The Commanding Italian's Challenge

by Maya Blake

  ‘What? No! If I had a lover I wouldn’t even start!’

  He breathed out slowly. Then, like an approaching tsunami, the hunger in his eyes intensified, growing possessive, blazing with a fire that threatened to turn her every objection to ash.

  She knew it was a mistake to keep lying there, feverishly urging her mind to do the right thing when her body was moulded to his.

  ‘Allora perché? Why?’ he asked throatily, his gaze searching her face as if he would draw the answer from her very skin.

  Absurdly afraid that he would achieve that goal, Faye scrambled off the lounger.

  ‘Why?’ She repeated his question. ‘Here’s a question for you. Why are you acting as if this is somehow written in the stars? This is not inevitable. Far from it. I don’t want you. I don’t want this.’

  The words were flung out with wild, desperate intent—to make them both believe it. But all they achieved was drawing Maceo’s narrowed gaze, laser beams searching even harder.

  ‘Lie to yourself all you want, cara, but don’t insult me. We may not be “inevitable”, but have you considered that the one way to be rid of this...this follia is to get it out of the way?’

  She shook her head. Retreat. Regroup.

  Finally heeding her own advice, she took a few steps back.

  Seeing her blatant retreat, Maceo stilled.

  They stayed that way, locked in a churning whirlpool of emotions. Every cell in her body screamed at her to close the gap between them once more. Give in to the follia—the madness. But how could she while still keeping him in the dark about her secret?

  Torn, she turned away. ‘I’m going for a swim. In the sea. I may be a while, so you’ll have all the time you need to forget this ever happened.’

  She snatched up her dress and her bag and hurried away, with every step feeling his eyes boring into her back. She’d nearly reached the stone steps leading down to the beach when his voice stopped her.

  ‘Faye.’

  He was close. Far too close.

  She didn’t look back, terrified in case that face, that body, the heady knowledge that all that determination was focused on having her, swayed her into doing the unthinkable.

  ‘Nothing has changed. I’ll see you at dinner. And rest assured that we will visit this subject again. For my own sanity I’ll want a better answer than the flimsy ones you have given me so far.’

  * * *

  His words should have been her cue to refuse his dinner plans. To come up with an excuse to stay in her room.

  But even that proved impossible. Because on her return she discovered the staff were packing up her luggage.

  Her slightly hysterical demand as to why prompted a response in the form of a short, succinct note from Maceo.

  Change of plan. We set sail tonight before sunset.

  We won’t be returning to the villa for a few days.

  Maceo.

  They were visiting the plantations early? Was it because he wanted this trip to be over as soon as possible or because he had another strategy up his sleeve?

  The urge to refuse rose again, but only for one futile second. She’d accompanied him of her own free will. Protesting now would be counterintuitive to everything she wanted to achieve. And, while she’d learned a few things about Luigi, one question still needed an answer. Tonight would be the perfect opportunity to demand it.

  Besides, wasn’t this fractious subject the perfect tool to ensure they didn’t stray into dangerous territory? Because when they were discussing Luigi they kept their hands off each other. But then weren’t they equally adept at directing every subject back to this impossible attraction between them?

  Not tonight, she vowed.

  The declaration rang hollow, so she busied herself selecting a dinner outfit before all her belongings were spirited away. Then, with nothing to do but while away the hours, she indulged in a long, luxurious bath.

  * * *

  Inevitably, evening arrived, and she stood on the jetty, waiting to be ferried to the yacht.

  She ran nervous fingers over her dress, wondering if she was overdressed. Too late. The off-the-shoulder chiffon dress in shimmery ombre colours that progressed from white at the bodice through shades of blue and purple to end in a dark mauve at her feet would just have to do. Besides simple silver hoops in her ears, she’d forgone jewellery, letting her free-flowing hair provide the protective layer—albeit a laughable one—she badly needed.

