"Okay, so where's the fire?"
Darcy Michaels, a.k.a. "D'Arcy Wilde" to her legions of fans, barged into the French Quarter house without so much as wiping the Bourbon Street stickiness from the bottom of her knee-high boots. She'd paid for the place; she could damn well walk in without knocking. After receiving an urgent call for help from her nineteen-year-old daughter, Cassie, who was living in the house while she attended Tulane University, Darcy had left her band in the middle of a rehearsal. Resilient, clever Cassie rarely needed help with anything, and when she did, her mother was usually the last person she asked.
And when Darcy turned the corner between the foyer and the parlor, she briefly wished Cassie hadn't asked this time, either. Her heart screeched to a halt, along with her feet.
Oh, God.
"Rock?"
Joseph "Rock" La Rocca unfolded himself from an antique settee, looking much like a bull in a china shop. When he stretched to full height, Darcy's breath caught. Beneath her leather-trimmed denim vest, her breasts tightened.
Warm moisture diluted the dryness in her mouth. Though Rock would never notice. She'd become incredibly adept at hiding her body's response to this big, gorgeous hunk of male flesh.
Whenever Rock slipped into her radar, which happened more and more frequently since she hired him to run her road show, she forced herself to remember that she wasn't wild Darcy Michaels anymore — a sixteen-year-old kid looking for trouble in Rock's backseat. Now she was the famous and infamous D'Arcy Wilde, contemporary of Madonna, reigning queen of rock 'n' roll, wealthy music industry power-broker — and most important, a woman whose world would fall apart once Rock learned the secret she'd kept from him over all these years.
"Why aren't you at rehearsal?" she asked, one hand fisted on her hip.
"Why aren't you?" he shot back, characteristically unfazed.
"My daughter needed me."
"Same here."
Darcy's chest ached. Cassie needed Rock? For what? Several terrifying possibilities flew through Darcy's mind, but only one had the power to turn her cast-iron stomach into a pit of acid.
"Excuse me?"
"Cassie called me at the Dome. Said she had something she needed me to do. I figured she waited until we came to town so I could fix some broken pipe or hook up her stereo. She may be your kid, but she's cheap." Darcy's eyes narrowed. "She's frugal," she corrected.
"Didn't inherit that from you, did she? Sometimes I wonder if she's really your kid."
She was hers all right. And though Darcy had deferred the day-to-day raising of her child to her much more levelheaded, much more stable sister, she'd worked hard the past few years to build a relationship with the child she'd been way too young to have.
Sixteen. She'd been sixteen. Young, horny, stupid. At least, too stupid to protect herself with means that actually worked while she sweated in the bed of that truck with Rock. She didn't regret giving birth to Cassie — and she definitely didn't regret the sex. The only thing that ticked her off was that she still had feelings for the guy after all this time.
She'd had her share of lovers since, but none had quite measured up to the man who started it all. The man who was Cassie's father. The man who could make her forget the words to a song she'd written herself and sung a hundred times in front of millions of fans simply by taking off his shirt while he and his team built the stage for her latest gig. The man who had no clue that he shared his DNA with the love and light of her life.
"Well, she is my kid, so whatever she needs, I'll take care of it. Where is she?"
Rock crunched himself back into the chair, pretending to be interested in Cassie's chemistry textbook. "Don't know. Said she had to run to the neighbor's and would be right back."
As if that meager explanation were enough, he turned his shoulder and devoted his attention to the book. Darcy stalked out of the room toward the kitchen, then realized after she'd stepped onto the tile floor in the back of the house that she didn't feel any less caged here than she had in the living room.
She hated dealing with Rock like this. Alone. With no entourage to act as a buffer, no business to discuss that would distract her from noticing how tanned he looked after his vacation to parts unknown, or how his raven-black hair seemed to have picked up fiery highlights that did amazing things to his obsidian eyes.
Her cell phone rang, giving her a much-needed distraction.
"Talk to me," she ordered, not bothering to read the caller ID because she really didn't care who'd called so long as it took her mind off the man in the other room.
"Hey, Ma. How's it going?"
"Cassie? Where are you?"
"Taking care of something urgent."
"Is this the same something urgent that required me to leave rehearsal in the middle of a set with only three days before the opening night of my new tour?"
"You've been rehearsing for four weeks straight. Don't you think you need a break?"
"You didn't answer my question."
"I'm working up to that."
"Cassie, what are you up to? Why is Rock here?"
Darcy heard her daughter's cell phone shake, as if she was covering the mouthpiece. Mumbles followed. Just who was she consulting? Suspicious, she tiptoed into the hallway and peeked in on Rock. He'd graduated from chemistry to economics, but his phone remained clipped to his jeans.
She slipped back into the kitchen, this time shutting the pocket door behind her. "Cassie! What's going on?"
Cassie's deep breath sucked the air right out of Darcy's lungs. "I think you'd better sit down."
This couldn't be good. Darcy reached blindly for a chair and lowered herself into the dainty cushioned seat.
"Cassie, don't tell me you've chosen this weekend to tell Rock who he is."
"Okay, I won't tell you that."
Cassie's reply gave her no solace. The kid had a smart mouth.
"Cassie..."
"Don't worry, Mom. I'm not going to tell him."
The silence that followed nearly caused Darcy to pass out. She knew what was coming. She knew. She clenched the phone so tightly, she nearly cracked the casing. "Cassie, don't tell me you want me to..."
Cassie's laugh alleviated some of the terror streaking through Darcy's brain. It would be bad enough if Cassie told him. If Darcy broke the news, he'd likely break her arm. Maybe more. "Relax, Ma. I'm not planning to tell Rock the truth. Not yet. Not if you agree to spend the weekend with him, alone, in the house. It's your choice."
