by Kate Hewitt
‘The violin is actually my chosen instrument, but it’s not something I usually tell people. It’s a private thing.’ She forced herself to meet his sleepy, silvery gaze. She’d been a fool to come out of her bedroom tonight, and yet a distant part of her recognised she’d done it because she’d wanted this. Him. And even though desire was rushing through her in a torrent, both nerves and common sense made her back off. ‘I’m sorry I disturbed you. I must have got carried away.’ She half rose from the piano bench, halting inexplicably, pinned by his gaze.
‘It sounded lovely.’
‘The piano is out of tune.’
‘Even so.’
He held her gaze, and inwardly Sierra quaked at how intent he looked. How utterly purposeful. So she wasn’t even surprised when he reached a hand out and cupped her cheek, the pad of his thumb stroking the softness of her lower lip. Her breath caught in a gasp that lodged in her chest. Her heart started to pound. She’d been waiting for this, and even though she was afraid she knew she still wanted it.
‘Almost,’ he said softly, ‘as lovely as you. Do you know how beautiful you are, Sierra? I’ve always thought that. You undid me, with your loveliness. I was caught from the moment I saw you, at your father’s palazzo. Do you remember? You were standing in the drawing room, wearing a pink dress. You looked like a rose.’
She stared at him, shocked by how much he had admitted, how much he’d felt. ‘I remember,’ she whispered. Of course she remembered. She’d glimpsed him from the window, seen him gently stroke that silly cat, and felt her heart lift in both hope and desire. How quickly she’d fallen for him. How completely. Not in love, no, but in childish hope and longing. He’d overwhelmed her senses, even when she’d thought she’d been acting smart, playing safe.
‘Do you remember when I kissed you?’ Marco asked. His thumb pressed her lip gently, reminding her of how his lips had felt on hers. Hard, hot, soft, cool. Everything, all at once.
‘Yes,’ she managed in a shaky whisper. ‘I remember.’
‘You liked my kisses.’ It was a statement, and he waited for her to refute it, confident that she couldn’t. Sierra tried to look away but Marco held her gaze as if he were holding her face in place with his hands. He was that commanding, that forceful, and he hadn’t even moved.
‘You don’t deny it.’
‘No.’ The word was drawn from her with helpless reluctance.
‘You still like them, I think,’ he said softly, and her silence condemned her. Slowly, inexorably, Marco drew her to him. She knew he was going to kiss her, and she knew she wanted him to. She also knew it was a bad idea, a dangerous idea, considering all that had—and hadn’t—happened between them and yet she didn’t resist.
His lips brushed hers once, twice. A shuddering sigh escaped her and she reached up to clutch his shoulders and steady herself. His skin felt hot and hard under her palms and she couldn’t keep herself from smoothing her hands down his back, revelling in the feel of him. How could a man’s skin feel so silky?
Marco’s hands framed her face as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding sweetly into her mouth as he tasted and explored her. He slid his hands from her face to her shoulders and then, wonderfully, to her breasts, cupping them as he had that day under the plane tree. She remembered how exciting it had felt, or at least she thought she had, but the reality of his touch now was so intense, so exquisite, she almost cried out as his thumbs brushed over her nipples. She hadn’t remembered this, not enough.
‘Marco.’ His name came on a breath, and she didn’t even know why she said it. Was she asking him to continue or telling him to stop?
He moved his mouth to her jaw, blazing kisses along her neck and collarbone as he slid his hand under her T-shirt and cupped her bare breast, the feel of his rough palm against her soft flesh, the gentle abrasion of it, making every nerve-ending blaze almost painfully to life. It was too much, and yet she wanted more.
‘I want you.’ He spoke hoarsely, firmly, declaring his intent. Sierra could only nod. He touched her chin with his fingers, forcing her to meet his blazing gaze. ‘Say it. Say you want me, Sierra.’
‘I want you,’ she whispered, the words drawn from her, falling into the stillness, creating ripples.
