Читать книгу Italian Maverick's Collection - Кейт Хьюит - Страница 29

CHAPTER TEN

MARCO STRETCHED OUT on the sofa, handling business calls while Sierra tried on outfit after outfit, shyly pirouetting in front of him in each one. He couldn’t think of a better way to spend his time than watch Sierra model clothes. Actually, he could. He’d like to spend his time taking the clothes off her.

She’d started with modest day outfits, but even tailored skirts and crisp blouses sent his heart rate skyrocketing. He wanted to slip those pearl buttons from their holes and part the silky fabric to see the even silkier skin beneath. He wanted to shimmy that pencil skirt off her slim hips.

Instead he issued a terse command to the fawning assistant. ‘We’ll take them all.’

Sierra was in the dressing room and didn’t hear him; a few minutes later she came out, frowning uncertainly. ‘I think maybe that blue shift dress might be the best choice...’

‘You can decide later,’ Marco answered indulgently. It amused him that Sierra thought he was going to be satisfied by simply buying her a single outfit. What kind of man did she think he was?

A man who was falling in love with her.

The words froze inside him, turned everything to ice. He couldn’t be falling in love. He didn’t do love. He’d seen what it had done to his mother. He’d felt what it had done to him. Waiting for someone who wasn’t going to come back, who didn’t feel the same way. His mother. Sierra. And he hadn’t even loved Sierra, back then. Did he want to set himself up for an even harder fall?

No, he was not falling in love with her. He was just enjoying himself. And yes, he might be thinking about what might have been; it was damned hard not to. Seeing Sierra in her element, where she belonged, every inch the Rocci heiress, her desire shining in her eyes...how could he not think about it?

‘What do you think about this one?’ Sierra emerged from the dressing room in an evening gown, a blush touching her cheeks. Marco stared at her, his whole body going rigid. The dress was a long, elegant column of grey-blue silk that matched her eyes perfectly. A diamanté belt encircled her narrow waist, and her hair was loose and tousled about her shoulders.

Marco couldn’t even think when he saw her in that dress. ‘We’ll take it.’ He bit the words out gruffly, and Sierra’s eyes widened.

‘But if you don’t like it...’

‘I like it.’ From the corner of his eye Marco saw an assistant smile behind her hand. ‘Please go wrap up the other outfits,’ he barked and she melted back into the boutique, leaving them alone.

‘The other outfits?’ Sierra frowned. ‘But I thought you were just buying the blue dress.’

‘You thought wrong.’ He stalked towards her and to his satisfaction he could see a pulse begin to hammer in her throat. ‘I’m buying them all, Sierra. I want to see you in them all.’

She pressed a hand to her fluttering pulse as she swallowed convulsively. ‘There are a few more evening gowns to try on...’

‘And I want you to try them on. But I think I’d better help you with the zipper on that dress.’

Her eyes had gone huge, as blue and glassy as twin mountain lakes. Her pink lips parted, and when her tongue darted out to moisten them, Marco groaned.

‘The assistant...’ she murmured and he shook his head, everything in him demanding that he touch her. Now.

‘Is gone. I’ll do it.’ Gently but purposefully, he pushed her back into the dressing room, drawing the thick brocade curtain closed behind them. The space was private, the silence hushed and expectant. After a second when she just stared at him, Sierra turned and offered him her back.

Marco moved the heavy, honeyed mass of her hair, revelling in the softness of it as it slipped through his fingers. With the nape of her neck bare he couldn’t keep from kissing her. He brushed his lips against the tender skin and felt her whole body shudder in response.

She swayed against him silently and he put his hands on her shoulders to steady her. Desire raged through him, a fierce and overwhelming need that obliterated all rational thought. He’d take her right in this dressing room if she’d let him, but he didn’t want their first time together to be urgent and rushed. No, he’d take his time, prolong the exquisite agony.

Slowly Marco drew the zip down the dress, the snick of the fabric parting one of the most erotic sounds he’d ever heard.

The strapless dress slipped from her body, leaving her bare, her skin golden and perfect. He slid his hands around her waist, spanning it easily, and then, because he couldn’t keep himself from it, he slid them up to cup her breasts, his thumbs flicking over her nipples, his hands full of her lush softness.

Sierra sagged against him, her breath coming out in a shudder. Marco pushed into her, and she gasped again at the feel of his arousal against her bottom.