Rock La Rocca closed the textbook he'd been pretending to read and listened. Just what the heck was going on? His instincts screamed that he'd been lured into a trap, but he didn't know if his former lover and current boss, D'Arcy Wilde, was the designated predator or just another hapless victim of Cassie's scheming. He chuckled. If Darcy ever guessed he'd placed her name and the word victim into the same sentence, she'd have his head on a platter. Or other more important body parts.
Unfortunately, he couldn't hear a thing. Wasn't surprising since he'd spent his entire adulthood since age seventeen on the road with rock-and-roll bands who hadn't met a decibel they didn't like. But for the past ten years, he'd been on Darcy's payroll, starting off as muscle in her crew and now, running the complete operation of her world-famous stage shows and international tours. Somehow, he'd become her right-hand man — the right hand she never spent time with alone, which was probably good for both of them.
When she was in the studio, he coordinated the musicians, songwriters and technicians. When she was on vacation, Rock ensured that her security was top-notch and her travel and accommodations, sinfully luxurious. But she'd never admit how much she relied on him. So far as Darcy let on, he was nothing more than the hired help and should consider himself damned lucky to have such a high-paying, glamorous job.
He couldn't argue about the choice paychecks, but even if he wanted to work in a job others considered glamorous — which he didn't — working as the biggest cog in the D'Arcy Wilde machine was nothing less than exhausting. And exhilarating. As much as he hated to admit the truth and would never act on it, Darcy stirred his blood like no other woman ever had.
So they avoided one another, particularly when they might end up together alone. Never working too late, never allowing the sensual undercurrent born from their past to overtake them in the here and now. Only for Cassie would he have come today, he tried to tell himself. He'd only met the kid a few years ago and didn't know much about her except she didn't seem much like her mother. He figured she took after her father, but no one seemed to know who the lucky guy had been. Not that Rock cared. So long as the kid hadn't inherited her mother's bossy attitude, which she hadn't, he didn't so much mind having her around.
But, apparently, she had developed skills in sly manipulation. Cassie had easily lured him away from the last round of rehearsals before Tuesday's opening night with just one phone call — but only because she claimed that Darcy needed him and was too proud to ask for the help herself.
"Mom needs you," she had said simply.
Rock had peeked around a wall from backstage at the rehearsal, certain the sultry voice echoing on the sound system belonged to Darcy. It had. He'd know her unique vibrato anywhere and at any volume. He heard her in his dreams.
"Listen, kid. Your mom is on stage right this minute, running through her second set."
"I know," Cassie said, tension crackling over the phone line. "But you know my mom. When she's working, she doesn't think about anything else but wowing the crowd. But in just a little while, she's going to get another phone call and will take an unscheduled break. And when she does, she's going to need you here with her." That had been enough for Rock to make the arrangements for his assistant to run the show for the rest of the afternoon. A few minutes later, when he'd watched Darcy's secretary skitter across the stage with a cell phone in her hand, he knew Cassie hadn't been exaggerating. He headed for his car ahead of Darcy, but knew from the paleness of her skin and her frantic gestures that she wouldn't be far behind.
While he'd beat Darcy to Cassie's rented house in the French Quarter, he hadn't had more than ten seconds to talk to the girl before she beelined out the back door to complete some mysterious errand with a neighbor. He'd suspected Cassie had been up to something. And if his instincts were correct, she was now spilling the entire story to Darcy via cell phone.
Unable to sit still any longer, he stalked toward the closed pocket door separating the girly antique parlor and long hallway from the kitchen in the back of the house. Rock liked women, but damned if their decorating choices didn't perplex him. What was with all the flowers? Wasn't it enough to have a garden out back? And the lace. One glance at the doilies displayed in fruitwood frames along the wall and he was transported back to his grandmother's house in Chicago. All that was missing was the perpetual smell of garlic and the inevitable and loud "discussion" as to why he preferred living like a gypsy to working in the family business.
Not wanting that memory to take root, he slid open the door and marched inside the kitchen. Darcy had her back to him, her hand cupped secretively over the phone.
"You can't be serious," she insisted, but the lack of sheer and utter confidence in her voice told him that whomever she spoke to wasn't telling her a joke — and she knew it.
When she finally sensed his presence, she straightened her spine and twisted her neck, slowly meeting his gaze without turning completely around. Damn, but she was one gorgeous woman. She had an incredible sense of rhythm that trickled down to something as common as throwing a dirty look over her shoulder.
She held the phone to her breast, drawing his gaze to the skimpy denim vest she'd been wearing at the Dome. Snug against her age-defying, unbound breasts, the shirt succeeded at what the entire outfit had been designed to do — make any man within a two-mile radius drool with lust and forget anything and everything but her.
He thought he'd be immune by now, but damned if he wasn't.
"Do you mind?" she snapped. "I'm having a personal conversation here."
"With Cassie?"
She didn't answer, but the quick dart of her eyes told him the truth. He crossed the room and yanked the small device out of her hand.
While Darcy cursed, Rock held the phone to his ear. "What the hell is going on, Cassie?"
"Rock? Oh! Um, I need to finish talking to Darcy."
"I've got work to do, kid. I ain't hanging around here all day."
Darcy wrestled the miniscule phone out of his beefy hands, but spoke to him instead of to her daughter.
"You will if I tell you to," she proclaimed.
"Oh, yeah? Why? You going to fire me?"
He knew she wouldn't. Not over this. Hell, he'd given her plenty of reasons to can his ass over the past ten years and for some reason, she hadn't. And with her biggest tour ever only three days away, he was gambling she wouldn't now, either.
