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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

BY THE TIME Sierra emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later she’d managed to restore her composure. Cloak herself in numbness, just like she used to during her father’s rages. Strange that she was using the same coping mechanisms now, after the most intimate and frankly wonderful experience of her life, as she had then.

She unlocked the door to the bathroom and stepped out, thankfully swathed in an enormous terry-cloth dressing gown. Marco was sitting in bed, his back propped against the pillows, his legs stretched out in front of him, his arms folded. His face was unsmiling.

‘Better?’

‘Yes.’ She tucked her hair behind her ears and came gingerly towards the bed. What was the fling protocol now? Should she thank him for a lovely time and beat it to her own bedroom? That was what she wanted to do. She wanted an out, even if the prospect filled her with an almost unbearable loneliness.

Marco arched an eyebrow. ‘You’re not actually thinking of leaving my bed, are you?’

It disconcerted her that he could guess her thought processes so easily. ‘I thought... I thought maybe it was best.’

‘Best? How so?’ There was a dangerous silky tone to Marco’s voice that she remembered from when she’d first seen him at the lawyer’s office, and then at the villa. It made alarm prickle along her spine and she took an instinctive step backwards.

‘You no doubt want your space, as do I. We know what this is, Marco.’

‘What is it?’

‘A fling.’ She forced herself to say the words, to state it plainly. ‘We’re agreed on that. Nothing’s changed.’ Even if she felt as if her whole world had shattered when Marco had made love to her.

Love... How had she not realised how dangerous this would be? How had she not seen how much a so-called fling would affect her?

‘And does having a fling mean we can’t sleep together?’ Marco bit out. ‘Does it mean you’ve got to hightail it from my bed as if you’ve been scalded?’

Sierra stared at him in surprise, understanding trickling through her. He was hurt. He’d taken her sprint to the bathroom as a personal slight. The realisation softened her, evened out the balance of power she’d felt so keenly had been in his favour.

‘Maybe you ought to tell me what the rules are. Since I’ve obviously never been in this situation before.’

‘I haven’t either, Sierra.’ Marco rubbed a hand across his jaw as he gazed at her starkly. ‘No other woman has made me feel the way you do.’

Sierra swallowed hard, a thousand feelings swarming her stomach like butterflies. Disbelief. Fear. Hope. Joy. ‘Marco...’

‘Don’t,’ he said roughly. ‘Like you said, we both know what this is. But you can still stay the night.’

‘Is that what you want?’

He hesitated, his jaw tight. ‘Yes,’ he finally bit out. ‘It is.’

‘It’s what I want, too,’ Sierra said softly.

‘Good.’ Marco held out his arms and she went to him easily. Suddenly it seemed like the simplest thing in the world to accept Marco’s embrace. Moments ago she’d wanted to escape, but now she felt there was no other place to be.

Sierra closed her eyes and snuggled against him, wondering how a supposed fling could be so confusing and make her feel so much.

* * *

Marco woke slowly, blinking in the sunlight that streamed through the huge windows. Sierra lay curled up in his arms, her cheek resting against his bare chest. They’d slept in each other’s arms all night, and Marco had marvelled at how good it had felt, how much he didn’t want to move. Even if he should. No matter what he’d said last night, this felt like more than a fling...to him.

Now he eased slowly from Sierra’s sleepy embrace and stole downstairs to the living area; dawn was streaking across the city sky and the first rays of sunlight were touching the skyscrapers of midtown in gold.

He gazed out of the window at the beautiful summer morning, but his thoughts were with the woman he’d left upstairs in bed. Sierra was supposed to fly back to England this afternoon. He’d booked her ticket himself. A few weeks ago it hadn’t seemed an issue. He’d convinced himself that he wanted her only to open the hotel, not in his bed. In his life. Maybe even in his heart.

Marco let out a shuddering breath and pressed his fists to his eyes. He couldn’t be in love with Sierra. He’d written off that useless emotion. He’d seen how people who supposedly loved you were able to walk away. His father. His mother. And even Sierra, seven years ago, although at least no love had been involved then. No, then it had only been a lifetime commitment. And if Sierra had been able to walk away from him then, how much more easily could she do it now?

