almost nothing. Of course he was. ‘I hope you enjoy it then,’ she bit out, and his mouth curved in an unpleasant smile.
‘I’m sure I will. But you were trespassing on private property, you do realise?’
She shook her head, stunned by the depth of his anger and cruelty. So this was the true face of the man she’d once thought of marrying. ‘I’m leaving anyway.’
‘Not so fast.’ He grabbed her arm, his powerful fingers encircling her wrist, making her go utterly still. The commanding touch was so familiar and instinctively she braced herself for a blow. But it didn’t come; Marco simply stared at her, and it took Sierra a moment to realise the fingers around her wrist were actually exerting only a gentle pressure.
‘I want to know why you were here.’
‘I told you,’ she bit out. ‘To pay my respects.’
‘Did you go inside the villa?’
She stared at him, nonplussed. ‘No.’
‘How do I know that? You might have stolen something.’
She let out an incredulous laugh. If she’d had any doubts about whether jilting Marco Ferranti had been the right thing to do, he was dispelling them with dizzying speed.
‘What on earth do you think I stole?’ She shook his hand off her wrist and spread her arms wide. ‘Where would I hide it?’ She saw Marco’s gaze flick down to her breasts and too late she realised the white lace bra she wore was visible through the soaked, near-transparent silk. Sierra kept her head held high with effort.
‘I can’t be sure of anything when it comes to you, except that you can’t be trusted.’
‘Did you follow me all the way from Palermo?’
His jaw tightened. ‘I wanted to know where you were going.’
‘Well, now you know. And now I’m going back to Palermo.’ She started to move away but Marco stilled her with one outflung hand. He nodded towards the steep, curving road that led down the mountain.
‘The road will be impassable now with flash flooding. You might as well come into the villa until it is over.’
‘And you’ll frisk me for any possible stolen goods?’ Sierra finished. ‘I’ll take my chances with the flooding.’
‘Don’t be stupid.’ Marco’s voice was harsh, dismissive, reminding her so much of her father. Clearly, he’d decided to emulate his mentor.
‘I’m not being stupid,’ she snapped. ‘I mean every word I say.’
‘You’d rather risk serious injury or even death than come into a dry house with me?’ Marco’s mouth twisted. ‘What did I ever do to deserve such disgust?’
‘You just accused me of stealing.’
‘I simply wanted to know why you were here.’
Above them an ear-splitting crack of thunder sounded, making Sierra jump. She was completely soaked and unfortunately she knew Marco spoke the truth. The roads would be truly impassable, most likely for some time.
‘Fine,’ she said ungraciously and got into her car.
Marco unlocked the gates with the remote control in his car, and they swung silently back, revealing the villa’s long, curving drive.
Taking a deep breath, Sierra drove up with Marco following like her jailer. As soon as his car had passed, the gates swung closed again, locking her inside.
She parked in front of the villa and turned off the engine, reluctant to get out and face Marco again. And to face all the unwelcome memories that crowded her brain and heart. Coming back to Sicily had been a very bad idea.
Her door jerked open and Marco stood there, glowering at her. ‘Are you going to get out of your car?’
‘Yes, of course.’ She climbed out, conscious of his nearness, of the animosity rolling off him even though he’d sounded cold and controlled. After seven years, did he still hate her for what she’d done? It seemed so.
‘Is anyone living in the villa?’ she asked as he pressed the security code into the keypad by the front door.
‘No. I’ve left it empty for the time being, while I’ve been in Palermo.’ He glanced back at her, his expression opaque. ‘While your father was in hospital.’
Sierra made no reply. The lawyer, di Santis, had told her that her father had died of pancreatic cancer. He’d had it for several years but had kept it secret; when the end came it had been swift. After the call she’d tried to dredge up some grief for the man who had sired her; she’d felt nothing but a weary relief that he was finally gone.
Marco opened the front door and ushered her into the huge marble foyer. The air was chilly and stale, the furniture shrouded in dust cloths. Sierra shivered.
‘I’ll turn the hot water on,’ Marco said. ‘I believe there are clothes upstairs.’
‘My clothes...?’
‘No, those were removed some time ago.’ His voice was clipped, giving nothing away. ‘But some of my clothes are in one of the guest bedrooms. You can borrow something to wear while your own clothes dry.’
She remained shivering in the foyer, dripping rainwater onto the black and white marble tiles, while Marco set about turning on lights and removing dust covers. It felt surreal to be back in this villa, and she couldn’t escape the clawing feeling of being trapped, not just by the locked gates and the memories that mocked her, but by the man inhabiting this space, seeming to take up all the air. She felt desperate to leave.
‘I’ll light a fire in the sitting room,’ Marco said. ‘I’m afraid there isn’t much food.’
‘I don’t need to eat. I’m going to leave as soon as possible.’
Marco’s mouth twisted mockingly as he glanced back at her. ‘Oh, I don’t think so. The roads will be flooded for a while. I don’t think you’ll be leaving before tomorrow morning.’ His eyes glinted with challenge or perhaps derision as he folded his powerful arms across his chest. Even angry and hostile, he was a beautiful man, every taut muscle radiating strength and power. But she didn’t like brute strength. She hated the abuse of power. She looked away from him.
‘Why don’t you take a bath and change?’
Sierra’s stomach clenched at the prospect of spending a night under the same roof as Marco Ferranti. Of taking a bath, changing clothes...everything making her feel vulnerable. He must have seen something in her face for he added silkily, ‘Surely you’re not worried for your virtue? Trust me, cara, I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot bargepole.’
She flinched at both the deliberate use of the endearment and the contempt she saw in his face. The casual cruelty had been second nature to her father, but it stung coming from Marco Ferranti. He’d been kind to her once.
‘Good,’ she answered when she trusted her voice. ‘Because that’s the last thing I’d want.’
His