Darcy lifted the phone, promised she'd call Cassie back, then disconnected the call. In one smoky moment, her stiff spine softened into a sultry curve — one hip jutting slightly to the left, her right boot snaking to the side in a coy pose he'd watched her perfect on the stage. Men more devoted to goodness than he — married senators, pious clergy, and righteous politicians — had fallen prostrate to Darcy's charm with nothing more than her signature sexy stance. So who was he to fight?
"I'm not going to fire you, Rock," she promised, her voice a sensuous purr. "But if you give me a chance, I'll make your stay here worth your while."
"Well?"
Cassie Michaels pocketed her cell phone, then stared at her friend Samantha La Rocca not quite sure what had just happened. She'd issued her ultimatum to her mother, but she hadn't received the definitive answer she so desperately wanted.
"I don't know. She told me she'd call me back."
Just over thirty, blond and blue-eyed, Sam smiled. "That's good, right? If she didn't barge right out the door, she must be interested in your...suggestion."
Cassie nodded, trying to contain her hopes. She sighed and relaxed against the wall of the building she and Sam had chosen for their stakeout — kitty-corner to the one her mother had leased for her so she could escape the Tulane University dormitories. Darcy loved buying her extravagant gifts, taking her exotic places and generally making their limited time as mother and daughter as exciting and memorable as possible. Was Cassie so wrong to try to give her mother something so much more precious in return?
Namely, one last shot at her one true love?
Sam laid her hand on Cassie's shoulder, causing Cassie to relax and smile. Cassie's curiosity about her birth father had brought the women together shortly after Cassie's enrollment at Tulane — but it had been kindred outlooks on life that had kept them together. That and the fact that Cassie was seriously in love with one of the waiters at the restaurant Samantha's husband owned — a rare Italian trattoria in the Cajun- and Creole-food Mecca of New Orleans.
The name on the marquee — La Rocca — while not uncommon in New Orleans, had lured Cassie to the restaurant that bore the same last name as her birth father, a man she knew, but didn't know. A man she only recently realized hadn't been just another of her mother's meaningless conquests, but had actually been her one and only love. Cassie's curiosity had not only led her to meet Rock's cousin, Nick, and his new wife, Samantha, but in the process, she'd gained a great deal of insight into her birth father's loner personality. Insight she hoped would propel her plan to reunite her parents to success.
Well, not exactly her plan alone. Sam had helped. Her distant cousin by marriage had garnered a well-earned reputation for matchmaking. Her specialty involved forcing two people together until they had no choice but to confront their feelings for each other — or at the very least, engage in some fairly mind-blowing sex.
Cassie figured most kids would be freaked out thinking about their parents having any kind of sex, much less the mind-blowing variety. However, most kids didn't have rock and roll diva D'Arcy Wilde for their mother — or hunky Rock La Rocca for a dad, even if he didn't know. Yet. But he would soon. How soon depended entirely on Darcy.
"She's definitely interested," Cassie said, "though I'm not sure if her curiosity is out of lust or fear."
"Either one works for me," Sam quipped, reminding Cassie that Sam had told her how she'd once used fear to fix up her own stubborn sister and her now-smitten husband. "So what's the next move?"
Cassie thought a minute. She hadn't expected her mother to agree to her demands quickly, but she also hadn't planned on getting disconnected. Time to move on to Phase Two and hope for the best.
"I'm going to give Darcy a few minutes to think about what she's going to do and how she's going to do it. Then, I'm calling in the reinforcements."
Darcy licked her lips, tossed her hair and hoped like hell that Rock hadn't developed an immunity to her over all these years. When she'd first hired him on her road crew, she'd wondered how they would manage to keep their hands off each other, working so closely and at all hours of the day and night. But after a few weeks, Darcy realized she'd worried needlessly. Joseph "Rock" La Rocca, once the most hands-on boyfriend she'd ever toyed with, had developed an iron-clad, hands-off policy when it came to her. She guessed that maybe — if she'd really turned up the heat — the sexual tension crackling between them might have burned through his defenses.
But she'd kept the attraction on simmer, certain she'd fare better in the long run. She had, after all, given birth to his child and then decided not to tell him. And however good her reasons had been when she was sixteen and he'd just run off to run sound for a local garage band, the reasons didn't hold up now.
And according to Cassie, her reasons soon wouldn't matter. She was ready to tell her birth father the truth. And shock of all shocks, she was giving Darcy a heads-up so that if she had any unresolved feelings for her former lover, she could put things in order right here, right now.
"We need to stay here for a little while," she said. Rock watched her with wary eyes, but as she neared, she wondered if a spark of desire didn't dance in those obsidian depths as well.
He folded his arms over that massive chest of his, eliciting a hungry groan from the back of her throat. God, he'd aged well. The last time she'd felt those callused hands on her flesh, she'd been a hormone-ravaged teenybopper with unstoppable dreams of fame. Now she was a woman who'd attained those dreams in her own irreverent style — and yet she still wanted Rock. She'd wanted him for a long, long time...but it took her daughter's ultimatum to force her hand.
"Why? Where's Cassie?"
"She's not coming."
"What's this all about, Darcy? What are you up to?"
She considered lying, but what would be the point? For once in her life, the truth — or, at least, the portion of the truth that most applied to their current situation — could work to her advantage. For nearly ten years, she'd wanted Rock in her bed again. She'd wanted to show him the woman she'd become — the powerful, adventurous, exciting woman that men all over the world clamored to make love to. Men all over the world — except Rock. And while his lack of interest stung, she'd figured it was fair compensation for all she hadn't told him about her feelings for him — and about Cassie.
