she managed in a shaky whisper. ‘I remember.’
‘You liked my kisses.’ It was a statement, and he waited for her to refute it, confident that she couldn’t. Sierra tried to look away but Marco held her gaze as if he were holding her face in place with his hands. He was that commanding, that forceful, and he hadn’t even moved.
‘You don’t deny it.’
‘No.’ The word was drawn from her with helpless reluctance.
‘You still like them, I think,’ he said softly, and her silence condemned her. Slowly, inexorably, Marco drew her to him. She knew he was going to kiss her, and she knew she wanted him to. She also knew it was a bad idea, a dangerous idea, considering all that had—and hadn’t—happened between them and yet she didn’t resist.
His lips brushed hers once, twice. A shuddering sigh escaped her and she reached up to clutch his shoulders and steady herself. His skin felt hot and hard under her palms and she couldn’t keep herself from smoothing her hands down his back, revelling in the feel of him. How could a man’s skin feel so silky?
Marco’s hands framed her face as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding sweetly into her mouth as he tasted and explored her. He slid his hands from her face to her shoulders and then, wonderfully, to her breasts, cupping them as he had that day under the plane tree. She remembered how exciting it had felt, or at least she thought she had, but the reality of his touch now was so intense, so exquisite, she almost cried out as his thumbs brushed over her nipples. She hadn’t remembered this, not enough.
‘Marco.’ His name came on a breath, and she didn’t even know why she said it. Was she asking him to continue or telling him to stop?
He moved his mouth to her jaw, blazing kisses along her neck and collarbone as he slid his hand under her T-shirt and cupped her bare breast, the feel of his rough palm against her soft flesh, the gentle abrasion of it, making every nerve-ending blaze almost painfully to life. It was too much, and yet she wanted more.
‘I want you.’ He spoke hoarsely, firmly, declaring his intent. Sierra could only nod. He touched her chin with his fingers, forcing her to meet his blazing gaze. ‘Say it. Say you want me, Sierra.’
‘I want you,’ she whispered, the words drawn from her, falling into the stillness, creating ripples.
Triumph blazed in his eyes as he pulled the T-shirt off her. She hadn’t bothered with the tracksuit bottoms for pyjamas, so in one fluid movement she’d become naked. She sucked in a hard breath when he pulled her towards him, her breasts colliding and then crushed against his chest. The feel of their bare skin touching sent another tingling quiver of awareness shooting through her. Marco’s hands were on her waist and then her hips as he fitted her against him. She could feel his arousal through the thin pyjama bottoms and it made her gasp. So many sensations all at once; she could barely acknowledge one before another came crashing over her.
Marco eased her back onto the piano bench, spreading her legs so he could stand between them. Her head fell back as he kissed his way from her collarbone to her breasts, and Sierra moaned as his tongue flicked across her sensitive flesh. She’d never realised you could feel this way, that a man could make you feel this way. He glanced up at her, his grey eyes blazing with triumph, and then he moved his head from her breasts to between her thighs and her breath came out in a shaky moan as he touched her centre.
‘Oh.’ She arched against his mouth, astonished at how sharp and intense the pleasure was, how consuming as his tongue found the very heart of her. ‘Oh.’ She threaded her hands through his silky hair as her body arched helplessly against his mouth and his hands gripped her hips. It only took a few exquisite moments for her world to explode in glittering fragments around her and she cried out, one jagged note that echoed through the stillness of the villa.
She really had no idea.
She sagged against the piano as her body trembled with the aftershocks of her climax and Marco lifted his head to gaze at her with blatant—and smug—satisfaction. Realisation thudded sickly through her; his look said it all. He’d been trying to prove something, and he’d just proved it—in spades.
Shakily, colour rushing to her face, Sierra pushed her tangle of hair from her hot cheeks and closed her legs, pushing him away from her. The intensity of the moment had splintered, leaving her feeling raw and exposed. Wounded and ashamed. She’d been so wanton, so shameless, and Marco had been utterly in control. As always.
‘Now at least you know a little of what you’ve missed,’ he said and her mouth opened on a soundless gasp.
‘You’ve proved your point, then, I suppose,’ she managed and on shaking legs she grabbed her T-shirt and rushed from the room.
* * *
Marco stalked upstairs, his whole body throbbing with unfulfilled desire—and worse, regret. He’d behaved like a cad. A heartless, cruel cad. And he needed an icy-cold shower. Swearing under his breath, he strode into his bedroom and went straight to the en suite bathroom, turning the cold on full blast. He stepped beneath the needling spray, sucking in a hard breath as the icy water hit his skin and chilled him right through. And even then he couldn’t quench the fire that raged in his veins, heated his blood, born of both shame and lust.
He’d wanted her so much, more than he’d ever wanted another woman. More than he’d ever thought possible. The sweetness of her response, the innocence of it... Marco braced his hands against the shower stall. He could almost believe she was still untouched. She’d seemed so surprised by everything, so enthralled. And when she’d fallen to pieces beneath his mouth...
Forcefully he pushed the memory away. The last thing he needed now was to remember how that had felt. Better to remember the sudden look of uncertainty on her face, of shame. The realisation that he’d been low enough to exact some kind of revenge, using her body against her. Forcing her to respond to him, even though she’d once rejected him.
He’d been tempted to seduce her, yes, and he could have had her earlier, when he’d shown her to her bedroom. He’d seen the uncertainty and desire in her eyes, how she had hesitated. But he’d resisted the temptation, had told himself he was better than that.
Apparently he wasn’t.
His body numb with cold, his blood still hot, Marco turned off the shower and wrapped a towel around his hips. Sleep would not come for him tonight, not when too many emotions still churned through him. He went to his laptop instead, powered it up and prepared to work.
By dawn his eyes were gritty, his body aching, but at least the rain had stopped. Marco stood at the window and gazed out at the rain-washed gardens. The once manicured lawns and groomed beds were a wild tangle of shrubs and trees; he hadn’t looked after the estate in the last few years, when Arturo had been too ill to do so himself. He’d hire a gardener to clean it up before he sold it. He didn’t want to have anything more to do with the place.
When he came downstairs Sierra was already in the kitchen, dressed in the silk blouse and pencil skirt she’d worn yesterday. Both were creased but dry; she’d put her hair back up in its sleek chignon and all of it felt like armour, a way to protect herself against him.
Marco hesitated in the doorway, wondering whether to mention last night. What would he even say? In any case Sierra looked as if she wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened, and maybe that was best.
‘We should get on the road if your flight is this afternoon.’
‘We?’ She shook her head firmly. ‘I’ll drive myself.’
‘The mountain roads still aren’t passable, and your rental car looks like little more than a tin can on wheels,’ Marco dismissed. ‘I’ll drive you. My car can handle the flooding.’
‘But what about my rental...?’
‘I’ll have someone pick it up and deliver it to the agency. It’s not a problem.’
She licked her lips, her eyes wide, her expression more than a little panicked. ‘But...’