The Commanding Italian's Challenge

A rush of heat through his veins stilled him for a moment. And then he brutally dismissed it. There should be nothing pleasing about her using his name. She’d invited him to use hers, after all. Yet he yearned to hear her say it again. Perhaps even moan it when he explored that lush lower lip of her with his fingers? His lips?

Dio Santo, what was wrong with him?

His hand went to his breastbone, blindly seeking the list. The reminder. But it was still in his jacket, discarded in his study. Much as he was discarding his vow—

No. Never that.

He dropped his hand as she walked past him and headed for the house. Again he felt that maddening compulsion to follow, to let his gaze wander over her, take in those long, supple legs and slim, delicate ankles.

‘Was there a particular reason for this dinner?’ she threw at him over her shoulder.

For an unguarded moment he wanted to toss back a petty retort that if she’d wanted to find out she should’ve let him know her plans. Thankfully, the moment passed.

‘I was struck by a sudden generosity and decided to answer a few of your questions over a good meal.’

She’d started to climb the steps leading to the terrace, but she stopped and pivoted, her movements entrancingly graceful. ‘You were going to tell me about Luigi?’

Her eyes glowed in the dark, luminous and expectant. Torrid heat built within him, flaring until it engulfed his whole body.

‘Perhaps. I hadn’t quite made up my mind.’

She tilted her head, indigo eyes narrowing. ‘Do you take pleasure in toying with me, Maceo?’

The very thought of trifling with her sent a heavy pulse of arousal through him. Dio, he either needed to find a different sort of entertainment or to have his head examined.

‘You missed your chance to find out.’

Sumptuous lips pressed together. ‘How do I even know this dinner plan you claim to have had is the truth? Maybe you’re trying to make me feel bad about something that didn’t exist.’

‘Do you feel bad about anything?’

She stiffened. ‘What?’

He summoned righteous outrage, hoping it would erode this...this lust that insisted on confusing him. ‘You had a chance to get your answers from Carlotta and you denied her. Do you feel bad about that?’

She simply stared at him. Bold and seeking. And for the first time in his life Maceo felt the strangest inclination to back down. Look away.

‘What happened to you...?’ she murmured eventually.

Ice cracked his spine. ‘What?’

The light in her eyes dimmed. ‘Never mind. I’m wasting my breath.’ She started to walk away.

Without stopping to consider the wisdom of it, he reached out and captured her elbow. ‘Clearly you have something on your mind. Let’s hear it,’ he invited silkily. ‘A nightcap, perhaps? Maybe that will make you more civil?’

Her eyes shadowed, then dropped away. ‘I don’t drink. Never have.’

‘Any particular reason why not?’ he asked.

‘Because a clear head is important to me.’

‘What a peculiar answer.’

She shrugged. ‘You find me peculiar already. What’s one more thing?’ She pulled away, and with searing reluctance Maceo let her go.

In the salone, he strode over to the drinks cabinet, poured mineral water with a dash of lime and held it out to her. She took it, but made no move to drink.

‘So, is clubbing your ideal sort of entertainment?’ he asked, feeling his reluctance to be done with her eating deeper into him.