But now, she had no choice. In a few hours, the truth would be out. And knowing her mother as she did, Cassie had suggested Darcy do whatever it took to come to terms with her feelings for Rock before all hell broke loose. She had only now to take what she wanted — and D'Arcy Wilde didn't need much more incentive than that.
The minute she broke into his tight personal space, she inhaled. Scents of sawdust and motor oil and warm honeyed musk dizzied her senses, causing her hand to quiver oh-so-slightly when she reached up and cupped his stubble-roughed cheek. "This is called a seduction, Rock. Why don't you just relax and enjoy the ride?"
Relax and enjoy the ride? Rock thought, way more tempted to hop on board than he'd ever admit out loud. He was a man after all. And D'Arcy Wilde was one tough woman to resist.
Damn. He prided himself on being the one man on Earth who wouldn't fall to his knees after one sultry look from her — yet the minute she turned her sensual powers on him, his body hardened, his breath left his lungs in a quick rush, his sex throbbed with a need so innate, so natural, he would have hardly thought twice if she'd been any other woman.
But she wasn't any other woman. She was his boss, his high school crush, his favorite sparring partner. She was the siren who haunted his nights with her sensual voice and hypnotic eyes; the harpy who taunted his days with her incredibly high expectations and unreasonable demands. He dropped his arms to his side, curious about why she'd chosen today to rekindle the fire that had once burned white-hot between them. If she pressed closer, he might just find out.
"The ride? You and me would be more like a train wreck."
His quip didn't slow her down, not that she was moving fast. Her hand cupped his chin lightly and, like molasses drizzled over hotcakes, she eased her body to his until the buttons on her denim vest pressed into his T-shirt. Her tiny, leather miniskirt sidled against his thighs. "Train wrecks can be exciting, so long as no one gets hurt."
"Darcy, with you, someone always gets hurt."
Not surprisingly, the truth didn't faze her. "That's a lie and you know it. I don't mess with men who don't understand me."
That made Rock laugh out loud, no matter how his guffaw pissed her off. "Darcy, a whole team of psychiatrists living with you twenty-four seven couldn't understand you."
She rewarded his ill-timed humor by slapping him on the ass. Damned if it didn't turn him on.
"You may be right. Maybe it's better that way. Trying to understand someone requires work. And I don't know about you, but I prefer to expend my energy in a less cerebral way."
"Sex can be cerebral, if done correctly." He inhaled as she pressed her palm down his chest. The scent of her Parisian shampoo — lightly scented with herbs and flowers — teased his nose. He wanted to bury his face in her soft, black hair. Or better yet, with her straddled atop him, the strands could tease him as they dangled in his face. "That is what you have in mind, right? Sex?"
"It's what I always have in mind."
"Not with me," he pointed out.
"You don't really know that, do you, Rock? Not for sure." She stepped back, walked a tight circle around him, her hand never surrendering contact with his body. "We've been dancing around each other for a long, long time. Maybe I'm tired of lusting after you from afar."
Rock wanted to contradict her, wanted to insist she never looked at him with anything in her eyes other than job-related expectation — but he knew he'd be lying. Too many times, he'd caught his gaze drifting toward Darcy when she was on stage, singing some sexy ballad, her eyes trained on him. It had happened during intimate rehearsals in her hotel suite or during concerts when thirty thousand screaming fans howled all around them.
When the moments hit, Rock had been instantly transported back in time to those hot nights when he'd throw pebbles at her bedroom window in the middle of the night, then spirit her away to their secluded spot by the lake so they could make love under the stars.
They'd been kids then. And even though Darcy was the same incredibly uninhibited soul he'd known back then, times had changed. He'd changed. Toying with Darcy now would be a huge mistake.
And yet, when she slid behind him and snaked her hands around his waist, then lower, he knew he'd give her whatever she wanted.
"Darcy, don't..."
"Why not, Rock? I know you want me."
"Why, because every man wants you?"
The throaty sound of her laugh sent a warm shimmy up his spine. She completed her rotation around him, slipping her arms around his neck and pulling herself up so that her lips were just centimeters from his. "Partly. But between us, there's more. You remember those times back at the lake just as much as I do, don't you? You remember how great we were together. Two kids, practically virgins, but still, we never felt awkward or walked away less than satisfied. Maybe that's why I've taken so many lovers over the years, trying to find one who was equal to you."
He couldn't resist wrapping his hands around her slim waist, allowing his fingers to dip over her tight derriere. Her black lashes fluttered when he squeezed her flesh possessively, and her tiny moan testified that the desire she claimed for him was no act, no manipulation. Darcy may have had a thousand and one bad habits, in his opinion, but lying wasn't one of them. Not about sex, anyway.
"Maybe I'm not even equal to those standards anymore. I'm not a seventeen-year-old kid with more hormones than sense."
She swiped her tongue over his lips, spearing her fingers into his hair at the same time. "Thank God. If you were that good when you didn't know what you were doing, I can only imagine how hot you're going to make me now."
Rock combed his hand up the back of her neck, latched onto her hair and tilted her head back with a gentle tug. "Oh, baby. You don't have to imagine. I'm going to show you. Right here. Right now."
The minute Rock's lips locked onto the hollow of her throat, Darcy jumped into the swirl of pent-up desire she'd been trying to sate for nineteen years. She wouldn't turn back now. Spikes of pure heat slashed through her body, igniting fires from the tips of her breasts to her toes and everywhere in between. Her veins and nerve-endings throbbed, surging with a rush of blood and need and ultimately, disbelief.
