The Commanding Italian's Challenge Page 10

  Whatever male you eventually belong to...

  Part of her wanted to laugh. The other part, that had retreated, horrified and bruised, from Matt’s callous condemnation, writhed in fresh anguish. She would never belong to anyone. Because no one would ever see beyond the stain that marked her.

  ‘Thank you for your concern, but you needn’t worry it’ll ever come to that,’ she said.

  Primal fire brimmed in his eyes for heart-pounding seconds. Then his hand stroked over his jacket pocket again, his expression growing a touch bewildered before his features shuttered.

  He kept hold of her. Helped her off the speedboat when they arrived at Villa Serenita. Tersely dismissed the staff who approached. And when she refused dinner, on account of having already had a light supper in her office, he walked her to her bedroom door, where he bade her a low, charged goodnight.

  But not before his laser gaze rested one last time on her bag. On her hair. And finally on her lips before, turning abruptly, he strode away.

  Leaving her with the bewildering sensation that she’d narrowly escaped a seismic event.

  CHAPTER SIX

  FAYE TOLD HERSELF it was entirely coincidental that the silver-threaded white bohemian dress she chose on Saturday was designed to be worn braless. She wasn’t tempting fate—never mind one Maceo Fiorenti.

  Since their intense interaction on Wednesday he’d reverted to ignoring her existence, not even dropping by to dangle morsels of information like he’d done the previous days. Work-related communications, including information about their trip to St Lucia tomorrow morning, had been transmitted via Bruno.

  It was also Bruno who’d informed her of the smart-chic dress code that had prompted her dress selection for the party.

  All day the villa had been a whirlwind of preparation. From the vantage point of her mosaic-tiled terrace she’d watched staff stringing fairy lights into the cypress trees dotted around the grounds, landscapers primping every inch of the gardens until the roses and poppies seemed to bloom brighter, and long tables with pristine silverware being set up at various corners of the grounds, gleaming.

  Thirty minutes ago the first of the guests had started arriving. She’d head downstairs just as soon as she’d calmed the turbo-charged butterflies in her belly...

  She started as a firm knock sounded. Blowing out a nervous breath, she slipped gaily coloured poppy-shaped hoop earrings into her lobes, put on red platform heels, then crossed to the door.

  Maceo stood on the threshold, much as he had on Wednesday night, but with a much more measured look. Which changed when he took in her attire. He looked...thunderstruck. A terse Italian expletive was ejected from between his lips, and one hand crept up to his nape.

  Faye watched his every reaction with something like lightning in her veins. Then, equally enthralled, she watched him wrestle every scrap of emotion under control, until only a smouldering fire remained in his eyes.

  ‘Are you ready?’ he enquired, his voice nowhere as smooth as normal.

  ‘Provided I pass muster, yes.’

  The look he levelled at her threatened to burn her to a cinder. ‘You are well aware of just how you look, signorina. Far be it from me to pile even more compliments on your beautiful head.’

  Her insides dipped alarmingly. She would have responded with a offhand remark had he not held out his arm to her. Mildly stupefied, she took it. Let him lead her down the hallway towards the stairs.

  ‘Have you given any further thought to selling me your share?’ he asked, with a flippancy she was sure was fabricated.

  ‘Was that why you came up to my room? To make inroads into getting what you want?’

  Why that made his jaw clench, Faye had no idea.

  ‘I always get what I want, arcobaleno. It’s simply a matter of timing.’

  ‘Yours or mine?’ She strove for a waspish tone to defuse the pleasure moving through her at his endearment.

  His lips twisted sardonically. ‘Mine, of course.’

  ‘You know I’m tempted to refuse to sell to you now, just on principle, don’t you?’

  ‘But you’ll give it the careful consideration it deserves and conclude that you’re far too sensible to do that, si?’ he queried mockingly.

  ‘Just for that, I’m inclined to string you along for the foreseeable future.’

