Inherited by Ferranti

‘Right.’ And never mind what she had to do. Of course. Sierra took a deep breath. This felt like the hardest thing she’d ever said, and yet she knew it had to be done. ‘I don’t think so, Marco.’

His mouth tightened and his eyes flashed. She knew he’d taken her meaning completely. Before he could respond the waiter came with their wine, a bottle of champagne that now seemed like a mockery, the loud sound of the cork popping a taunt.

The waiter poured two flutes with a flourish, the fizz going right to the top. Marco took one of the flutes and raised it sardonically.

‘So what shall we toast?’

Sierra could only shake her head. She felt swamped with misery, overwhelmed by it. She didn’t want things with Marco to end like this, and yet she didn’t know how else they could end. Any ending was bound to be brutal.

‘To nothing, then,’ Marco said, his voice hard and bitter, and drank.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

HE WAS LOSING HER, and he couldn’t even say he was surprised. This was what happened when you loved someone. They left.

And he loved Sierra. Had loved her for a long time. And even though he’d been telling himself he would walk away, Marco knew he didn’t want to. Ever. He wanted to love Sierra, to go to sleep with her at night and wake up with her in the morning. To hold her in his arms, hold their child in his arms. To experience everything life had to offer, good and bad, with her.

Marco put down his empty champagne flute, his insides churning with the realisation. He loved Sierra and she was slipping away from him every second.

‘I think perhaps I’m not hungry after all,’ she said quietly. Her face was pale, her fingers trembling as she placed the napkin on the table and rose from her seat.

She was leaving him, in a public restaurant? The papers would have a field day. Quickly, Marco rose, taking her elbow as he steered her out of the restaurant.

She jerked away from him the moment they were out on the street. ‘Don’t manhandle me.’

‘Manhandle?’ he repeated incredulously. ‘There were bound to be reporters in there, Sierra. Paparazzi. I was just trying to get us out of there without a scene.’

She shook her head, rubbing her elbow as if he’d hurt her. He suddenly felt sick.

‘You think I’d hurt you? After everything?’

‘No,’ she said, but she didn’t sound convinced. She’d never trust him, Marco realised. Never mind love him. Not after everything that had happened with Arturo, and not with how close he’d been to the man. The memories ran too deep. No matter what either of them felt, they had no chance.

‘Let’s go back to the hotel,’ he said tersely and hailed a cab.

Back at the penthouse suite, Sierra turned to face him. ‘I think I should leave,’ she said, voice wobbling and chin held high.

‘At least you had the decency to tell me this time,’ Marco answered before he could keep himself from it. He felt too emotionally raw to be measured or calm.

Her face paled but she simply nodded and turned away. He sank onto a sofa, his head in his hands, as he listened to her start to pack.

He told himself it was better this way. The past held too much power for them to ever have a real relationship, if that was even what Sierra wanted.

But it was what he wanted. What he needed. Was he really going to let Sierra walk out of his life a second time?

The force of his feelings felt like a hammer blow to his heart, leaving him breathless. He loved this woman, loved her too much to let her walk away. Again.

But that was what people did. His father, his mother, Sierra. They’d all left him, slipped out without saying goodbye, leaving him with nothing to do but wait and grieve.

But this time he had a choice. He had a chance to talk to Sierra honestly, to ask or even beg her to stay. He wouldn’t be proud. He loved her too much for that. The realisation sent adrenaline coursing through him and he rose from the sofa, pacing the room as panic roared through him. What if she said no? What if she still left?

Sierra emerged from the bedroom, her face still pale, her suitcase clutched in one hand. ‘I can call for a taxi...’

‘Don’t.’ The word came out like a command, and far too aggressive. Sierra blinked, then set her jaw. She didn’t like him ordering her around, and he could understand that. He respected it, liked her—no, loved her—more for it.

‘Please,’ he burst out. ‘Sierra, I don’t want you to walk out of my life again.’

She hesitated and he took the opportunity to walk towards her, take the suitcase from her unresisting hand. ‘Please listen to me for just a few minutes. And if you still want to leave after I’m done, I won’t stop you, I promise.’ His voice was hoarse, his heart beating painfully hard.