The Commanding Italian's Challenge

He drank her in, delving deep into her mouth to taste every inch. And how sweet she tasted. Adolescent experiences he could barely recall evaporated from his mind for ever, replaced by this new, mind-bending sensation threatening to overwhelm him.

Faye’s scent. Her taste. The soft firmness of her body. All eroded his greatest asset—his control. But even as he assured himself he could wrestle it back, he was also admitting to himself that he’d never felt want like this.

His marriage hadn’t been a traditional one. Only he and Carlotta knew their truth. So his need was particularly acute as he fisted Faye’s hair, helped himself to another taste of cherry blossom and the pure woman in his arms.

And he would have kept on sampling and indulging if reality had not seeped in like a dark, icy storm.

Was he really doing this? Blithely discarding his vow for the sake of this foolish temporary temptation? When the last thing he deserved was any form of serenity?

With a control he wrestled extremely hard for, he broke the kiss.

Eyes wide, breath panting, Faye stared up at him, a look of horror slowly etching her face. ‘I’m not sure exactly what that was, but—’

‘I can spell it out for you or give you another demonstration if you need pointers?’ he said, infusing his voice with nonchalance he didn’t feel. Maceo had no intention of losing himself like that again, but she didn’t need to know it.

She shook her head, sparking an irrational irritation inside him as the look of horror remained on her face, despite feeling a similar sensation at himself.

‘I don’t want pointers, thank you. What I’d like is to go to bed—if this little game of yours is over?’ Without waiting for an answer, she hurried towards the door.

Maceo followed, the decision he’d made at the mausoleum earlier rushing back to him. Keep her close...safeguard my parents’ legacy.

He watched her climb the sweeping stairs, her bare feet and shapely legs sparking renewed hunger inside him. At the top of the stairs she paused, one hand on the banister, the other clutching her shoes.

It was as if that compulsion in him had reached out and snagged her. Slowly, she looked over her shoulder, eyes watchful. Saying nothing.

Maceo allowed the silence to pulse while thick, dangerous emotions sizzled between them. Then he delivered his final volley. The one he’d savoured with far too much anticipation while he’d awaited her return.

‘Just so you know, from Monday you’re moving departments.’

She inhaled sharply. ‘Excuse me?’

‘You can continue your little assignment for R&D, but it’s time to switch things up a little. You’ll be working directly with me. Who knows? You might catch me in a mood to answer a few more of your questions about Luigi.’

She stared down at him, her mouth working although no sound emerged. Maceo wanted her to storm back down and tackle him about his announcement. To accuse him of dangling the carrot of Luigi to get what he wanted.

Hell, he wanted a great many things—things that should shroud him in shame and guilt. Because even now his lips tingled. He resisted the urge to touch his fingers to them by lifting his glass and draining the last of his drink, his eyes never leaving her face.

Perhaps she saw his internal battle and deemed it wise to maintain a sensible distance.

Maceo wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, locked in a silent war of unwanted arousal. Faye with her sexy shoes dangling from her fingers, her graceful body arched towards him and her indigo eyes unable to detach from his. Him with the animal need that rampaged through him threatening to leap out of control. Only his vow, battered but stalwart, held him in place.

Eventually she nodded jerkily, her tongue darting nervously over her lips. ‘Fighting you on this isn’t worth my time. I guess I’ll just have to count the days until this is all over. Right? Goodnight, Maceo.’

He didn’t respond, because every fibre of his being was locked in a battle to stay where he was and not race up the stairs after her.

Not even the discovery half an hour later that Pico had vanished again and was most likely ensconced in Faye’s room was enough to shift him from his study.

Winning this skirmish with her was what mattered.

And he intended to win each one.

* * *

It was just a kiss.

Funny how, with every forceful repetition of those five words, the weaker their reassurance became. Five days later and what should have been a deep dive into the cocoa and sugar production reports Maceo had asked her to read barely registered. The effect of that kiss—and her feeble insistence that it had had no profound effect on her—resurfaced again and again to shatter her concentration.

Faye stifled a frustrated growl, kicked off her shoes, rose from the sofa where the reports were strewn and stretched her limbs. But as she strolled to the window of her new office next to Maceo’s she darkly acknowledged that stiff limbs weren’t her problem.