The Commanding Italian's Challenge

by Maya Blake

  ‘I can’t answer for her. But you will attend. And while you’re there you will ensure nothing you do or say brings the company into disrepute.’

  Faye bristled. ‘Am I allowed to even speak at all, or shall I pretend to be mute?’

  ‘We agreed that revealing yourself as Luigi’s stepdaughter will be at my discretion. I’m simply reminding you to weigh the options and be prepared to deal with the outcome should you decide to out yourself.’

  She couldn’t help but wonder if this was another test. A way to discover whether she was worthy of the gift Luigi and Carlotta had bestowed on her from beyond the grave. But, again, while she’d have loved to throw his invitation in his face, attending this party might deliver the answers she sought.

  ‘I’ll be there. And I’ll do my best not to disgrace the family name.’

  For the briefest second his fists balled. Then eased. ‘That’s all I ask,’ he replied mockingly.

  He rose, caught up the bespoke jacket draped over a nearby chair and shrugged into it. The act of watching him don his jacket held her immobile, heat swirling in her belly.

  ‘Are you coming?’ he drawled, staring down at her.

  ‘What?’

  He glanced pointedly at his watch. ‘Your evaluation is scheduled for eight a.m. Do you plan on being there?’

  ‘I... Of course.’

  He stepped close to her chair and Faye scrambled up, unwilling to be disadvantaged by Maceo towering over her. Flustered, she nudged her chair back with a little too much force and stumbled.

  The sequence of events was swift and dizzying. With lightning reflexes Maceo caught the toppling chair with one hand and her waist with the other as she tottered on her heels. Then, in direct contrast to the preceding moment, the world stilled.

  Faye wanted to ignore the sizzling intensity of the hand holding her, the thawing of his cool tawny regard, the heat fluttering in her chest and the flood of hot awareness through her veins.

  She could do none of the above.

  Without uttering a word Maceo Fiorenti commanded her body, her speech, the very air she breathed. Or the air she couldn’t breathe because he’d commandeered that too.

  Fierce eyes stared down at her, as if he was trying to see beneath her skin. Had his hand just tightened on her? Had he drawn her closer? Or was it all in her fevered imagination?

  As a child, she’d foolishly stuck her finger into an electric socket. That was nothing compared to the sensation coursing through her now as Maceo tugged her closer. The look in his eyes was no longer indifferent. Or dismissive. His eyes smouldered with a definite fire. One that promised consumption. Annihilation.

  And, far from shying away from it, denying the sort of danger that could destroy her, for a suspended moment in time Faye yearned to embrace it. To feel that electric shock. Experience that burn.

  That insanity was the reason she raised her hand with a compulsion she couldn’t deny, caressed the swathe of skin just above his collar where a vein pulsed, then brushed her fingers against the chiselled perfection of his jaw to the thin but characterful scar halfway between his chin and his mouth. She lingered, explored, while her heart banged hard against her ribs and electricity consumed her from temple to toes.

  Maceo inhaled sharply, his gaze dropping to her mouth before darting back to her eyes, his look of hunger so intense she gasped.

  The sound forked between them, alive and demanding.

  With an Italian curse steeped in gruff denial, Maceo stepped back. His gaze turned from shocked to censorious as he dropped his hands. ‘Per al amor—’

  He cut off his own words and whirled away from her.

  ‘I... I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—’ It was her turn to curb her words. Because she had meant to touch him.

  ‘I’m not sure what you think you’re playing at, Miss Bishop, but I’d caution you against trifling with me. Under any circumstance.’

  His voice was a hundred blades, slashing her to shreds. Death by a thousand warnings when one would have sufficed.

  ‘Just so we’re clear, I don’t mix my business with pleasure. Ever.’

  That final word was icily bitter. She gripped the edge of the table to steady herself against curiously searing disappointment. ‘But I’m not your business, am I? I’m Luigi’s. Carlotta’s by extension. To you, I’m a temporary burden, thrust upon you. You could be rid of me immediately, but are choosing not to. Which begs the question: which one of us is the glutton for punishment in this scenario?’