  His face hardened. ‘Tomorrow is never guaranteed. Remember that, Faye.’

  Thrown into a pit of uncertainty at the sombre warning, she remained silent.

  When they arrived on the terrace he nodded curtly, then turned away as several dozen guests approached him. A blessing in disguise that allowed her to blend into the background, she told herself.

  Snagging a glass of tonic water, she made small talk with the guests who spoke English, and smiled through her halting Italian with those who didn’t. When Alberto spotted her and wove his way towards her, Faye sighed in relief.

  He designated himself her guide, introducing her to everyone in their vicinity until her head spun from trying to recall names.

  She was helping herself to a delicious bite of lemon chicken when Stefano and Francesco Castella approached. Thus far she’d had no personal interaction with Carlotta’s brothers, but she’d seen them around the office...noted their calculating glances.

  They reached her, and she saw Maceo’s head jerk up from where he was engrossed in conversation across the terrace. Narrowed eyes flicked from her to the brothers, returning to hers for several moments before he looked away.

  Despite their inconsequential small talk, Faye sensed the Castella brothers were assessing her, probing her for weakness. Beside her, Alberto stiffened at each seemingly casual phrase they uttered. And she sensed the many glances Maceo threw her way while the brothers lingered.

  When they eventually left, she frowned at Alberto’s sigh of relief.

  ‘What was all that?’ Faye asked, slowly expelling a calming breath.

  ‘Nothing you should waste your time on,’ Alberto reassured her, although his faint frown indicated otherwise. ‘Those two are...drammatico.’

  Faye bit her tongue against pressing for further elaboration. This was a party, after all. Although judging by the thunder on Maceo’s face when he glanced her way her once more, enjoyment wasn’t high on his list.

  * * *

  Not for a single moment in his life had Maceo been so racked with indecision.

  Stay close or retreat.

  Give in to her demands or pretend she didn’t exist.

  Every course of action reaped the same outcome—the intensifying of that hunger that had taken root within him, awakening needs he’d suppressed because seeking pleasure of any kind was an insult to his parents’ memory.

  But since that kiss he’d been bracingly reminded that he was a man. With a man’s needs. And Faye was very much a woman. A woman with a great many secrets that might very well prove detrimental to him. To the legacy his parents had died safeguarding.

  But a woman, nevertheless.

  Out of sight or in his presence, wearing one of her outrageous outfits with that arcobaleno hair, she haunted him.

  He sucked in a slow, steadying breath. Which immediately betrayed him by arriving with her delicate scent. He attempted to concentrate on the conversation he was having, although he didn’t need much brain power to glean that it was skewed towards another sycophantic display.

  Faye would never stray into sycophancy. She’s probably never even come across the word.

  She neither cared about impressing him nor elevating herself in his eyes, the way every other guest here strained to. And, despite his less than subtle statements on Wednesday night, she hadn’t condemned him to the primitive, sexist junkyard where he probably belonged.

  Whatever male you eventually belong to...

  Santa cielo! There had been no other male in his thoughts bes
ides himself when he’d uttered those ridiculous words. And, Dio lo aiuti, he’d felt every one of them in his very bones. Had experienced a hot, powerful throb of primal possessiveness that had made him question his sanity.

  The same sensation had assaulted him when she’d opened her door to him earlier, wearing a dress that had shredded his control. Only a desperate summoning of that framed list, that soul-shaking vow, had stopped him from succumbing to his savage hunger. He didn’t deserve relief of any kind. Especially not with Luigi’s stepdaughter. Although he was beginning to suspect Carlotta’s hand in this new and singular torment he was currently experiencing...

  Maceo was aware he was fast reaching the end of this particular rope. That soon he would throw another log into the inferno he battled each day. One he suspected might well test his very mettle—

  ‘Is everything satisfactory, signor?’ asked his Latin American senior executive.

  Maceo unclenched his jaw long enough to deliver an excuse tempered with a stiff smile, before removing himself from the tedious conversation.

