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CHAPTER ELEVEN

A FEW HOURS into the reception Sierra finally started to relax. The memories that had mocked her were starting to recede; her father’s grip not, thankfully, as tight as she’d feared it was. She avoided reporters with their difficult, probing questions and chatted with various guests and staff about innocuous things: New York, London, the latest films. She was actually having a good time.

The three glasses of champagne helped, too.

‘This is the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen,’ she told a waiter as she studied the chocolate fountain with floating strawberries. He smiled politely and a firm hand touched her elbow. Even though Sierra couldn’t see who it was, she felt it through her marrow. Marco.

‘You’re not drunk, are you?’

‘Drunk? Thanks very much.’ She turned around, misjudging the distance, and nearly poured her half-full flute of champagne onto his front. Marco caught her hand and liberated her glass. ‘Slightly tipsy only,’ she amended at his wry look. ‘But this is a fun party.’

Marco drew her aside, away from the waiter and guests. ‘You seemed tense earlier. Even upset. Was it something I said?’ Concern drew his straight dark eyebrows together, his wonderful mouth drawn into a frowning line.

‘No,’ Sierra answered. ‘It wasn’t something you said.’

‘Are you sure?’

She nodded, knowing she couldn’t explain it to him here, and maybe not ever. The deeper things got with Marco, the harder it became to come clean about her past. She didn’t want to hurt him, and yet if they were to have any future at all she knew she needed to explain. He needed to understand.

But why was she even thinking about a future? They were just having a fling. And they hadn’t even had it yet.

‘When is the ball tonight?’

‘Not for a few hours. But if you’d like to retire upstairs and get ready, you can. You’ve shown your face here. You’ve done enough.’ He paused, and then rested a hand on her arm. ‘Thank you, Sierra.’

* * *

Marco watched Sierra head towards the lift, a frown on his face. She’d looked so pale and shaky when she’d first come to the opening, almost ill. Something was wrong and he had no idea what it was.

At least she’d rallied, smiling and talking with guests, her natural charm and friendliness coming to the fore. She’d maybe rallied a little too much, judging by the amount of champagne she’d imbibed. The thought made him smile.

He was looking forward to seeing Sierra tonight at the ball, and then after. Most definitely after.

‘Mr Ferranti, do you have anything to say about Sierra Rocci’s presence at the opening today?’

Marco turned to see one of the tabloid reporters smirking at him.

‘No, I do not.’

‘You were engaged to Sierra Rocci seven years ago, were you not?’ the weedy young man pressed. ‘And she broke off the engagement at the last moment? Left you standing at the altar?’ He smirked again and Marco stiffened, longing to wipe that smug look off the man’s face.

He hadn’t considered the press resurrecting that old story. His engagement to Sierra had been kept quiet back then; Arturo had wanted a quiet ceremony, not wanting to expose Sierra to media scrutiny. Marco had been glad to agree.

‘Well?’ The reporter smirked, eyebrows raised.

‘No comment,’ Marco bit out tersely, and stalked off.

* * *

‘You can look in the mirror now.’

‘Thank you.’ Sierra smiled at the stylist, Diana, whom Marco had arranged to do her hair and make-up for the ball. It had been a nice surprise to emerge from an hour-long soak in the sunken marble tub to find a woman ready to be her fairy godmother.

Now Sierra turned around and gazed at her reflection in the full-length mirror, catching her breath on a gasp of surprise.

‘Oh, my goodness...’

‘My sentiments exactly,’ Diana agreed cheerfully.

Sierra raised one hand to touch the curls that were piled on top of her head, a few trailing down to rest beguilingly on her shoulder. Diamond clips sparkled from the honeyed mass and when she turned her head they caught the light. Her make-up was understated and yet somehow transformed her face; she had smoky eyes, endless lashes, sculpted cheekbones and lush pink lips.

‘I had no idea make-up could do so much,’ she exclaimed and leaned forward to peer at herself more closely.

Diana laughed. ‘I didn’t use that much make-up. Just enough to enhance what was already there.’

