Deadly Games - Cate Noble [49]
He’d kept his own childhood stories light, making jokes about growing up poor, in a Kentucky trailer park. He’d never known his biological father, but the presence of a caring grandfather had kept misery at bay for Rocco and his sister.
After a leisurely supper, he’d taken Gena for a moonlight stroll along the beach. When the night breeze picked up, they’d hurried back to the cabana and built a fire in the living room while waiting for the hot tub to heat. Rocco had gotten up to refill their wineglasses only to discover they’d emptied the bottle.
“Red or white?” he had called out from the kitchen.
When Gena didn’t respond, he’d retraced his steps and found her zonked. Sound asleep atop a nest of pillows in front of the fireplace.
Seeing her lying there nearly naked, wearing only a tiny bikini, had been torturous. Deliciously torturous. He decided to take advantage of her snooze and slipped into the bathroom, where he’d promptly jerked off in the shower.
What he’d told himself was the chivalrous thing to do, to not scare the bejesus out of her by waking her up with a giant woodie, now made him feel lecherous.
It didn’t help that, asleep, she looked way too young. Not twenty-three, but more like a seventeen-year-old who’d donned make-up and styled her hair to look more mature.
Rocco didn’t feel especially old, until he thought about Gena being twenty-three going on twenty-four, which meant he was twenty-nine going on thirty. Thirty felt ancient.
She was just starting out in life. And him? He’d lived three lifetimes.
She was living alone for the very first time. He’d lived alone forever. She was working her first full-time job. He’d had a lawn-mowing business at eight.
And while Gena had a trust fund that afforded her a different standard of living, she didn’t act spoiled or haughty. In fact, he’d seen glimpses of her tomboy side that she tried to keep hidden. He’d heard her infectious belly laugh, the one that wasn’t ladylike.
It was one of the things he adored about her. Her joie de vivre. Gena always smiled. She always made him smile.
When they were apart—which was too often these days—he thought of nothing but getting back to her. Hell, he hadn’t even thought of another woman since first laying eyes on Gena Armstrong.
Rocco had been hot for her since day one, six months ago, when she’d shown up as the replacement linguist on a job in Mexico. An all-male job, in an area known to be hazardous. What numskull had sent a woman there? While anyone who’d racked up three beauty queen titles had to be aware of her own looks, Gena still underestimated her impact on the opposite sex.
Rocco had privately appointed himself her bodyguard, not just to protect her from the local riffraff, but from the Agency horndogs as well.
And though she had done an exceptional job translating original material and confirming his suspicion that the Mexican government’s translator had held back mission-critical data, Rocco had had her replaced before anyone could say “distraction.”
But the moment that job wrapped, Rocco had requested a hometown assignment, something that put him in D.C., closer to Gena. Then he’d actively pursued her. Though they both worked for the State Department, they were in separate divisions, so no conflict of interest.
Gena rebuffed his attempts at first. When she finally gave in and agreed to meet him for lunch, he’d known he’d never be the same. She beguiled him but kept him at arm’s length. They’d dated five times before she let him kiss her. But, Holy Moses, what a kiss!
After that things seemed to heat up, to a point, before Gena called time out. He’d guessed she was a virgin before she admitted it. True innocence couldn’t be faked.
He’d tried to assure her he was fine with waiting, even though he wanted her with a desperation that scared him. Mr. Afraid of Commitment suddenly found himself interested in engagement rings.
Then a black ops mission came up. Rocco had been sent off to Afghanistan without being able to contact anyone.