by Kate Hewitt
She nodded wordlessly, her gaze fastened on his, and gently Marco tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. It was the merest of touches, it meant nothing, and yet still she felt as if he’d given her an electric shock, her whole body jolting with longing. Marco smiled and then settled back in his own seat, stretching his long legs out in front of him as his seat dipped back. ‘Get some sleep if you can, Sierra.’
* * *
Marco shifted in his seat, trying to get comfortable. It was damned difficult when desire was pulsing in his centre, throbbing through his veins. It had been nearly impossible to resist touching Sierra as they’d talked. And he’d enjoyed the conversation, the sharing of ideas, the light banter. He’d even been glad, in a surprising way, to have told her more about his past. He hadn’t been planning to reveal the deprivations of his childhood and he’d kept some of it back, not wanting to invite her pity. But to see her face softened in sympathy...to know that she cared about him, even in that small way, affected him more than he was entirely comfortable with.
He’d been glad to move on to lighter topics, and Sierra had thankfully taken his cue. He’d enjoyed talking with her seven years ago, but she’d been a girl then, innocent and unsophisticated. The years had sharpened her, made her stronger and more interesting. And definitely more desirable.
In the end he hadn’t been able to resist. A small caress, his fingers barely grazing her cheek as he’d tucked her hair behind her ear. He could tell Sierra was affected by it, though, and so was he. He longed to take her in his arms, even here in the semiprivacy of their seats, and plunder her mouth and body. Lose himself in her sweetness and feel her tremble and writhe with pleasure.
Stifling a groan, Marco shifted again. He needed to stop thinking like this. Stop remembering what Sierra’s naked body had looked like as she’d been splayed across the piano bench, her skin golden and perfect in the lamplight. Stop remembering how silky she’d felt, how delicious she’d tasted, how overwhelming her response to him had been.
Marco clenched his eyes shut as a sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead. Next to him Sierra shifted and sighed, and the breathy sound made another spasm of longing stab through him. It was going to be a long flight. Hell, it was going to be a long three days. Because one thing he knew was he wouldn’t take advantage of Sierra again.
He must have fallen into a doze eventually, because he woke to find her sitting up and smiling at him. Her hair was in delightful disarray about her face and she gave him a playful look as he straightened.
‘You snore, you know.’
He drew back, caught between affront and amusement. ‘I do not.’
‘Hasn’t anyone ever told you before?’
‘No, because I don’t snore.’ And because he’d never had a woman stay the night to tell him so. Since Sierra, his love life—if he could even call it that—had been comprised of one-night stands and week-long flings. He’d had no intention of being caught again.
‘Not very loudly,’ Sierra informed him with an impish smile. ‘And not all the time. But you do snore. Trust me.’
Trust me. The words seemed to reverberate through him before Marco shook them off. ‘I suppose I’ll have to take your word for it. And I might as well tell you that you drool when you sleep.’
‘Oh!’ Mortification brightened her cheeks as one hand clapped to her mouth. Marco instantly regretted his thoughtless quip. He’d been teasing and it wasn’t true anyway; she’d looked adorable when she slept, her chin tucked towards her chest, her golden lashes fanning across her cheeks.
‘Actually, you don’t,’ he said gruffly. ‘But I couldn’t say you snored, since you don’t.’
‘You cad.’ Laughing, she dropped her hand to hit him lightly on the shoulder, and before he thought through what he was doing he wrapped her hand in his, savouring the feel of her slender fingers enclosed in his, the softness of her skin. Her eyes widened and her breath shortened.
Always it came back to this. The intense attraction that seemed only to grow stronger with every minute they spent in each other’s company. Carefully, Marco released her hand. ‘We’ll be landing soon.’
Sierra nodded wordlessly, cradling her hand as if it was tender, almost as if he’d hurt her with his touch.
The next few hours were taken up with clearing Customs and then getting out of the airport. Marco had arranged for a limo to pick them up but nothing could be done about the bumper-to-bumper traffic they encountered all the way into Manhattan.