‘Even so.’ Sierra shook her head, marvelling. She had never worn make-up as a teenager, and she hadn’t changed much during her years in London. Now, however, she could see the advantages.

Her gaze dropped from her face to her dress. She’d chosen the dress Marco had seen her in, the silvery-blue column of silk with the diamanté belt around her waist. Looking at herself in the dress made her face warm and her blood heat as she remembered how Marco had unzipped it. How he’d put his hands on her hips and pulled her towards him and she’d gone, craving the feel of him, desperately wanting more.

‘I wonder if I put a bit too much blusher on,’ Diana mused and, with a suppressed laugh, Sierra turned away from the mirror.

‘I’m sure it’s fine.’

Marco was getting ready just across the hall, and she couldn’t wait to see him. She couldn’t wait for him to see her, and for this wonderful, enchanted evening to begin. No matter what had happened before or might lie ahead, she wanted to truly be Cinderella and enjoy this one magical night. The clock wasn’t going to strike just yet.

Marco knocked softly on her bedroom door and, with a conspiratorial grin, Diana went to answer it. ‘I’ll tell him you’re coming in a moment. You’re going to knock his socks off, you know.’

Sierra smiled back, one hand pressed to her middle to soothe the seething nerves that had started in her stomach. She didn’t want anything to ruin this night.

Diana told Marco with surprising bossiness to wait for Sierra downstairs and, after taking the filmy matching wrap and beaded bag, Sierra opened the door and headed out.

She walked down the spiral staircase carefully; the last thing she wanted was to go flying down the stairs and fall flat on her face.

She saw Marco before he saw her; he was standing by the windows, staring out at the city where the sky was lit up with streaks of vivid orange and umber, a spectacular summer sunset.

Her heels clicked on the wrought iron and he turned around, going completely still as he caught sight of her. Sierra couldn’t tell anything from his face; his perfect features were completely blank as his silvery-grey gaze swept over her.

She came to the bottom of the staircase, her heart starting to beat hard. ‘Do I...? Is everything all right?’

Suddenly she wondered if she had lipstick on her teeth or she’d experienced some unknown wardrobe malfunction.

Then Marco’s face cleared and he stepped forward, taking her hands in his. ‘You have stolen my breath along with my words. You are magnificent, Sierra.’

A smile spread across her face as he squeezed her hands. ‘You look pretty good yourself.’

Actually he looked amazing. The crisp white tuxedo shirt was the perfect foil for his olive skin, and the tailored midnight-dark tuxedo emphasised the perfect, powerful musculature of his body. Marco wasn’t the only one who was breathless.

He touched her cheek with his fingertips, and the small touch seemed to Sierra like a promise of things to come. Wonderful things to come. ‘We should go, if you’re ready.’

‘I am.’

The gala was in the hotel’s ballroom, several floors below the penthouse yet with the same spectacular view from every side. Sierra stepped into the huge room with a soft gasp of appreciation. The room was as sleekly spare and elegant as the hotel foyer, letting the view be its main decoration. Tuxedo-clad waiters circulated with trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres and a string quartet played softly from a dais in one corner of the room. Sierra turned to Marco, her eyes shining.

‘Did you have some say in this room, too?’

‘Maybe a little.’ He smiled, taking her by the hand to draw her into the ball. ‘Let me introduce you.’

Sierra had never particularly liked social occasions, thanks to her father’s silent, menacing pressure. Even in London she’d preferred quiet gatherings to parties or bars, and yet tonight those old inhibitions fell away. It felt different now, when she was at Marco’s side. When she felt safe and confident and valued.

But not loved. Never loved.

She pushed that niggling reminder to the back of her mind as Marco introduced her to various guests—stars, socialites, business types and the odd more ordinary people, and Sierra chatted with them all. Laughed and drank champagne and felt dizzy with a new, surprising elation.

After a few hours Marco pulled her away from a crowd of women she’d been chatting with, plucking the half-drunk glass of champagne from her fingertips and thrusting it at a waiter, who whisked it away.

‘What is it...?’ Sierra began, only to have her words fall away as Marco drew her onto the dance floor.

