Inherited by Ferranti

by Kate Hewitt

  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 wi
th 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?’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  MARCO COULDN’T REMEMBER the last time he’d felt so furious—and so afraid. He’d come up to the penthouse suite expecting to see Sierra still lounging in bed, waiting for him. Instead, the place had been echoing and empty, and when he’d called downstairs the concierge had said she’d left hours ago.

  He’d paced the penthouse for a quarter of an hour, trying to stifle his panic and anger, but rational thought was hard when so many memories kept crowding in. He told himself she hadn’t taken her clothes and that she wouldn’t just leave.

  But she’d taken hardly anything when she’d left the night before his wedding. And the possibility that she might have skipped out on him again made everything in him clench. Damn it, he would be the one to say when they were done. And it wasn’t yet.

  ‘Well?’ he demanded while she simply stared at him. ‘Do you have an answer?’

  ‘No,’ Sierra stated clearly, her voice so very cold, and she stalked past him.

  Marco whirled around, disbelieving. ‘No? You’re gone for hours and you can’t even tell me where you went?’

  ‘I don’t have to tell you anything, Marco,’ Sierra tossed over her shoulder. ‘I don’t owe you anything.’

  ‘How about an explanation?’

  She walked up the spiral stairs, one hand on the railing, her head held high. ‘Not even that.’

  Marco followed her up the stairs and into the bedroom and then watched in disbelief as she took out her suitcase and started putting clothes into it.

  ‘You’re packing?’

  She gave him a grim smile. ‘It looks like it, doesn’t it?’

  ‘For LA?’

  She stilled and then raised her head, her gaze clear and direct. ‘No. For London.’

  Fury and hurt coursed through him, choking him so he could barely speak. He didn’t want to feel hurt; anger was stronger. ‘Damn it, Sierra,’ he exclaimed. He raised his hand to do what, he didn’t know—touch her shoulder, beseech her somehow—but he stilled when she instinctively flinched as if she’d expected him to strike her.

  ‘Sierra?’ His voice was low, her name a question.

  She straightened, her expression erased of the cringing fear he’d seen for one alarming second. ‘I’m going.’

  Marco watched her for a few moments, forcing himself to be calm. He’d overreacted; he could see that now. ‘Were you planning on returning to London before you got back to the penthouse?’ he asked quietly.

  She gave him another one of those direct looks that cut right to his heart. ‘No, I wasn’t.’

  He took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. ‘I’m sorry I was so angry.’

  She made a tiny shrugging gesture, as if it was of no importance, and yet Marco knew instinctively that it was. ‘You flinched just then, almost as if...’ He didn’t want to voice the suspicion lurking in the dark corners of his mind. And maybe that flinch had been a moment’s instinctive reaction, and yet...she’d had such a look on her face, one of terrible fear.

  ‘Almost as if what?’ Sierra asked, and it sounded like a challenge.

  ‘Almost as if you expected me to...’ He swallowed hard. ‘Hit you.’

  ‘I wasn’t,’ she said after a moment. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘But old habits die hard, I suppose.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  She sighed and shook her head. ‘There’s no point having this conversation.’

  ‘How can you say that? This might be the most important conversation we’ve ever had.’

  ‘Oh, Marco.’ She looked up at him, and everything in him jolted at the look of weary sorrow in her eyes. ‘I wish it could be, but...’ She trailed off, biting her lip.

  ‘What do you mean? What aren’t you telling me?’ She didn’t answer and he forced himself not to take a step towards her, not to raise his voice or seem threatening in any way. ‘Sierra, did a man...did a man ever hit you?’

  The silence following his question seemed endless. Marco felt as if he could scarcely breathe.

  Finally Sierra looked up, resignation in every weary line of her lovely face. ‘Yes,’ she said and then Marco felt a fury like none he’d known before—this time at this unknown man who had dared to hurt and abuse her. He’d kill the bastard.

  ‘Who?’ he demanded. ‘A boyfriend...?’

  ‘No,’ she said flatly. ‘My father.’

  * * *

  Sierra watched Marco blink, his jaw slackening, as he stared at her in obvious disbelief. She kept packing. Having him yell at her like that had been the wake-up call she needed, and in that moment she’d realised why she’d felt so uneasy earlier, when Marco had left her alone in the suite. She was turning into her mother. Dropping her own life at a man’s request, living for his pleasure. There was no way she was walking even one step down that road, and when Marco had shouted at her, looking so angry, Sierra had realised the trap she’d been just about to step into. Thank God she’d realised before it was too late...even if the thought of leaving Marco made her insides twist with grief.

