Seeing Sierra Rocci look at him with stars in her eyes had felt good. Had made him feel part of something bigger than himself, and he’d craved that desperately. But Sierra made it sound as if he’d been calculating and cold, and it had never been like that for him.
‘You are painting only part of the picture,’ Marco finally said.
‘Oh, I’m sure you felt an affection for me,’ Sierra cut in. ‘An amused tolerance, no doubt. But eventually you would have tired of me and I would have resented you. It would have been a disaster, like I said.’
He opened his mouth to object, to tell her what he’d hoped would have happened. That maybe they would have liked each other, grown closer. No, he hadn’t loved her, hadn’t wanted to love her. Hadn’t wanted that much emotional risk. But he’d hoped for a good marriage. A real family.
She stared at him with challenge in her eyes and he closed his mouth. Why would he say all that now? Admit so much pathetic need? There was nothing between them now, no hope of any kind of future. Nothing but an intense physical awareness, and one he could use to his own ruthless advantage. Why shouldn’t he? Why shouldn’t he have Sierra Rocci in bed? Surely she wasn’t the innocent she’d once been, and he could tell she desired him. Even if she didn’t want to.
‘Perhaps you’re right,’ he said tonelessly. ‘In any case, you never gave us the opportunity to discover what might have happened. And, as you’ve said, it’s all in the past.’
Sierra’s breath left in a rush. ‘Yes.’ She sounded wary, as if she didn’t trust his words, that he could be so forgiving.
‘I’m glad you’ve realised that,’ she said, her voice cool, and Marco inclined his head. ‘I think I’ll go to bed.’ She rose gracefully and took her plate to the sink. Marco watched her go. ‘It’s been a long day and I have to get up early tomorrow for my flight.’
‘Very well.’
She turned to him, uncertainty flashing in her eyes. ‘Goodnight.’
Marco smiled fleetingly, letting his gaze rest on hers with intent, watching with satisfaction as her pupils flared and her breath hitched. ‘Let me show you to your room.’
‘It’s not necessary—’
He rose from the table and strode towards her, his steps eating up the space in a few long strides. ‘Oh,’ he assured her with a smile that had become feral, predatory, ‘but it is.’
CHAPTER FIVE
SHE COULDN’T SLEEP. Sierra lay in the double bed in the guest room Marco had shown her to a few hours ago and stared up at the ceiling. The rain drummed against the roof and the wind battered the shutters. And inside her a tangle of fear and desire left her feeling restless, uncertain.
She didn’t think she’d been imagining the heightened sense of expectation as Marco had led her from the kitchen and up the sweeping marble staircase to the wing of guest bedrooms. She certainly hadn’t been imagining the pulse of excitement she’d felt low in her belly when he’d taken her hand to guide her down the darkened corridor.
She hated how immediate and overwhelming her response to him was, and yet she told herself it was natural. Understandable. He was an attractive, virile man, and she’d responded to him before. She couldn’t control the way he made her body feel, but she could certainly control her actions.
And so with effort she’d pulled her hand from his. The gesture seemed only to amuse him; he’d glanced back at her with a knowing smile, and Sierra had had the uncomfortable feeling that he knew exactly what she was thinking—and feeling.
But he hadn’t acted on it. He’d shown her into the bedroom and she’d stood there, clearly waiting, while he’d turned on lights and checked that the shutters were bolted.
For an exquisite, excruciating second Sierra had thought he was going to do something. Kiss her. He’d stood in front of her, the lamplight creating a warm golden pool that bathed them both, and had looked at her. And she’d waited, ready, expectant...
If he’d kissed her then, she wouldn’t have been able to resist. The realisation should have been shaming but she’d felt too much desire for that.
But Marco hadn’t kissed her. His features had twisted in some emotion she couldn’t discern, and then he’d simply said goodnight and left her alone. Thank God.
There was absolutely no reason whatsoever to feel disappointed about that.
Now Sierra rose from the bed, swinging her legs over so her bare feet hit the cold tiles. Music. Music was what she needed now. Music had always been both her solace and her inspiration. When she was playing the violin, she could soar far above all the petty worries and cruelties of her day-to-day life. But she didn’t have her violin here; she’d left it in London.