a second Marco’s gaze became distant, shuttered. Then he turned back to his phone. ‘Money doesn’t buy everything,’ he said, his voice clipped. ‘No matter how many people think so, it can’t make you happy.’
The honest statement, delivered as it was so matter-of-factly, both surprised and moved her. ‘Are you happy, Marco?’
He glanced up with a wolfish grin. ‘I was very happy with you in the dressing room. And I intend to be even happier before the day is done.’
She felt a flush spread across her body as her insides tingled. She knew Marco was deliberately avoiding a serious conversation, but she wanted him too much to care. ‘I hope you do mean that.’
He paused, lowering his phone. ‘I do mean it, Sierra. I want you very badly. So badly I almost lost control in a dressing room, which is something I’ve never done before.’
‘You haven’t?’ she teased, trying to ignore the jealousy that spiked through her. ‘I imagine you’ve got quite a lot of experience under your belt.’
‘Not as much as you probably think, but I know my way around.’ Her face heated even more and she looked away. Yes, he most certainly did. ‘What about you?’ he asked abruptly. ‘You must have had lovers over the last seven years.’ She opened her mouth to admit the truth but before she could he held up a hand. ‘Never mind. I don’t want to know.’ His face had hardened into implacable lines, and his eyes blazed. ‘But make no mistake, Sierra. I want you. Tonight.’
‘I want you, too,’ she whispered.
His gaze swept over her, searching, assessing. ‘We’re not who we were seven years ago. Things are different now.’
‘I know.’ She lifted her chin and met his gaze directly. ‘I know what this is, Marco. We’re in an amazing city for a short period of time and we happen to be attracted to each other. Very attracted. So why shouldn’t we act on it?’ She smiled, raising her eyebrows, making it sound so simple. As if she had had this kind of experience before. ‘It’s a fling.’
‘Yes,’ Marco said slowly. ‘That’s exactly what it is.’
Back in the hotel, Marco disappeared into the office to deal with some business before the opening while Sierra headed upstairs to the penthouse. The elegant lobby was bustling with staff as they prepared for the champagne and chocolate reception that would immediately follow the opening. And then, tonight, the ball...
Staff hurried and worked around her as she walked towards the private penthouse lift. One middle-aged man caught her eye and executed a stiff bow. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Rocci. I hope you find everything to your satisfaction.’
‘Yes, yes, of course,’ Sierra nearly stammered. She was shaken by the way the man knew her, knew she was a Rocci. She hadn’t truly been a Rocci in seven years. She’d turned her back on it all, and in that moment the memories came back in a sickening rush—the hotel openings so different from the modern elegance of The Rocci New York and yet so frighteningly familiar.
‘Miss Rocci? Are you all right?’ The man who had spoken to her before touched her elbow cautiously and Sierra realised she must have looked unwell. She felt sick and faint, and she reached out a hand to the lift door to steady herself.
‘I’m fine. Thank you. I just haven’t eaten today.’
‘I’ll have something sent up to your room.’
‘Thank you,’ Sierra murmured. ‘I appreciate it.’
The lift doors opened and she stepped inside, grateful for the privacy. For a few seconds she’d heard her father’s voice, felt his hand pinch her in warning as they mounted the steps of one hotel or another.
Be a good girl, Sierra. Smile for everyone.
She could hear the implied threat in his voice, the promise of punishment if she didn’t behave, all against the background of a crowd’s expectant murmurings, the clink of crystal...
The lift doors opened and Sierra stumbled out into the penthouse’s living area, the city stretching all around her, one hand clamped to her mouth. She swallowed down the bile and then hurried upstairs to the freestanding kitchen units and poured herself a glass of water. Dear heaven, she couldn’t fall apart now. Not when the opening was about to start, everyone was waiting for her. Marco was depending on her.
Sierra closed her eyes, memory and regret and fear coursing through her in unrelenting waves. She didn’t want to let Marco down. How much had changed in such a short time—six weeks ago she’d been hoping never to see him again.
And now...now she was hoping he’d make love to her tonight. She wanted to stand by his side at the opening and make him proud. She was halfway to falling in love with him.
Sierra’s eyes snapped open. What? How could she be? She’d always avoided and disdained love, seen how her mother had prostrated herself at its altar and lost her soul. And now she was poised to fall in love with a man she still didn’t entirely trust? Or maybe it was herself she didn’t trust. She didn’t trust herself to keep her head straight and her heart safe.
She was inexperienced when it came to romance or sex, and here she was, contemplating a fling? For a second Sierra wondered what on earth she was doing. And then she remembered the feel of Marco’s hands on her, his body behind her, and a shiver of sheer longing went through her. She knew what she was doing—and she needed to do it.
And as for the opening... She glanced at the clock above the sink and saw with a lurch of alarm that the opening was in less than an hour. An hour until she had to face Marco and the crowds of people who would be watching her, knowing she was a Rocci who had fallen from grace. Her stomach clenched and she half wished she could cry off, even as she acknowledged that she would never leave Marco in the lurch, publicly humiliated and alone. It would be almost as bad as leaving him at the altar.
She took a deep breath and willed her nerves back. Lifted her chin and straightened her shoulders. Show no fear. She could do this.
* * *
Marco paced the foyer of the hotel as the reporters, celebrities and guests attending the opening of The Rocci New York waited outside the frosted glass doors. It was three minutes past two o’clock and Sierra was meant to be down here. He’d already sent a staff member upstairs to check on her; she’d promised to be down shortly. He’d thought of going up himself, but some sense, or perhaps just an innate sense of caution, had stopped him. What if she didn’t want to see him now?
‘We should start...’ Antony, the head of the hotel, looked nervously at the waiting crowds.
‘We can’t start without a Rocci,’ Marco snapped. He felt his ‘less than’ status as the non-Rocci CEO keenly then, but worse, he felt it as a man. Sierra’s lateness was too powerful a reminder of another time he’d been kept waiting.
Another time he’d felt the blood drain from his head and the hope from his heart as he’d realised once again someone wasn’t coming back. Wasn’t coming at all.
He blinked back the memories, willed back the hurt and fear. This was different. He and Sierra were both different now.
Then the lift doors opened and she stepped out, looking ethereally lovely in a mint-green shift dress—and very pale. Her gaze darted round the