God, how she wanted this. Had wanted this. For what seemed like forever. Night after night — sometimes when in the arms of another man — this exact fantasy had haunted her dreams. Yet with so much emotional baggage between them — suitcases full of lies and regrets, most of which Rock didn't know about — she'd held back. The woman known throughout the music industry for pushing the envelope and snatching fame and fortune when no one would give it to her in the time frame she wanted — that same woman had waited all these years to taste again the magic that in so many ways, had made her who she was.
Rock grabbed her backside and lifted her, her feet nearly dangling while he bathed her neck in moist kisses. Her skirt rode up to her waist, allowing his hands to roam free over skin bared by her thong-style panties. He pressed her hard against his pelvis, and the thickness of his erection sent a second wave of passion coursing through her.
She had his shirt over his head and on the floor in no time. Her vest was next, though half the buttons clattered and shot across the floor, torn from the fabric. When the rush of need subsided just long enough for them to assess their surroundings, Rock wore nothing but unzipped jeans and sneakers, while Darcy dared to tempt him further in her bra, panties and knee-high boots.
Briefly, Darcy realized they were about to do the deed in her daughter's Donna Reed-style kitchen. No matter how she sliced it, she'd leased the house for Cassie, never guessing her supposed golden child would set her and Rock up on the very same property for a wild, mad tryst. Luckily, Darcy knew the layout well enough to lure Rock toward a small back room with only a sly half-grin and a half-crooked finger.
The tiny windowless room, no bigger than a closet, was still stacked nearly floor to ceiling with blankets, pillows and sleeping bags. When Cassie's friends showed up to party in the Quarter, she preferred to put them up on the floor rather than send them home drunk. With one shove, two towers of pillows tumbled to the floor and Darcy dove in, unabashed and unashamed.
For an instant, Rock just watched her from the doorway, shaking his head in disbelief though his eyes sparkled. This was just the kind of spontaneous, brazen thing they would have done as kids. By the time she'd unzipped her boots — slipping a condom out of the clever pocket inserted into the design just for that purpose — he'd removed his shoes and jeans and joined her in the pillows.
"You're crazy, Darcy. You know that?"
She grabbed his hand, then with a playful push, twisted until she had him pinned beneath her. "Crazy with wanting you. Nineteen years is a long time for a girl like me to wait."
He rubbed his callused hands over her smooth thighs, eyeing her with absolute hunger. "Then why did you?"
She rolled her eyes, hoping her expression would hide, at least for now, the truth she wasn't ready to share. "You weren't exactly pursuing me, you know."
He laughed. "Since when has that stopped you?"
She moved to deliver a playful punch to his shoulder, but he anticipated her response and grabbed her by the wrist. His aggressive counterattack sent an electric thrill shooting up her arm. "Even a bad girl like me wants to be chased every so often."
He arched a brow. "Like I chased you back in high school?"
With a shift of her knees, she pressed her sex against his. Why she thought the move would punish him, she didn't know. The only one suffering seemed to be her. A sleek moistness seeped through the thin fabric of her panties, and from the darkening look in his gaze, the tale of her arousal spread through his boxers as well.
"You didn't have to chase me then. Just like I didn't have to chase you. We sort of just fell together."
He glanced around at their precarious position on the pillows. "This is a habit with us."
She leaned down and swiped a kiss over his mouth. "A good one?"
His response was to hook his hand behind her neck and press her face to his for a longer kiss. "A great one."
Like a flame doused with brandy, the heat of his kiss seared her, burned her, straight through to her soul. No matter what happened later, they'd have this moment, this adventure, forever.
Slowly, she reached around and unhooked her bra, allowing the dark material to fall away across her pale skin, watching Rock for every degree of dilation in his eyes, every short rasp of breath. He didn't disappoint her, taking the time to adore her with his hands, mouth and tongue until she thought she'd go insane.
In a split second, the last of their clothes were gone and he'd slid the condom over his thick sex. Unable to resist, Darcy took the flavored latex into her mouth until Rock begged for sweet mercy.
Without warning, he flipped her and pinned her to the pillows. Before she could protest, he captured her mouth. Unable to resist, unable to wait, she parted her legs so he could find his way home.
The minute he entered her, passion took over. She lifted her hips and bent her knees, needing to feel all of him, all the way. He tortured her with a slow, sensual rhythm and refused to increase the tempo until he sensed her surrender to his lead. Then, he captured her hands, twining her fingers with his, and oh-so-expertly rode with her to the edge.
At just the last moment, Rock rolled her, wrapping his arms around her like a vice so their connection didn't break, not even for a moment. When they came, together, the past and the present collided in a bright ball of glorious light — leaving Darcy to wonder if this moment could possibly save them from the inevitable destruction sure to come.
Once they lay lust-sated and drowsy with satisfaction on the pillows, Rock realized a truth he'd denied for way too long. He wanted Darcy again. And not just "again" in the sense that he intended to hunt down discarded jeans for his wallet and another condom sometime in the next hour — which he did — he meant "again" in the long-term.
God, nineteen years seemed a lifetime ago. When he'd left their hometown for parts unknown, he'd had nothing but rootless adventure on his mind. His father and all his uncles had been tied into a family business, but Rock never envisioned his future there. The responsibility, the expectations, the day-to-day sameness would have snuffed him as painfully as a screwdriver to the skull. Only now, with Darcy's hair fanned over his chest and her exotic scent stirring his senses, did he realize that what he'd actually resisted was not the restaurant business or the lack of excitement. He reviled the permanency.