Triumph blazed in his eyes as he pulled the T-shirt off her. She hadn’t bothered with the tracksuit bottoms for pyjamas, so in one fluid movement she’d become naked. She sucked in a hard breath when he pulled her towards him, her breasts colliding and then crushed against his chest. The feel of their bare skin touching sent another tingling quiver of awareness shooting through her. Marco’s hands were on her waist and then her hips as he fitted her against him. She could feel his arousal through the thin pyjama bottoms and it made her gasp. So many sensations all at once; she could barely acknowledge one before another came crashing over her.
Marco eased her back onto the piano bench, spreading her legs so he could stand between them. Her head fell back as he kissed his way from her collarbone to her breasts, and Sierra moaned as his tongue flicked across her sensitive flesh. She’d never realised you could feel this way, that a man could make you feel this way. He glanced up at her, his grey eyes blazing with triumph, and then he moved his head from her breasts to between her thighs and her breath came out in a shaky moan as he touched her centre.
‘Oh.’ She arched against his mouth, astonished at how sharp and intense the pleasure was, how consuming as his tongue found the very heart of her. ‘Oh.’ She threaded her hands through his silky hair as her body arched helplessly against his mouth and his hands gripped her hips. It only took a few exquisite moments for her world to explode in glittering fragments around her and she cried out, one jagged note that echoed through the stillness of the villa.
She really had no idea.
She sagged against the piano as her body trembled with the aftershocks of her climax and Marco lifted his head to gaze at her with blatant—and smug—satisfaction. Realisation thudded sickly through her; his look said it all. He’d been trying to prove something, and he’d just proved it—in spades.
Shakily, colour rushing to her face, Sierra pushed her tangle of hair from her hot cheeks and closed her legs, pushing him away from her. The intensity of the moment had splintered, leaving her feeling raw and exposed. Wounded and ashamed. She’d been so wanton, so shameless, and Marco had been utterly in control. As always.
‘Now at least you know a little of what you’ve missed,’ he said and her mouth opened on a soundless gasp.
‘You’ve proved your point, then, I suppose,’ she managed and on shaking legs she grabbed her T-shirt and rushed from the room.
* * *
Marco stalked upstairs, his whole body throbbing with unfulfilled desire—and worse, regret. He’d behaved like a cad. A heartless, cruel cad. And he needed an icy-cold shower. Swearing under his breath, he strode into his bedroom and went straight to the en suite bathroom, turning the cold on full blast. He stepped beneath the needling spray, sucking in a hard breath as the icy water hit his skin and chilled him right through. And even then he couldn’t quench the fire that raged in his veins, heated his blood, born of both shame and lust.
He’d wanted her so much, more than he’d ever wanted another woman. More than he’d ever thought possible. The sweetness of her response, the innocence of it... Marco braced his hands against the shower stall. He could almost believe she was still untouched. She’d seemed so surprised by everything, so enthralled. And when she’d fallen to pieces beneath his mouth...
Forcefully he pushed the memory away. The last thing he needed now was to remember how that had felt. Better to remember the sudden look of uncertainty on her face, of shame. The realisation that he’d been low enough to exact some kind of revenge, using her body against her. Forcing her to respond to him, even though she’d once rejected him.
He’d been tempted to seduce her,
yes, and he could have had her earlier, when he’d shown her to her bedroom. He’d seen the uncertainty and desire in her eyes, how she had hesitated. But he’d resisted the temptation, had told himself he was better than that.
Apparently he wasn’t.
His body numb with cold, his blood still hot, Marco turned off the shower and wrapped a towel around his hips. Sleep would not come for him tonight, not when too many emotions still churned through him. He went to his laptop instead, powered it up and prepared to work.
By dawn his eyes were gritty, his body aching, but at least the rain had stopped. Marco stood at the window and gazed out at the rain-washed gardens. The once manicured lawns and groomed beds were a wild tangle of shrubs and trees; he hadn’t looked after the estate in the last few years, when Arturo had been too ill to do so himself. He’d hire a gardener to clean it up before he sold it. He didn’t want to have anything more to do with the place.
