Page 53 of Straightened Out

I’m just hers.

Chapter 17

Violet Cabrera

“I’m fucked,” I moan, wincing as I climb back into bed. For a flexible girl and someone whose profession requires her to be physically fit, my body isn’t conditioned to go six rounds with Rocco Spinelli.

I’m also a disgrace to woman everywhere, but I leave that part out. It didn’t take much for me to give into Rocco tonight and I’m trying really hard not to beat myself up over it.

Folding his arms behind his head, Rocco smirks at me.

“Yeah, you are,” he deadpans. “But don’t worry, it’s a good look you.”

Rolling my eyes, I swat his chest.

“That’s not what I meant,” I argue. “I can barely walk, much less dance,” I explain, ignoring the fact that try outs for the latest production are in two months and I need to bring my A-game to the Academy from now until then if I want a spot.

He takes my hand from his chest and laces his fingers with mine. Lifting our joined hands, he brushes his lips across my knuckles. It’s a sweet gesture, one that surprises me, but he’s done that a lot to surprise me in the last twenty-four hours, from showing up at the restaurant and surprising me with the bracelet, to bringing me back here and asking me to dance for him.

I wasn’t expecting that and at first I thought it was an odd request. I mean, I was fucking naked and there was no music. Still, I gave into the request and not once did his gaze ever waiver from me as I leaped and whirled around the room, performing pirouette after pirouette. I had his undivided attention and I discovered dancing in front of a room full of people was overrated compared to dancing solely for Rocco. No one watched me perform and appreciated my talent quite like he did and that realization alone made me want to quit the ballet altogether and become his private dancer. A scary thought for a girl who thought her life and dreams centered around dance.

But the thing that threw me most was discovering how versatile Rocco was in the bedroom. He fucked me like a brutal savage—a starved animal feasting on his prey. But then he loved on me with a gentleness one wouldn’t think a man like him could possess. He was everything a woman dreamed of when taking a lover and by my fourth orgasm of the night, I knew I was doomed. Rocco Spinelli was dangerous, all right, but not in the way he thought.

In a matter of hours, I had forgotten all about Pilar and the shooting. His ties to his uncle’s organization didn’t faze me either. I even pushed all the games he played with me to the back of my head. None of it mattered because as soon as we stepped into this hotel room tonight, he wasn’t Rocco Spinelli the gangster or my brother’s best friend, he wasmyRocco. The guy who stole my heart when I was just twelve years old and never gave it back.

And now, for the first time ever, I’m terrified of him because I know he is going to break my heart and there is nothing I can do to stop it.

I’m defenseless.

“We got about an hour before I have to take you home. Do you want me to draw you a bath?” he asks, pulling my attention back to him.

A bath sounds like Heaven, but I don’t want to spend sixty minutes in a tub soaking my muscles when I can be here in his arms.

“I’ll be okay,” I say softly as he thumbs the bracelet on my wrist.

So much for giving that back.

A frown ticks the corners of my lips and I draw in a deep breath. Earlier when I laid in my bed, waiting for him to call, I swore I wasn’t going to keep the bracelet. Then as soon as I climbed into the car he checked to see if I was wearing it and the promise flew out the window.

Other women would probably fawn over such an extravagant present, especially knowing Rocco is connected. I don’t know what it is about women, but they’re dazzled by the mob. They think dating a mobster is exciting. Dangerous and alluring. They have this preconceived notion that it’s the shit romance novels are made of.

I get it.

I mean before I ever heard the name Pastore, I had watchedGoodfellas—it was my brother’s favorite movie and always on the television.And I’d be lying if I told you I didn’t wish I was Karen Hill a time or two. I pictured being wined and dined and spoiled with expensive gifts, like jewelry and the latest designer handbags. But that was before I realized every gift comes with a price tag that’s not measured in dollars and cents, but rather in blood and morals.

So, no, I’m not like those women, I’m worse because I don’t want the designer gifts or the flashy dates, I just want the man. I want to be the woman who opens his eyes and makes him realize he’s more than his sins. Fuck Karen Hill, I want to be Rocco’s Grace.

Damn Victor for getting inside my head.

Damn him straight to Hell.

I tear my eyes away from my wrist and look at his handsome face. For the first time since I showed up in Miami, he looks relaxed, like he isn’t carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Like the guy I always wanted.

I’m not sure if that’s because he’s sated or if it has something to do with me accepting his present. I mean he looked murderous when he thought I wasn’t wearing it and relief instantly filled his face when I showed him it was on my other wrist. Plus, hedidmention that it wasn’t robbed, so there really is no reason not to keep it, right? It’s not like he held some poor jeweler at gunpoint.

Christ, I’m hopeless.

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