Finally the limo pulled up in front of The Rocci New York, a gleaming, needle-like skyscraper that overlooked Central Park West.
‘It’s gorgeous,’ Sierra breathed as she stepped out of the limo and tilted her head up to the sky. ‘I feel dizzy.’
‘I hope you’re not scared of heights.’ He couldn’t resist putting his hand on the small of her back as he guided her towards the marble steps that led up to the hotel’s entrance. ‘We’re staying on the top floor.’
‘Are we?’ Her eyes rounded like a child’s with excitement and Marco felt a deep primal satisfaction at making her happy. This was what he’d wanted seven years ago: to show the world to Sierra, to give it to her. To see her smile and know he’d been the one to put it there. No, he hadn’t loved her, but damn it, he’d liked her. He still did.
‘Come on,’ he urged as they mounted the steps. He realised he was as excited as she was to see the hotel, to share it with her. ‘Let me show The Rocci New York.’
* * *
Sierra followed Marco into the hotel’s soaring foyer of marble and granite, everything sleek and modern, so unlike the faded old world elegance of the European Rocci hotels. This was something new and different, something created solely by Marco, and Sierra liked it all the more for that reason. There were no hard memories to face here, just anticipation for all that lay ahead.
Marco spoke to someone at the concierge desk while Sierra strolled around the foyer, admiring the contemporary art that graced the walls, the sleek leather sofas and chairs and tables of polished wood. Everything felt clean and polished, sophisticated and streamlined. Empty, too, as the first guests would not arrive until tomorrow, after the official opening. Tomorrow night the hotel would have a gala in its ballroom to celebrate, and then the next day she’d fly back to London. But she’d enjoy every moment of being here.
Marco returned to her side, a key card resting in his palm. ‘Ready?’
‘Yes...’ She eyed the key card uncertainly. ‘Are we staying in the same room?’
The smile he gave her was teasingly wolfish. ‘Don’t worry, there’s plenty of room for two.’
It didn’t feel like there was plenty of room, Sierra thought as she stepped into the mirrored lift that soared straight towards the sky. The lift was enormous, their hotel suite undoubtedly far larger, and yet she felt the enclosed space keenly; Marco’s sleeve brushed her arm as he stood next to her and Sierra’s pulse jerked and leapt in response.
She needed to get a handle on her attraction. Either ignore it or act on it. And while the latter was a thrilling possibility, the former was the far wiser thing to do. She and Marco had way too much complicated history to think about getting involved now, even if just for a fling.
But what a fling it would be...
She could hardly credit she was thinking this way, and about Marco. What had happened to the man who had seemed so cold, so hostile? And what about the man she’d fled from seven years ago, whom she’d felt she couldn’t trust? Had it all really changed, simply because he’d finally been honest? Or had she changed and let go of the past, at least a little? Enough to make her contemplate an affair.
Not, she reminded herself, that Marco was thinking along the same lines. But she didn’t think she was imagining the tension that coiled and snapped between them. It wasn’t merely one-sided. She hoped.
The lift doors op
ened into the centre of the suite and Marco stepped aside so she could walk out first.
‘Welcome to the penthouse.’
Sierra didn’t speak for a moment, just absorbed the impact of her surroundings. The penthouse suite was circular, with floor-to-ceiling windows surrounding her so she felt as if she were poised above the city, ready to fly.
Marco’s footsteps clicked across the smooth floor of black marble as he switched on some lights. ‘Do you like it?’ he asked, and he almost sounded uncertain.
‘Like it?’ Sierra turned in a circle slowly, taking everything in: the luxurious but understated furnishings, nothing taking away from the spectacular panoramic view of the city. ‘I love it. It’s the most amazing room I’ve ever seen.’ She turned to him, gratified and even touched to see the relief that flashed across his face before he schooled his features into a more neutral, composed expression. ‘But surely this isn’t the whole suite?’ The circular room was a living area only. ‘I don’t see any beds. Or a bathroom, for that matter.’
