Inherited by Ferranti

‘No.’ He could admit that much. He hadn’t known her well enough to love her, and in any case he’d never been interested in love. Love meant opening yourself up to emotional risk, spreading your arms wide and inviting someone to take a shot. In his mother’s case, she’d sustained a direct hit. Not something he’d ever be so foolish or desperate to do.

‘So?’ Sierra arched an eyebrow, and it disconcerted him how quickly and neatly she’d flipped the conversation. He was no longer the one on the attack. How dare she put him on the defensive—she, who’d walked away without a word?

‘I could ask the same of you,’ he said. ‘Why did you agree to marry me?’ And then change your mind?

Sierra’s mouth firmed. ‘I’d convinced myself I could be happy with you. I was wrong.’

‘And what made you decide that?’ Marco demanded.

She sighed, shrugging her slim shoulders. ‘Do we really want to go through all this?’ she asked. ‘Do you think it will help? So much has happened. Seven years, Marco. Maybe we should just agree to—’

‘Disagree? We’re not talking about a little spat we had, Sierra. Some petty argument.’ His voice came out harshly—too harsh, ragged and revealing with the force of his emotion. Even so, he couldn’t keep himself from continuing. ‘We’re talking about marriage. We were a few hours away from pledging our lives to one another.’

‘I know.’ Her lips formed the words but he could barely hear her whisper. Her face had gone pale, her eyes huge and dark. Still she stood tall, chin held high. She had strength—more strength than he’d ever realised—but right now it only made him angry.

‘Then why...?’

‘You still didn’t answer my question, Marco.’ Her chin tilted up another notch. ‘Why did you want to marry me?’

He stared at her for a moment, furious that he felt cornered. ‘I need a drink,’ he said abruptly, and stalked into the kitchen. She didn’t follow him.

He yanked a bottle of whisky from the cupboard and poured a healthy measure that he downed in one swallow. Then he poured another.

Damn it, how dare she ask him, accuse him, when she was the one who should be called to account? What did it matter why he’d wanted to marry her, when she’d agreed?

He drained his second glass and then went back to the sitting room. Sierra had moved closer to the fire and the flames cast dancing shadows across her face. Her hair was starting to dry, the ends curling. She looked utterly delectable wearing his too-big clothes. The T-shirt had slipped off one shoulder, so he could see how golden and smooth her skin was. The belt she’d cinched at her waist showed off its narrowness and the high, proud curve of her breasts. He remembered the feel of them in his hands, when he’d given his desire free rein for a few intensely exquisite moments. He’d felt her arch into him, heard her breathy gasp of pleasure.

The memory now had the power to stir the embers of his desire and he turned away from her, willing the memories, the emotion, back. He didn’t want to feel anything, not even simple lust, for Sierra Rocci now.

‘Damn it, Sierra, you have some nerve asking me why I behaved the way I did. You’re the one who chose to leave without so much as a note.’

‘I know.’

‘And you still haven’t given me a reason why. You changed your mind. Fine. I accept that. It was patently obvious at the time.’ His voice came out sharp with bitterness and he strove to moderate it. ‘But you still haven’t said why. Don’t you think I deserve an explanation? Your parents are no longer alive to hear why you abandoned them, but I am.’ His voice hardened, rose. ‘So why don’t you just tell me the truth?’

CHAPTER FOUR

A LOG SETTLED in the grate and popped, sparks scattering across the hearth before turning to cold ash. The silence stretched on and Sierra let it. What could she say? What would Marco believe or be willing to hear?

It was obvious he’d manufactured his own version of events, no doubt been fed lies by her father, who would have pretended to grieve for her. Marco wouldn’t believe the truth now, even if she fed it to him with a spoon.

‘Well?’ His voice rang out, harsh and demanding. ‘No reply?’

She shrugged, not meeting his gaze. ‘What do you want me to say?’

‘I told you—the truth. Why did you leave, Sierra? The night before our wedding?’

Sierra took a deep breath and forced herself to meet his hard gaze; looking into his eyes felt like slamming into a wall. ‘Fine. The truth is I had second thoughts. Cold feet. I realised I was putting my life in the hands of a virtual stranger, and that it was a mistake. I couldn’t do it.’