  Instantly, husky laughter reached his ears...curled around his senses, held on tight and demanded attention.

  Faye.

  With a compulsion he deeply resented, he glanced across his landscaped gardens. There she was, surrounded by a clutch of admirers.

  Telling himself he should be satisfied that Stefano and Francesco had made themselves scarce didn’t work as his feet propelled him to her. As the bare expanse of her smooth back dissected by the thinnest of twin straps made him swallow a groan.

  To their credit, her admirers dispersed as he approached, leaving them alone in the shadow of a cypress tree. The sun hadn’t quite set, and the encroaching gloom before the lights came on perfectly suited Maceo’s mood.

  ‘You have a face like thunder again,’ Faye murmured. ‘Tell me... Your dislike of me—it goes beyond your role as executor of Carlotta’s will, doesn’t it?’ She raised defiant eyes to his.

  Dio mio, she was truly fearless. And somehow he couldn’t find it in himself to be annoyed by it any longer.

  ‘If you must know, I detest people who expect handouts for doing nothing. But perhaps in your case there’s valid cause to give you a pass.’

  Her mouth dropped open. ‘There is?’

  He shrugged. And before she could respond to the words he hadn’t intended to speak, he ploughed ahead. ‘What were you discussing with Stefano and Francesco?’

  Her eyes widened, knowledge dawning in their indigo depths. ‘They’re the reason for your hang-ups, aren’t they?’

  Partly.

  ‘Answer the question, if you please.’

  She sipped her drink leisurely before she answered. ‘They tried to be coy about it, but I think they were prying into what I am to you.’

  ‘And?

  ‘And I didn’t give them the satisfaction of an answer. I reckoned if you want them to know, you’ll tell them.’

  Her unexpected loyalty stunned him. ‘Grazie.’

  ‘What did they do? And, before you deny it, know that I have eyes, Maceo.’

  Why did his name on her lips thrill him so? And why wasn’t he telling her to mind her own business?

  ‘Besides making Carlotta’s life a misery at every opportunity?’ he said.

  She frowned. ‘Carlotta? I thought this was about you. It felt...personal.’

  Although for the life of him he couldn’t decipher why, he found himself elaborating. ‘After the accident, they and the rest of the board members tried to take the company away from her. They pulled every trick in the book, from declaring her incompetent to manipulating her grief. They even attempted blackmail.’

  ‘Then why are they still here, employed by Casa di Fiorenti?’ By you, her tone suggested.

  ‘Because she was kind-hearted. To Carlotta, family meant everything.’

  His neutrality failed when he heard the rough edge of guilt and bitterness in his own voice.

  ‘You don’t share the sentiment?’ Faye observed.

  Secrets he wished he didn’t possess clawed at his insides. ‘Not when that family is intent on doing you harm, no.’

  ‘The company was yours too. Didn’t they come after you?’

  ‘I happened to be...indisposed at the time.’

  ‘Indisposed?’

  His lips twisted. ‘The small matter of being in a coma and unable to defend myself.’

  She paled and sucked in a sharp breath. ‘You were in a coma?’

  Maceo was surprised the office gossips hadn’t already divulged that information.

  ‘Oh, my God, Maceo...’

  Did she know she’d clutched his arm? That her grip tightened by the second? A throb of guilty pleasure beat through him along with the shame, because he liked her touch far too much to tell her. To remind himself why he shouldn’t allow it.

  ‘How—’ She gasped as enlightenment arrived. ‘You were in the same accident?’ she whispered.

  ‘Si, I was.’ Something moved through him—an awakening of that deep pain. That profound regret. And the guilt. Always the guilt.

  ‘What...? How did you survive?’

  He shrugged. ‘According to witnesses, I was thrown clear too, before the car went off the road. I wasn’t as lucky as Carlotta, though. I suffered head injuries and slipped into a coma.’

