The Commanding Italian's Challenge

by Maya Blake

  She opened the door wearing another concoction of bright colours, this time a thigh-skimming nightie that left the expanse of her long, magnificent legs on display.

  Maceo swallowed a thick sound he was sure stemmed from this woman’s torment of him and watched her wide indigo eyes latch defiantly on to his.

  ‘Is there something you need, Maceo?’

  Diavolo, si. He wanted this madness to end. Pronto. He wanted his belief in the promises he’d made to remain unshaken, to accept his solitary state, to remain the sole survivor left behind to honour the sacrifices of his family.

  He most certainly didn’t want his head crowded with thoughts of this woman. To be tortured with elusive glimpses of what stepping off the path he’d chosen for himself might look like.

  So he forced his hands to remain at his sides, his shoulder braced against the doorjamb as he cast an indolent eye into her suite. ‘Pico. Where is he?’

  She blinked in bewilderment. ‘You’re here about the dog?’

  ‘Si. My dog. Whom you’ve commandeered for far too long. Where is he?’

  He gave a low whistle. From behind her shoulder, fully ensconced in her bed and looking infinitely content with his lot, Pico raised his head. He proceeded to eye Maceo warily, warning him not to ruin his good fortune.

  Maceo was both ashamed and irritated by his intense jealousy of his pet.

  ‘He’s comfortable where he is,’ Faye stated—as if Maceo didn’t have eyes.

  ‘That may be so, but I recall giving specific instructions that you were to stay away from him.’

  She huffed in annoyance. ‘Are you really here to tell me off about Pico?’

  With a compulsion he couldn’t resist, he reached out and stroked the irresistible smoothness of her neck. ‘Yes,’ he answered truthfully. Gruffly. ‘But there’s another matter that needs attention...’

  His hand caressed lower, to the sweet juncture where her neck met her shoulder.

  She shivered, but remained bold. Ferociously staring him down. ‘Is there?’

  ‘Si, and I think you know, Faye. You know that I can’t seem to fight this need to taste you again since I discovered once wasn’t enough,’ he said, aware that his voice was almost accusatory.

  His candour seemed to disarm her, if only for a moment. But he gloried in that second when her skin flushed and her lips parted. When her breathing grew rapid and beneath the satin sheen of her nightgown her nipples pebbled.

  ‘And I think you want to taste me too.’

  ‘What do you want me to say to that?’ she asked.

  Her eyes grew heavy as he stepped into the room, but she didn’t retreat. Her fire only beckoned him, pulled him to his doom.

  ‘Deny me, Faye,’ he growled, lowering his head because he couldn’t not draw closer to the perfection of her lips. Couldn’t not inhale the sweet scent of cherry blossom and arousal blooming from her. ‘Perhaps it’s best for both of us if you do.’

  He had no intention of indulging in immersion therapy, but perhaps sensory deprivation was what he needed. All the same he held his breath, his insides churning with something close to trepidation. Because suddenly a no seemed like the worst possible declaration.

  Fire sparked from her eyes. ‘You’ve decided I’m to be your next plaything when you don’t even like me. Why should I make this game easy for you?’

  He bit back a grim smile, stroked his fingers over the soft skin at her throat, revelling in the rush of her pulse beneath his touch.

  ‘You’re mistaken about a few things. For starters, playing is the last thing on my mind, arcobaleno. Secondly, there are a great many things two people can indulge in without the prerequisite to like each other.’

  A shocked little laugh left her lips. ‘Are you serious?’

  He looked her square in the eyes, tempted to show her the demons he was ignoring for this stolen moment. ‘Exceedingly. You want me to prove it? Tell me right now, Faye. Do you like me?’

  Her lashes swept down for a moment, then her eyes clashed with his once more. ‘Answering that one way or another will give you an unfair advantage.’

  He laughed, to his own surprise registering that he was enjoying this exchange. Perhaps immersion therapy was exactly what he needed. Because holding back from devouring her was crucifying him.

  ‘The only one with an unfair advantage is you,’ he said.

