by Tricia Jones
He stared down at her, his chest heaving as he pulled in breaths. Fury shone in his eyes while his skin stretched tight across his face, highlighting all those sharp angles and planes.
She wanted to reach out to him, stroke her fingers across the angry jut of his firm jaw, smooth back the silky black hair that fell bohemian-long to touch the crisp white collar of his shirt. But then he gripped her arms, so tightly she jerked back. “Be on my side for once, Faye.” He’d lowered his voice, but anger still roared through it. “Just once.”
“I…I’m always on your side.” Her voice trembled as she stared into the depths of those charcoal eyes, the whip of danger about him only serving to increase the sharp thrill of anticipation. She wanted to tell him how much she loved him, that whatever happened she was his. Always his.
But he scoffed, released her, then strode over to the drinks cabinet in the alcove.
“When you can tear yourself away from my brother.” He lifted a crystal tumbler and filled it with whisky. “I am surprised you did not leave with him after the ceremony, go back to London. Do you not have some packing to do?”
Faye ignored the sarcastic taunt. “I don’t leave for university for three more weeks. I’ve got plenty of time to pack.” She wanted to go to him but didn’t trust herself. She wanted him too much. Wanted to help him curb some of the anger that still pulsed through him. “You don’t need any more to drink,” she said softly. “Rico, you’ve had enough.”
He turned, saluted her with the glass and watched her with fierce insolence as he downed the contents. “I am just getting started.” He turned back to the drinks cabinet. “Who knows, I might just get mad enough to give Imperatore Lavini another punch he will remember.”
Fearing he might do exactly that, Faye hurried over to him. “Rico, stop it!” She pulled the glass away from him, then the decanter, placing them both down on the silver tray with a firm snap. “That’s enough. You’re acting totally out of character and you have to stop now!”
She saw heat flare in his eyes, saw him steady himself as he swayed then his whole face softened as one side of his mouth kicked up. At that moment, he looked sexily rakish. His ruffled hair teased his collar and the sight of all that jet-black silk against the white fabric made her mouth water. He’d long ago disposed of his tie, and a sprinkle of dark chest hair escaped from the unbuttoned gap at the top of his shirt.
“Well, well. Mio uccello del fuoco.”
The way he said it, the heat in his hooded gaze, how he leaned in her direction, made Faye’s pulse skip. But he was just teasing. If she really was his firebird she might have had a chance with him.
Suddenly, she couldn’t stand his mockery. “You need strong black coffee.” Faye busied herself by placing the top back on the decanter and wiping the spill of whisky against the tray. “Come with me into the kitchen and we’ll get some down you.”
He caught her wrist as she moved past him. “Stay with me, Faye.” His fingers tightened gently around her flesh. “I do not want to be around other people right now.”
She looked up, captivated by his soft, almost pleading tone, and the steady grip of his hand on her arm. I’ll stay with you forever, she wanted to tell him. I’ll do whatever you want.
He smiled that drunkenly crooked smile and her heart shot right into her throat. “Yes, well, it’s probably best we stay away from the kitchen anyway. The staff will still be fuming from the extra work you’ve given them clearing up the mess you made in the bar, and administering first aid to the unfortunates who got caught in the fray.”
“What did you expect me to do? Stand there and let him get away with it? He insulted Matteo.”
“Technically, he insulted Teo’s mother.”
“Same thing.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “The woman was his wife, Faye, not a scheming whore, and she was Matteo’s mother. The dead demand respect as much as the living.”
He strode to the window, took a couple of deep breaths, then closed the French doors. Faye watched as he slipped the lock and pulled across the sheer gauze curtains, effectively blocking the outside world. A quiet thrill skipped through her system. He wanted privacy. For them? Stay with me, Faye, he’d said. Be on my side for once. Surely that meant only one thing. That he wanted her.
Faye stared at his broad back, at the way his shoulders filled the white silk shirt to such perfection. She watched him rake long fingers through his hair.
