by Maya Blake
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.
Her problem was that kiss.
Her problem was the dark magic of Maceo’s ferocious passion...how easily he’d overcome her resistance.
Most of all her problem was her own stunned realisation that whatever had gone before was nothing compared to the thrill of what she’d experienced.
He’d kissed as if he desired her. As if she mattered. As if he would have expired if he hadn’t devoured her.
Because he doesn’t know!
And she, momentarily forgetting every valid reason why she shouldn’t...couldn’t...give in to such base emotions, had yearned for more with every cell in her body.
But when the reminder had rammed through the fog of her desire and brought her to her senses, Maceo had seemed just as stricken as she felt.
Because he’d only recently buried his wife...
There it was again. That stinging sensation. It was almost as if she was...jealous. It was irrational. And shaming. Because with every day spent in this place she learned that Carlotta Caprio-Fiorenti had been just shy of a saint. She’d been devoted to Luigi, and then to Maceo. She’d possessed a deep sense of family—as evidenced by her brothers’ prominent positions in the company.
Had that been the drive behind Carlotta’s effort to reach out to Faye despite her less than warm reception? The bite of guilt was damning and unwelcome. Perhaps because through all of this turbulence she’d still held back from asking Maceo about that picture. About Pietro and who he had been to Luigi and his parents.
She hadn’t come across anything else about him, despite scrutinising the countless Fiorenti and Caprio pictures displayed all over the villa, and secretly searching the library from top to bottom for another hidden picture.
A frustrated sound bubbled up from her throat.
‘The reports are that challenging?’ a deep, sardonic voice said from behind her.
She spun around, a small gasp leaving her lips. Maceo stood in the centre of the room, a solid, riveting figure who made it impossible to acknowledge anything else in the vicinity. With the sun long set, and only a couple of lamps illuminating the interior of her office, the play of light and darkness lent him an even more enigmatic aura, triggering a sort of hypnotic absorption that made her heart thump faster as he filled the room, taking up vital space and oxygen.
‘Not at all.’ She strove for equanimity and breathed a sigh of relief when she achieved it.
His head tilted a fraction, that assessing gaze zeroing in on her vulnerable spots—which she was discovering were many when it came to this man.
‘Then what’s the problem?’
‘Nothing I can’t handle,’ she said with false nonchalance. Because he was coming closer, and her gaze was doing that thing where it remained glued to him no matter how much she tried to resist.
Maceo didn’t have the same problem, evidently. His gaze veered away to skate over the papers, then the shoes she’d abandoned some time in the last hour. For some reason his eyes remained riveted on the red-soled heels for charged moments before, sliding his hands into his pockets, he redirected his scrutiny to her.
‘Pick two,’ he threw out, a deep throb in his voice.
Faye dragged her gaze from the play of dark blended wool over his strong thighs. ‘Two...?’ she echoed, in an alarmingly husky voice.
He jerked his chin at the reports. ‘Are you up to date on the sustainability projects with our growers?’ he asked, instead of answering her question.
‘Yes.’
She was stunned by what she’d read. She’d dealt with enough supposedly community-minded companies in her bid to secure funding for New Paths and similar women’s shelters to know that not all conglomerates were willing to spread their wealth. But Casa di Fiorenti went above and beyond in supporting the farmers whose products it bought. Free grants and sharing resources had increased profit on the ground level—an unprecedented outcome that had seen its competitors scrambling to save face by emulating the multi-billion-euro company.
‘And?’ Maceo prompted, alerting her to the fact that she’d got lost in the wonder of it all.
‘And whoever had the idea to give the farmers the tools they need to increase their output deserves a medal. Several medals.’
A wry smile ghosted over his lips. ‘You have Luigi to thank for that,’ he said, approaching her where she stood.
Warmth and bewilderment twisted through her. ‘He did this?’
Maceo nodded. ‘He set the ball rolling long before it was fashionable to give without expecting something in return.’
Then why? her heart screamed. Why had he shown such kindness and consideration to others but deserted
her and her mother so heartlessly? Had their damage and stigma been too much for him?
Faye barely managed to stop herself from making another sound—this one an echo of the pain ripping through her. Instead, she focused on the conversation, aware of Maceo’s incisive eyes fixed on her.
