It was bound to interfere with the racing.

How could they have been so stupid? How could she have been so stupid? Not to have thought about any of this?

But she had thought about it. It was just that other things drowned out such thoughts.

Things like Rocco and how she felt when she was near him.

How she felt when he did things. The smell of him.

Even the sound of his voice. And it had gotten worse.

Far, far worse. Because it had gone far, far beyond that.

Being around his family. And seeing that sweet, endearing part of him.

That feeling of pure joy when she’d seen him on that podium. When she’d seen him win in Monaco.

She was falling for him.

No, it was worse than that.

She’d already fallen.

And what about New Year’s Eve at Drink and Dive? She might have been able to live with not telling him had they just remained teammates. But now?

Just then she heard the door open.

“He’s back. Call you later?”

“Sure,” Charles said.

Rocco came in, carrying coffee and a paper sack. He set them down. “What are you doing out of bed?”

He didn’t give her a chance to respond. He picked her up and carried her to the bed, kicking and screaming, threw her on it, and then threw himself on top of her.

Nico laughed. “I don’t know why we came to this beautiful location, when all our time here has been spent in bed.”

“Because I want to have you all to myself. I don’t want to share you with anyone. And that includes my family. Actually, now that we’re here, I’ve realized I don’t want to share you with any of what’s out there either.” He paused. “Are you disappointed? Do you want to go out?”

She shook her head. “But what took you so long? You said you were just going to get coffee and croissants.”

“You missed me? Can’t have me out of sight for even an hour?”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re cocky?”

“Once or twice.”

“There’s a reason the little prince’s head grew to be so enormous.”

“You still haven’t finished that fairy tale.”

“Would you like me to finish it now?”

“Later,” he said, reaching for the bag.

“What’s that?”

“Take that off.”

She was wearing the pale lavender negligee. “Why?”

“You don’t want to get jam on it, do you? It might not come out.”

“What?” she shrieked and began scurrying like a crab to get away.

He grabbed her ankles, pulled her down, and straddled her. Then he took the thin, transparent material in his hands and ripped it open.

“Hey,” she cried.

“I’ll buy you a new one.”

He grabbed the bag. “I had to go to six pastry shops before I found some bomboloni.”

“Bomboloni?”

“Jelly doughnuts.” He pulled one out, broke it in half, dug his finger in, and scooped out some raspberry jam. “I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time.”

He held his finger over her breast, watching while the jam dripped in fat sticky globs on her nipple. She could feel it sliding down the swell of her breast. Then he placed his finger there, sweeping the jam in slow and deliberate circles around her nipple.

He stared at it and then lifted his eyes to meet her gaze.

She shivered. Her breathing, slow, steady, and deep at first, started to catch, becoming ragged as she felt a warm glow flood her body.

“You’re making a mess,” she murmured.

“I’ll clean it up.”

He lowered himself, his hot breath like steam as he took her in his mouth and his wet, plump tongue licked up every last drop.

“You definitely taste better than casonsei,” he murmured.

Rocco stroked her dark hair, liking the way it fell across the pillow, reminding him of Botticelli’s painting The Birth of Venus —except with raven tresses rather than golden ones.

They were lying in bed after making love, eating jelly doughnuts and drinking coffee.

Nico warned, “If you get any of that jam in my hair—”

He grinned. “You’ll what?”

“I’ll curse the little prince with an ending more miserable than Snow White’s stepmother.”

He laughed and pulled her into him. “No, you won’t. And you know why?”

“Why?”

“Because you like the little prince. No matter how cocky he gets.” He paused, pressing himself into her. “In fact, you like him especially when he’s cocky.”

He was hard. Again. Already.

She laughed and tried to push him away, but he held her close.

“The little prince isn’t all bad, you know,” he said.

“I know. He rescued Cat and Dog.”

“That he did.”

“But why name the dog Cat and the cat Dog ?”

“I guess I don’t like things always going one way, the same way, the expected way. Like a girl having a rat for a pet. That’s not expected.”

She smiled. “I guess not.”

He propped himself up on one elbow. With his other hand, he ran his finger along her collarbone.

“Nico, when we were locked in that room in Barcelona, while you were asleep, I grabbed your racing suit to cover your legs because it was getting cold, and a photo and a piece of paper dropped out.” He paused.

“I wasn’t snooping. They just fell out and I picked them up.

I put them back. But I did look at them before I did. I’m sorry.”

Nico clutched his hand in hers and kissed it. “You don’t have to be sorry.”

She wondered what her face must have looked like to make him think he should be and felt a small pang.

“The photo is of my mother, and the drawing is of my grandfather.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“It’s the only photo I have of my mother. I don’t have any of my grandfather. Well, one that was given to me after he died. But you can’t see his face. So, I draw a sketch of him every day so I don’t forget what he looked like.”