A quiver of fear trembled its way through her body. She’d waited years for him to say he wanted her, to tell her all those things she’d dreamed of hearing from him. But now, as the silence buzzed between them, she felt years of longing and frustration tighten her chest.
Say something, she begged silently, as he stared through the sheer curtain toward the Tuscan hills beyond. Say something, anything… As long as you don’t break my heart and say you don’t want me.
Long moments passed until Faye could bear the silence no longer. “Rico?”
He pushed his hands into his pockets. “She asked me to take care of Matteo,” he said, without turning from the window. “She knew she was dying and she asked me to take care of him.”
Faye tried to focus. “Teo’s mother?”
“Si.” He turned then and faced her across the quiet space. “I promised her, Faye. She lay there, hours away from death, with the monitor flashing and tubes in her arms, and I promised her I would do everything in my power to ensure his happiness.”
Which was why he fought so hard, Faye realized. Why he fought passionately against his father’s treatment of Matteo. Why he wouldn’t accept that he couldn’t get through to his father, make him change his mind about refusing to give Matteo equal share of the family legacy.
Not only because he loved his brother, but because he’d made a promise to a dying woman.
In that moment her love for him soared to the heavens, threatening to burst her heart wide open. He was so honorable, so full of integrity. She had fallen desperately in love with the most wonderful man. And he was talking to her, really talking to her. Even though it was the drink loosening his tongue—the first time she’d ever seen him drunk—he was opening himself up, sharing his feelings with her.
Faye blinked away tears as emotion swamped her. She hated seeing this champion of injustice, this lone warrior against his father’s treachery, disconsolate and morose.
Desperate to console him, she swallowed back her feelings. “You’ve done everything you can. You can’t change your father’s mind. All you can do now is make sure you give Teo what is in your own power to give.”
His mocking laugh reverberated around the room. “My father has made certain I have zero power in that respect. He has put clauses in the contract which ensure I am powerless to give Matteo money from the estate.”
“Well, Teo has his own inheritance from his mother,” Faye soothed, watching Enrico’s jaw sharpen. “He can invest that and—”
“It is little enough, and my father would strip him of that if he could. Besides, it is hardly the point. Matteo has a right to equal share in the Lavini fortune.”
“Rico…”
“I am this close, Faye.” He shot out his hand, indicating a small space between his thumb and forefinger. “This close to telling my father to go to hell.”
But Faye knew he never would. He would never put the Lavini Bank at risk from outside predators. He would never allow his beloved grandfather’s legacy, born of blood and sweat, to fall into the hands of strangers.
Enrico moved toward the drinks cabinet, but halfway there he stopped, sinking down onto a nearby leather couch instead. “I do not know what to do, Faye.” He leaned forward and dropped his head in his hands. “I do not know what else to do.”
Her heart felt heavy as she joined him on the couch. “Your knuckles are scraped,” she said, noticing the red gashes on his right hand. “Let me have a look.”
When she reached for his hand he waved her away. “It is nothing.” He dropped his head back and
closed his eyes.
She eyed his wounds, but didn’t try to touch them. “There’s nothing else you can do now. When it comes down to it, it’s your father’s decision. As wrong as that decision might be—” she added quickly, when his eyes snapped open, “—you have no choice but to accept it.”
His nostrils flared. “I have a choice. Make no mistake about that.”
Fear slithered down Faye’s spine. “What do you mean?”
“My father’s actions are driven by hate, the result of years spent in a loveless marriage with a clever and manipulative woman. That will not happen to me, Faye. I will not spend my life bitter and resentful because a woman played me for a fool. I will not be like him.” He shook his head, his hair brushing against the back of the couch. “That is the choice I make.”
The tone was matched by the grim set of his jaw, the sharp angles and edges of his cheekbones as anger tightened his flesh.
She kept her tone deliberately low. “Then your father’s accomplished much more than denying Matteo his rightful inheritance.”