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘Because right in this moment you hold all the damn power. Take it, Faye, if you dare,’ he taunted.

  Her eyes narrowed. Then, with an aggrieved hiss, she launched herself at him.

  Maceo speared his fingers into her soft, silky hair, tugging her none too gently that last vital inch into his body. Then he walked her back soundlessly across the carpet towards the wide, inviting expanse of her rumpled bed.

  With a groan torn from his soul he devoured her, teeth, tongue and lips sampling every inch of her mouth. Giddily, he felt her hands on him, equally exploring, equally urgent. Demanding everything he wanted to give.

  Absently, he heard a tiny affronted yelp, then a thump as Pico relocated himself to the floor.

  Maceo’s smile of triumph was lost somewhere in the deep kiss he demanded from the warm, tempting woman beneath him. The woman whose secrets and shadows should repel him, whose very presence in his life should reinforce his pledge but instead was shattering it.

  Besides his vow, the other reason for his turbulent emotions rammed home.

  Diavolo, he didn’t like to think of himself as special, but he knew that, despite the circumstances, his situation was unique. A thirty-year-old male without a single true sexual experience belonged in a museum. Or in the depths of some faith-based tome. Not strutting about wearing Italian silk and juggling the challenges of a billion-euro business.

  The more reality trickled in, the more the possibility of Faye cracking the titanium shell of his vow grew. Until experiencing his first...experiencing her...was all that occupied his mind.

  Another thing he was discovering was that when Faye was in his arms the demons quietened. He wasn’t idiotic enough to believe they would recede indefinitely. But the temporary respite was...intoxicating. Enough to make him yearn for it.

  He would pay the price for his selfishness later, when the true depths of his desolation came crashing in. But for now...

  ‘For what it’s worth, cara, my coming here wasn’t an easy decision,’ he drawled against her swollen lips.

  She stiffened instantly, and he wanted to curse himself to the darkest depths of hell.

  ‘Thank you for that. But—’

  ‘Let me take a wild guess. It won’t be happening?’ he said.

  The dryness in his voice could have started a brush fire. But it was nothing compared to the clamouring in his head as his demons rushed back, mocking his desperation to escape.

  ‘No, it won’t,’ she stressed, pushing at his shoulders.

  It didn’t help that her voice shook. Or that uncertainty wavered across her face.

  But little by little, her resolve hardened. Maceo saw it and despised it, because he was jealous of his inability to feel the same way. To stop himself from reaching out for more when he didn’t deserve it.

  More than a little bewildered, he laughed under his breath. Perhaps this was another hard lesson he needed to learn.

  ‘Pico stays with me,’ she stated, her chin once again tilted in defiance as he rose from the bed and paced away from temptation.

  Dio mio, her ferocity sparked a fire inside him. One he wanted to burn in. ‘And who are you to dictate such a thing?’

  ‘I’m the one he comes to when he misses his mistress. I’m the one he follows around, despite your unreasonable orders. The one he knows will give him the affection he needs.’

  Jealousy seared harder, as did the chasm of desolation inside him. �
�Did you ever stop to think I have valid reasons for those orders? He’ll most likely grow attached to you, believing you will fill the void, when that couldn’t be further from the truth. You have experienced what it feels like to be abandoned, if your emotional outbursts about Luigi are to be believed. And yet you would visit it upon another creature?’

  Her keen eyes rested on his face. ‘Are we talking about Pico or you, Maceo?’ she demanded softly.

  That peculiar trepidation tightened his chest. He opened his mouth, intent on a brusque denial. But it died in his throat because he was aware that some of his words might stem from a place he didn’t like to examine very often.

  ‘You think you know me that well?’ he asked gruffly instead.

  ‘You’ve lost your family in hard circumstances. If I were you, I’d be devastated too. And I’d be terribly afraid of getting attached. To anything or anyone. But—’

  ‘But nothing. We’re not talking about me,’ he interjected, alarm bells clanging because she was hitting far too close to home. ‘We’re discussing Pico.’

