by Maya Blake
She flicked her fingers between them in a manner supposed to indicate disdain, but Maceo spotted something in her eyes. Something that echoed his own disappointment.
He was fairly certain—not completely, since he didn’t spare it more than a moment’s thought—that it was the reason he powered down his computer and rose from his desk. And when he reached for his jacket and shrugged it on, he was aware her eyes followed his every move.
‘Where are you staying?’ he asked.
She frowned. ‘Why?’
‘Because you need to collect your things before we head for the villa. Unless you came to Italy with just the clothes on your back?’
Her headshake threatened the precarious knot of multicoloured hair atop her head. And seared him with the burning need to know how long her hair was.
‘No. I have a case back at the hotel.’
She named it, and Maceo barely stopped himself from grimacing. It was little above a hostel—unworthy of the name hotel.
Si, relocating her to the villa was best. For one thing it would stop any awkward questions as to why Luigi’s stepdaughter was staying in a hovel once the media got wind of who she was. He ignored the inner voice mocking him for hunting down further reasons for Faye to stay under his roof and headed for the door.
With clear reluctance she swayed towards him, then stopped. Her eyes locked on his. Blazed with an indigo defiance that tripped the blood rushing through his veins.
Maceo knew he should move from the doorway. Astonishingly, his feet refused to obey. For the first time this strange, intriguing creature was within touching distance, and he was wholly and irritatingly rapt with the need to do just that.
Touch. Explore. Experience.
This close, he became bracingly aware of her diminutive size. Faye barely came up to his shoulder. And yet her presence filled his senses, taunted him to take a deeper breath of air, to inhale her scent, imprint it on his very being.
Considering the vow he’d taken against experiencing any contentment or pleasure, Maceo knew he ought to feel guilt and shame. But the sensations rampaging through him were neither. This was a sort of...electricity.
Anticipation.
Arousal.
Had she been here, Maceo was certain Carlotta would have been amused. Perhaps for once she would not have stared at him with concern shadowing her eyes.
Because—
‘Are we leaving any time soon?’ Faye demanded, shattering his rumination.
But her bored tone belied the slight flaring of her nostrils and the budding awareness in her eyes that stated she wasn’t immune to the charged atmosphere between them.
‘After you,’ he drawled, not so irritated that he didn’t want to test the true mettle of her resistance. But only because it amused him. Nothing else. Certainly not because he wanted her closer. Wanted to decipher just what perfume she wore on her skin. The scent of her shampoo...
Like everything else in your life, she’s a temporary fixture. Remember that.
She hesitated for a moment. Then she slipped into the gap he’d created, avoiding his eyes as she passed him and moved into his assistant’s office.
Maceo’s hand tightened on the door as he took a breath. Then another. Cherry blossom and fresh peaches. An ordinary combination. And yet on her it was a scent he wanted to chase to the source. Linger on and savour.
Dio mio, what was wrong with him? Not even at the age of eighteen, the last time he’d been remotely hormonal around the opposite sex, had his libido wreaked such havoc on his senses. Hell, even then he’d been cynical about the attention he’d received—had known that the power and prestige of his name had largely contributed to the zealous flattery that had come his way.
In the years since becoming CEO that theory had been repeatedly proved. Not even his being married had deterred women. He’d been propositioned on a regular basis. And all it had achieved was a lingering distaste in his mouth, reinforcing his decision that not seeking pleasure of any sort was the right path.
That fortifying goal had been a flaming signpost he’d followed. It had instilled in him a loyalty and fidelity to Carlotta that hadn’t caused him a moment’s wavering, despite the true situation of their marriage. But now, for the first time, Maceo had experienced a shift in that foundation. Followed by the realisation that he hadn’t quite been able to drag his gaze from Faye’s smooth skin or the feline movement of her body as she strode away from him.
Basta!
Curtly, he informed his assistant of his plan to work from his villa office and headed for the lift. He would relocate Faye, ensure she was under appropriate guard, and then forget she existed.
* * *
Thirty minutes later, he seriously feared his jaw would snap in two as her phone emitted yet another ping. She ignored it—again—seeming perfectly content to stare out of the window as they travelled to the heliport, her fingers curled around the handle of her small suitcase.
‘Are you going to answer that?’ he snapped, his gaze shifting to the large bag that held her phone somewhere in its shapeless depths.
‘I will when I’m alone.’
Suspicion and intrigue built in him in equal measures, much to his annoyance. ‘Don’t hold back on my account. Surely any pertinent details I need to know, you’ve already apprised my HR department of?’
She studied him for a beat, then shrugged. ‘Good, then it shouldn’t bother you too much. Do we have far to go?’ she added, stoking his annoyance further.
‘We’ll be at the helipad in less than five minutes.’
Her eyes widened. ‘The heli—We’re going to the villa by helicopter?’
Maceo was surprised...and, yes, intrigued...by the curbed delight in her voice. ‘That’s one of the modes of transport I prefer, si.’
‘What’s the other mode?’
‘Speedboat.’
Her eyes grew rounder. Then she frowned. ‘I’ve been on neither. Apologies in advance if anything untoward happens.’