When she pushed back gently, her hips nudging him with intent, he almost abandoned his resolution to take his time. It would be so easy, so overwhelmingly satisfying, to pull her dress up and bury himself inside her right then and there.

He slid his hands back down to her hips, anchoring her against him, pushing into her and having her push back, their bodies moving in an ancient rhythm. Sierra’s breath caught on a gasp and her whole body went tense. Marco knew she was close to climaxing, just from this. Hell, so was he.

‘Mr Ferranti?’ The musical trill of the assistant’s voice caused reality to rush in. Sierra stiffened and reluctantly Marco eased back.

‘We’re not finished here,’ he told her in a low voice.

Sierra let out a laugh that sounded close to a sob. ‘Dear heaven, I hope not.’

He smiled as he kissed the nape of her neck once more and then slipped from the dressing room to deal with the ill-timed assistant.

* * *

As soon as Marco had gone Sierra sank onto one of the padded benches, the dress pooling around her waist, her head in her hands. Her whole body trembled with the aftershocks of his touch. She’d been so close to losing control, and simply by the feel of his body pressing into hers. And as amazed and mortified as she felt that she’d been so shameless in a public dressing room, the overwhelming feeling she had now was a desire to rush out of this shop, jump in a limo and race back to the hotel where Marco could make good on his promise.

We’re not finished.

Not, Sierra hoped, by a long shot.

‘Sierra?’ Marco called, his voice sounding crisply professional and not as if he were remotely affected by what had just happened between them. ‘We should be getting on. You’ll need to leave some time to get ready and I have a few things to finish before the opening.’

‘Of course.’ Hurriedly, she slithered out of the evening gown. ‘Let me just get dressed.’ She yanked on her jeans and pulled her T-shirt over her head, finger-combing her tousled hair as she slipped from the dressing room, her body still weak and trembling from their encounter. Marco, of course, looked completely unruffled. Maybe this was a normal experience for him. ‘What about the evening gown...?’ she asked, glad her voice came out sounding even.

‘We’re taking them all,’ Marco informed her blithely. ‘The assistant will have them wrapped and sent to the hotel. It’s all taken care of.’

‘Taking all of the evening gowns? But I didn’t even try them on.’

‘I’m sure you’ll look fabulous in them. And if you don’t like any of them, I’ll arrange for them to be returned.’ Marco took her elbow. ‘Now, the limo is waiting.’

Sierra let herself be ushered out of the store, amazed by the whole experience, from the sheer number of clothes Marco had bought her to the exciting interlude in the dressing room.

‘You make everything seem so easy,’ she commented as she slid into the limo. ‘Like the world is at your fingertips, or even your feet.’

Marco gave her a quick smile as he checked his phone. ‘I’ve worked hard to have it be so.’

‘I know you have. But do you ever...do you ever feel like pinching yourself, that this is your reality?’

For a second Marco’s gaze became distant, shuttered. Then he turned back to his phone. ‘Money doesn’t buy everything,’ he said, his voice clipped. ‘No matter how many people think so, it can’t make you happy.’

The honest statement, delivered as it was so matter-of-factly, both surprised and moved her. ‘Are you happy, Marco?’

He glanced up with a wolfish grin. ‘I was very happy with you in the dressing room. And I intend to be even happier before the day is done.’

She felt a flush spread across her body as her insides tingled. She knew Marco was deliberately avoiding a serious conversation, but she wanted him too much to care. ‘I hope you do mean that.’

He paused, lowering his phone. ‘I do mean it, Sierra. I want you very badly. So badly I almost lost control in a dressing room, which is something I’ve never done before.’

‘You haven’t?’ she teased, trying to ignore the jealousy that spiked through her. ‘I imagine you’ve got quite a lot of experience under your belt.’

‘Not as much as you probably think, but I know my way around.’ Her face heated even more and she looked away. Yes, he most certainly did. ‘What about you?’ he asked abruptly. ‘You must have had lovers over the last seven years.’ She opened her mouth to admit the truth but before she could he held up a hand. ‘Never mind. I don’t want to know.’ His face had hardened into implacable lines, and his eyes blazed. ‘But make no mistake, Sierra. I want you. Tonight.’

‘I want you, too,’ she whispered.

