One Night: Sizzling Attraction. Annie West

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СКАЧАТЬ a lemon. Or maybe it wasn’t a real memory at all. Maybe it was just something his mind had given him, something he had created for his mother’s image to replace the more concrete memories of her looking desolate, tired.

      Either way, he imagined Charity might like tea.

      * * *

      Charity watched as Rocco turned wordlessly and walked out of the room. She hadn’t really expected him to leave without a word, but all things considered she was relieved. Having him walk in while she was throwing up had to be one of the most humiliating experiences of her life. Vomiting was bad enough. Vomiting in front of Rocco was even worse.

      She did not want him seeing her when she was so low. He didn’t deserve it.

      She crawled to the head of the bed and slipped beneath the covers, exhaustion rolling over her in a wave.

      Dimly, she registered that he was wearing the suit he had been wearing last night, though he did not have his tie or jacket on. So that meant he had gone out all night. Very likely, he had slept with someone else.

      Misery joined the exhaustion, and she shivered. At least when he’d come into the bathroom he hadn’t been cruel. He’d held her hair. Had carried her to bed. It had almost been as if he cared about her comfort.

      Which was silly. Because he didn’t care about anything. Least of all her.

      A few moments later, Rocco reappeared, carrying a tray, his black hair disheveled, his shirt open at the collar, revealing a wedge of tan skin and dark chest hair. His sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, the weight of the tray enhancing the muscles of his forearms. And the strength of his hands.

      He really did have wonderful hands.

      She liked his hands much better than she liked his mouth, though that was beautiful, too. His hands had only given her pleasure. His mouth did a lot to administer pain.

      “What are you doing?” she asked, as he set the tray, which she now saw had a teapot, a cup, a small plate with toast and a little jar of jam, down on the bed.

      “This is what you do when people aren’t feeling well. Isn’t it?”

      “Well, it can’t hurt.” She readjusted herself so that she was sitting, leaning back against the nest of pillows that were on the bed, and the headboard.

      Rocco picked up the teapot and the cup, pouring a generous amount for her before handing it to her. “Careful,” he said, the warning strange and stilted on his lips, “it’s hot.”

      She lifted the cup to her lips and blew on it gently, before looking over the rim at her delivery service. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

      He cleared his throat, a wrinkle appearing between his brows. “I’m not being nice. I am being practical. It does not benefit either of us for you to die.”

      She sighed heavily into the sip of her tea. “I don’t know. If I died you wouldn’t have to deal with any of this. You wouldn’t have to face fatherhood.”

      His expression turned grim. “I have dealt with quite enough loss, thank you. I should like to keep you alive. And the baby.”

      She looked into her tea. “Sorry. That was gallows humor at its worst.”

      “I think you believe I’m a bit more of a monster that I really am.” He said the words slowly, cautiously.

      “Probably. But can you blame me, considering our introduction?”

      “Can you blame me, considering our introduction?” His dark gaze was level, serious. And that guilt, that newfound guilt she felt deep down, bit her.

      “I suppose not.” She didn’t really know what to say to that. Because she couldn’t justify her actions, not anymore. She had spent a lot of years doing just that. Because from the cradle, her father had educated her in an alternate morality that was not easy to shake. But the older she got, the more difficult it had become to justify what she knew was stealing.

      It had been easy to hold on to righteous indignation where Rocco was concerned because of what had happened between them.

      “I’m sorry,” she said, before she could fully think it through.

      “Why are you apologizing?” he asked, his lips thinning into a grim line.

      “Because we stole from you. It was wrong. You can dress things up...you can call them cons. You can call your victims marks. You can pretend it’s okay because they have money and you don’t. But at the end of the day it is stealing. And regardless of the fact that there was a time when I truly didn’t know better, I do now. But...if you knew my father, you would understand how easy it is to get sucked into his plans. There is a reason he is able to talk people into parting with their money, Rocco. He’s very convincing. He has a way of making you think everything will be okay. He has a way of making you think that somehow, you deserve what it is you’re going after. Regardless, my involvement was wrong. And I’m sorry.”

      Hopefully, he wouldn’t have her thrown in jail.

      But she felt that these things had to be said before they could move forward. Or maybe she was just half-delirious because she still didn’t feel very well. Or maybe his little gesture with the tea had meant a little bit more than she should let it. Either way, here she was. Confessing.

      And she wasn’t just confessing to him, but to herself.

      Suddenly, she felt drained. Dirty. Desolate.

      Acquiring a moral compass was overrated.

      “Do you suppose there’s a place in life where you become past the point of redemption?” she asked.

      “I’ve never considered it.” He sat down on the edge of the bed. “But then, that could be because I never imagined I had the option of redemption.”

      “I probably don’t either then.”

      “Is it so important? What’s the purpose, anyway? Is it that you want to be considered good?” he asked.

      “I...I never really thought very much about whether or not I was good or bad. I remember asking my father one time why we were afraid of the good guys. The police. Because, even I knew from watching TV that they were supposed to be good. And people who ran from them were bad. So, I asked him if we were bad. He said it isn’t that simple. He said sometimes good people do bad things, and bad people do good things. He said that not everyone in a uniform is good. But I just wanted to know if we were good. Maybe I still do.”

      “Does it matter?”

      “Doesn’t it? I don’t know that anybody aspires to be one of the bad guys. And...I want to teach our child to be good so...I should be, too.”

      “I suppose you can only really be a good or bad guy in your own life, at least, in my experience. There are a great many people who would characterize me as a villain, though I have never broken the law. However, I have accomplished what I set out to accomplish. I have created the life for myself that I always wanted. What does being good have to do with any of that?”

      Charity frowned. “I don’t know. But I’m not sure I really СКАЧАТЬ