  The seventy-metre yacht was ablaze with golden light, a gorgeous streamlined vessel made more awe-inspiring by its perfect reflection in the glass-smooth water. Each second they grew closer, and Faye’s mouth grew drier.

  ‘Nothing has changed...’

  ‘For my own sanity...’

  Maceo’s words pounded deep and hard inside her until she could hear nothing but his deep rasp, the dark promise in his voice that would surely be her doom unless she employed every self-preservation tactic she could muster.

  She was taking calming breaths when the tender drew up alongside the yacht. A steward helped her onboard and led her through stunning reception areas and hallways decorated in gleaming champagne, gold and bronze accents and up several staircases to the main deck.

  There, Maceo waited, leaning against the railing with his profile turned away from her as he sipped from a crystal glass. A lightweight sand-coloured suit complemented his pristine white shirt, both colours drawing attention to his vibrant tanned skin and sculpted features.

  The steward discreetly melted away, and Faye took a moment to arm herself against the onslaught of sensations Maceo never failed to elicit. She managed two full seconds before his head whipped in her direction, burnished gold eyes zeroing in on her. He searched her face for several seconds, before conducting a slow, tortuous scrutiny of her body.

  ‘Buona sera, Faye,’ he finally rasped, leaving his position to stride towards her. ‘You look sublime.’

  ‘Thank you. I think I read somewhere that yachts and heels don’t go together. Do I need to take my shoes off?’

  Her question invited extended scrutiny, from her feet to her hair, where it rested for an eternity. ‘You may do whatever pleases you,’ he murmured silkily, before reaching past her to pluck a fruity concoction that was ready and waiting on a silver tray.

  Faye took it from him, sampled it and almost groaned as decadent flavours burst on her tongue.

  His lips twitched. ‘Good?’

  She nodded. ‘Very—thank you.’

  Maceo nodded towards the railing. ‘Come, let’s catch the last of the sunset before it’s gone.’

  Considering his final words to her that afternoon, Faye wondered if this was the first stage in another devious skirmish. But, unlike during his assessment of her, now Maceo’s face gave nothing away.

  Deciding to accept his invitation at face value, she kicked off her shoes and accompanied him to the railing. The evening would probably turn fraught at some point anyway, on account of the picture tucked away in her clutch bag.

  The reminder made her shiver, drawing his sharp gaze.

  ‘Are you cold?’

  ‘No, just... It’s nothing.’

  Like her, he seemed to accept her response at face value. He started pointing out stunning landmarks to her, and Faye realised the vessel was moving. She cast one last look over her shoulder at the villa, the sense of leaving safety behind dripping apprehension into her veins.

  ‘No need to look so alarmed, cara. You will be returned safe and sound.’

  ‘Would you confess if you intended the opposite?’ she teased.

  Her attempt at humour misfired when his face hardened. ‘You have my word that I will always be truthful with you, Faye,’ he stated, with such gravity she felt the power of it deep inside.

  ‘Thank you,’ she replied, praying he’d lend credence to his words before
the evening ended.

  After a charged moment he nodded, then slid effortlessly back into host mode. Almost in perfect synchrony, they sipped their drinks as the sun disappeared in a ball of gorgeous flame into the sea.

  Then Maceo led her one deck below, to where an elaborate dinner table was set out for two.

  The vichyssoise starter was perfect, the poached salmon with grilled sweet potato equally mouthwatering. But what struck Faye most was how much she was enjoying this less intense Maceo. How his infrequent but jaw-dropping smiles curled around her senses, warming that cold, dark place where fear and isolation lived.

  She knew it was temporary, that the knot would be back in its rightful place in a few hours. But banishing that warmth was the hardest thing she’d ever done. So she let it linger, lull her into a place of comfort. Just for a little while.

  Too soon the plates were cleared, the after-dinner coffee drunk. Nervous over what was coming, she refused Maceo’s offer of a nightcap and went with him into another stunning salon, this one partly shielded from the cool night breeze.