And yet, he'd been with Darcy and her tour for ten years. And once on the payroll of D'Arcy Wilde Productions, no two days were ever alike. Her shows took him to the most exciting cities on every continent. When her music required inspiration or she sought an exotic locale for a video, she thought nothing of crossing the equator or several oceans to find the perfect desert oasis or the whitest, sandy beach. Even when she was settled in one place, the constant stream of people, from fans, agents and musicians to artists, celebrities, industry professionals and groupies, changed the atmosphere from moment to moment. She knew everyone — and yet she met someone new every day.
Even Darcy's personality was as changeable as her wardrobe. Some days pensive, some days outrageous, she was, every day, smart and fun and exciting. She was the perfect woman. So why hadn't he realized this until now?
Simple answer. Because until today, his perfect woman hadn't wanted him. Or so he'd thought. Not since high school, when they used to lie in the bed of his truck, staring at the stars and devising a thousand ways for her to escape her poverty-stricken life in the trailer park. Now that he knew the truth — that her desire for him hadn't lessened despite the many years and their many other lovers — he intended to keep her.
"Well, that was a blast from the past, wasn't it?" she said, her humor uncharacteristically understated as she attempted to move out of his embrace.
He yanked her back down and placed a kiss on her temple. "This wasn't about the past, Darcy, and you know it."
Her muscles stiffened and she pulled away. Only then did he notice the glossiness in her eyes, the pale tinge around the lips. Yes, he'd kissed off all her hot-red lipstick, but wariness made her tremble through her attempts to suddenly escape his touch.
"No, I don't know that at all. I wanted you again; I've had you. Now it's time to bolt."
This time, she scrambled quickly enough to get away. Stunned, he took a few seconds to recover. A burst of angry energy propelled him up and out of the room and he didn't even bother with his shorts or jeans. She, however, struggled to bend herself back into her sweaty underwear. When she caught him watching, amused by her failing attempts to dress, she cursed, then threw on her vest and skirt without them.
"Where do you think you're going?" he asked.
"I have a rehearsal to finish," she snapped.
She rushed past him in search of something, most likely her boots. When she found them, she didn't return to the kitchen to put them on, but sneaked into the living room. Luckily, this house wasn't a big place. Neither was the city of New Orleans. She couldn't outrun him for long, though she'd likely gain more distance since she was dressed and he was not.
No bother. He knew where she was going. He could give her a chance to cool down, then confront her with the facts. Knowing Darcy, this sudden fit of temper and denial was a direct result of the fact that their little tryst meant more to her than she'd planned, more than she wanted to admit.
But before she left, he needed to make sure she understood the future she'd face. He wasn't going to let her go and she was better off knowing that right here, right now.
"So you're telling me you arranged this afternoon just for a quickie? Hate to break it to you, babe, but one time isn't going to get me out of your system."
"I never said you were in my system," she declared.
He leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb between the hallway and the living room, suddenly damned comfortable wearing nothing but a cocky smile. "You didn't have to say it."
She finished zipping up her boots, then stood, stamping her feet one at a time on the hardwood floor. "Yeah, well, maybe I didn't. Point is, I'm done. Getting involved with you, beyond today...just wouldn't be...it won't work, Rock. Trust me." She flew past him, grabbing her purse from where she'd roped it on the hat tree next to the front door. "There's too much you don't know."
Without much effort, he trapped her against the door. He was more turned on than he'd guessed. His sex, hard and hot, slid against her leather skirt. The short hem sliced softly across him. If she'd let him, he could likely slip underneath and remind her about what he did know.
"Then tell me."
For an instant, he thought she would. Bold defiance, the expression he associated the most with her for all the years they'd known each other, flashed in her eyes. But an instant later, fear blinked her confidence away.
Fear. In Darcy?
"I can't," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper.
He shook his head, disbelieving. "You're frickin' D'Arcy Wilde. You can do whatever the hell you please."
She used both hands to push him away so she could yank open the door. "Not this time, I can't."
Where Rock expected the door to open to sunlight, instead he blinked at the flash of cameras. Dusk had descended on Bourbon Street, and with it, a swarm of reporters had gathered at the door. He had just enough time to duck out of sight before he heard the first reporter shout, "Hey, D'Arcy, who's that in there with you?"
Then another. "Reports are that you left the Superdome this afternoon enraged. Are you canceling your tour?"
Then the next — and this question nearly coaxed him out of hiding. "Ms. Wilde, your daughter has called to alert us about an upcoming press conference. Just what is that about?"
The question instantly halted Darcy's push through the crowd. She stood, stunned, reporters swarming, flashes bursting, questions assaulting her from every angle. Cassie called a press conference? Oh, God. This couldn't be happening. No way would her mild-mannered, always-polite, "how could she possibly be related to you?" daughter announce who her father was to the press before she told Rock herself. That had been their deal!
Then again, Cassie did possess half of Darcy's brazen blood. She'd do what it took to get what she wanted — just the same as her mother.
Darcy scrambled back inside the house in time for Rock to lock the door behind her.
"What the hell is going on?" he demanded. "Was this some sort of publicity stunt?"
Before Darcy could answer, her cell phone rang. She didn't have to look to know Cassie would be on the other end of the line.
"And you told the reporters I was here, why?" she asked, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that her daughter had arranged the raving welcoming committee outside.
"Because I don't want you to leave. Yet."
"I have to," she said, flashing a glance at Rock, who hadn't had the common decency to put on his shorts. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, blocking out the sight of him, so male, so glorious, so hard she could still feel him inside her. How she was going to do without that sensation for the rest of her life, she didn't know. She'd managed once, but no way would she accomplish that feat again.
Yet once he found out the secret she'd been keeping from him, she knew he'd likely quit his job and devote the rest of his life to trashing her for being a selfish, heartless bitch. And she wasn't so sure he'd be far off the mark.
"You don't have to, Mom. Tell him. Tell him the truth about me."