His gaze swept over her, searching, assessing. ‘We’re not who we were seven years ago. Things are different now.’

‘I know.’ She lifted her chin and met his gaze directly. ‘I know what this is, Marco. We’re in an amazing city for a short period of time and we happen to be attracted to each other. Very attracted. So why shouldn’t we act on it?’ She smiled, raising her eyebrows, making it sound so simple. As if she had had this kind of experience before. ‘It’s a fling.’

‘Yes,’ Marco said slowly. ‘That’s exactly what it is.’

Back in the hotel, Marco disappeared into the office to deal with some business before the opening while Sierra headed upstairs to the penthouse. The elegant lobby was bustling with staff as they prepared for the champagne and chocolate reception that would immediately follow the opening. And then, tonight, the ball...

Staff hurried and worked around her as she walked towards the private penthouse lift. One middle-aged man caught her eye and executed a stiff bow. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Rocci. I hope you find everything to your satisfaction.’

‘Yes, yes, of course,’ Sierra nearly stammered. She was shaken by the way the man knew her, knew she was a Rocci. She hadn’t truly been a Rocci in seven years. She’d turned her back on it all, and in that moment the memories came back in a sickening rush—the hotel openings so different from the modern elegance of The Rocci New York and yet so frighteningly familiar.

‘Miss Rocci? Are you all right?’ The man who had spoken to her before touched her elbow cautiously and Sierra realised she must have looked unwell. She felt sick and faint, and she reached out a hand to the lift door to steady herself.

‘I’m fine. Thank you. I just haven’t eaten today.’

‘I’ll have something sent up to your room.’

‘Thank you,’ Sierra murmured. ‘I appreciate it.’

The lift doors opened and she stepped inside, grateful for the privacy. For a few seconds she’d heard her father’s voice, felt his hand pinch her in warning as they mounted the steps of one hotel or another.

Be a good girl, Sierra. Smile for everyone.

She could hear the implied threat in his voice, the promise of punishment if she didn’t behave, all against the background of a crowd’s expectant murmurings, the clink of crystal...

The lift doors opened and Sierra stumbled out into the penthouse’s living area, the city stretching all around her, one hand clamped to her mouth. She swallowed down the bile and then hurried upstairs to the freestanding kitchen units and poured herself a glass of water. Dear heaven, she couldn’t fall apart now. Not when the opening was about to start, everyone was waiting for her. Marco was depending on her.

Sierra closed her eyes, memory and regret and fear coursing through her in unrelenting waves. She didn’t want to let Marco down. How much had changed in such a short time—six weeks ago she’d been hoping never to see him again.

And now...now she was hoping he’d make love to her tonight. She wanted to stand by his side at the opening and make him proud. She was halfway to falling in love with him.

Sierra’s eyes snapped open. What? How could she be? She’d always avoided and disdained love, seen how her mother had prostrated herself at its altar and lost her soul. And now she was poised to fall in love with a man she still didn’t entirely trust? Or maybe it was herself she didn’t trust. She didn’t trust herself to keep her head straight and her heart safe.

She was inexperienced when it came to romance or sex, and here she was, contemplating a fling? For a second Sierra wondered what on earth she was doing. And then she remembered the feel of Marco’s hands on her, his body behind her, and a shiver of sheer longing went through her. She knew what she was doing—and she needed to do it.

And as for the opening... She glanced at the clock above the sink and saw with a lurch of alarm that the opening was in less than an hour. An hour until she had to face Marco and the crowds of people who would be watching her, knowing she was a Rocci who had fallen from grace. Her stomach clenched and she half wished she could cry off, even as she acknowledged that she would never leave Marco in the lurch, publicly humiliated and alone. It would be almost as bad as leaving him at the altar.

She took a deep breath and willed her nerves back. Lifted her chin and straightened her shoulders. Show no fear. She could do this.

* * *

Marco paced the foyer of the hotel as the reporters, celebrities and guests attending the opening of The Rocci New York waited outside the frosted glass doors. It was three minutes past two o’clock and Sierra was meant to be down here. He’d already sent a staff member upstairs to check on her; she’d promised to be down shortly. He’d thought of going up himself, but some sense, or perhaps just an innate sense of caution, had stopped him. What if she didn’t want to see him now?

‘We should start...’ Antony, the head of the hotel, looked nervously at the waiting crowds.

