The Legend of de Marco. ABBY GREEN
brain cell. He’s done what most criminals do: they go underground.’
Gracie’s heart stuttered at hearing her own fears so baldly spoken, but her innate protectiveness surged upwards even as her conscience protested. ‘He’s not a criminal.’
One of Rocco’s brows arched up. ‘No? Then what would you call stealing a million euros?’
If Rocco de Marco hadn’t been holding her arms then Gracie would have fallen down. A million euros?
‘What is he to you? Your lover?’ He almost spat the words out.
Gracie shook her head and tried to back away—a futile exercise while he still held her arms. Paramount was the need to protect Steven at all costs as she tried to assimilate this mind-boggling information.
‘I’m just worried about him. I thought he might be here.’
De Marco all but snorted. ‘He’s hardly likely to return to the scene of the crime. I don’t think he’s stupid enough to try and steal another million from the same source.’
Gracie felt trapped and claustrophobic, but fire surged up. ‘He’s not stupid!’
With a desperate wrench to get away that had more to do with this man’s intensely physical effect on her than anything else, Gracie finally freed herself from his hands and whirled around, wildly searching for escape. She spotted emergency doors in the distance and sprinted, hearing a faint curse behind her. Just as her hands were about to touch the bar her shoulders were caught and she was twirled around, landing with a heavy thud against the doors. Rocco de Marco was glaring down into her face, hands either side of her head, effectively trapping her.
On some rational level Gracie knew she shouldn’t have run, but the shock of hearing what her brother had done was too much. She realised now that she’d just made herself look as guilty as Steven.
As if reading her mind, Rocco de Marco breathed out and said in a chilling voice, ‘You’re obviously in this too—up to your pretty neck. The question is: why did you come back here? It must have been to get something important.’
She shook her head, her anger fading as fast as it had risen and leaving her feeling sick. ‘Mr de Marco, I swear I’m not involved. I’m just worried. I came because I thought Steven might be here. I don’t know anything.’
His face grew even harder and it sent a shiver through Gracie.
‘You knew who I was last week when we met.’
It wasn’t a question. She shook her head again. There was a quivery feeling in her belly at the thought of that meeting now. ‘No … I didn’t. I had no idea. Until that man came and used your name.’
As if not even listening to her, Rocco de Marco said, ‘You were there with Murray as his accomplice. You and he cooked the whole thing up.’
Gracie just shook her head. It was throbbing with a mixture of anxiety and lingering shock. Rocco de Marco’s focus seemed to come back to her, and with something that sounded like a snarl he stood up straight and took her arm, ignoring her wince. He was frogmarching her back to the lift and Gracie panicked, having visions of police waiting for her downstairs.
She started to struggle. ‘Wait … Look, please, Mr de Marco, I can explain …’
He cast her a dark look as he punched a button on the lift. ‘That’s exactly what you’re going to do.’
Fear and trepidation silenced Gracie as he pushed her into the lift ahead of him, yet kept a hold on her arm, and pressed another button once they were in. Silence, thick and tense, swirled around them, and Gracie cursed herself for coming here in the first place.
Standing next to him in the lift, she had a very real and physical sense of the disparity in their sizes. Her head barely grazed the top of his arm. His tautly muscled strength radiated outwards, enveloping her in heat. Gone was any trace of the man who had oozed warmth and seduction the night they’d met. Evidently if you moved within his rareified milieu you were accorded his attention. A few steps out of it, however, and it was an entirely different story.
Gracie did not need this situation to demonstrate to her that someone like Rocco de Marco would look right through her if he saw her in her natural habitat. Her stomach twisted. She’d faced down many opponents over the years with plucky resilience, but for the first time she recognised someone who was immovable. And more powerful than anyone she’d ever encountered.
Oh, Steven, she groaned inwardly. Why did you do this?
He’d rung her earlier, and she could still taste the acrid fear in her mouth when he’d said, ‘Gracie, don’t ask any questions—just listen. Something has happened. Something really bad. I’m in serious trouble so I have to go away …’
She’d heard indistinct noises in the background, and Steven had sounded distracted.
‘Look, I’m going away and don’t know when I’ll be able to get in touch again. So don’t try and call, okay? I’ll e-mail or something when I can …’
Gracie had clutched the phone with sweaty hands. ‘Steven, wait—what is it? Maybe it’s something I can help you with …?’
Her heart had nearly broken when he’d said, ‘No. I won’t keep doing this to you. You’ve done enough. It’s not your problem, it’s mine—’
Gracie had cut in, with fear constricting her voice. ‘Is it … drugs again?’
Steven had laughed, and it had sounded a little hysterical. ‘No … it’s not drugs, Gracie. To be honest, it might be better if it was. It’s work … Something to do with work.’
Before she’d been able to ask him anything else he’d said goodbye and cut her off. She’d kept calling his phone but it had only answered with an automated message to say that it was out of service. With a sick feeling she could well imagine he’d chucked his phone. She’d gone round to the small, spartan bedsit that he’d been so proud of and found it trashed, his stuff everywhere. No sign of him. And then she’d remembered him mentioning work and so she’d come here, to De Marco International, to see if by some miracle he was sitting in his office.
But she hadn’t even got that far. The minute she’d seen Rocco de Marco’s face she’d known her brother was in serious trouble.
Gracie was so preoccupied that it was a moment before she realised they’d ascended and she was being walked out of the elevator and into what looked like a penthouse apartment. The stunning dusky views over London added a surreal touch to the events unfolding.
A huge full moon was rising in the beautiful bruise-coloured sky, but it went unnoticed as Rocco let her go and moved about, switching on lights which sent out pools of inviting warmth. Gracie shivered and rubbed her arms. The rush of adrenalin and shock had dissipated, leaving her feeling drained.
She looked around and was surprised to notice that the penthouse, for all its modernity, exuded warmth and an understated opulence. The parquet floor added an antique feel, and the heavy dark furniture stood out against the more industrial architecture, somehow working despite the apparent incongruity. Huge oriental rugs softened the austere lines.
If she hadn’t been in such dire straits the artist in her would have longed to explore this tantalising glimpse into Rocco de Marco. Her eyes snagged on his powerful form as he bent and stretched. Her insides twisted and tightened—who was she kidding? Her interest in this man stemmed from a much more carnal place than an interest in aesthetics.
Rocco rounded on the petite woman who now stood in his apartment and curbed his physical response to that pale freckled skin and the wild russet hair which still trailed over one shoulder to rest on the curve of one small breast. The wild look in her eyes just before she’d sprinted away from him downstairs was burnt into his memory. It had touched something deep inside him. A memory. And he’d lost precious seconds while he’d been distracted.
She was nothing like the