  ‘I have never taken the easy way out in anything, and nor do I intend—much as it’ll give us both satisfaction. As for your little...indulgence just now, you will ensure it doesn’t happen again.’

  But Faye knew it hadn’t been all her. She’d seen the hunger in his eyes. Felt the pressure in his touch. His very male reaction against her hip.

  ‘Then do me a favour. Next time let me fall.’

  He looked momentarily confused. ‘Che cosa?’

  ‘You stopped me from falling just now. Next time, if you’re not certain you won’t blow things out of proportion, keep walking.’

  He seemed stunned by her response. Faye was certain no one had dared speak to the great Maceo Fiorenti that way in his life.

  He took his time sliding the single jacket button into its hole, for all the world completely unaffected by the turbulent little incident. Back under rigid control, he inclined his regal head towards the door. ‘I will bear that in mind. Shall we?’

  The journey to the jetty where his speedboat waited to ferry them to the office was conducted in tight silence. One Faye used to wrestle her senses back under control. By the time she stepped aboard and hurried to the farthest plush seat, she could draw half a breath without fruitlessly chasing Maceo’s scent of citrusy aftershave and disgruntled man. She could even avoid glancing his way for several seconds at a time. Pretend his tall, imposing body wasn’t continuing to wreak havoc on her senses.

  She breathed a sigh of dubious relief when they entered Casa di Fiorenti twenty minutes later and he was immediately set upon by his assistant. But even as she scurried away she knew the reprieve wouldn’t last. Nevertheless, she locked herself away in the restroom, under the guise of fixing her slightly windblown hair, desperately attempting not to relive those moments in the dining room, as she needlessly straightened her clothes and prepared herself for the grilling to come.

  Sure enough, the moment she sat down in the same conference room where she’d first met him, Maceo proceeded to dissect everything she’d learned in the past three weeks. When the head of the department repeatedly assured him that she was in no way slacking in her duties, Maceo turned those tawny eyes on her.

  ‘Tell me the most important thing you’ve learned so far, Miss Bishop,’ he tossed at her.

  They were back to Miss Bishop, were they? Why did that send a dart of hurt through her?

  ‘I can’t speak for all departments, of course, but Signor Triento is an excellent leader. He trusts his staff to deliver on their goals without being a tyrant about it. I’m especially pleased with my assignment to help come up with new flavours for a limited-edition Christmas collection. I already have a few ideas.’

  Alberto Triento beamed at her, before a glare from his boss swiped the smile away.

  ‘I wasn’t aware we were giving interns such leeway,’ Maceo groused, his eyes narrowing on Alberto.

  The older man shrugged. ‘There is nothing wrong with testing new talent. It might come to nothing. Or it might bear fruit. We won’t know until we explore, si?’

  He invited agreement, but Maceo’s gaze grew colder before, as if he’d grown bored of throwing his weight around, he dismissed Alberto.

  Faye knew better than to assume he was done with her too. ‘So, did I pass muster?’

  ‘Try not to get carried away with the novelty of it all. And bear in mind we
test hundreds of flavours every year. Very few make the cut into production.’

  ‘But I get to eat chocolate as part of my job. I’m failing to see the downside to that!’

  He pursed his lips, as if her observation had irritated him.

  ‘Why the R&D department?’ Faye asked in the silence that followed.

  He paused a beat before answering. ‘That was Luigi’s department. It became Carlotta’s after his death. She was an effective marketing director, but Luigi won her over to his side and she grew to love discovering new products.’

  Grateful for that morsel of information, Faye felt a lump rise in her throat. ‘Thanks for telling me. It sounds like they had a lot in common?’

  Eyes that saw far too much rested on her. ‘You really knew so little about your own stepfather?’

  It sounded like an accusation. But she was still a little too wrung out after that breakfast incident to indulge in another skirmish.

  She shrugged. ‘We lost touch when he returned to Italy.’

