FIERCED 3: Finale of the Stepbrother Raider Romance Series Read online

  She had every right to haul me across the hot coals of a firewalk for the way I treated her on the journey back to Italy. I gave her no choice, forcing her to return without talking to her and then I ignored all her attempts to make it right. I couldn’t let her in. The very place I need her to be is the one I shut her out from.

  And I may as well have locked her in a police cell by taking her back to that life with her old man. She can’t see it because she loves her dad, especially after losing her mom so young. But I never had a father to exert control over me or to teach me the value of that role model. Doesn’t mean I can’t detect a selfish arrogant asshole when I see one.

  Lisa

  My father monitors me from the corner of his eye constantly during the limo ride to the airstrip. Any trust he may have once had in me is gone. Although now I’m pretty sure he doesn’t relax enough to place confidence in anyone. He seats me in a chair facing him on the private plane so as to scrutinize me even while reading through the stacks of papers from his briefcase. Monica flips through Italian Vogue and folds down the corners of the items she’ll later have her assistant tell the designers she’d like to receive as a ‘gift’.

  I open my copy of Gone Girl and pretend to read so as to avoid my father’s stare and plot my future. I might, somehow, be able to get out of the Embassy by creating a distraction for the goon guards and disabling the cameras.

  My problem is cash. Meaning I have none. My mother left me a trust fund in her will but that’s tied to my father until I reach twenty-five. My expenses are handed over as I need them. Jesus, I’ve never been taught how to handle a budget or manage an income because whatever I need is provided after I’ve gone to politely beg for it. I may have everything I want but I have zero independence. My father has cleverly kept me his financial captive.

  We land in Venice and a private speedboat transports us across the lagoon. Monica reclines in the center of the white leather banquette wearing a scarf around her hair and massive sunglasses, the epitome of a 1950s Italian movie star. When the launch turns into the Grand Canal, my mouth falls open at the opulent old buildings lining both sides of the water. People on the banks wave frantically at us and snap shots of the famous actress who is now my mom.

  When the boat stops at the dock right on the Canal there are crowds more people craving an instant of attention from Monica and the security goons with us are busy with ringing her off from the clamoring hordes demanding selfies. This could be my best chance, to somehow slip away while they’re busy taking care of Madam Moviestar.

  My father is visibly irritated at the press of people who have no idea who he is. This is the first time he’s ever been outside the spotlight of attention and he clearly can’t stand it. He takes hold of my elbow more roughly than necessary to pull me with him inside the solid marble hotel lobby.

  Check in is naturally waived and we’re led straight to our top floor suites with balconies opening directly onto the busy Grand Canal. I have my own room but it adjoins my parents Presidential suite. No way out. Best I can hope is that the newly married couple will allow me to keep the double doors firmly closed.

  “The hairdresser will be here in ten minutes,” Monica tells me.

  She’s glowing from the adulation of her fans. It’s obvious she eats up the lurve like breakfast, which of course she never touches. She eats only once a day – the same thing. Char-grilled vegetables drizzled with a quarter tablespoon of the finest extra virgin olive oil. “I think we’ll give you a nice updo.” Groansville.

  “I’d rather wear my hair loose.”

  A sudden image of Rocco wrapping a tendril around his solid finger floods my mind and makes me gasp. It’s intense the feeling of loss without him beside me. My pussy clenches and throbs, reminding me of the loss from not having him push inside me as well. It’s the emptiest feeling in the world. In the shortest time I got so comfortable with the safety of his presence, knowing he’d always take care of me. I felt so adored with Rocco, in a way I never had in my entire life. Until it all vanished because of my stupidity.

  “Lisa dear, you could learn a lot about fashion while you’re living here in Italy. An updo will suit the gown I chose for you,” Step-mommy informs me.

  Whatever. I’ll order pasta carbonara followed by tiramisu at dinner tonight and lap it all up in front of her.