He should let her go. Kiss her goodbye, thank her for the memories and watch her walk onto the plane and out of his life. That would be the sensible thing. It also made him recoil with instinctive, overwhelming revulsion. He didn’t want to do that. He wasn’t going to do that.

So what was he going to do?

Marco turned away from the window and reached for his laptop. He’d leave the question of Sierra for a little while, at least until she woke up and he got a read on what she was feeling.

He clicked on his home news page, freezing when he saw one of the celebrity headlines: A Rocci Reunion?

Quickly, he scanned the article, which covered the hotel opening yesterday. Very little was about the hotel; the journalist was far more interested in lurid speculation about the relationship between him and Sierra. There was even a blurry photo of him and Sierra slow-dancing last night, which infuriated him because no paparazzi had been invited to the private ball. It looked, he decided, like a snap someone had taken on their phone and then no doubt sold to the press.

Marco swore aloud.

‘Marco?’

He turned to see Sierra standing in the doorway, an uncertain look on her face. She was wearing that ridiculously huge dressing gown, her hair about her shoulders in tousled golden-brown waves. She looked delectable and yet also nervous.

‘Is something wrong?’ she asked, and she took a step towards him.

Marco glanced back at his laptop. ‘Not exactly,’ he hedged. He realised he had no idea what Sierra’s reaction to the news article would be. He didn’t even know what his was. Irritation that someone had so invaded his—their—privacy. And anger that someone was plundering their shared past for a sordid news story. And, underneath all that, Marco realised, he felt fear. Shameful, hateful fear, that Sierra would see this article and be the one to walk away first.

‘What does “not exactly” mean, Marco?’ Sierra’s gaze flicked to his laptop and then back to his face. He’d closed the browser window, thankfully, so she hadn’t seen the article. But he knew he couldn’t, in all good conscience, keep it from her.

‘We’ve made the news,’ he said after a pause. ‘Someone must have snapped a photo of us on their phone.’

‘On their phone? But why?’

‘To sell to a celebrity tabloid.’

‘A celebrity tabloid...’ She shook her head, bewilderment creasing her forehead. ‘But why would a celebrity tabloid want photos of us? I mean...I know I opened the hotel, but it’s not as if I’m actually famous.’ Her gaze widened. ‘Are you famous? I mean, that famous?’

‘We’re famous,’ Marco stated flatly. ‘Together. Because of our past.’

‘You mean...’

‘Yes. That’s exactly what I mean.’ He bit out each word, realising he was sounding angry, but he couldn’t keep himself from it. This was the last thing he wanted to have happen now.

‘What does it say?’

After a moment’s hesitation, Marco clicked to enlarge the browser window. ‘See for yourself.’

Sierra stepped forward, her mouth downturned into a frown as the gist of the article dawned on her. ‘“Will these star-crossed lovers find happiness off the dance floor?”’ she quoted, and then shook her head. ‘Goodness,’ she murmured faintly.

‘I’m sorry. Press were forbidden from coming to the ball. I had no idea something like this would happen.’

‘I had no idea our engagement seven years ago was so well known,’ Sierra said slowly. ‘I thought it had been a quiet affair.’

‘Not that quiet. Your father made a public announcement at a board meeting. It was in the papers.’

‘Of course. It was business to him. And to you.’ She spoke without rancour, and Marco let the comment pass.

The last thing he wanted to talk about now was what had happened all those years ago. He wanted to take Sierra back to bed and he wanted, he knew, for her to stay past this afternoon.

Sierra took a deep breath and turned to face him directly. ‘Do you mind? About the article?’

‘It’s an annoyance. I value my privacy, and yours, as well.’

‘Yes, but...’ She hesitated, fiddling with the sash of her robe. ‘Having it all in the papers? The fact that I...that I left you?’

Tension knotted between his shoulder blades. ‘It’s not something I particularly relish having bandied about,’ he answered, keeping his voice mild with effort. ‘But I’m not heartbroken, Sierra.’ He’d refused to be.

‘Of course not,’ she murmured and then nodded slowly. ‘I should get ready for my flight.’

‘Don’t.’ The word came out abruptly, a command he hadn’t intended to give.

She gazed at him, her eyebrows raised. ‘Don’t?’

‘Don’t get ready for your flight. Don’t go on your flight.’ He held her gaze, willing her to agree.

‘But the opening is over, Marco. I’m not needed here any more.’