  He sat down next to her, arms spread over the back of the sofa, his stance deceptively relaxed even though she sensed he was anything but. Hooded eyes speared her.

  ‘There’s something on your mind.’

  It wasn’t a question.

  Faye swallowed. ‘You said I could trust you to be straightforward with me.’

  He tensed, eyes narrowed. ‘Si,’ he affirmed.

  Trepidation drummed wildly in her belly, but she reached into her clutch bag.

  ‘Good. Here’s your chance to prove it.’ She held out the picture, aware her hand was shaking, but knowing this felt too big for her to be distracted by that weakness. ‘Who is this man?’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  AT FIRST HE looked puzzled, and then, deciphering exactly what she held, his hand jerked off the back of the sofa to curl around hers, his features turning dark.

  ‘Where did you get this?’ he growled, thunder rumbling in his voice.

  Every cell in her body quivered. ‘Does it matter? I have it.’ She pointed to the third man in the photo. ‘And I want to know who this is.’

  He dropped her hand as quickly as he’d grasped it. ‘Why the curiosity?’ he asked, clearly deflecting.

  ‘Why do you think? Because he looks a little like Luigi. Is there a family connection?’ she probed when Maceo remained statue-still, his features taking on the formidable look that had terrified her during their first meetings.

  But she wasn’t terrified any more. He’d lowered his guard in varying degrees since then, shown her enough facets of himself to prove he was human. He hurt and mourned, hungered and smiled, even if in a more elevated realm than most.

  She waited him out, watched him rise from the sofa, pace to the railing, his gaze settling heavily into the middle distance.

  ‘Si,’ he confirmed finally.

  She waited for more. One minute. Two.

  ‘That’s all you’re going to give me?’

  Tension gripped his whole frame. He exhaled slowly before turning to face her. ‘Every family has a black sheep. Pietro was the black sheep of the Caprio family. The dark secret no one liked to talk about.’

  Faye swallowed. She knew all too well what he meant. She was the dark secret of her own fractured family. Most likely the reason Luigi had left and never returned.

  ‘But who was he to you? To Luigi?’

  He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, rocked on his feet once. ‘He was Luigi’s fraternal twin brother.’

  Faye gasped. ‘His twin?’ Her stepfather had had a close sibling and never bothered to tell her?

  ‘Don’t be taken in by that. Being twins didn’t mean they automatically shared a special bond. Dio, they didn’t even remotely share personalities. They were as different as night and day.’

  ‘In what ways, specifically?’

  Maceo’s expression shuttered. But she hadn’t come this far to be deterred now.

  ‘Tell me, Maceo. Please,’ she pleaded softly.

  A faint shudder shook through him and his face softened momentarily before hardening again. ‘It is exactly how I have said. You may believe your circumstances to be different, but the Luigi I knew was a fair man, a man of integrity and honour. Whereas Pietro was...not. He was irresponsible and callous and unkind. He drank too much, drove too fast. He did everything to excess.’

  ‘Those are unpalatable characteristics, sure... But that’s not why you’re reluctant to discuss him. There’s more, isn’t there?’

  He uttered a potent expletive in Italian, his fingers stabbing into his hair. ‘I would prefer it if you would leave it, Faye.’

  She shook her head. ‘We’ve been dancing around this subject for weeks, Maceo. You give me just what you think is enough to keep me quiet. But it’s not enough. It hasn’t been from the start. But that’s on me. I realise now that I wasn’t ready to hear everything. I’m ready now—for better or worse. Please.’

  ‘I’m not unsympathetic. But must we do this tonight?’ he pressed, a peculiar note in his voice as his hand drifted to his breast pocket.

  About to respond, Faye frowned and looked around. She’d been too nervous earlier, or perhaps too cowardly, to admit it to herself. Now she did. Everything—from the lighting to the dinner setting, the sheer magnificence of the scenery to the soft music piping through invisible speakers—pointed to one thing...

  Seduction.