  One he hadn’t come out of for over a year.

  Her breath emerged shakily. He wanted to devour it. To absorb every ounce of emotion she could spare, hoard it like a miser for those dark days ahead when the reality that he was truly alone threatened to drive him insane.

  Did he deserve even that? No, he didn’t. And yet he couldn’t help himself.

  ‘Does your heart grow soft for me, cara?’ he queried, yearning for another morsel to take his mind off his bleak future.

  She exhaled, another shaky breath that drew him like a siren song. ‘I’d be heartless not to feel for anyone who goes through something like that.’

  ‘But I’m not “anyone”, am I, Faye?’

  Several expressions chased across her face, charged by the dark magic that weaved around them. ‘No, you’re not. But you deserve the same consideration.’

  Her attempt to put him in his place unsettled him. ‘Is that all I deserve?’ he pressed, giving in to the urge to stroke that smooth, silky cheek, to brush his thumb over lips that tasted as sweet as he suspected heaven tasted.

  He knew he should stop. Knew he was letting himself down. But, mio Dio, this woman made him weak. And he’d been fighting for so long...

  He’d never attributed any lofty connotations to his sexual circumstances. The decision he’d taken over a decade ago had been rooted in loyalty and the need to honour his parents’ memory. He’d vowed not to chase pleasure or contentment when his parents lay dead because he’d acted as judge, jury and executioner.

  Nothing had changed. His demons raged as virulently as ever, demanding his continued sacrifice. So why was denying himself now so challenging? Why, for the first time in a decade, did he want to fall short of his own goals?

  ‘I’m not sure how...what you mean...’

  ‘Aren’t you?’

  ‘Maceo...’

  He parried. She retreated.

  Their silent little dance had led them behind a larger cypress tree, farther away from curious eyes. Capturing her soft nape, lowering his head and taking those luscious lips with his in that moment felt deliciously simple. And yet life-altering in a way that shook through him.

  She moaned and clung harder to him. The sweet sound of her whimper tore a reciprocal sound from within him—a vocal manifestation of the hunger clawing through him. A hunger she’d stoked from the first moment he’d set eyes on her. A hunger he knew deep in his bones would be just as tough to wrestle as his demons.

  Later. When this temporary madness h
ad eased.

  He nudged her against the tree, exhaling in satisfaction as her soft curves moulded to him. It was almost as if she had been made for him, if one believed in such whimsy.

  He most certainly didn’t. This was simply a combination of chemicals, aligned to trigger base instincts. Nothing more. He would walk away as soon as this insanity was dispensed with.

  He spiked his fingers into her hair, angled her face up for a deeper kiss. A deeper taste.

  And felt her hands on his chest.

  Pushing him away.

  Maceo levered himself away, disbelief dripping ice and reality into his veins, reminding of where he was. Who he was.

  ‘Stop. I...I can’t,’ she said, her voice husky with arousal but firm enough to push him back another step.

  While he’d been lost in her allure the lights had come on. A metaphor for his shameful actions, perhaps? Too late, his hand drifted to his breastbone. But of course he’d left the list in his bedroom. Because he didn’t want to be reminded of it? A deeper shame crawled over his skin as the answer arrived in the throbbing of his groin.

  ‘Maceo?’

  ‘Hurry along then, bellissimo arcobaleno. Consider your reprieve granted.’

  Her eyes widened and her lips worked as if she would object. But a second later she turned her back and walked away. Leaving him in a far greater torment than he’d wrestled with only an hour ago. Because, as he’d suspected, even the simple act of watching her walk away challenged his every vow. Threatened to erode the foundations of the belief that had guided him so steadily for a decade.

  His turmoil was nowhere near battened down when he rejoined the party and played host with forced alacrity. And when the last guest had departed and he went upstairs, not towards his own suite but in her direction, he told himself it was because he needed to face this new demon head-on.

  His knock was loud and rough, echoing the sensations inside him.