‘The rest of the suite is upstairs. But I wanted to show you this first.’
‘It really is amazing. You must have a fantastic architect.’
‘I do, but the idea for this suite was mine.’ Sierra saw a slight blush colour Marco’s high cheekbones and she felt an answering wave of something almost like tenderness. ‘He didn’t think it was possible, and I nagged him until he conceded it was.’
‘Clearly you’re tenacious.’
‘When I have to be.’
His gaze held hers for a moment and she wondered at the subtext. Was he talking about them? If she’d confessed her fears to him all those years ago, would he have been tenacious in helping to assuage them, in making their marriage work? It was so dangerous to think that way, and yet impossible to keep herself from wondering. But she didn’t want to imagine what life could have been; she wanted to think about what still could be.
‘Let me show you the upstairs,’ Marco said and took her hand as he led her to the spiral staircase in the centre of the room, next to the lift, that led to the rooms above.
Upstairs there were still the soaring views, although the space was divided into several rooms and the windows didn’t go from ceiling to floor. Marco showed her the kitchen, the two sumptuous bedrooms with luxurious en suite bathrooms, and Sierra noted the small amount of hallway between them. There was room for two as Marco had assured her, but they would be sleeping right across from each other. The prospect filled her with excitement and even anticipation rather than alarm.
What was happening to her?
‘You should refresh yourself,’ Marco said when he’d shown her the guest room that she would use. ‘Rest if you need to. It’s been a long day.’
‘Okay.’
‘The ribbon-cutting and gala are tomorrow but if you feel up for it we could see a few sights today,’ Marco suggested. ‘If you’re up for it?’
‘Definitely. Let me just get changed.’
As she showered and dressed, Sierra gave herself a mental talking-to. She was playing a dangerous game, she knew, and one she hadn’t intended to play. She was attracted to Marco and she was discovering all over again how much she liked him. She knew he was attracted to her; maybe he even liked her. They had plenty of reasons to have a nice time together, even to have a fling.
It didn’t have to be for ever. They’d contemplated marriage once before, a marriage based on expediency rather than love, but they didn’t have to this time. This time whatever was between them could be for pleasure. In her mind it sounded simple and yet Sierra knew the dangers. Trusting any man, even with just her body, was a big step, and one she hadn’t taken before. Did she really want to with Marco?
And yet the three days that stretched so enticingly in front of her, the excitement of being with Marco... How could she resist?
But perhaps she wouldn’t need to. Perhaps Marco had no intention of acting on the attraction between them. Perhaps he’d meant what he’d said back at the villa about never touching her again.
With her thoughts still in a hopeless snarl, Sierra left her bedroom in search of Marco. She found him downstairs in the circular salon, talking in clipped English on his phone. Sierra had become fluent in English since moving to London and she could tell he was checking on the hotel’s readiness for tomorrow.
‘Everything okay?’ she asked as Marco slid the phone into his pocket.
‘Yes. Just checking on a few last-minute details. I don’t want anything to go wrong, not even the hors d’oeuvres.’
He smiled ruefully and Sierra laid a hand on his sleeve. ‘This is really important to you.’
He gazed down at her, his wry smile replaced by a sombre look. ‘I told you the truth before, Sierra. The whole truth. The hotel is everything to me.’
Everything. Sierra didn’t know whether to feel rebuked or relieved. She decided to feel neither, to simply enjoy the possibilities of the day. ‘So what sights are you going to show me? You must have been to New York loads of times, overseeing the hotel.’
‘Do you have anything you want to see in particular?’
‘Whatever your favourite thing is.’ She wanted to get to know this man more.
A smile curled Marco’s mouth, drawing Sierra’s attention to his firm and yet lush lips. Lips she still remembered the taste of, and craved. ‘All right, then. Let’s go.’
It wasn’t until they were out on Central Park West and Marco had hailed one of the city’s trademark yellow cabs that Sierra asked where they were going.