Against his will, his lips twitched. ‘Such as...?’
She shrugged again, drawing his eyes to the flowers dancing down one bare, shapely arm, to the delicate bones in her wrist. The tingling in his groin intensified. Grimly, he reeled himself in.
‘I’m okay with heights...for the most part...but I don’t know if I’ll feel sick or not. Is that a thing on helicopters?’
‘Motion sickness on helicopters is indeed a thing, si,’ he rasped. Then watched her pert little nose wrinkle.
‘Well, be warned, then. I guess seasickness is also a possibility. If I ever use your boat, that is.’
‘I’ll bear both in mind and keep the appropriate distance.’
‘It’s not too late to change your mind about inviting me to stay.’
Immediate rejection of that idea hardened in his gut. ‘We will not rehash a matter that is already settled.’
‘On your head be it,’ she replied, in that tart little voice.
It promised barbs. Ones he felt peculiarly compelled to test, to stroke, to see how deeply they’d cut. It was a sensation that made him relieved to see they were approaching the helipad.
Relief morphed into intrigue when she alighted next to him and stared, stupefied, at the large aircraft that bore his family’s logo.
‘Good God, it’s huge!’
Was it? He’d never given it a moment’s thought. These days he occupied himself with safety rather than size, and he employed the best to ensure that no harm came to the things he cared about.
Up until a week ago it had been Carlotta. Now it was just Casa di Fiorenti. His own actions had ensured that.
The hollow ache expanded, the demons beginning to howl in glee.
You survived. Now you’re alone. As you should be.
Exhaling around the tightness in his chest, he strove for calm. ‘I suppose it is,’ he drawled
, once again disturbingly compelled by the emotions chasing across her face. ‘Is that a problem?’
‘Beyond making me think you’re compensating for something with the size of your...equipment? Not at all.’
For the first time in a long time Maceo found himself mildly astonished by a woman’s forthrightness. The fact that it brought further acute attention to his manhood and a battering to the vow he’d taken stunned him into stillness.
He clenched his jaw. Pleasure and companionship weren’t on the cards for him. And even if they were it wouldn’t be with this woman who stared at him, her gaze daring, while the sunlight danced in her rainbow hair and sparked her indigo eyes.
‘Forgive me if I’ve broached a touchy subject.’
Maceo strode toward his aircraft. ‘Don’t insult either of us. Your patently false tone neither begs forgiveness nor concedes sensitivity. As for the slur on my manhood—I don’t feel the slightest inclination to prove you wrong.’
She arrived next to him just as a blush suffused her face. The gaze that had held his so blatantly a moment ago shifted away.
‘A word of advice, dolcezza. Don’t take on the big dogs if you blush so easily. Trust me, I will outlast you on any given day.’
With that, he held out his hand. After a tense moment, she took it.
Maceo helped her into the helicopter and refused to examine why he’d used his direct line to instruct his pilot to take extra care to make the journey smooth. Most likely because he wasn’t in the mood for further aggravation from her.
The moment they took off he busied himself answering emails and catching up on further business. Only to glance at her when she gasped.
‘Is that the villa?’ A sleek finger pointed in the general direction of Villa Serenita.
With a sigh, he slid his phone back into his pocket. ‘Si.’
‘It’s...breathtaking,’ she whispered, her fingers braced against the glass as if caressing his home from afar.
He shifted in his seat. ‘A genuine compliment?’ he observed drily. ‘I’m dumbfounded.’
She didn’t respond. It was as if his residence had rendered her speechless.
He took the unexpected moment to see Villa Serenita through her eyes. The circumstances of his life thus far had impressed upon him the need not to take things for granted, the knowledge that one reality could be ripped from him to be replaced by another vastly less palatable but, if Maceo were honest, the place where he laid his head at night had stopped registering in the maelstrom of guilt and shame that had become his everyday life.
Now, as the chopper banked, he looked down at the villa his grandparents had built. The villa his parents had poured their hearts and souls into making a home while harbouring secrets that would shake its very foundation. The place where he himself had taken a stand that had destroyed everything.
‘How old is it?’ she asked.
Her tone conveyed genuine interest. ‘It was a mere shell when my grandparents bought it, over seventy years ago, but the building is over two hundred years old. They kept to the original baroque style, but added their personal touch over the years.’
‘And the pink?’ she asked, tossing him a look before her gaze was drawn back down. ‘Excuse my observation, but I didn’t think it was a very...manly colour.’
Maceo shrugged. ‘It’s not a personal affront to my manhood, if that’s what you’re implying. In fact, I don’t think any other colour will do the villa justice.’
To his surprise, she nodded. ‘You’re right. Now that I’ve seen it, I can’t imagine it in any other shade but coral-pink.’
Was he truly discussing the effeminate colour of the building with this stranger? He gave a sharp shake of his head as the aircraft settled on the ground.
He threw his door open and stepped out, hoping the brisk air would restore some clarity. About to wave her in the direction of his staff and remove himself from her presence, Maceo once again found himself rooted in place. This time by the breathtaking smile on her face.
Had he missed something?
‘I survived. Hurrah!’ she gushed.