When he came downstairs Sierra was already in the kitchen, dressed in the silk blouse and pencil skirt she’d worn yesterday. Both were creased but dry; she’d put her hair back up in its sleek chignon and all of it felt like armour, a way to protect herself against him.
Marco hesitated in the doorway, wondering whether to mention last night. What would he even say? In any case Sierra looked as if she wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened, and maybe that was best.
‘We should get on the road if your flight is this afternoon.’
‘We?’ She shook her head firmly. ‘I’ll drive myself.’
‘The mountain roads still aren’t passable, and your rental car looks like little more than a tin can on wheels,’ Marco dismissed. ‘I’ll drive you. My car can handle the flooding.’
‘But what about my rental...?’
‘I’ll have someone pick it up and deliver it to the agency. It’s not a problem.’
She licked her lips, her eyes wide, her expression more than a little panicked. ‘But...’
‘It makes sense, Sierra. And, trust me, you don’t have to worry about some kind of repeat of last night. I don’t intend to touch you ever again.’ He hadn’t meant to sound quite so harsh, but he saw the surprised hurt flicker in her eyes before she looked away.
‘And I have no intention of letting you touch me ever again.’
He was almost tempted to prove her wrong, but he resisted the impulse. The sooner Sierra was out of his life, the better. ‘It seems we’re agreed, then. Now, we should get ready to go.’ Marco grabbed his keys and switched off the lights before ushering Sierra out of the kitchen. He followed her, locking the villa behind him, and then opened the passenger door to his SUV. As Sierra slid inside the car he breathed in her lemony scent, and his gut tightened. It was going to be a long three hours.
They drove in silence down the sweeping drive, the villa’s gates closing silently behind them. Sierra let out a sigh of relief as Marco turned onto the mountain road.
‘You’re glad to leave?’
‘Not glad, exactly,’ she answered. ‘But memories can be...difficult.’
He couldn’t argue with that. He had a truckload of difficult memories, from his father’s retreat from his life, to his mother leaving him at the door of an orphanage run by monks when he was ten years old, to the slew of foster homes he’d bounced through, to the endless moment when he’d stood at the front of the church, the smile slipping from his face as Arturo came down the aisle, his face set in extraordinarily grim lines.
Sierra was staring out of the window; it was as if she’d dismissed him entirely. As he would dismiss her. For better or worse, last night’s episode would serve as a line drawn across the past. Perhaps he had evened the score between them. In any case, his tie to Sierra Rocci was cut—firmly and for ever.
Setting his jaw, Marco stared straight ahead as he drove in silence all the way to Palermo.
CHAPTER SIX
‘YOU NEED SIERRA ROCCI.’
Marco swivelled around in his chair to gaze out of the window at Palermo’s business district as everything in him resisted that flatly spoken statement. ‘I’ve been Arturo’s right-hand man for nearly ten years. I don’t need her.’
Paolo Conti, his second-in-command and closest confidant, sighed. ‘I’m afraid you do, Marco. The board isn’t happy without a Rocci to front the business, at least at first. And with the hotel opening in New York in a few weeks...’
‘What about it? Everything is going according to plan.’ He’d overseen the work on Rocci Enterprises’ first hotel in North America himself; it had been his idea to expand, and to take the exclusive chain of hotels in a new direction. His credibility as CEO rested on The Rocci New York succeeding.
‘That’s true,’ Paolo replied, ‘but in the seventy years of Rocci Enterprises, a Rocci has always headed the board.’
‘Things change.’
‘Yes,’ Paolo agreed patiently, running his hand through his silver hair, ‘but for the last seventy years a Rocci has opened each hotel. Palermo, Rome, Paris, Madrid, London, Berlin.’ He ticked them off on his fingers. ‘A Rocci at every one.’
‘I know.’ He’d seen a few of the grand openings himself. He’d started work for Rocci Enterprises when he was sixteen years old, as a bellboy at the hotel in Palermo. He’d seen Sierra walking with her parents up the pink marble steps to eat in the hotel’s luxurious dining room. He’d watched her walk so daintily, her hands held by both her mother and father. The perfect family.