  Her eyes darted back to him, to the fire in his eyes. ‘Maceo...’

  Bleakness tightened his face. With a heavy, resolute sigh, his hand dropped. ‘Perhaps you are right,’ he announced grimly. ‘Let’s stop dancing around this. You want it all, cara? Well, have the whole sordid feast. Then I will be free of this.’

  Was that how he saw her? As an obligation to be dispensed with?

  Something moved through her. Profound and seismic. Alerting her that something fundamental was about to change. Perhaps in what he was about to tell her. Perhaps in other ways she was too scared to contemplate.

  Faye’s fingers twisted in her lap as he prowled forward in that far too masculine and animalistic way to reclaim his seat next to her. He started to reach for her hand. At the last moment he froze, his face tightening as he reversed the action.

  Faye’s heart sank, her insides hollowing with unnerving alarm. Words of protest rose to her lips, but his next words saved her from disgracing herself.

  ‘Pietro was the snake in what should’ve been a peaceful paradise. He was the reason I was at odds with my parents in the year before they died.’

  The dark pain in his voice was palpable.

  ‘What happened?’ she asked.

  ‘For years they knew he was up to no good. But, irrationally, they believed he was redeemable simply because he was Luigi’s blood. They gave him chance after chance, including a position at the company—which he shamelessly abused by misappropriating funds until the board voted him off. By the time I was a teenager they’d decided the best way to deal with him was to set him up with a monthly allowance and mitigate whatever damage he caused by paying off the paparazzi and bribing whoever needed quieting to protect the family from disgrace.’

  Faye swallowed down her distaste. ‘Did that work?’

  Bitterness twisted his lips. ‘Of course not,’ he rasped. ‘They’d simply handed him another tool to torment them with. And he exploited it. The drug-taking and drinking worsened. He gambled away a fortune using the Fiorenti name. At one point it seemed all my father and Luigi were doing was retaining lawyers to stop the negative publicity Pietro was landing them with.’

  His jaw clenched tight.

  ‘Two months before they died I heard them discussing how to tackle the latest problem. He’d been drinking in a bar in Buenos Aires and got involved in a brawl. One of the brawlers was later the victim of a
hit and run.’

  Ice slithered down her spine. ‘Was it Pietro?’

  ‘He was suspected of it, but there was no concrete proof. The biggest deal Casa di Fiorenti had ever landed was on the brink of being sealed. They couldn’t afford even the smallest hint of scandal.’

  Faye could guess where the tale was heading. ‘So they made it go away?’

  ‘The victim survived and they talked themselves into taking no action because there was no proof, instead of making Pietro face his deplorable ways. Again. He got off free of blame because he was famiglia.’ Maceo all but snarled the word. ‘Right before my eyes, I was seeing him turn the two men I looked up to into the kind of men who would pay victims of a crime to stay quiet so an irresponsible idiota could continue wreaking havoc.’

  Clarity brought a sympathetic ache to her heart for what Maceo had suffered, and regret for reopening old wounds. But she hoped that reliving events he’d probably never discussed before might help him overcome them, maybe even heal in a way she’d never been able to.

  ‘They were your heroes and they let you down. But you’re not the sort of man who would just let it go. What did you do?’

  ‘I spent months rowing with my parents over it. The event that night they died wasn’t just to celebrate landing the deal. It was also meant to clear the air between us. At least, that’s what my mother hoped.’

  ‘But?’

  His tawny eyes grew haunted and his lips thinned into a bleak line before he answered. ‘But then I discovered that they’d silenced another Pietro incident just that morning. So I hurled judgement at them. Threatened to remove myself from their so-called famiglia. Basically uttered words I never got the chance to take back.’

  She placed a hand on his arm, as if it would stop his self-flagellation. ‘Maceo—’

  ‘The last thing I said to my father was that I was ashamed to be his son. Those were the words he took to his grave.’ He sliced his gaze towards her, his whole body bristling with pain, regret and fury.