He sighed deeply, all the fight seeming to leave him as he slumped back against the soft leather. “Like what?”
“He’s turned you into a cynic, someone prepared to live his life looking over his shoulder to make sure he doesn’t get duped.”
His laugh was humorless. “That is just the way it is.”
“No. It’s the way you’re choosing it to be.” And she hated, loathed and detested what was happening to him. “What are you going to do, Rico? Vet everyone who comes into your life? Make them fill out a questionnaire so you can analyze their intentions, just to make certain they don’t compromise your desire for self-preservation?” Faye moved off the sofa, aware her voice was rising until she was all but shouting at him. “And what about the people who care for you? Are we supposed to just stand back and watch you turn into some…some…embittered, lonely man who pushes away everything good in his life?”
One corner of his mouth kicked up in a wolfish curve. “I do not plan on being lonely.”
The slumberous heat in his eyes meant there was no mistaking his meaning, and with one simple statement he managed to ruthlessly quash all her hopes. Faye couldn’t bear it anymore. Couldn’t bear the mockery he was making of her stupid, naïve dreams. How could she have even thought for a moment that he’d wanted her, that he’d cared for her the way a man cared for a woman?
“Then I hope you’ll be happy, Enrico.” She hurried to the door, all her dreams crumbling as she went. “I hope you’ll be happy with equally miserable women who feel the same way you do about using people.”
She had to get away from him. Had to get away before she made a complete and utter fool of herself. But her traitorous eyes filled, the first tear falling as she reached for the handle.
She felt him behind her even before her bleary eyes focused on his hand as it reached to cover hers.
“Stay,” he demanded. “I need you here with me.”
Faye tried to tug at the handle, but his fingers tightened around hers and made any movement impossible. The tears flowed freely now and she didn’t care. It was a toss up who she hated most at that moment. Him or herself. How cruel he was to put her through this. One moment telling her he planned to keep the company of as many women as it took to keep loneliness at bay, and the other telling her he needed her. And how stupid was she, knowing that and yet still wanting him so badly? How could she want nothing else than for him to take her in his arms and love her?
His hands closed over her shoulders, pulling her back against his warm muscled strength. Faye closed her eyes, lifting a hand to wipe the worst of the dampness from her cheeks.
“No, cara,” he whispered, his warm whisky-scented breath caressing her neck. “I do not deserve your tears.”
Slowly he turned her to face him.
There was an odd sort of tenderness in his expression, remarkable perhaps because of the fierce tension vibrating from him. The combination thrilled her, making her lift her mouth to his in a primitive offering.
“Cara…” His thumbs brushed over her cheeks, gliding down to stroke along her expectant lips. “Mia bella, Faye.”
Faye scarcely drew breath as she waited—silently pleaded—for his mouth to cover hers. An instant before he moved she did, so that her lips were perfectly slanted to accommodate his kiss. Gentle at first…brushing…skimming…then his fingers speared into her hair, dug into her skull as he held her head steady, took her mouth in an almost brutal possession that made her head spin. His lips tasted of whisky, reminding her in the little corner of her brain still functioning, that anger and alcohol drove his actions. But she refused to let the thought take hold, banishing it from her mind to let Rico take her where she’d always ached to go.
His strong hands slid down her back, over her waist, until they cupped her bottom. Faye gasped into his mouth. Her stomach spun mercilessly as he pulled her against him, angling her so she felt what he undoubtedly wanted her to feel.
Faye’s response was to plunge her fingers into his hair, gripping handfuls of all that wonderful black silk.
He kissed her like she was his savior, his redemption. Like he couldn’t get enough of her. Even when he reached out behind her and she heard the gentle snick of the lock being turned, he didn’t stop kissing her.
Heat and chills warred against Faye’s sensitive flesh. She plastered herself against him, knowing she could never get close enough. Knowing that part of her would die if he stopped now. Not that he showed any signs of stopping. His hands raked over her hips, the sides of her ribcage, up between their joined bodies.