  The gleam in his eyes said he wasn’t buying it. ‘Italy is hardly the other side of the world. How old were you when he left? Thirteen? Fourteen?’

  ‘Eleven.’

  Some people experienced life-changing events that lasted a moment. She’d experienced two years that had given her a glimpse of what a true family looked like. Luigi’s complete silence after leaving her and her mother had thrown everything into question—including her own worthiness. Learning of her mother’s harrowing secret and her own genesis had thrown up further questions.

  It had been a burden she’d resigned herself to living with.

  Until Matt’s declaration.

  Until Carlotta’s persistence had opened the box she’d strived to keep shut.

  As much as Faye despised the need to confront her emotional wounds, she knew it was part of the arduous process towards gaining a semblance of sanity, including exorcising the ghosts of Luigi’s desertion.

  She took a deep breath. ‘He turned his back on me when I was a child. So why should I have made any moves?’

  Dark shadows flicked over Maceo’s face. ‘Perhaps he had his reasons?’

  Pain seared deeper. ‘Everyone has their reasons. Perhaps he should’ve been man enough to explain his to me instead of—’

  ‘Instead of...?’ Maceo coaxed icily.

  ‘Doesn’t matter now.’

  ‘I beg to differ. You seem overly...emotional.’

  ‘And you pride yourself on having no emotions at all. So why do you keep pushing me?’

  ‘Contrary to your belief, I care about Luigi and Carlotta’s memories. I push you as a warning to you not to consider soiling them.’

  ‘You care so much about Luigi that you married his wife?’ she blurted, before she could stop herself. Then knew immediately she’d gone too far.

  He grew statue-still, perfectly emulating the marble masterpieces that littered his homeland. ‘Don’t stray into territory you don’t understand.’

  What was there to understand? And why couldn’t she leave it alone?

  ‘Enlighten me, then. Surely I’m not the first person to wonder at your...interesting match.’

  He surged upright, and despite his calm breathing his eyes blazed volcanic fire. ‘This meeting is over. You may leave.’

  She took her time to gather her papers, stand and face him across the conference table. ‘Of course, signor. But before you accuse me of prying, remember I’m trying to find out about my stepfather. And you factor into that. So tell me what I want to know. Or don’t. But I’m not leaving Italy until I have a few answers of my own.’

  Including to that mysterious picture someone had hidden between the pages of an obscure book.

  * * *

  Faye Bishop was well and truly underneath his skin.

  Distancing himself from her, as he’d done these past three weeks, had simply thrown up more questions. More intrigue. He’d hoped the evaluation meeting might provide clarity. Or, if he was being completely truthful, expose glaring flaws that would justify his assumptions about her.

  Alberto Triento’s fawning over his newest employee proved there would be no help from that source.

  As to what had nearly happened at his breakfast table... That unbridled heat...that hunger he’d never experienced before... That continued insistent tingling in his very being...

  Her fingers had been on his face, on that scar no other human had dared to touch, the scar that served as a daily reminder of what he’d done...

  Maceo shoved a hand through his hair and resisted the supremely uncharacteristic urge to fidget. Which was laughable. Except laughing was the very last thing he felt like doing.

  No, what he found himself reverting back to, with uncanny and alarming frequency, was wondering what she would have tasted like had he succumbed to that fevered urge and kissed her...

  He sat down, resisting the urge to rise again.

  He was Maceo Fiorenti. He didn’t fidget and he didn’t pace. The vow he’d taken in that hospital bed to deny himself of everything he’d robbed his parents of had held true for the last decade. So why was he being tested now?

  I’m not sure what your game is, Carlotta. She’s insolent, ungrateful and far too colourful to be taken seriously. Not to mention nosy to the point of rudeness.

  Then why are you here?

  Maceo heard her amused voice so distinctly he wouldn’t have been at all surprised to find Carlotta right beside him on this marble bench set before the family mausoleum, with her signature bright smile and that perfectly plucked eyebrow arched in sweet mockery.

