‘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.
By early evening Marco could tell Sierra was starting to flag. He was, too, and although he wanted to spend the entire day with Sierra, he knew there was pressing business to attend to before tomorrow’s opening. He took a call as they entered the hotel, flashing a quick apologetic smile at Sierra. She smiled back, understanding, and disappeared into her room in the penthouse suite while Marco stretched out on a sofa and dealt with a variety of issues related to the opening.