To his chagrin, she affectionately patted the side of the helicopter. He watched the caress, his insides twisting with something close to disgruntled jealousy.
Si, definitely time for them to part company.
‘Bene. I would have been most displeased had you decorated the interior of my aircraft with the contents of your stomach.’
‘No worries there. I haven’t had anything to eat since breakfast.’
He frowned. ‘Che cosa? Why not?’
‘Because I was too busy answering several hundred questions for your HR manager.’
Before he’d fully registered his actions, he’d caught her elbow and strode with her from the helipad.
‘Erm...where are we going?’
‘To find you something to eat. Far be it from me to be tainted with a reputation for being inhospitable.’
He took the quickest way to the salone closest to his housekeeper’s domain and tried to ignore his staff’s shocked expressions when he strode into the kitchen.
Giulia, the elderly housekeeper who’d been part of the household since he was a boy, hurried towards him. ‘Oh...buonasera, signor! Come posso aiutarla?’
How could she help him? He stared down at Faye, realised he still held on to her. Registered too, that her skin was indeed smooth as satin, soft as silk. Warm. Supple. Bellissima.
‘Signor...?’
Madre di Dio.
He snatched in a breath. ‘Giulia, this is Faye Bishop. She’ll be staying at the villa for the next few weeks. She requires a meal, and then would you show her to the Contessa Suite?’
Giulia was too seasoned to express the surprise reflected on his other staff’s faces. The Contessa Suite had been his mother’s, just along the corridor from Maceo’s own, the Bismarck Suite.
But this too was a turn of events he didn’t feel like dissecting.
As soon as Giulia had acknowledged his request, Maceo turned on his heel. He turned back just in time to see Faye gift one of her dimpled, breathtaking smiles to his housekeeper.
‘I’m so sorry. I feel like I’m being foisted on you, Giulia...may I call you Giulia?’
He watched as Giulia melted beneath its brilliance before indulgently granting Faye leave to use her first name. Watched his visitor dump her bag on the floor before climbing onto the nearest island stool, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the counter, thereby displaying a larger swathe of creamy midriff.
‘Whatever it is you’re making, it smells amazing! I might have to beg you for the recipe.’
Aware that he was lingering and drawing more peculiar looks from his staff, since they probably couldn’t recall the last time he’d entered the kitchen, Maceo forced himself to keep moving. To banish the far too intriguing Faye Bishop from his mind.
Regardless of the novelty she presented for whomever she came into contact with—and he was beginning to think she’d spun whatever fairy magic it was that she practised around most people, including, unfortunately, Carlotta—he was Maceo Fiorenti. A vow of no entanglements in favour of the singular preservation of his family’s legacy was his paramount objective. Nothing would sway him from that.
Not even an enchanting creature with the voice of a siren and skin plucked from his most erotic dream.
* * *
Maceo congratulated himself for blocking her out for several hours. Only when every last business detail had been attended to did he rise from his desk and stroll to his liquor cabinet. Drink in hand, he should be satisfied, and yet something niggled. A sense of elusiveness. Of loss...
His fingers tightened around the glass. Si, he missed Carlotta. He missed her laughter, especially during their occasional dinners, when he hadn’t worked late into the night. He missed those moments when she’d so
doggedly tried, and briefly succeeded, to pry him away from his demons. That was the reason he hadn’t been able to use her favourite west-facing terrace since her death.
But that wasn’t the source of his restlessness.
The puzzle unravelled itself in a flash of relief. Pico. Carlotta’s eight-month-old cockapoo. Maceo hadn’t seen him since he’d got home. While the dog had been unmistakably dejected in the days before and after Carlotta’s death, he unerringly hunted Maceo down within minutes of his return home.
Except today.
Icy dread invaded his stomach. His merciless condemnation of his parents’ and Luigi’s actions had resulted in the very worst-case scenario, leaving him alone with only his demons for company. Surely the cosmos wouldn’t be so cruel as to visit his transgressions on a defenceless dog in a bid to ensure he was truly alone in the world?
No...
Nothing had happened to Pico.
Not so soon after Carlotta.
Even he drew the line at the thought of such a turn of events.
Besides, the staff would have informed him if something untoward had happened.
Still, unable to shake the feeling, Maceo set his glass down. Exiting his office, he enquired after Pico from the first staff member he came across.
The young girl smiled. ‘He was playing in the garden with Signorina Faye the last I saw him, signor.’
Certamente. Why had he assumed she wouldn’t commandeer yet another being the way she’d wrapped his staff around her dainty little finger within minutes of her arrival?
Realising his mood was slipping again, and that his footsteps had drifted perilously close to the extensive gardens in search of her, Maceo veered about.
He’d had enough of Faye Bishop for today. Tomorrow would be soon enough to set out the precise parameters of her presence in his life. And they certainly wouldn’t include dragging things that belonged to him under her spell—especially the one creature that had kept him from feeling completely unmoored.
CHAPTER FOUR
FAYE TURNED HER FACE up to the sun, taking a deep breath as warmth seeped into her bones. In this early witching hour, before the staff descended on the villa to begin ensuring it and the grounds remained in pristine condition, she liked to steal away and find a large rock near the private beach to watch the sunrise.
