Mentally, Sierra shrugged away the memory. So the man could kiss. Marco Ferranti no doubt had unimaginable sexual prowess. He’d probably been with dozens—hundreds—of women. It didn’t change facts.
‘No,’ she told him flatly. ‘I have nothing to say.’
* * *
Marco stared at Sierra, at the cool hauteur on her lovely face, and felt another blaze of anger go off like a firework in his gut. How could she be so cold?
‘You know, I admired how cool you were, all those years ago,’ he told her. Thankfully, his voice sounded as flat as hers, almost disinterested. He’d given away too much already, too much anger, too much emotion. He’d had seven years to get over Sierra. In any case, it wasn’t as if he’d ever loved her.
‘Cool?’ Sierra repeated. She looked startled, wary.
‘Yes, you were so self-possessed, so calm. I liked that about you.’ She didn’t reply, just watched him guardedly. ‘I didn’t realise,’ Marco continued, his tone clipped as he bit off each word precisely, ‘that it was because you had no heart. You were all ice underneath.’ Except she hadn’t been ice in his arms.
Still she said nothing, and Marco could feel the anger boiling inside him, threatening to spill out. ‘Damn it, Sierra, didn’t you ever think that I deserved an explanation?’
Her gaze flicked away from his and her tongue darted out to touch her lips. Just that tiny gesture set lust ricocheting through him. He felt dizzy from the excess of emotion, anger and desire twined together. He didn’t want to feel so much. After seven years of cutting himself off from such feelings, the force of their return was overwhelming and unwelcome.
‘Well?’ Marco demanded. Now that he’d asked the question, he realised he wanted an answer.
‘I thought it was explanation enough that I left,’ Sierra said coolly.
Marco stared at her, his jaw dropping before he had the presence of mind to snap it shut, the bones aching. ‘How on earth could you think that?’
Her gaze moved to his and then away again. ‘Because it was obvious I’d changed my mind.’
‘Yes, I do realise. But I’ve never understood why, and your father didn’t, either. He was devastated when you left, you know. Utterly bereft.’ He still remembered how Arturo had wept and embraced him when he’d told him, outside the church, that Sierra was gone. Marco had been numb, disbelieving; he’d wanted to send search parties until the truth of what Arturo was saying slammed home. She wasn’t missing. She’d left. She’d left him, and for a second he wasn’t even surprised. His marriage to Sierra, his acceptance into the Rocci family, it had all been too good—too wonderful—to be true.
Now Sierra’s mouth firmed and she folded her arms, her blue-grey eyes turning as cold as the Atlantic on a winter’s day. ‘Why did you want to marry me, Marco, if we’re going to rake through the past? I never quite understood that.’ She paused, her cool gaze trained on him now, unflinching and direct, offering an unspoken challenge. ‘It’s not because you loved me.’
‘No.’ He could admit that much. He hadn’t known her well enough to love her, and in any case he’d never been interested in love. Love meant opening yourself up to emotional risk, spreading your arms wide and inviting someone to take a shot. In his mother’s case, she’d sustained a direct hit. Not something he’d ever be so foolish or desperate to do.
‘So?’ Sierra arched an eyebrow, and it disconcerted him how quickly and neatly she’d flipped the conversation. He was no longer the one on the attack. How dare she put him on the defensive—she, who’d walked away without a word?
‘I could ask the same of you,’ he said. ‘Why did you agree to marry me?’ And then change your mind?
Sierra’s mouth firmed. ‘I’d convinced myself I could be happy with you. I was wrong.’
‘And what made you decide that?’ Marco demanded.
She sighed, shrugging her slim shoulders. ‘Do we really want to go through all this?’ she asked. ‘Do you think it will help? So much has happened. Seven years, Marco. Maybe we should just agree to—’
‘Disagree? We’re not talking about a little spat we had, Sierra. Some petty argument.’ His voice came out harshly—too harsh, ragged and revealing with the force of his emotion. Even so, he couldn’t keep himself from continuing. ‘We’re talking about marriage. We were a few hours away from pledging our lives to one another.’
‘I know.’ Her lips formed the words but he could barely hear her whisper. Her face had gone pale, her eyes huge and dark. Still she stood tall, chin held high. She had strength—more strength than he’d ever realised—but right now it only made him angry.
‘Then why...?’
‘You still didn’t answer my question, Marco.’ Her chin tilted up another notch. ‘Why did you want to marry me?’
He stared at her for a moment, furious that he felt cornered. ‘I need a drink,’ he said abruptly, and stalked into the kitchen. She didn’t follow him.
He yanked a bottle of whisky from the cupboard and poured a healthy measure that he downed in one swallow. Then he poured another.
Damn it, how dare she ask him, accuse him, when she was the one who should be called to account? What did it matter why he’d wanted to marry her, when she’d agreed?
He drained his second glass and then went back to the sitting room. Sierra had moved closer to the fire and the flames cast dancing shadows across her face. Her hair was starting to dry, the ends curling. She looked utterly delectable wearing his too-big clothes. The T-shirt had slipped off one shoulder, so he could see how golden and smooth her skin was. The belt she’d cinched at her waist showed off its narrowness and the high, proud curve of her breasts. He remembered the feel of them in his hands, when he’d given his desire free rein for a few intensely exquisite moments. He’d felt her arch into him, heard her breathy gasp of pleasure.
The memory now had the power to stir the embers of his desire and he turned away from her, willing the memories, the emotion, back. He didn’t want to feel anything, not even simple lust, for Sierra Rocci now.
‘Damn it, Sierra, you have some nerve asking me why I behaved the way I did. You’re the one who chose to leave without so much as a note.’
‘I know.’
‘And you still haven’t given me a reason why. You changed your mind. Fine. I accept that. It was patently obvious at the time.’ His voice came out sharp with bitterness and he strove to moderate it. ‘But you still haven’t said why. Don’t you think I deserve an explanation? Your parents are no longer alive to hear why you abandoned them, but I am.’ His voice hardened, rose. ‘So why don’t you just tell me the truth?’
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