He ushered her into the cab first, sliding in next to her so their thighs were pressed together. ‘The Museum of Modern Art.’
‘Art!’ She shook her head slowly. ‘I never knew you liked art.’
‘Modern art. And there are a lot of things you don’t know about me.’
‘Yes,’ Sierra answered as Marco held her gaze, a small smile curving his wonderful mouth. ‘I’m coming to realise that.’
CHAPTER NINE
MARCO COULD NOT remember a time when he’d enjoyed himself more. He and Sierra wandered around the airy galleries of the MoMA and, at some point while looking at the vast canvases and modern sculpture, he took her hand.
It felt so natural that he didn’t even think about it first, just slid his hand into hers and let their fingers entwine. She didn’t resist, and they spent the rest of the afternoon remarking on and joking about Klimt’s use of colour and Picasso’s intriguing angular forms.
‘I’m not an expert, by any means,’ Marco told her when they wandered out into the sunshine again. It was August and New York simmered under a summer sun, heat radiating from the pavement. ‘I just like the possibility in modern art. That people dared to do things differently, to see the world another way.’
‘Yes, I can understand that.’ She slid him a look of smiling compassion. ‘Especially considering your background.’
Marco tensed instinctively but Sierra was still holding his hand, and he forced himself to relax. She knew more about him than anyone else did, even Arturo, who had been as good as a father. Arturo had known about his background a little; he’d raised him up from being a bellboy and, in any case, Marco knew his accent gave him away as a Sicilian street rat. But Arturo had never known about his father. He’d never asked.
‘Where to now?’ Sierra asked and Marco shrugged.
‘Wherever you like. Are you getting tired?’
‘No. I don’t know how anyone can get tired here. There’s so much energy and excitement. I’m not sure I’ll ever get to sleep tonight.’ Her innocent words held no innuendo but Marco felt the hard kick of desire anyway. She looked so lovely and fresh, wearing a floaty summery dress with her hair caught in a loose plait, her face flushed and her eyes bright. He wanted to draw her towards him and kiss her, but he resisted.
That wasn’t the purpose of this trip...except now maybe it was. At least, why shouldn’t it be? If they were both feeling it?
‘I’d love to walk through Central Park,’ Sierra said and Marco forced his thoughts back to the conversation at hand.
‘Then let’s do it.’
They walked uptown to the Grand Army Plaza, buying ice creams to cool off as they strolled along the esplanade. Sierra stopped in front of a young busker by the Central Park Zoo, playing a lovely rendition of a Mozart concerto. She fumbled in her pockets to give him some money and Marco stopped her, taking a bill from his wallet instead.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured as they continued walking.
‘Why do you only play in private?’ Marco asked. He was curious to know more about her, to understand the enigma she’d been to him for so long.
Sierra pursed her lips, reflecting. ‘Because I did it for me. It was a way to...to escape, really. And I didn’t want anyone to ruin it for me, to stop me.’
‘Escape? What were you escaping from?’
Her gaze slid away from his and she licked a drip of ice cream from her thumb. ‘Oh, you know. The usual.’
Marco could tell she didn’t want to talk about it, and yet he found he wanted to know. Badly. He’d painted a rosy, perfect picture of her childhood; considering his own, how could he have not? She had two parents who adored her, a beautiful home, everything she could possibly want. He’d wanted to be part of that world, wanted to inhabit it with her. But now he wondered if his view of it had been a little too perfect.
‘But now that you’re an adult? You still play in private?’
She nodded. ‘I’ve never wanted to be a performer. I like teaching, but I play the violin for me.’ She spoke firmly and he wondered if she would ever play for him. He thought that if she did it would mean something—to both of them.
And did he want it to mean something? Did he want to become emotionally close to Sierra, never mind what happened between them physically?
It was a question he didn’t feel like answering or examining, not on a beautiful summer’s day with the park stretched out before them, and everything feeling like a promise about to be made. He took Sierra’s hand again and they walked up towards the Fountain of Bethesda, the still waters of the lake beyond shimmering under the sun.