‘Change is a part of life,’ Marco dismissed, ‘and Arturo Rocci willed his shares to me. The board—and the public—will simply have to adjust.’ It had been nearly a month since he’d left Sierra at the Palermo airport. Four weeks since he’d watched her walk away from him and told himself he was glad, even as he felt the old injustice burn. She hadn’t looked back.
He wasn’t angry with her any more, but he didn’t know what he felt. Whatever emotion raged through him didn’t feel good.
‘It’s not that simple, Marco,’ Paolo said. He’d been with Rocci Enterprises for decades, always quietly serving and guiding. As Arturo had become more and more ill, Marco had relied increasingly on Paolo’s help and wisdom.
‘It can be,’ he insisted.
‘If the board feels there is too much separation from the Rocci name and values, they might hold a vote of no confidence.’
Marco tensed. ‘I’ve been with this company for over ten years. And I hold the controlling shares.’
‘The board needs to see you in public, acting as CEO. They need to believe in you.’
‘Fine. I’ll appear at any number of events.’
‘With a Rocci,’ Paolo clarified. ‘And, as you know, Sierra is the only Rocci left.’ Arturo’s brother, a bachelor, had died a dozen years ago, his parents before then. ‘There needs to be a smooth transition,’ Paolo insisted. ‘For the board and the public. Arturo wasn’t able to manage it while he was alive—’
‘He was ill.’
‘I know. I’m sure he would have addressed this himself if he could have.’
But Arturo hadn’t made Marco the beneficiary of his will until the very end. Marco suspected the old man had been hoping for Sierra to come back, to keep the business in the family. Restlessly, Marco rose from his chair and paced his office. Damn it, he’d given his life to Rocci Enterprises. He could still remember the sense of incredulous joy he’d had when Arturo had moved him from hefting suitcases to working in an office. Arturo Rocci had seen his potential and helped him to rise. And he’d paid his mentor back tenfold, by increasing Rocci Enterprises’ revenue and expanding its business concerns. But he feared that all his board saw was a street rat from Palermo’s gutters who had got ideas far above his station.
Sighing, he sank back into his chair. He could see the sense in what Paolo was saying. A smooth transition from him being the second-in-command who wo
rked invisibly behind the scenes to being the public face of Rocci Enterprises. All it would take was a few key appearances, some stage-managed events...with Sierra.
Considering how they’d parted, he doubted Sierra Rocci was going to want to help him out in any fashion. He might not be angry with her any more, but she could very well still harbour a grudge for his ruthless semiseduction of her at the villa. Sighing, he closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, fighting off the tension headache that felt like a band of iron encircling his head.
He didn’t want to need Sierra. He certainly didn’t want to go begging for favours. But Rocci Enterprises meant everything to him. He couldn’t afford to risk its well-being.
‘Well?’ Paolo asked. ‘Do you think Sierra Rocci will agree? I know the two of you have a history...’ He paused delicately, and Marco opened his eyes.
‘I’ll make her agree,’ he stated flatly. Already his mind was racing through the possibilities. How could he get Sierra to come to New York? She’d accused him of being manipulative seven years ago, of engaging her affections so he could secure his position with Rocci Enterprises. She’d been wrong then, or at least that hadn’t been the whole truth. But now it would be.
Marco’s mouth curved coldly. ‘Don’t worry,’ he told Paolo. ‘I know how to handle her.’
* * *
‘Play it again please, Chloe.’
Sierra shifted in her hard chair as her pupil sawed her way through ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’ for the third time. Sierra tried not to wince. She loved her job tutoring children in music for a variety of after-school clubs, but it wasn’t always easy on the ears.
Her mind drifted, as it had these last few weeks, to Marco Ferranti. It irritated and unnerved her that he was so often in her thoughts; the passionate interlude in the music room had haunted her dreams and left her aching with both desire and shame.
There was so much she didn’t understand about Marco. He seemed like a tangle of unsettling contradictions: his anger at her abandonment of him seven years ago, and then the sudden moments of generosity and even tenderness that he’d shown her. Which was the real man? Which was the act? And why on earth was she still thinking about him?