"Oh, yeah. That'll keep us together longer," she said sarcastically. Cassie's laugh trilled with nervousness. "I removed all sharp instruments from the house before I left. You'll be fine."
"I thought you were going to —" she paused, aware that Rock remained just a few feet away, listening intently to every word she said. "I thought we decided that you were going to handle that revelation yourself."
"Mom, I was nine years old when we made that deal. Any suggestion you made that sounded like I was in charge was okay by me."
Darcy's gaze darted down the hall, but when Rock's stare followed hers, she knew she couldn't disappear into the kitchen or anywhere else for privacy. She was stuck with him. "So what changed your mind?"
"I got to know Rock last summer on the tour. I watched you watching him all the time."
"I don't..." she pressed her shoulder to the door and cupped her hand over her mouth. "Not all the time."
"You do when you don't think he'll catch you. All during my childhood, I thought my birth father was just a sperm donor, another link in your endless chain of lovers. I didn't know you loved him."
"I don't," Darcy insisted.
Cassie, apparently, wasn't going to argue over a fact she knew was irrefutable. "You owe him the truth. From you. It'll either ruin everything or fix everything. But the time is now."
Darcy swallowed the lump in her throat. Damn it, she hated when her kid sounded so frickin' much like an adult. "Okay."
Silence crackled over the phone line. "Okay? You're not going to try and bolt again, are you? Because if you do, I swear I'll announce it to the press. You think he's going to be pissed now, you just wait until he hears the news from those sharks outside your front door."
Damn, she was good. Here Darcy thought that letting her responsible, loving sister raise her daughter would smooth out the ruthless edges Cassie had likely inherited from her — heck, from both parents. No dice.
"I won't leave," she answered begrudgingly.
Cassie was right. Again. No matter how Darcy had considered herself a progressive parent by deciding her daughter could pick how and when she informed Rock about her existence, confessing this secret was her responsibility. And in a way, Cassie had chosen. But to make it interesting, she'd left them alone long enough so her mother could be tortured with an explosive sexual encounter that would likely never happen again.
"But that doesn't mean he won't," Darcy clarified.
Cassie chuckled. "Oh, I don't know, Mom. I'm sure you have plenty of ways to keep him occupied."
Darcy rewarded that tart comment with a string of curse words, then promised to call her daughter back and hit the End key.
"What was that all about?" Rock asked.
"Blackmail."
"From who?" He stood up straighter and fisted his hands on his hips. Oh, great. Just what she needed. Michelangelo's David on the warpath.
"Keep your pants on, Hercules. Or I should say put your pants on. My blackmailer is just my kid."
A grin cracked his face. "She's more like you than you'd care to admit."
Darcy tossed her phone into her purse and lassoed the strap back onto the hat tree. She walked into the living room and then retraced her steps to the back room, shouting triumphantly when she caught site of Rock's boxers. She tossed them back at him, then flung herself down into a plush chair by the fireplace.
"Yes, my daughter — manipulative, crafty, stubborn and sometimes very, very stupid."
He stepped into the shorts and with a quick tug, covered himself, giving her a brief respite before he crossed the room, knelt at her feet and took her hands gently in his. "Maybe she inherited the stupid part from her father."
Oy.
Darcy dropped her chin to her chest, shaking her head. Laughter bubbled inside her — not the ebullient laughter in response to something truly funny, but the high-pitched cackle of someone just a step from insanity.
"Rock, babe. Don't say that. Don't even think it."
Rock's face twisted in a disbelieving sneer. "What, the guy was a genius?"
Lord, men could be so dense sometimes! "Genius? No. But he's a good guy. The best. Someone that meant a lot to me a long time ago. Still does, though he'd never believe me if I told him."
"Oh." Rock stood, remained still for a minute, then crossed to the back of the house and grabbed his jeans and shirt and shoes. He was half-dressed before Darcy realized that he thought she was talking about some other guy. If only!
"Rock," she said with a sigh, bracing herself for the confession she knew she had to make. "Where are you going?"
"We're done here, Darcy. You've obviously got it bad for Cassie's dad. Under any other circumstance, you can bet your ass I'd fight like hell to keep what happened between us today going hot and heavy. But I don't stand in the way of families."
She jumped up from the chair. "Rock. Pay attention! Can't you see what today has been about? Can't you see why Cassie arranged for us to be alone today? Why she called the reporters? She's nineteen years old. Do the math!"
Rock held up his hand, palm forward, hoping to God the gesture kept Darcy from saying another word. Before he knew it, that same hand was pressed against his mouth while the other patted the air behind him, hoping something along the lines of a chair or a couch materialized soon. He found himself plopping into the antique chair he'd been sitting in when Darcy first arrived, the hardcover textbook squashed beneath him.
"Listen, Rock," she began, but he quieted her with one quelling look.
Took a minute for that to sink in, too. He'd just quieted D'Arcy Wilde with one look? At least he knew the regret glossing her eyes was genuine. Only real regret would keep her from indulging in a full-fledged hissy fit right now.
"Cassie's my kid?" he asked, just wanting one, very basic verification.
She nodded.
"When did you know?"
She shrugged, but met his eyes before she answered. "About a month after you took off. Around the same time the record company offered me that deal."
Didn't take much to get his mind around why she hadn't contacted him then. For one, she probably hadn't known where he was. Very few people had. For another, at barely seventeen, he hadn't exactly been father material. Had she contacted his traditional Italian family, every male would have been deployed to track him down and force him to take responsibility for his child. He would have cracked under that pressure — and Darcy, more than anyone else, had known that.
