Page 13 of Last First Kiss
“Real mature, Annie.” He glared.
“Suck my dick,” she responded. That was probably why he treated her like a child. She knew she was acting like one. But still, she couldn’t help it. Taking a deep breath, she readied herself to re-meet the man she’d beaten up last time she saw him.
Rocco was gorgeous, absolutely the sexiest man she’d ever seen.
Tall, lean, with cheekbones that hinted at a unique blend of Hispanic or maybe an Italian background. Whatever he was, he was a man meant for the silver screen. And Annie couldn’t help but admire the smooth way he spoke and the confident way he carried himself. She wasn’t a huge fan of the bulky types, like Jax. And Rocco’s lithe frame had her thinking all sort of dirty, delicious thoughts. Dirty, delicious thoughts that needed to end right now. Because while he might look like her dream man, this was her dream job.
She would keep it professional, no matter what.
Leaning against the opened front door in black lounge pants, a white T-shirt, and bare feet, Rocco looked the epitome of relaxed and chic. Except that his eyes roamed over her body like a soft caress, and when they finally made their way up, the corner of his mouth tipped up and his tongue snuck out to wet his top lip, slightly. He was attracted to her, that much had been obvious. But from what she’d read about him online, the man was attracted to anything that moved.
Upon further inspection, though, the way his shirt hugged his biceps . . . maybe there was more bulk underneath his clothes than she’d originally imagined.
“Annabelle,” he said, in a low raspy voice that sent unwelcome tingles down her spine.
“Rocco,” she replied, standing just a few feet away from him, her big duffel bag on her shoulder, mirrored sunglasses on her face, and her arms crossed over her chest. Professional, professional, professional, she chanted to herself. She didn’t want to give him the impression that she found him attractive because it wouldn’t take much for her to melt into a puddle of lustful goo right at his feet. Plus, she wasn’t a casual sex kind of girl—he’d chew her up and toss her aside before she knew what was coming. That was another reason to stay away and keep things completely professional.
Joey stepped forward, his arm outstretched. “Call her Annie, she prefers it.” They shook hands, but Annie stayed put watching the interaction, which basically consisted of Rocco’s eyes glued to hers with a sly smile.
“Does she talk or just glare?” Rocco asked, and then finally turned away to face her brother, even though he couldn’t see her through her sunglasses.
Hiking her bag up higher on her shoulder, she pushed past him into the house. “Occasionally, I beat up the clients too,” she sassed, not bothering to look over her shoulder as she spoke.
He laughed at the same time as Joey groaned, and she could faintly hear her brother apologizing to Rocco on her behalf.
“I’m going to grab the rest of your stuff,” Joey said to Annie as he went back to the car. “Please behave.” Then he turned to Rocco, “You sure you wouldn’t want someone else?”
She could hear Rocco laughing from where she was by the living room. “No. She’s perfect.”
“Where can I put this?” she called out, lifting her bag so he could see it from the door. Rocco walked to her and attempted to take the duffel from her, but she sidestepped him. “I don’t need you to carry my stuff. I’m perfectly capable. Just point me in the right direction.”
The smirk didn’t leave his face, and it became perfectly clear at that moment that the more she sassed him, the more he liked it. As if she were a challenge.
Men.
Leaning closely he whispered, “I will never doubt you’re perfectly capable. This is about me being a gentleman. And I’d like to carry it, not because you can’t handle it, but because I don’t want you to have to handle it.” He took the bag from her arm and turned around, not giving her a chance to answer. “You coming, Tiger?”
Tiger? A sudden pang of memories flooded her and she stood frozen in place.
“Annie?”
She shook the cobwebs from her head and straightened. “Sorry. Right behind you.”
He smiled, and those infamous dimples dipped deep into his cheeks. Fuck, he was going to be trouble. She was unaccustomed to men being so attentive to her. Like she was . . . fragile.
As much as she hated to admit it, it was nice.
Even Derek, who she had loved with all her heart, had rarely done anything chivalrous for her. Maybe it was because they’d been in the middle of Kandahar and she didn’t need to be taken care of. Or maybe he wasn’t the kind of man who liked to hold open doors or carry a woman’s bag. Whatever the reason was, she’d never know.
Annie huffed but looked down to hide the heat that had crawled up her cheek. She didn’t want Rocco to know how he’d affected her.
Instead, she followed him up the wrought-iron stairs, taking in the house as she went.
She’d expected some big ostentatious Hollywood movie star mansion. Either done in stark minimalist modern or opulent gilt and glamour. Instead she found a beautifully cozy home, in an expensive part of Miami, but not the most expensive. According to her research, it was a three-bedroom, four-bath home purchased more than ten years ago, back when he was a rising star.
The décor was warm and very homey, the walls painted in different tones of white. Comfy-looking leather couches were the focal point of the open layout of the first floor and books lined a big built-in shelving unit. Behind it, a large picture window showcased a kidney-shaped pool surrounded by trees. From what she could see it was a decent size pool, but nothing too decadent. Thanks to Google Maps, she knew that beyond the pool there was a small dock and the bay, where most neighbors parked their boats. As far she knew, he didn’t have a boat.
It was lovely, all of it. But unexpectedly subdued.