When his hands found her breasts, so full and sensitive through the thin lilac silk of her dress, Faye let her head fall back. “Oh, God. Rico…”
Then her mouth was beneath his again. A keening sound came from deep in her throat as he tugged at her dress and hiked it up. She pulled at his shirt, her fingers leaden as they fought with the tiny white buttons. His chest hair brushed against her fingertips, his muscles jumping with each touch of flesh against flesh. Everything inside her flared and heated.
Enrico mumbled something in Italian, something she couldn’t make out. But before she could think about it his hands were around the edges of her panties, and with an unrestrained urgency he yanked them down.
Faye gasped, knowing she had to slow things down. As much as she wanted him, she wanted this, her first time—their first time—to be special. To last. But he was nudging her back against the door, closing his fingers around her hips, forcing his knee between her legs.
He pushed her hard against the door, using his chest to anchor her.
Faye clung on to him. It was all she could do. Everything was happening so fast. Too fast.
The air backed up in her lungs, until her frenzied gasps tangled with the erotic sound of Enrico’s labored breathing. He gave a guttural groan and pressed his mouth against her throat.
When his teeth grazed her heated flesh, her eyes almost rolled back in her head. All her muscles tightened. But something screamed at her to stop him. This wasn’t how things were supposed to happen between them. It wasn’t meant to be like this. Fast. Harsh. Brutal.
She pushed her palm against his shoulder and tried to ease him back. But all it accomplished was a whisper of space between them that allowed him to slide his hand between her legs.
She opened her mouth to ask him to slow down, but the words came out on a cry as his fingers sank into her. Her head shot back, hitting the door with a thump. If there was discomfort she didn’t know it. Sensation exploded through her, her pelvis convulsing with heat and fire as Rico brought his mouth down on hers again.
Beyond conscious thought, Faye sank against him. She slid her arms around his neck, trying to pull him closer. But he resisted, pulling back to make space between their bodies while his mouth continued its punishing assault on her. She heard the metallic brush of his zipper, trembled at the stroke of fabric against her heated flesh as his trousers slid
down. She ached to have him inside her…fast…slow… She didn’t care anymore.
I love you, Rico, she wanted to say. I love you with all my heart. But she knew he didn’t want to hear that. She knew he’d stop if he heard that. And she didn’t want him to stop.
The hard length of him nudging against her was almost too wonderful to bear, and she bit down on her lower lip. He gripped her hips, lifted her against him. With a groan he pressed forward. The pain was sharp and harsh, but the intensity of it lasted only for an instant. Then there was just Rico, and the exquisite sensation of him pushing into her.
She didn’t try to stop the tears flowing. How could she? The man she loved was moving inside her, turning her from girl to woman. He filled her, stretched her…not only her body, but her heart as well. It filled until she thought it might burst from her chest.
Then she was incapable of thinking anything at all, as pleasure built—swift and excruciating. She gripped Enrico’s shoulders as he pumped into her, over and over, harder and harder, until his own frenzied gasps mingled with hers as they catapulted toward oblivion.
In the aftermath she clung to him. The warmth of his skin and the scent of his passion flooded her senses as she burrowed into his neck. His chest heaved against her sensitive breasts, his labored breathing holding a magnetic appeal as it rasped through the silence. She tried to breath with him, matching her rhythm with his. She was in his arms. They’d made love. Nothing else mattered.
From somewhere outside came the sound of a woman’s laughter, and it seemed to break the spell. Enrico eased away. He didn’t look at her, didn’t speak, but reached out and pulled down her skirt. When he did look at her it was with a quiet intensity that signaled regret and apology.
Faye’s heart twisted as tears threatened again. “Don’t,” she warned him, as he inhaled and prepared to speak. “Don’t you dare apologize or say it shouldn’t have happened.”
“It should not have happened.” He zipped his trousers, the cold whisper of steel a somber affirmation of the statement.
