Page 16 of Hidden Rocco
“Yes, ma’am.” He stood and headed out to the main room and front door.
She hadn’t told him that half of her purchases were for him. Maybe underwear was too much? Too forward. Her face heated as she imagined telling him now.
She put her son back in his bassinet, and checked that her son was comfortable, with his bottle in his mouth though he wasn’t sucking, and then straightened when Rocco returned. Her heart thumped as she noticed Rocco’s simple gestures to help with all those muscles of his as she asked, “ Are those my packages?”
He offered her the bags he carried. “Mark Jacobs. Versace. These are addressed to you.”
Warmth filled her. Rocco needed new clothes far more than she did. She pushed his hands back, with the packages, and a spark caused her fingers to tingle from where she’d touched his skin. The sizzle went straight through her. She shook her head and said, “No. It’s clear that your one outfit doesn’t quite fit right. Besides, you’ll need some work clothes. Consider these a small gift to help whatever your situation is to be a little easier.”
His face paled and his body tensed. Finally he said, “I can’t accept these, ma’am. I don’t need designer.”
Good clothes were the least she could do for a man who made her calm. He'd been nice and considerate of her. She gently squeezed his wrist which caused him to wince. He pulled free. Had she hurt him? She hadn’t been hard…she lifted her chin and said, “You can and you will. These are the stores I know well, that’s all. I’m looking forward to the day you call me Mica.”
He reluctantly placed the bags near the door. “I’d rather think of you as my employer.”
For now. She hadn’t expected to be attracted to anyone though she accepted it was passing lust that filled her thoughts.
And it was his gentleness that stirred something kind in her.
Near him, maybe she could be kinder too, if that was a quality that rubbed off. Anything was possible. She stood taller, comfortable in her position of giving orders. “I can still be Mica when I pay you.”" Or rather, his mother. "Why don’t you go change and then get lunch ready.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said at once.
Orders weren’t going to earn his trust, and her lips might never know what his kiss was like if she didn’t stop bossing him around. She let out a sigh and continued anyhow. “And this time I hope you join me without jumping up to fetch whatever I want. I can get up to get my own condiments.”
“As you wish.” He walked out, carrying the bags.
Rocco already made her see the world a little different. Perhaps they both needed to know each other and she’d come to her senses. They were from different worlds. Maybe then she’d find out what his kiss might be like… not that she should have that thought or wonder.
But her lips tingled as she absolutely did.
Chapter 5
Authorities report a prison break from Utah State Prison, two escaped prisoners remain on the loose. A dozen prisoners escaped the prison a week ago, and most were apprehended right away. The last two are considered dangerous and if they are spotted, call the police. Do not approach.
The radio report made Rocco's blood freeze. A dozen the previous week stopped him just as much as the news about him. Of course he had bad timeing. He'd turned on the news as he prepared dinner in the galley kitchen, chopping tomatoes. Earlier he’d served chicken soup he’d made from scratch that she’d enjoyed.
If Mica heard this new and figured out who he was, she had every right to turn him in.
If he stayed here, he’d run a risk.
If he ran, he was also at risk.
And if he called his mother from Mica’s hotel, he’d be tracked to this Colorado location. He hadn’t asked for permission to call long distance, which was probably silly as he was now wearing Saks designer jeans--he figured these were the cheapest thing she’d bought.
Rocco had to convince his mother to get treatment without getting caught somehow. Authorities would have her phone line tapped by now, if they were smart.
And theyusuallywere, except for tossing him in jail without caring if he was innocent or not. They looked one look as his brother’s rap sheets and just assumed he was cut from the same cloth.
The clock read 1:30. He added the tomatoes to the food processor for a pesto, his movements rigid. What to do? The light voice of an angel in the form of Mica broke through his frantic thoughts. “Rocco?”
He turned his head and looked into the face of the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen.
His mouth watered.
If he touched her, he’d ruin her with his bad luck—it was best if he stayed away.
Rocco wished she had her usual armor, the baby in her arms, which also strangely calmed him down. “How are you feeling?”