But what about more recently? Like ten years ago when she spotted him at an awards ceremony and made him a job offer he couldn't refuse? Had she wanted to check him out? See if he'd gotten his act together? Well, hell...who took ten years to pass judgment?
"Okay." Rock removed the book from the beneath him, tossed it lightly to the floor, then braced his hands on the hand-carved chair arms. "Start talking, Darcy. And don't shut up until I've got all the details."
She complied. Beginning with her decision to let her mother, and later her sister, raise her child so she could pursue her career all the way up to Cassie's graduation from high school last summer, Darcy filled him in on each stage of his daughter's life. He already knew she'd been raised with love and attention. That she was bright, funny — that she loved her mother even if she didn't agree with all her choices.
He'd spent a lot of time with Cassie on the tour last summer, honestly impressed with her level-headed attitude. But he'd never suspected...heck, he'd never even once wondered who the birth father had been. He figured the topic was touchy, since no one, not even the press, ever made reference to the guy.
And now he knew the guy was him.
"So you slept with me today to soften the blow?" he guessed after she remained quiet, waiting for his response to her story.
"No," she answered flatly.
"Then why?"
"Same reason I told you earlier. I wanted you. I have for a hell of a long time, but because of this secret between us, I couldn't risk getting close to you again. I knew you'd hate me once the truth came out. And I couldn't bear to face that."
"Hate you? God, Darcy, I've loved you since I met you. Why do you think I put up with your bad moods and incessant demands?"
She threw up her hands in disbelief. "Because I pay you to."
He grinned. "Fringe benefit."
It was her turn to thrust her hands on her hips and stalk across the room. When a flash popped from the other side of the window, Rock turned to chew out whatever photographer dared get so close to the house, but Darcy grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the stairs. "They're probably in the garden in the back, too," she explained, leading him up to the landing.
At the top, he stopped. All that existed upstairs were bedrooms and though he didn't doubt he and Darcy could solve the world's problems between the sheets, the dilemma facing them personally would require much more than sex.
With a huff, she sat on the top step. He stared at her, wondering what she was going to do or say to possibly try to make this right, when she grabbed his hand and tugged him down.
"Okay, let's recap," she suggested, morphing into businesswoman mode. He groaned, knowing he was in deep. Darcy was tough to resist when she was being fun and irreverent and wild. When she turned on the smarts, anyone, male or female, didn't stand a chance.
"You've lied to me for nineteen years," he said, guessing they should start with the most pertinent facts and work down from there.
She didn't agree. "Yes, but I had a good reason."
He leaned sideways to see her face. "Like?"
"I loved you. Love you. Present tense."
"You have some way of showing it, sister."
Her grin was nothing less than feline. "Oh, I have marvelous ways of showing it, if you'll recall."
He rolled his eyes. "Point taken. So you didn't tell me about my kid because you loved me."
"Once I knew you were still that great guy I'd made love to in the back of the truck, yeah. If I told you, you'd hate me, even though at the time, I had the best reasons for not letting you into Cassie's life. Hell, I hardly let me into Cassie's life. And you know what? She's turned out great. I may never be Mother of the Year, but I knew my sister could be. And Cassie deserved the best."
"Cassie deserved a father."
"I can't deny that. I was wrong, Rock."
He stared at her openly. "Hold on. Should I call one of those reporters inside? Get that on record?"
She slugged him in the shoulder and they dissolved into laughter. A warm comfortable sound that could, with time, wash away all the resentment he knew he should feel. But why? Why throw away a chance with Darcy over past mistakes?
Rock sure as hell didn't like admitting it, but he could understand how and why Darcy made her errors. She'd done some things right and some things wrong — but everything she'd done had been to protect her child.
"You forgive me?" she asked.
"I'm thinking about it."
She smiled. "Anything I can do to help?"
He glanced around. There were no windows up here, and no view from below that could possibly allow anyone to intrude on their privacy. "When's Cassie coming home?"
"Not until I call her. She's staying with friends. She wanted to force us together. Figured we wouldn't be able to resist our feelings if we were alone — really alone."
"She really is a smart kid."
She skewered her bottom lip with her teeth. "Must get it from you."
"Yeah," he laughed, shaking his head. "Rock La Rocca, genius. Can't even do basic math."
She walked her fingers over his hand, then up his arm. His bare skin tingled at the contact. He shook his head, disbelieving. God, he had it bad. He loved this woman enough to forgive her. And even though she'd had a hard nudge from Cassie, Darcy obviously loved him enough to face her mistakes with honesty and apology.
Though, she didn't have to know that he was willing to totally forgive her. Not just yet, anyway.
She tickled her fingers over his shoulders, up the sensitive muscles in his neck.
"Darcy, what are you doing?"
"Touching you. Do you mind?"
"Depends," he answered.
"On?"
He shrugged, then in a flash of impetuousness, he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her onto his lap. "On if that touching is going to lead to some awesome make-up sex."
Her blue eyes flashed with so many emotions, he wasn't sure which one meant more to him. The relief? The excitement? The love? The desire?
Right now, definitely the desire.
"I don't know," she said, shaking her head with exaggerated doubt. "We have some serious issues to deal with. Making up might take the rest of the weekend, at least. Just think about all the naughty things I'm going to have to let you do to me so you'll love me again."
She snuggled closer, moving so that he was instantly reminded that she wore nothing beneath her skirt. "I never stopped loving you."
"So you say," she said, her brow arched. "I think you have some proof to provide yourself."
Rock wrapped his arms around her, certain he'd never have a dull moment so long as Darcy was in his life. "You're a very bad girl, D'Arcy Wilde."
She rewarded his assessment with a long, sultry kiss. "I know, and you wouldn't want me any other way."
The End