  Hurt wavered across her face before her chin rose higher. ‘He’ll adapt.’

  ‘Will he? Or is that another foolish wish? A way to absolve yourself of guilt because you might be leaving a scar on a recently bereaved soul?’

  Dio mio, could he hold a starker mirror up to himself?

  Her gaze dropped before boldly meeting his. ‘You say that as if he won’t have you when I’m gone. Surely having more people to love is better than having none?’

  That shell inside him fractured again, leaching needs that would betray his parents’ memory. But, as hard as he tried, Maceo couldn’t find the strength to seal it. ‘Be very careful, Faye.’

  He expected her customary feisty response, but a look that closely resembled sadness shrouded her face. ‘I will be, Maceo. I always am.’

  She turned away. Dismissed him.

  Maceo left her room, leaving his triumphant dog behind, and puzzled for the dozenth time why another encounter with Faye Bishop had left him feeling as if he’d grappled with a cyclone and lost, when only recently he’d vowed to win...

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  IF CAPRI WAS a cool and sophisticated haven, St Lucia was a sultry, tropical paradise.

  The lush vegetation, exotic birds and the sheer profusion of colour seemed almost too good to be true. But then for the last handful of weeks Faye had felt as if she was living in a lucid dream. One of heightened emotion and intense drama, mainly in the form of the man seated next to her in the air-conditioned Jeep with tinted windows, his eyes shielded by a pair of designer sunglasses as they drove away from his private airstrip.

  The long flight from Italy to St Lucia had been surreal in itself. Because of course she’d been introduced to another level of affluence in the form of the Fiorenti private jet, equipped with every item of luxury imaginable. And, whether she’d been ensconced in the living area or—in a futile bid to come to terms with the previous night’s episode with Maceo, during which she’d skated even closer to danger—retreating to an area that had turned out to be Maceo’s personal cinema room, the flight attendants had been a discreet glance away, ready to cater to her every whim.

  Not that she’d been tempted to request anything beyond refreshments. She’d been entirely consumed by their interaction from the night before.

  Was still consumed by it.

  Whereas Maceo seemed to harbour zero qualms about how things had ended.

  There’d been no censure, just a long, sizzling, assessing look at the breakfast table. Since then she’d caught him staring contemplatively at her. It wasn’t so much as if he was trying to work her out. It was more an inkling that he was already halfway to plundering the heart of her secret.

  But from the moment they’d taken off, the powerful CEO had resumed his role. He’d been all about Casa di Fiorenti business, apprising her of their itinerary, which included sailing to two plantations via his yacht. She’d questioned the use of that mode of transport, to be curtly informed that it was so he could travel and work at the same time.

  A part of her envied his skilful ability to proceed as normal, while the major part revisited the incident in her suite for the hundredth time.

  Yes, she’d disgracefully jumped him. And, yes, the torrid kiss had been sublime. But Faye had become increasingly preoccupied with the conversation after she’d pulled the brakes.

  The subtext had seemed...monumental. The look on Maceo’s face had been an arresting tableau of regret, guilt, pain and fury. Just what had happened to him? And why couldn’t she put the incident out of her mind?

  As if triggered by the unasked question, his laser-powered gaze flicked to her and she realised he’d spoken. ‘I’m sorry, what?’

  One sardonic eyebrow lifted. ‘We have arrived. I’d leave you to your daydreaming, but I don’t think you’d appreciate the heat once I turn the engine off. So...are you coming?’

  ‘Of course I’m—’ She looked past him to the structure they’d parked in front of, and was thrown into yet another realm of awe.

  ‘Dear God, do the Fiorentis do anything approaching normal?’

  ‘I don’t quite catch your meaning,’ he replied, plucking his sunglasses off to slip them into his pocket.

  Her gaze darted back to him, her face flaming when she realised she’d spoken out loud. Brazening it out, she flicked a hand at the jaw-dropping house basking in the late-afternoon golden sunlight. ‘I mean this...this impossible dream of a house.’

  ‘I take it you like it?’ he enquired drolly.

