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as a small child. He always looked guilty, miserable. He kept checking his watch, the whole time he was there.’ Marco sighed and drained his flute of champagne. ‘The visits became less frequent, as did the times he sent money. Eventually he stopped coming altogether.’

      Sierra’s mouth was dry, her heart pounding strangely. Marco had never told her any of this before. She’d had no idea he’d had such a childhood; he’d suffered loss and sorrow, just as she had, albeit in a different way. ‘He never said goodbye?’

      Marco shook his head. ‘No, he just stopped coming. My mother struggled on as best as she could.’ He shrugged. ‘Sicily, especially back in those days, wasn’t an easy place to be a single mother. But she did her best.’ His mouth firmed as his gaze became distant. ‘She did her best,’ he repeated, and he almost sounded as if he were trying to convince himself.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ Sierra said quietly. ‘That must have been incredibly difficult.’

      He shrugged and shook his head. ‘It was a long time ago. I left that life behind when I was sixteen and I never looked back.’

      Just like she had, except he would never understand her reasons for leaving, for needing to escape. Not unless she told him.

      Considering all he’d just told her, Sierra felt, for the first time, that she could tell Marco the truth of her childhood. She wanted to. She opened her mouth to begin, searching for the right words, but he spoke first.

      ‘That’s why I’m so grateful to your father for giving me a chance all those years ago. For believing in me when no one else did. For treating me more like a son than my own father did.’ He shook his head, his expression shadowed with grief. ‘I miss him,’ he said quietly, his tone utterly heartfelt.

      Bile churned in her stomach and she nodded mechanically. The memories Marco spoke of were so far from her own reality of a man who had only shown her kindness in public. He’d chuck her under the chin, heft her onto his shoulders, tell the world she was his little bellissima. And everyone had believed it. Marco had believed it. Why shouldn’t he?

      And in that moment she knew she could never tell him the truth. Not when his own family life had been so sadly lacking, not when her father had provided the love and support he’d needed. She’d had her own illusions ripped away once. She wouldn’t do the same to him, to anyone, and for what purpose? In three days she’d be back in London, and she and Marco need never see each other again.

       CHAPTER EIGHT

      BY THE TIME they were settled in the first-class compartment on the flight to New York, Sierra had restored her equilibrium. Mostly. She felt as if she were discovering a whole new side to Marco, deeper and intriguing layers, now that they’d laid aside the resentment and hostility about the past.

      She was remembering how kind and thoughtful he could be, how he saw to her small comforts discreetly, how he cocked his head, his mouth quirking in a smile as he listened to her, making her feel as if he really cared what she said.

      She didn’t think it was an act this time. She hoped it wasn’t. The truth was she still didn’t trust herself. Didn’t trust anyone. But the more time she spent with Marco, the more her guard began to lower.

      And she was enjoying simply chatting to him over an amazingly decadent three-course meal, complete with fine crystal and china and a bottle of very good wine. She liked feeling important and interesting to him, and she was curious about his life and ambitions and interests. More curious than she’d been seven years ago, when she’d seen him as little more than a means to an end—to escape. Now she saw him as a man.

      ‘It was your idea to bring Rocci Hotels to North America?’ she asked as she spooned the last of the dark chocolate mousse they’d been served for dessert.

      He hadn’t said as much, but she’d guessed it from the way he’d been describing the New York project. He’d clearly been leading the charge.

      ‘The board wasn’t interested in expansion,’ Marco answered with a shrug. ‘They’ve never liked risk.’

      ‘So it’s even more important that this succeeds.’

      ‘It will. Especially since you’ve agreed.’ His warm gaze rested on her, and Sierra felt her insides tingle in response. It would be so easy to fall under Marco’s charm again, especially since this time it felt real. But where would any of it lead? They had no future. She knew that. But she still enjoyed talking to him, being with him. She even enjoyed that tingle, dangerous as it was.

      The steward dimmed the lights in the first-class cabin and Marco leaned over her seat to let it recline. Sierra sucked in a hard breath at the nearness of his body, the intoxicating heat of him. His head was close to hers as he murmured, ‘You should get rest while you can. Tomorrow will be a big day.’

      She nodded wordlessly, her gaze fastened on his, and gently Marco tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. It was the merest of touches, it meant nothing, and yet still she felt as if he’d given her an electric shock, her whole body jolting with longing. Marco smiled and then settled back in his own seat, stretching his long legs out in front of him as his seat dipped back. ‘Get some sleep if you can, Sierra.’

      * * *

      Marco shifted in his seat, trying to get comfortable. It was damned difficult when desire was pulsing in his centre, throbbing through his veins. It had been nearly impossible to resist touching Sierra as they’d talked. And he’d enjoyed the conversation, the sharing of ideas, the light banter. He’d even been glad, in a surprising way, to have told her more about his past. He hadn’t been planning to reveal the deprivations of his childhood and he’d kept some of it back, not wanting to invite her pity. But to see her face softened in sympathy...to know that she cared about him, even in that small way, affected him more than he was entirely comfortable with.

      He’d been glad to move on to lighter topics, and Sierra had thankfully taken his cue. He’d enjoyed talking with her seven years ago, but she’d been a girl then, innocent and unsophisticated. The years had sharpened her, made her stronger and more interesting. And definitely more desirable.

      In the end he hadn’t been able to resist. A small caress, his fingers barely grazing her cheek as he’d tucked her hair behind her ear. He could tell Sierra was affected by it, though, and so was he. He longed to take her in his arms, even here in the semiprivacy of their seats, and plunder her mouth and body. Lose himself in her sweetness and feel her tremble and writhe with pleasure.

      Stifling a groan, Marco shifted again. He needed to stop thinking like this. Stop remembering what Sierra’s naked body had looked like as she’d been splayed across the piano bench, her skin golden and perfect in the lamplight. Stop remembering how silky she’d felt, how delicious she’d tasted, how overwhelming her response to him had been.

      Marco clenched his eyes shut as a sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead. Next to him Sierra shifted and sighed, and the breathy sound made another spasm of longing stab through him. It was going to be a long flight. Hell, it was going to be a long three days. Because one thing he knew was he wouldn’t take advantage of Sierra again.

      He must have fallen into a doze eventually, because he woke to find her sitting up and smiling at him. Her hair was in delightful disarray about her face and she gave him a playful look as he straightened.

      ‘You snore, you know.’

      He drew back, caught between affront and amusement. ‘I do not.’

      ‘Hasn’t anyone ever told you before?’

      ‘No, because I don’t snore.’ And because he’d never had a woman stay the night to tell him so. Since Sierra, his love life—if he could even call it that—had been comprised of one-night stands and week-long flings. He’d had no intention of being caught again.

      ‘Not very loudly,’ Sierra informed him with an impish smile. ‘And not all the time. But you do snore.