  The fresh flowers he’d instructed to be delivered gave off their sweet scent even while reminding him that the scent of cherry blossom was sweeter to him these days. Ever since he’d caught a certain woman’s scent and been unable to divorce himself from it.

  That scent had filled every corner of his being at his breakfast table, when he’d almost lost his mind. Almost, but not quite. He’d stepped back from the brink of that insanity.

  Shame, Carlotta’s distinctive voice mused.

  Maceo glared harder at the memorial in front of him. ‘I should finish this now,’ he said aloud. ‘Today. Hand over the inheritance and the letter and be done with it, no?’

  Silence greeted his question. He grimaced, knowing he wouldn’t take the easy route. He’d made a vow to the woman who’d put her own grief on hold in order to help him secure his legacy. Without his word, what was he?

  The reminder he carried with him everywhere burned against his breastbone. With not quite steady hands he reached into his pocket and pulled out the piece of paper, despite the fact that every line was seared in his memory.

  It was a replica of the framed one he’d discovered amongst his parents’ belongings and now kept in his bedside drawer. A joint lifelong ‘to do’ list, scribbled on a cheap restaurant napkin, back when his parents had been engaged. Maceo ran his gaze down the list, his chest tightening at the last abrupt tick. The vice intensified as he forced himself to read through every item his parents hadn’t been around to tick off.

  Because of him.

  He’d deprived them of it. It was only right he stuck to his vow of deprivation.

  Returning the note to his pocket, he stared at Carlotta’s plaque.

  ‘She’s prying where she shouldn’t be,’ he said aloud.

  Then do something about it.

  The words seeped into his bones with a simplicity that stunned him. Rather than keep his distance, he needed to keep a closer eye on Faye. He might despise secrets, but allowing her to pry, to risk airing his family’s dirty laundry wasn’t an option.

  He brushed his fingers over Carlotta’s name, his stomach churning with guilt and shame as he flicked his gaze over his parents’ memorial.

  You should be here. Or I with you.

 
; He bunched his fists, fighting the ever-present battle not to be drawn into that dark hole. He had a duty to perform. And when it was over...when nothing stood between him and the chasm...what then?

  He veered away from the question and his monumental guilt and headed for his Alfa Romeo, parked behind him in the private cemetery.

  * * *

  ‘What do you mean, she’s gone clubbing?’

  The very word tasted wrong on his lips, and he wasn’t surprised when his assistant shot him an apprehensive look.

  ‘I believe it’s someone’s birthday in her department. According to the email, they’re going to dinner and drinks, clubbing afterwards.’

  Maceo had no valid reason for the haze that passed over his eyes. Or the sharp sting of disappointment that trailed behind it. Perhaps it was because for the first time in recent memory he’d put work to one side. He’d been prepared to subject himself to dinner with Faye, perhaps even answer a few of her questions. Only to find she’d made plans that didn’t involve him.

  He snarled at the snide inner voice. He had a right to be disgruntled. He was her boss.

  ‘Have my car brought around and alert my pilot. I’m leaving.’

  ‘Si, signor.’

  To his credit, Bruno didn’t express surprise at Maceo’s uncustomary early exit from the office. He jumped into action, leaving Maceo simmering in unsettling temper.

  He was still seething after a solitary dinner, an unremarkable stroll through the gardens with a very solemn Pico and his first nightcap. He refused to glance at his watch, although the opulent antique clock in his study did an adequate job of telling him it was close to midnight.

  The sound of a water taxi propelled him to the French doors. From that vantage point he watched Faye step onto the jetty with a grace and agility that wouldn’t have been remiss in a ballet dancer. She turned towards the driver as he handed her something. It took a moment—and a peculiar tightening in his gut—to realise it was her shoes.

  She laughed in response to the driver’s words, one hand lifted to tuck back a swathe of lilac hair in the fluttering breeze, the other clinging to her shoes. The carefree spectacle, for some absurd reason, tripped his irritation into fury.