  ‘Your father?’ Marco repeated hoarsely. ‘Arturo? No.’

  ‘I knew you wouldn’t believe me.’

  He was shaking his head slowly, looking utterly winded. Sierra almost felt sorry for him.

  ‘But...’ he began, and then stopped. She reached for the dress she’d worn to the opening yesterday. ‘Sierra, wait.’ He grabbed her wrist, gently but firmly, and she went completely still.

  He stared at her for a moment, his face white, and then he let her go and backed away, his hands raised like a man about to be arrested. ‘You know I would never, ever hurt you.’

  ‘I know that,’ she said quietly. She believed it but even with that head knowledge she couldn’t keep from fearing. Trust was a hard, hard thing.

  Slowly, Marco dropped his hands. Sierra resumed packing. He watched her for several moments and his scrutiny made her hands tremble as she tried to fold her clothes. ‘Do you mind?’ she finally asked, and to her irritation her voice shook.

  ‘What did you mean—that he hit you?’ Marco asked.

  ‘Does it really need explaining?’

  ‘Sierra, your father was as good as my father. I loved him. I trusted him. Yes, it needs explaining.’ His voice came out harsh, grating, and she forced herself not to flinch.

  ‘Then let me explain it for you,’ she said coolly. She was surprised at how much a relief it was to tell him the truth. She’d been keeping this secret for far too long, first out of fear that he wouldn’t believe her, and then because she hadn’t wanted to hurt him. Both reasons seemed like pathetic excuses now. ‘My father hit me,’ Sierra stated clearly. ‘Often. He hit my mother, too. He played the doting father and adoring husband for the public, but in private he heaped physical and emotional abuse on us. Slaps, pinches, punches, the lot. And the words...the insults, the sneers, the mockery.’ She shook her head, tears stinging her eyes as a lump formed in her throat. ‘My mother loved him anyway. I’ve never been able to understand that. She loved him and wouldn’t hear a word against him, although she always tried to protect me from his anger.’

  Marco was shaking his head, his body language refuting every word she’d said. ‘No...’

  ‘I don’t care if you believe me or not,’ Sierra said, even though she knew that for a lie. She did care. Far too much. ‘But at least now I’ve said it. Now you know, even if you don’t want
to.’

  She closed her suitcase, struggling with the zip. Marco placed a hand on top of the case. ‘Please, Sierra, don’t go like this.’

  ‘Why should I stay?’

  ‘Because I want you to stay. Because we’ve been having a fantastic time.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Look, this is a tremendous shock to me. It’s not that I don’t believe you, but give me a few moments to absorb it. Please.’

  Slowly Sierra nodded. She could see the sense in what he was staying, even if her instinct was to run. And in truth there was a part of her, a large part, that didn’t want to leave. ‘Okay,’ she said, and then waited.

  A full minute passed in silence. Finally Marco said hesitantly, ‘Why...why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Would you have believed me? You hated me, Marco.’ It hurt to remind him of that.

  ‘I mean before.’ The look he gave her was full of confusion and pain, and it made guilt flash through her like a streak of lightning. ‘When we were engaged.’

  ‘Even then you were his right-hand man.’

  ‘But you were going to marry me. How could we have had a marriage, with such a secret between us?’

  ‘I realised we couldn’t.’

  ‘Your father is why you left?’ Marco stared at her in disbelief, his jaw tight.

  ‘In a manner of speaking, I suppose.’

  ‘I don’t understand, Sierra.’ He raked his hands through his hair and even now, in the midst of all this confusion and misery, Sierra watched him with longing. Those muscled arms had held her so tenderly. She’d nestled against that chiselled chest, had kissed his salty skin. She averted her gaze from him. ‘Please help me to understand,’ Marco said, and underneath the sadness Sierra heard a note of frustration, even anger, and she tensed.

  ‘I don’t know what you want me to say.’

  ‘Anything. Something. Why did you agree to marry me?’ The question rang out, echoing through the suite.

  Sierra took a deep breath and met his gaze. ‘To get away from my father.’

  Marco’s face paled as his jaw bunched. Sierra kept herself from flinching even though she could tell he was angry. She didn’t completely understand why, but she felt it emanating from his taut body. ‘That’s the only reason?’ he asked in a low voice.