One Night: Sizzling Attraction: Married for Amari's Heir / Damaso Claims His Heir / Her Secret, His Duty

He walked on ahead of her, down a hallway she had never gone down before. Because she had had no reason to. She wrapped her arms around her waist to try and keep herself warm. Because for some reason she felt an unaccountable chill.

Rocco stopped in front of a set of double doors. He turned to face her, a muscle ticking in his jaw. There was a keypad by the door and he entered in a series of numbers quickly, and she heard a lock release.

“Internal security?”

“Yes,” he said. “I told you, no one steals from me.”

Of course, that was very like her father. To rip off a man who clearly had more than just your average issue with being stolen from. But on the heels of that thought came another one. One that ripped through her like a ravenous beast. There was a reason for this.

She flashed back to what he had told her about when his mother died. When they had taken him from his home, when they had taken all of his things... She looked up at him, a wave of horror washing over her. He looked away from her and pulled the doors open.

She moved behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her head between his shoulder blades. She was shaking, and she hadn’t even seen what he was about to show her. “You don’t have to,” she said, her heart thundering fast now.

She wasn’t sure if she was trying to spare him, or her.

Because when she saw, once all of the pieces that she had been collecting of him were complete, once she was able to fit them all together, the vague yearning that was in her chest would be complete, too. Would turn into something else. Something she didn’t want to think about.

“I want to show you,” he said, his voice rough.

He released his hold on the door and stepped out of her embrace, walking into the room.

There was framed art on the wall, figurines in glass cases, vases. Coin collections, swords mounted onto the wall. Basically anything that could be considered collectible was here, except for cars. Though, she knew he had his share of those in his garage. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but it wasn’t this.

“I collect things,” he said, “expensive things. Any expensive thing really. I told you already, when my mother died I lost everything. I spent most of my life with nothing that belonged to me. My bedrooms were shared with other children. And more than that, they were temporary. I had no family. I had nothing. I felt helpless. Like there was nothing keeping me from drifting out to sea. As I became more successful, I realized that I could fix that. I bought myself a house. Now I own four houses. And I have my own bedroom in all of them. And nobody sleeps in them but me.”

Charity realized then that she had never spent time in his room. Always when they slept together it was in her room. Her stomach twisted. And he continued.

“And I began to collect things. Things to replace what I lost. To make me feel like I was here.” His dark eyes met hers. “I protect what belongs to me.”

She kept thinking of what he had said at the gala. That she was his. That she belonged to him. It had seemed offensive, dismissive and minimizing. But she could see now that to him it meant something much deeper than it would to anyone else.

These things, these things that belonged to him, he protected above everything else. He prized them.

She turned in a circle, trying to take in the vast collection. “It’s amazing,” she said.

“Is it?” he asked. “I confess, I don’t enjoy what I have in here very often. Though, I frequently check to make sure it’s all still here.”

His words made her feel as if someone had reached into her chest, grabbed her heart and squeezed it tight. She could barely breathe. She looked at the far corner of the room and saw a pedestal, with a glass case over the top. But she couldn’t tell what was underneath it.

She took a step forward, her breath catching when she recognized what was beneath the glass case. Army men. Little green plastic army men that had no value. At least not monetary value.

“Rocco...”

He looked away, color staining his cheeks. “They were my favorite. They were the things I missed the most. Except for my mother. But...they were what I missed the most that I could replace.” He looked back at her, his dark eyes hollow. “So, now you see.”

“Yes,” she said.

And she was certain they weren’t just talking about the collection.

“Rocco...”

He closed the distance between them, his expression fierce, pulling her hard up against his body, cupping her cheek with his large warm hand. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Whatever you were going to do. Kiss me instead.”

So she did. She rose up on her tiptoes and kissed him with everything she had in her. He sifted his fingers through her hair, holding her tightly to him as he kissed her deep, hard. He was shaking, and she was sure that she was, too. He moved his hand down to cup her chin briefly, then trace the line of her throat with his fingertips, before they came to rest on the jewel at the center of her necklace.

“Perfect,” he said, his tone intense. “And mine.” And she realized, through the haze of her arousal, that he didn’t mean the necklace. “If only I could keep you here as securely as I do everything else I possess.”

Her heart fluttered in her chest, fear joining the desire that was roaring through her. She had a feeling he was sincere. That he would lock her in a glass case if he could, and yet, she didn’t want to run from him. Because that would mean being without him. And she didn’t want that, either.

She had been right about understanding him. Had been right about what it would make her feel. Or rather, understanding him had given her a name for her feelings.

She was afraid that she loved him. And worse than that, she wanted him to love her back.

She was a stupid girl. She had wanted her father to love her, had wanted the love of her mother, a mother who had never even been there. Wanted too the love of a grandmother who had only ever taken her in sporadically so that she wouldn’t end up sleeping alone on the streets.

For so much of her life, she had craved the love of people who wouldn’t give it to her. And now, she was adding one more to the list.

Rocco.

The father of her child. Her lover. The only man who knew her at all.

Her heart suddenly felt too big for her chest, her eyes stinging with tears she refused to shed. Her head ached, her body ached.

Maybe none of them love you back because you don’t deserve to be loved back.

She gritted her teeth and closed her eyes against the insidious voice that was shouting loudly inside of her. Finally putting into words what she had always believed in her heart to be true.

Surely if she were lovable, someone would’ve loved her by now.

She was a thief. She was guilty. She had stolen from this man who prized his possessions above all else. This man who had lost quite enough.

He could never possibly feel the same for her as she did for him, not knowing the extent of what she was.

No. She wouldn’t think of that now.

Anyway, this moment wasn’t all about her. This was about him. He had given her so much of himself in this moment. And she had to honor that gift.

“I’m sorry,” she said, words pouring out of her now. “I’m sorry I stole from you. I had no right to take anything from you. And I have no excuse. I can’t hide behind my father. I can’t hide behind my upbringing. Because I knew it was wrong, and I did it anyway. I’m sorry,” she said, repeating the apology over and over again.

She didn’t care if he could use this against her. Didn’t care if she was giving him evidence to put her in jail forever. All that mattered now was that she make it right. In the only way she could. She couldn’t return the money, but she could admit what she’d done. Could confess it all to him, lay herself bare, as he had just done for her.

“I know it was wrong,” she said, more for her now than for him. “And I’m not going to do it again. I’ve changed. I really have.” She had to believe it. She needed to say it, because she needed it to be true.

“I know you stole the money,” he said, his dark eyes meeting hers. “It doesn’t matter.”