  Chapter THREE

  As soon as Monica wafts away to greet some pompous hand grabber come to grovel to her, I throw myself down on the silk bed covers and snuggle up with my memories of Rocco. By closing my eyes and imagining soft sand instead of silk underneath me, I can conjure him up again.

  My fingertips grazing across the rise and fall of the taut muscles in his back, holding him close to me as his pelvis rams into mine and we join in a way there’s no going back from. My pussy clenches around the sensation of his wide blade entering me, stretching my walls to their limit, filling me up so my entire body gleams with satisfaction.

  I have to slide my palms up my ribcage and over my swollen breasts, pressing down into the hungry bullet nipples. Just the imagined feeling of Rocco’s powerful body covering mine, bearing down into me makes my nipples protrude eagerly and quivers of desire fly through my core.

  In the most romantic city ever, in this luxurious and elegant hotel, my entire being is hollow without Rocco at my side. I could never have imagined such an unlikely perfect man as Rocco. But he’s an enigma of a bad boy that takes layers of undressing to uncover. So strong and caring, so tough and so kind, interested in humanity and creativity, willing to support all my dreams.

  Actually I could imagine that perfect man, have been picturing him my whole life. I just never dreamed that such a wild man actually existed outside my fantasies and that he’d come into my life and want me.

  And then my body shook with fear. The chill dread of not knowing overwhelmed me. Does he want me now?

  He definitely wanted me the night in the desert – all night non-stop he wanted me. But now, after my outburst of jealousy? Why is it that the one we like the most is the one we have to try to scare away?

  Goosebumps prickle all the way down my forearms as I recall how enraged Rocco had been at me. How he dragged me to the bike saying he’d had enough and was taking Principessa back to Daddy. How he’d blasted the bike across the desert with me clinging to him, terrified of his rage as well as that we’d for sure wipe out in a dune the way he was driving at the edge of the engine’s limits.

  No more did his body melt into mine or his rippling sinew caress my breasts and stomach. Never again would his pelvis thrust backwards into the crevasse buried between my spread legs, rubbing my clit into a frenzy. He held himself distant as though filled with regret at ever becoming close with me. That hurt the most – the fact that he wished he’d never been mine through that beautiful, ecstatic night under the stars.

  Never let me go.

  I stand rigid as the dresser puts me into the rose gold strapless short gown and remember how carefully Rocco guided my naked limbs back into my clothes as dawn broke with the same shade of pink across the dunes. Every item of clothing was proceeded with a kiss to secure it before being covered. He kissed each foot as he lifted it into the pant legs. I didn’t dare image how he lapped a deep kiss across my glistening slit before replacing my underwear, the same for each happily sore nipple. I was afraid the quivering need would throw suspicion on my dresser.

  “Are you ready yet? We’re going to be late.”

  My father threw open the doors between our suites as though I deserved no life or privacy outside of what he deigned to allow me.

  “It’s only six o’clock, we’re nowhere close to late.”

  “Your mother says we have to arrive in the right light for the photographers.”

  “Ah well, she’s the expert on being seen in the right light.”

  “Don’t get snippy young lady. And make sure you smile at the cameras. No one wants to see your sulky face.”

  Whatever. On the boat carry
ing us up the canal to the reception, I consider throwing myself in. Would I survive swimming in the Dolce and Gabbana gown? Unlikely and anyway another boat would fish me out and return me to my hell before I ever made shore. Still the crazy plans for escape run through my mind. If I could ride a bike across the African Sahara, I could damn well disappear from my pent up life as a political pawn daughter.

  The red carpet extends down the floating dock and no sooner are we handed out of the sleek boat than we’re ordered to turn this way and that, striking a pose for the army of cameras behind the velvet rope.

  “Over here Miss De Angelis.”

  “This way, Monica. Give us a smile.”

  “How was your ordeal Miss Saint James? Have you recovered from kidnapping? Was it Al-Qaeda?”