His gaze was hooded and intent, the colour of his eyes like molten silver as his hands slid down to her hips and he anchored her against him.

‘Dance with me.’

Sierra felt as if the breath had been vacuumed from her lungs as she wordlessly nodded, placing her hands on his broad shoulders, the fabric of his tuxedo jacket crisp underneath her fingers.

The string quartet was playing a lovely, lazy melody, something you could sway to as you lost your soul. And Sierra knew she was in danger of losing hers, of losing everything to this man. Tonight she wasn’t going to worry, wasn’t even going to care. She’d let herself fall and in the morning she’d think about picking up the broken pieces.

‘It seems like the ball is going well,’ Sierra said as they swayed to the music. ‘Are you pleased?’

‘Very pleased. The hotel is booked solid for the next three months. That’s in part because of you.’

‘A very small part,’ Sierra answered. ‘You’re the one who put in all the hard work. I’m proud of you, Marco.’ She smiled shyly. ‘I know you told me how much your job meant to you, but I realised why tonight. You’re good at this. You were meant for this.’

Marco didn’t speak for a few seconds; a muscle flickered in his jaw and he seemed to struggle with some emotion. ‘Thank you,’ he said finally. ‘That means a great to deal to me.’

The song ended and another one began, and neither Marco nor Sierra moved from the dance floor. She felt as if she could stay here for ever, or at least until Marco finally, thankfully took her upstairs.

‘You are the most beautiful woman in the world tonight.’ Marco’s voice was low, his tone too sincere for her to argue with.

‘As long as you think so,’ Sierra murmured.

His eyes blazed for a second, thrilling her, and he pulled her even closer to him. ‘Do you mean that?’

‘Yes,’ she said simply. After everything that had happened, everything he’d made her feel, she knew there could be no dissembling.

Marco drew a shuddering, steadying breath and eased her a little bit away from him as he smiled wryly. ‘I don’t want to disgrace myself here.’

She smiled, the curve of her lips coy. ‘Then disgrace yourself upstairs.’

Regret flashed across his features like a streak of pain. ‘We can’t leave the ball yet.’

‘Do you have to stay to the end?’ Some of the socialites and celebrities seemed ready to party until dawn.

‘No,’ Marco answered firmly. ‘And even if I needed to, I wouldn’t. I can’t last that long without touching you, Sierra. Without being inside you.’

The huskily spoken words sent a spear of pure pleasure knifing through her. ‘Good.’

Marco shook his head. ‘Keep looking at me like that and I really won’t last.’

‘How am I looking?’ Sierra asked with deliberate innocence.

‘Like that.’ He pulled her closer again. ‘Like you want to eat me.’

‘Maybe I do.’ A blush pinkened her cheeks but she held his heated gaze. She could hardly believe the audacity of her words, and yet she meant them. Utterly.

Marco groaned softly. ‘Do you enjoy torturing me?’

‘Yes,’ she answered with a shameless smile. ‘It’s payback for the way you tortured me this morning.’

His gaze swept over her body. ‘That was torture for me, as well. Sweet, sweet torture.’

She felt as if she could melt beneath the heat of his gaze. Or maybe combust. She’d felt an intense excitement spiralling up inside her from the moment Marco had taken her onto the dance floor, and it was overwhelming now. The need for him was a physical craving, so fierce and wonderful she was helpless to its demand.

Her tongue shot out and dampened her lips as she gave him a look of complete yearning. ‘Marco...’

‘We’re going,’ Marco bit out. ‘Now.’ His long, lean fingers encircled her wrist as he led her purposefully from the dance floor.

In any other circumstance Sierra would have baulked at being led from the ballroom like a sulky schoolgirl or a flagrant harlot. Now the need was too much to feel even a twinge of embarrassment or anger. She just wanted to get upstairs fast.

Marco muttered a few words to one of his staff standing by the door, and then they were out in the hall, the air cool on Sierra’s heated cheeks. A few guests loitering there shot them speculative looks, but Marco ignored them all. He stabbed the button for the penthouse lift and Sierra held her breath until the doors opened and Marco pulled her inside.