The Commanding Italian's Challenge

‘I’m CEO,’ he stated imperiously. ‘Now, answer the question. Do you have a lover, Faye?’ he breathed, his voice a volcanic rumble as his gaze flicked down to where they were plastered together, chest to chest.

‘What? No! If I had a lover I wouldn’t even start!’

He breathed out slowly. Then, like an approaching tsunami, the hunger in his eyes intensified, growing possessive, blazing with a fire that threatened to turn her every objection to ash.

She knew it was a mistake to keep lying there, feverishly urging her mind to do the right thing when her body was moulded to his.

‘Allora perché? Why?’ he asked throatily, his gaze searching her face as if he would draw the answer from her very skin.

Absurdly afraid that he would achieve that goal, Faye scrambled off the lounger.

‘Why?’ She repeated his question. ‘Here’s a question for you. Why are you acting as if this is somehow written in the stars? This is not inevitable. Far from it. I don’t want you. I don’t want this.’

The words were flung out with wild, desperate intent—to make them both believe it. But all they achieved was drawing Maceo’s narrowed gaze, laser beams searching even harder.

‘Lie to yourself all you want, cara, but don’t insult me. We may not be “inevitable”, but have you considered that the one way to be rid of this...this follia is to get it out of the way?’

She shook her head. Retreat. Regroup.

Finally heeding her own advice, she took a few steps back.

Seeing her blatant retreat, Maceo stilled.

They stayed that way, locked in a churning whirlpool of emotions. Every cell in her body screamed at her to close the gap between them once more. Give in to the follia—the madness. But how could she while still keeping him in the dark about her secret?

Torn, she turned away. ‘I’m going for a swim. In the sea. I may be a while, so you’ll have all the time you need to forget this ever happened.’

She snatched up her dress and her bag and hurried away, with every step feeling his eyes boring into her back. She’d nearly reached the stone steps leading down to the beach when his voice stopped her.

‘Faye.’

He was close. Far too close.

She didn’t look back, terrified in case that face, that body, the heady knowledge that all that determination was focused on having her, swayed her into doing the unthinkable.

‘Nothing has changed. I’ll see you at dinner. And rest assured that we will visit this subject again. For my own sanity I’ll want a better answer than the flimsy ones you have given me so far.’

* * *

His words should have been her cue to refuse his dinner plans. To come up with an excuse to stay in her room.

But even that proved impossible. Because on her return she discovered the staff were packing up her luggage.

Her slightly hysterical demand as to why prompted a response in the form of a short, succinct note from Maceo.

Change of plan. We set sail tonight before sunset.

We won’t be returning to the villa for a few days.

Maceo.

They were visiting the plantations early? Was it because he wanted this trip to be over as soon as possible or because he had another strategy up his sleeve?

The urge to refuse rose again, but only for one futile second. She’d accompanied him of her own free will. Protesting now would be counterintuitive to everything she wanted to achieve. And, while she’d learned a few things about Luigi, one question still needed an answer. Tonight would be the perfect opportunity to demand it.

Besides, wasn’t this fractious subject the perfect tool to ensure they didn’t stray into dangerous territory? Because when they were discussing Luigi they kept their hands off each other. But then weren’t they equally adept at directing every subject back to this impossible attraction between them?

Not tonight, she vowed.