‘But you kept it going? These labs set up to provide vital technology to help the farmers were put in place only a few years ago.’
‘It made good business sense to keep on enabling them to self-sustain. But the legacy is Luigi’s.’
Faye wondered if he’d come here to tell her this. Since Friday night he’d been dropping tiny morsels about her stepfather into their conversations. On Monday he’d told her Luigi had backed his father against the board’s resistance to hire their first female CFO. Tuesday he had revealed that Luigi and Rafael had been childhood friends from their first day in kindergarten, and that Luigi had taken Maceo on his first sky-diving adventure on his sixteenth birthday—much to his parents’ dismay.
While each revelation was a dagger to her heart—because the evidence was stacking up that Luigi had withheld crucial parts of his life, and ultimately left because of her and her mother’s shortcomings—Faye had begun eagerly anticipating these visits and revelations from Maceo.
Was it because she hardly saw him otherwise? Because a secret, entirely foolish part of her hoped for a repetition of what had happened on Friday night, even though she knew it was a dangerous, insane route to take?
She pushed the intrusive questions away. ‘Thank you for telling me. I’m still not sure whether it helps me or not.’
He stared at her contemplatively before he answered. ‘I’m merely providing the information. What you choose to do with it is your decision.’
A knot of bitterness slipped past her guard. ‘But you’re only telling me the good bits. Not whether he ever let you down. Did he ever lose his temper? Make a bad decision?’
A flicker resembling pain dulled his eyes before he blinked it away. ‘Luigi was flawed, like most people. Would my recounting his mistakes make you feel better?’
Yes.
She bit her tongue, suddenly self-conscious, and retraced her barefoot steps to the sofa, aware with each one how small she was in contrast to Maceo’s towering frame. How dishevelled and worn around the edges she looked compared to his immaculate appearance. Under the lamplight his hair gleamed, neat and pristine, his tie was perfectly knotted and his GQ-cover-ready Italian designer shoes were polished to within an inch of their life.
To occupy herself, so she didn’t gawp at him some more, Faye picked up the nearest document. ‘You wanted me to pick two—but you didn’t say two what.’
‘Two production sites you’d like to visit, to see for yourself the work Luigi started,’ he said.
The words ignited something peculiar that burrowed beneath her skin and sparked her blood. And as they sank in she forgot she wasn’t going to stare or appreciate the masculine perfection as he drew closer.
She met his potent tawny gaze full-on and momentarily lost the ability to breathe. ‘I... What? You want me to visit a production site with you?’ she parroted.
He stopped an arm’s length away and shrugged. ‘It’s a twice-yearly opportunity we organise for our employees. The last one was two months ago, so this will be a special trip with just the two of—Cieli sopra!’
The sudden tightness of his voice, charged with powerful emotion, made Faye’s heart miss several beats. Puzzled, she followed his gaze, and flames stormed through her as she caught sight of what had snagged his attention—the bra she’d discarded an hour ago in a fit of frustrated discomfort. She’d thought she’d shoved the frivolous bit of lingerie deep into her bag, but apparently it had been dislodged when she’d kicked off her shoes.
Now Maceo stared at the bright red scrap of lace as if it personally offended his every sensibility. His hand darted to the breast pocket of his jacket, before veering sharply away as if stung.
‘Do you make a habit of disrobing in the office?’
His voice was hoarse, throbbing with a beat that resonated deep inside her pelvis.
Faye nudged her bag with her foot. All that achieved was to drag the bra into clearer view. ‘I... Of course not. It’s after hours. I thought you’d left. That I was alone.’
She chanced a glance at him, and discovered that for some reason her response had made his eyes blaze even fiercer.
‘And my presence is the only reason you’d keep your underwear on?’
Despite her burning face, she glared at him. ‘I didn’t mean that and you know it. Don’t twist my words, please.’ She surged forward with cringe-worthy gracelessness and tucked the bra out of sight, excruciatingly aware of his laser focus boring into her.
‘Are you done here?’ he demanded tightly.
She nodded stiffly. ‘Just about.’
‘Good—then you’ll leave with me.’
‘Oh, please. This isn’t some period drama. You don’t need to protect my honour.’ Especially when her very origins were severely questionable.
‘Perhaps not. But I find myself needing to ensure that no other man sees you like this.’
