‘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.