  She snorted. ‘That’s like asking a racing car driver if he likes speed.’

  One corner of the mouth she’d become intimately acquainted with last night lifted, lending him a rakish, almost boyish look that softened the dark edges of his demeanour. Heat swirled through her belly as two things struck her—firstly, that she’d never seen him truly smile, and secondly that she was terrified to contemplate the damage such an expression from Maceo would cause a woman.

  ‘Then I hope it’ll tempt you to exit before this vehicle turns into a furnace.’

  He alighted, and then, to her surprise, came around to open her door. The teasing smile was widening, triggering a curious mixture of excitement and despair, which intensified the moment she stepped out and inhaled his scent.

  Memories of that scent on his hard body plastered passionately against hers immediately took centre stage in her thoughts, then reeled forward through graphic possibilities of what might have happened if they hadn’t stopped.

  ‘I’ve lost you again. Should I be offended? Or flattered?’ he asked.

  ‘Flattered?’ she echoed hazily.

  ‘Your expression gives you away. But, truly, there’s no crime in reliving a unique moment.’

  ‘You must be speaking metaphorically, or something, because I see no crime whatsoever in calling a halt after a foolish decision.’

  To her absolute dismay, he smiled with genuine amusement. It utterly transformed his face. A true fallen angel with a wicked streak. His smile promised all sorts of devilish delight. Faye felt her jaw dropping and scrambled to right that wrong.

  ‘We’re two level-minded adults, cara. With needs that seem programmed to lead us in one direction, whether we wish to go or not,’ he rasped, his voice a little rough and a lot disturbing.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  Why on earth was her voice quivering? She wasn’t some quaking maiden. She had one experience and its devastating aftermath to her name. And a vow to ensure no more were added to it.

  A vow she’d almost broken last night.

  A vow she risked now, standing here in the shadow of Maceo’s towering frame, getting lost in the accented timbre of his voice and the spellbinding paradise around them.

  ‘It means, whether we like it or not, this thing needs to be a
ddressed.’

  Despite his conceited demeanour, there was an edge to the words, indicating that perhaps he wasn’t as sanguine about it as he wanted to be.

  The hair trigger that demanded she answer with another denial pushed words to the tip of her tongue. Maceo halted them with a simple slide of his forefinger over her lips.

  ‘We really should go inside. I’d hate to see this exquisite skin of yours suffer under this sun.’

  As if on cue, a thick drop of sweat slid down her throat and over her clavicle.

  His gaze zeroed in on it and Faye felt every inch of the bead’s slow trajectory in the rapt expression on his face. Hunger clamoured through her as his nostrils flared. The tip of his tongue glided over his inner bottom lip and Faye experienced it deep in her pelvis, in the hot and needy core of her womanhood.

  Move.

  She sucked in a desperate breath and dragged her gaze away, only to lose it when his hand slid down her arm to capture hers. Firmly he led her up wide stone steps, through grand oak double doors into a marble-floored foyer with a giant floral centrepiece that gave off sweet perfume through the airy space.

  There they were met by a clutch of household staff, who introduced themselves and immediately offered refreshments.

  With a cold glass of fruit punch in hand, Maceo shifted into host mode and offered to show her round.

  From high-ceilinged rooms with plantation-style shutters that opened out onto exquisite terraces, to a twenty-foot-high pavilion just beyond the main house, fashioned for intimate dining, and a sparkling turquoise pool, every corner of the mansion was breathtaking.

  Halfway through the tour Faye kicked off her platform heels, sighing when her feet touched cool stone paving. From a shaded patio, Maceo pointed out the majestic backdrop of the Pitons and the Caribbean Sea. And as her gaze rushed over all that beauty she spotted the sleek yacht moored a quarter of a mile away from the private beach.

  It was multi-decked and sizeable, without being overly ostentatious. And yet it sent prickles of awareness skating over her skin. Every space she’d occupied with Maceo so far had offered a sense of freedom—albeit a false one, because Maceo could occupy her space and thoughts even when he was miles away. The yacht, however, seemed...intimate.