  So my father spun me after all. Taking any and every opportunity to put his name forward, he told the media I’d been kidnapped before he even received a ransom note. Most parents would keep it quiet, terrified for their child’s safety. Why do I continue to expect to be loved by a father who has only one thing in mind?

  “Signor Saint James, Sir, is it true you’ll announce your intention to run for President of the United States of America?”

  Whaaaat? The freaking fuck? You cannot be serious.

  “You may be hearing rumors but I couldn’t possibly comment.” My father makes his eyes twinkle so that everyone sees straight through his denial. Yeah, he’s going to announce tonight.

  So that’s why the fantabulous new wife and obsession with my behavior. He’s set his sights on being the ultimate powerhouse. Double big badda groansville. I may as well lie down and give up my own life right now. He’ll have to resign as ambassador then we’ll all go back to the States for a couple of years running all over the country shaking hands with thousands. I’ll be on the opposite side of the world from Rocco, as far as possible away from him.

  When will I ever get the chance to connect and make it right with him? Four years, maybe eight – fuck, I’ll be over thirty, an over the hill decrepit before I’ll be allowed a life of my own. If only I’d been smart enough to stay in the desert where he’d never stretch his diplomatic fingers to extricate me.

  After I smiled and nodded shyly as my father liked me to do, we go into the stunning old palace ballroom. At the door we’re each given a stunning handmade Venetian mask – this party is to be a masked ball. Mine is beautifully constructed and dripping with jewels. But I’m too angsty and miserable to take in much of the incredible renaissance murals covering the walls, the massive chandeliers and the all-white flower arrangements bigger than boats.

  I do manage to grab a couple of the exquisite canapes from the silver trays shouldered by the waiters as I head for the bar and a glass of prosecco – the Italian champagne.

  After downing a couple of the carved crystal flutes of ice cold bubbles, I feel a little more able to cope but still loiter close to the gilded walls, not wanting to answer too many questions about my alleged kidnapping. The waiters must feel sorry for me as they keep passing with amazing platters of shrimp and tiny concoctions of raw beef in a tiny basket made of wonton.

  I grab another flute and head out to the terrace hanging over the Grand Canal. My heart rips at the total romance of the view, the water lapping gently beneath my Italian satin pumps, the glow on the water as the sun sets across the lagoon.

  As darkness falls, the lights in the palaces edging the water cast a thousand twinkles in the water. I clasp my own elbows in a faux hug wishing deeply that Rocco was encircling my whole body with his powerful arms nestling me into his hold and keeping me safe from everything bad in the world.

  Where is he now? Probably on his way back to Tenley. She’ll be waiting for him to return and stay in the camp with her for weeks, as she’d called out to him before he sent me home. They make such a beautiful, model perfect couple and she plainly adores him so I can hardly blame him for dashing back to her. I just wish he’d come back to me.

  “A beautiful girl should never be alone in Venice.”

  I whirl around to see the face of my admirer hidden behind a black mask with an impossibly long nose. So ugly amidst all this beauty. What on earth could be the significance of that protuberance? There’s something about his mouth where the mask stops, making that vile nose even more creepy.

  “I just wanted to enjoy the view,” I say. There’s something about this guy that’s familiar although that’s hardly possible as I’ve never been to Venice before.

  “May I join you, Lisa?”

  “How do you know my name? Have we met?”

  “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  What is it about his voice, as well as the lips? It’s low and rough, but it still seems familiar. The man has a wide chest that he uses to press me into the low wall surrounding the terrace. He’s enjoying his power, as though he’s been working out for the purpose.

  “I’m not really in the mood for socializing,” I say, concerned by his creepy stalking of me.

  “After your abduction you must be very sensitive to men coming on to you,” he says.

  At least he’s got some empathy. Still he makes me uncomfortable as he presses too close to my body, almost pinning me to the wall. If I make a wild move I could go right over the edge into the dark water.

  His face is too close to me and far from mysterious, his mask is really freaking me out. The long black nose seems evil and his breath is rasping fast as though he needs something far too urgently. He lifts his gloved hand and strokes it along the curve of my naked shoulder, down my upper arm making my shiver and the goosebumps rise cold.