‘We can’t start without a Rocci,’ Marco snapped. He felt his ‘less than’ status as the non-Rocci CEO keenly then, but worse, he felt it as a man. Sierra’s lateness was too powerful a reminder of another time he’d been kept waiting.

Another time he’d felt the blood drain from his head and the hope from his heart as he’d realised once again someone wasn’t coming back. Wasn’t coming at all.

He blinked back the memories, willed back the hurt and fear. This was different. He and Sierra were both different now.

Then the lift doors opened and she stepped out, looking ethereally lovely in a mint-green shift dress—and very pale. Her gaze darted round the empty foyer and then to the front doors where the crowd gathered, waiting; she took a deep breath and threw her shoulders back. Marco frowned and started forward.

Sierra saw his frown and faltered and Marco caught her hands in his; they were icy.

‘Sierra, are you all right?’

‘Yes...’

‘You look ill.’

‘Jet lag.’ She didn’t quite meet his gaze. ‘Everything has been such a whirlwind.’

But he knew it couldn’t just be jet lag. As beautiful as she was and always would be to him, she looked awful. ‘Sierra, if you’re not up for it...’ he began, only to stop. She had to be up for it. The security of the company and his place at its head rested on having a Rocci at this opening.

And yet in that moment he knew if she said she wasn’t, he would accept her word.

‘I’m fine, Marco.’ She squeezed his hands lightly and gave him what he suspected was meant to be a smile. ‘Really, I am. Let’s do this.’

* * *

Sierra watched as Marco scanned her face like a doctor looking for broken bones. She knew she must look truly awful for him to seem so worried and she tried to dredge up some confidence and composure. It was just the memories. So many of them, crowding her in like jeering ghosts. She wanted to drown out the babble of their voices but it was hard. She hadn’t been at an opening like this since she was a teenager, her father’s hand hard on her elbow, his voice in her ear.

Be good, Sierra. With the awful implied or else.

Finally Marco nodded and let go of her hands. ‘All right. The crowd is waiting.’

‘I’m sorry I’m late.’ She’d been trying not to be sick.

‘It’s fine.’ He strode towards the front doors and resolutely, holding her head high, Sierra followed.

A staff member opened the doors and Sierra stepped out into the shimmering heat and the snap and flash of dozens of cameras. She recoiled instinctively before she forced herself to stop and straighten. Foolishly, perhaps, she hadn’t realised quite how big a deal the hotel opening would be, bigger than any of the ones her father had arranged, but then she hadn’t considered Marco’s ambition and drive.

Marco had stepped up to a microphone and was welcoming the guests and media, his voice smooth and urbane, his English flawless. Sierra stood stiffly, trying to smile, until Marco’s words began to penetrate.

‘I know Arturo Rocci, my mentor and greatest friend, would be so proud to be here with us, and to see his daughter cutting the ribbon today. Arturo believed passionately in the values that gird every Rocci hotel. He valued hard work, excellent service and, of course, family ties.’ He glanced at Sierra, who stood frozen, her stomach churning. She hadn’t expected Marco to mention her father. She couldn’t keep his words from washing over her like an acid rain, corroding everything.

The crowd clapped and someone pressed an overlarge pair of gilded scissors into her hand. The silver satin ribbon that stretched across the steps glinted in the sunlight.

‘Sierra?’ Marco asked, his voice low.

Somehow she moved forward and snipped the ribbon. As it fell away the crowd cheered and then Marco took her elbow and led her inside to the cool sanctuary of the foyer.

‘You don’t look well.’

‘I’m sorry, it must be the heat. And the jet lag.’ And the memories. And her father’s ghost, hurting her from the grave. Marco still believing the best of him, and she could hardly fault him. She hadn’t said anything, hadn’t thought it was necessary. And when she’d been planning never to see Marco again, it hadn’t been. But now? Now, when she was thinking of something actually happening between them?

‘Do you want to sit down?’ Marco asked. ‘Catch your breath?’

Sierra shook her head. ‘I’m fine, Marco. I came here for this, and I’ll see it through.’ She plucked a flute of champagne from a waiter’s tray. She definitely needed some liquid courage. Guests were starting to stream into the foyer, chatting and taking pictures. ‘Let the party begin,’ she said, and raised her glass in a determined toast.