The Commanding Italian's Challenge

‘Hmm?’

‘A body as sensitive as yours shouldn’t go unarmoured,’ he rasped, his voice low and deep and entirely too dangerous, too intimate, for her peace of mind.

A very feminist part of her bristled. ‘Because any unwanted attention I receive from the opposite sex will be entirely my fault?’ she challenged.

One corner of his mouth twisted mirthlessly. ‘Because whatever male you eventually belong to will find the idea of you in this state—when he can’t do a single thing about it without causing scandal—completely maddening. Enough to risk him committing indecent crimes.’

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.’