‘Not needed, maybe.’ He paused, trying to find the right words. ‘We’re having fun, though, aren’t we?’

Her gaze widened. ‘Fun...’

‘Why should we end it so soon?’ Smiling, he reached for the sash of her robe and tugged on it gently, pulling her towards him. She went, a small smile curving her lips, and triumph roared through him. ‘Stay with me,’ he said when she’d come close enough for him to slide his hands under her robe, around her waist. Her skin was warm and silky soft. She let out a breathy little gasp of pleasure. ‘Stay with me a little while longer.’

‘I have a job, you know,’ she reminded him, but she didn’t sound as if it mattered much.

‘Teaching a few after-school lessons? Can’t you reschedule?’

She frowned slightly but didn’t move away. ‘Maybe.’

‘Then reschedule.’ He pulled her close enough so their hips collided and she could feel how much he wanted her. ‘Reschedule, and come with me to LA.’ A few more days with her, nights with her, and then perhaps he’d have had enough. Perhaps then he’d be willing to let her go.

* * *

It was amazing how tempted she was, and yet not amazing at all because what woman on earth could resist Marco Ferranti when his hands were on her skin and his smile was so seductive?

And yet...to leave her job, her obligations, her life back in London and go with him wherever he beckoned?

‘Sierra?’ Marco brushed her neck with his lips in a kiss that promised so much more. ‘You will come?’ He nibbled lightly on her neck and Sierra let out a helpless gasp of pleasure as she reached up to clutch his shoulders so she could steady herself.

‘Yes,’ she managed, knowing there had never really been any doubt. ‘Yes, I’ll come with you.’

Later, lying amidst the tangled sheets while she admired the view of Marco’s bare and perfect chest, Sierra finally summoned the mental energy to ask, ‘Why are you going to LA?’

‘I’m hoping to open the next North American Rocci hotel there.’

‘Hoping?’ Lazily, she ran her hand down the sculpted muscles of his chest, her fingers tracing the ridge of his abdomen before daring to dip lower.

Marco trapped her hand. ‘Minx. Wait a few minutes, at least.’

‘A few minutes?’ Sierra teased. ‘And here I thought you were some super stallion with superhero capabilities in the bedroom.’

‘I’ve just proved my capabilities in the bedroom,’ Marco growled as he rolled her over so he was on top of her, trapping her with his body. ‘But I’ll gladly prove it again.’

She smiled up at him, feeling sated and relaxed and happy. Happier than she’d been in a long time, perhaps ever. ‘So have you started plans for a hotel in LA?’

‘Preliminary plans.’ Marco released her, rolling onto his back, but he kept one hand lying on her stomach and Sierra found she liked it. She’d had so few loving touches in her life. Her mother had hugged her on occasion, and her father only in public, but to be caressed and petted and stroked. She felt like a cat. She could almost start purring.

‘What’s got you looking like the cat who’s just eaten the cream?’ Marco asked as he shot her an amused look and Sierra laughed.

‘I was just comparing myself to a cat, as it happens.’

‘Comparing yourself to a cat? Why?’

‘Because I like being touched. I feel like I could start purring.’

‘And I like touching you.’ Marco moved his hand from her stomach to her breasts and then Sierra almost did start purring. ‘Very much.’

They spent the day in bed. Although not technically in bed; some time around noon Marco ordered food in and they ate it downstairs in the living area, in their dressing gowns. And some time in the late afternoon Marco ran a deep bath full of scented bubbles and just as Sierra was about to sink into all that bliss he actually joined her.

Water sloshed out of the tub as Sierra scooted to one side and Marco settled himself comfortably, seeming undaunted by the bubbles that clung to his chest.

‘I didn’t realise you were going to get in with me,’ Sierra exclaimed, her voice coming out in a near squeak, and Marco arched an eyebrow.

‘Is that a problem?’

‘No, but...’ How could she explain how it felt even more intimate to share a bath with this man than what they’d done in the privacy of the bedroom? And the things they’d done...

Quickly, Sierra realised she was being ridiculous. ‘No, of course not,’ she said and slid over so she was next to Marco, their legs tangling under the water. ‘Actually, I can think of some interesting ways to wash.’

His gaze became hooded and sleepy as he watched her reach for the soap. ‘Can you?’