  “I have to get back to the party now.” I attempt to slither around his rigid body, but no dice. He slams a leg against me and forces his mouth over mine, squashing that vile tuber into my cheek so I can hardly breathe. I push back on him and he steps away, shocked at my dismissal, then raises a hand to slap me.

  “Don’t be a bitch your entire life, Lisa. You know you want me.”

  “I don’t even know you, get the fuck away from me,” I choke.

  The shock of the smack on the side of my head has my ear ringing. I don’t hear the speedboat kick up a gear and rev across the Canal, weaving its way across the traffic in the wrong direction, swerving in and out between the hundreds of crafts plying the wide waterway.

  Chapter FOUR

  Rocco

  I knew it was her from a thousand yards away. That delectable body leaning out across the balcony. Her naked shoulders and the rising swell of her perfect breasts. I could almost smell the sweet perfume of her warm soft skin in my nostrils again. The skin that merges into mine like cream into coffee.

  One second she was sipping champagne alone, all dreamy like she was thinking of another night under the stars. Next instant some asshole emerges from the shadows and steps up beside her. The rage I felt when the man pushed himself on her was indescribable. Or the only word to describe it was murderous. I wanted to make him die a slow agonizing death.

  How fucking dare he? The cocksure wimp out little prick. I’ve never been so infuriated at another dude trying to get in on what’s mine. A woman is her own master, able to choose her preferred partner. And fortunately they always choose me. Not that it bothers me too much if they don’t, there’s always another gorgeous lady ready to take the last one’s place. In fact, being seen around with one stunner is pretty much a guarantee that ten more will want to shove her aside and get themselves into her Louboutins.

  I’m pretty well known in Venice. There aren’t too many women left that I haven’t delighted in and the frequent masked balls allow for a degree of decadent behavior even I might usually hold back from. The masquerades allowed people to indulge themselves in the depraved activities of old times and I must say I’ve fully engaged in as much decadence as I could find.

  Although I don’t believe in stealing a woman from another man, when the guy is an obvious asshole, I let myself go. Over the years. I’ve been in every one of these palaces and had way
more than my share of fast hard sex in the illicit corners, behind the enveloping drapes, even up in the servants quarters under the roof. I’m happy to engage in illicit encounters with women from all walks of life and in a variety of locations.

  I guess that’s a long way round of finally admitting to myself that’s all changed now that Lisa is mine. I’ve claimed her with my body and now I’ve come back to physically take her. No asshole is stepping in on my woman.

  So when I saw the guy approach her, I was shocked by the violent reaction in my gut that replaced the equally aggressive stirring in my jocks. My cock was delighted to see her again and was eagerly pressing against the tight black pants I’d swung into for a party (mostly because to show up in my leathers would immediately give away my notorious identity).

  Then when I saw him strike her I was like a madman, incensed as a raging bull in the ring. I gunned out the speedboat so its engine roared up and down the Canal, sparking the staid society out of its placid watery meanderings.

  No one hits my woman. I know Lisa can be maddening and stubborn as a she-wolf, but no real man ever touches a woman. And he definitely doesn’t lay one single wormy fucking finger on my woman. It looked as though the fuckwit was holding her trapped against the wall, the way she was leaning back away from him.

  But that girl has balls. She’s no one’s victim. Man, the way she laid into the warrior guerrilla in Africa, I thought she was going to kill him. Of course out in the desert, she wasn’t corseted into a strapless frilly dress and no doubt some Geisha girl shoes designed to prevent her taking more than two steps.

  I was out of the boat before it stopped alongside the dock. I leapt onto the prow and sprung to catch the edge of the wall and from there swing myself up over the parapet. That was my first move. My second was to knock the guy out with my fist. He fell to the floor like a maiden’s nightgown and I pulled my own maiden into my grasp.

  “Did he hurt you?”