He lifted her up and placed her gently on the counter behind her. “I like it,” he said and bent low to kiss her.
“You do?” she asked, again her voice was still low, unsure.
“Hell yes! I like it a lot. In fact,” his hands slipped underneath her shirt, cupping her bottom, “I think you should go around like this all the time.” His mouth moved to her neck, nibbling along her collarbone.
She laughed, suddenly relieved and her arms wrapped around his neck. “I liked the way it smelled,” she admitted shyly.
“I like the way you smell. But I don’t think I’ll look as good in your shirt.”
She giggled at the idea of his broad shoulders trying to fit into her much smaller shirt. “I doubt you could get even one arm into my shirt.” When his hips shifted between her legs, she leaned back.
“I don’t think I’d feel as sexy in your shirt as you look in mine. So it won’t work anyway.”
She pushed against his shoulders, laughing at the image that popped into her head. “You’re not going to tempt me that way again,” she said. “I let you lead me down that road before and I didn’t get any food. And I’m starving!”
He gave her a mock sigh as he pulled back. “If I feed you, will you then come back to bed and stop disturbing my sleep?”
She bit her lower lip to keep herself from laughing again. “I promise. I just need a glass of milk then I’ll be as quiet as a mouse until morning.”
He grunted at that, but turned to face the refrigerator. “Let’s see what Jenny cooked up for dinner tonight.”
“Who is Jenny?” Brianna demanded, her body suddenly stiff with anger.
Rocco looked back. A part of him felt good that she was jealous but the larger part of him didn’t like that she would even think that he would be with another woman after what they’d shared. “Jenny Rogers is my housekeeper. You met her at breakfast and lunch today. She’s married to Joe, the groundskeeper and they have four kids and seven grandchildren, all of whom live in this area. Jenny is a great cook and when she’s not making something for me or overseeing one of my social events here, she’s taking over the kitchen to bake cookies for her grandchildren or the members of the church choir or Sunday school classes.”
Brianna was instantly ashamed of where her mind had gone and looked down at her hands. “She’s a very nice person,” Brianna whispered. Goodness, she thought silently, this relationship stuff was more difficult than she’d thought! It was a veritable minefield.
“What are you thinking now?” he asked as he placed two plates into the microwave oven.
Brianna sighed, trying to quickly think of something to tell him. Unfortunately, her mind drew a blank and he wasn’t relenting. He simply turned around and waited, one black eyebrow going up as he waited for her reply.
She sighed and looked back at him, unaware of how tense she looked propped on that countertop. “Rocco, I don’t really understand you. And I’ll be honest, I don’t understand what’s going on between us. Just three days ago, I was going to write a story about what a horrible person you really are. And then I started to suspect that you were a criminal. So what kind of a person am I that would…” she hesitated over the next word, “sleep with a man I don’t trust?”
He moved closer, touched by her honesty as well as the questions he could see in her eyes. “I think you’re a very kind, very trusting woman who is beautiful on the inside and out,” he replied, moving over to her and kissing her gently. “And I think, deep in your heart, you trust me.”
She shook her head. “It defies logic. We don’t know anything about each other.”
The microwave pinged, letting them both know that their food was now heated.
He took the food out and, carrying both plates in his hands, nudged her off of the counter and into the cozy sitting room. “Press the button over there,” he told her, indicating a black switch on the wall. When she pressed the button, the fire lit up, giving the room a warmth that hadn’t been there a moment ago. “Why don’t you sit down and eat something while I open a bottle of wine. We’ll talk, you’ll tell me about your secrets and I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
“What about the deal where you give me clues all weekend?”
He chuckled and pulled a bottle of red wine off of one of the shelves, checking the label before pulling out a device that quickly dispensed with the cork. “I think we’re well beyond those games.” He poured two glasses, then handed one to her before sitting down next to her. “I’ll trust you, if you’ll promise to let me keep you safe.”
She sipped her wine as she contemplated that request. “Are you telling me that what you’re doing isn’t safe?”
“It’s safe enough for me. But not very safe for a sweet, gentle reporter who might break the story before all the pieces fall into place.”
She watched him closely and her curiosity got the better of her common sense. She couldn’t believe she was going to do this, and it would probably come back to bite her in the end, but she was going to trust him. She had no other choice. She suspected that her feelings were much more involved than she’d like them to be. “Fine. What do you want to know?”
He pushed a lock of hair off of her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. “Why do you want this story so badly? Why are you hiding out in barns and following strangers into the mountains?”
She held her glass of wine in both hands, forgetting about the food sitting on the coffee table as she curled her legs up underneath her. She couldn’t look him in the eye as she explained. “I’m a fluff reporter. I do all the silly, girly stories that none of the other, real reporters, want to take on.”
“What do you mean?” he asked gently, trying to coax more out of her. “I’ve read your stories. They’re very good. You describe the people and the parties with amazing detail.”
She sighed, her shoulders drooping slightly. “I know. I can talk about a woman’s lace dress until people are basically throwing up with irritation. I can make people goo-goo about the tulips in the spring and the various flower shows and garden parties. But is that really what a good reporter wants to deal with?”
He looked at her carefully. “Do you like doing that kind of writing?” he asked.