‘Oh, yes.’ Her embarrassment and uncertainty, after a day’s worth of thorough lovemaking, had fallen away. She felt confident, powerful in her knowledge of how much Marco desired her. ‘Yes, indeed,’ she murmured and she slid her soapy hands down his chest to his hips. After everything they’d done together that day she was amazed that Marco still desired her. But how could she be amazed, when she still desired him?

‘Sierra...’ His voice came out on a groan as she stroked his shaft. She loved giving him pleasure, loved knowing that she made him this way.

‘You’re going to kill me,’ he muttered and stayed her hand.

She arched an eyebrow. ‘But wouldn’t it be a good way to go?’

‘Yes indeed, but I have a lot more life in me yet,’ he answered, and then showed her just how much.

Twilight was falling over the city several hours later as Sierra lay in bed and watched Marco get dressed. ‘Are we going somewhere?’ she asked as he pulled on a crisply ironed dress shirt.

‘I have a business meeting,’ he said with one swift, apologetic look towards her. ‘It’s been wonderful playing hookey today, but I’ve got to make back sometime.’

‘Oh.’ Sierra pulled the rumpled duvet over her naked body. ‘Of course. So you’re going out?’

‘You can order whatever you like from room service,’ Marco said as he selected a cobalt-blue tie.

Sierra watched him slide his tie in his collar and knot it with crisp, precise movements. She felt uneasy, almost hurt, and she wasn’t quite sure why. Of course Marco had business meetings. Of course she couldn’t tag along with him, nor would she want to.

‘So.’ He turned back to her with a quick smile that didn’t reach his eyes. ‘I’ll see you later tonight. And tomorrow we’ll go to LA.’

‘I haven’t even dealt with my plane ticket...’

‘I cancelled it.’

She jerked back a little. ‘You did?’

Marco was sliding on his jacket and checking his watch. ‘Why should you worry about it?’

‘But I need to book an alternative return flight...’

He gave her a wolfish smile. ‘We don’t need to think about that now.’ Then he was dropping a distracted kiss on her forehead and hurrying out of the suite, all while she lay curled up in a crumpled duvet and wondered what she’d got herself into.

‘A fling,’ she said aloud. Her voice sounded small in the huge empty suite. ‘You know very well what this is. A fling. You’re here for sex.’ What had seemed simple and safe now only felt sordid.

She got out of bed, trying to shake off her uncertain and grey mood, and dressed. She didn’t feel like ordering takeaway and eating it alone upstairs; she’d go out, explore the city on her own for a bit.

Twenty minutes later Sierra headed downstairs and out of the modern glass doors of the hotel. The foyer was buzzing with guests; clearly the opening had been a success. A few people clearly recognised her, but Sierra ignored their speculative looks. She wasn’t going to care about the tabloid article that had come out this morning. It would be forgotten by tomorrow, no doubt.

She strolled down Central Park West towards Columbus Circle, enjoying the way twilight settled on the city and the traffic started to die down. She found a little French bistro tucked onto a side street and went inside. As she sat down and glanced at the menu she realised she was ravenous. She supposed that was what making love all day did to you, and the thought made her smile. She ordered a steak and chips and ate it all and was just heading back outside, feeling replete and happy, when a reporter accosted her.

‘Excuse me... Sierra Rocci?’

‘Yes?’ she answered automatically, before the flashbulb popped in her face, making her momentarily blind, and the reporter started firing questions.

‘Why are you out alone? Have you and Marco Ferranti had a lovers’ tiff? Is it true you’re staying in the same suite? Why did you jilt him seven years ago—’

‘No comment,’ Sierra gasped out and hurried away. The reporter kept yelling his awful questions at her, each one sounding like a horrible taunt.

‘Did Ferranti cheat on you? Did you cheat on him? Are you together now merely as a business arrangement?’

Finally Sierra rounded the corner and the reporter’s questions died away. She kept up a brisk pace all the way to the hotel, only slowing when she came to the front steps. Her heart was thudding and she felt clammy with sweat. She’d thought she could handle the press, but she hadn’t been prepared for that.

She’d managed to restore her composure by the time she got into the penthouse lift, and she felt almost normal when the doors opened.

That was until she stepped out and Marco loomed in front of her, his face thunderous, his voice a harsh demand.

‘Where the hell have you been?’