The low, terse revelation, writhing with possessiveness, detonated between them, rendering them both immobile and unable to do anything but stare, aghast, at each other. Or at least Faye was certain that was how she was looking at him. Because the stormy emotions coursing through her made her want to fling herself at him, regardless of the words coming out of his mouth.
‘Chauvinist, much?’ she snapped.
He let her indictment bounce off his broad shoulders without so much as a wince. ‘I care very little about how I appear, cara. I care very much about returning you to the villa, pronto, before you take off another item of clothing.’
Faye got the impression that he wasn’t going to budge from her office. And, much to her dismay, she discovered she wanted to go with him. Wanted to remain in his company despite the wild sizzle and crackle between them. Despite the fact that her body was still caught in a maelstrom of sensations, the epicentre of which was the super-sensitive budding of her nipples and the flames licking through her pelvis.
Despite every inch of him proclaiming the danger of remaining for one more second in his company, she slipped her shaky feet into her high heels and caught up her bag. ‘Okay. Let’s go.’
He caught her wrist in his large hand and led her to his private lift. Downstairs, as if he’d commanded it by telepathy, the few employees working late stayed well clear of them. When they reached his speedboat, Maceo barely acknowledged the pilot’s greeting.
He planted himself in front of her, shielding her from the view of his driver, his wide body blocking out the worst of the breeze. He continued to keep hold of her arm, his gaze never once straying from her face.
‘So...your choices?’ he asked stiffly after a minute, barely raising his voice.
She looked up. His gaze caught hers and held it captive. Breathless, she watched it linger, hot and hungry, on her lips before dropping to her chest.
A shocking phenomenon occurred just then.
Far from folding her arms to hide his effect on her, Faye retained her pose, felt her breasts suddenly heavy and needy, her hands dangling by her sides as she sorted through her thoughts to answer his question. Choices... Site visits...
‘Oh...um... St Lucia. And Ghana.’
He nodded. ‘We’ll leave this weekend—after the party.’
Under different circumstances she would have reeled at the novelty of everything that had happened in the last few weeks—her inheritance, the luxurious splendour of the villa, the job she found herself enjoying more with each day...hell, even her new clothes. But, while she’d known from the first that Maceo Fiorenti was a formidable man, the almost conceited way he wielded his power continually left her slack-jawed—not that he’d noticed, since he
pretty much did as he pleased with little regard for anyone else.
‘How long will we be gone?’ she asked, struggling to handle yet another twist in this roller coaster.
His gaze sharpened, his sensual lips momentarily flattening. ‘Ten days—perhaps more. Already missing your clubbing friends?’
‘Believe it or not, I do have people who’re interested in my travel plans.’
His hard look eased. ‘Your parents?’
She sucked in a breath, then reminded herself that Maceo didn’t know her history. ‘My mother.’
‘And your father? Is he—’
‘Not in the picture. Never has been. Never will be,’ she insisted, but that sickening sensation gripped her gut so tightly she had to force herself to breathe carefully through it or risk giving herself away.
She didn’t notice that goosebumps had broken out on her flesh until his hands slid up and down her arms in a contemplative caress. A different sort of shiver assailed her then, almost but not quite nudging that sickening feeling aside.
‘Such a strong reaction—’
‘And entirely none of your business,’ she injected forcefully, hoping he’d drop the subject.
Thankfully he did, although his gaze raked her face repeatedly before he lifted a hand to tuck a coil of runaway hair behind her ear.
Perhaps it was relief and gratitude that made her turn into his touch. Or perhaps she’d taken complete leave of her senses tonight.
Whatever it was, she gasped when he cupped her cheek, his hand hot and possessive and electrifying enough to make her pulse race faster.
‘Faye?’
‘Hmm?’
‘A body as sensitive as yours shouldn’t go unarmoured,’ he rasped, his voice low and deep and entirely too dangerous, too intimate, for her peace of mind.
A very feminist part of her bristled. ‘Because any unwanted attention I receive from the opposite sex will be entirely my fault?’ she challenged.
One corner of his mouth twisted mirthlessly. ‘Because whatever male you eventually belong to will find the idea of you in this state—when he can’t do a single thing about it without causing scandal—completely maddening. Enough to risk him committing indecent crimes.’
