The Change in Di Navarra's Plan

by Lynn Raye Harris

  “We are finished here,” Renzo said, and she blinked at him.

  “But I need to change back into my clothes—”

  “Those are your clothes,” he told her. “The rest will be sent along.”

  “The rest?”

  “Everything you chose.”

  “Everything?” If she’d had any idea, she would have been more careful. She’d liked so many things. So many expensive things. She shook her head. “It’s too much. I can never repay you.”

  Renzo came over and put his hands on her shoulders. In the heels, she didn’t have to tilt her head back to look at his expression. His gaze slid down her body, to the buttons on her dress that came together just over her cleavage, and then met her eyes once more while her insides began to melt. “Mia bella, it gives me pleasure to do this for you. I have told you before to consider this as a part of your compensation for accompanying me. It is not easy to leave behind one’s friends and home, now is it?”

  It was when you didn’t really have any friends, and the home didn’t belong to you, but Faith didn’t say that. “I feel like it’s too much,” she said.

  “And I feel like it’s not enough. Which of us is right?”

  “I’m pretty sure I am. My sense of what things cost is probably more realistic than yours.”

  Renzo laughed even as he looped her arm in his. “You are a refreshing woman, Faith. You speak your mind without care for what I might think. I like it.”

  “You have enough women feeding your ego,” she grumbled, and he laughed again.

  They exited the shop and got into the waiting car. Faith turned her head to look out the window at the shops opposite, suddenly uncomfortable to be alone with him again. She didn’t know why she should be, but she was.

  Not because she was afraid of him, but because she was afraid of herself, she realized. The entire time she’d been trying on clothes, she’d been thinking of how he would look at her when she walked out in each outfit. What would Renzo think? What would he do? Would he look at her like he wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her again, the way he had in her apartment?

  It was dangerous to think of him like that. Dangerous to think for even a moment that she wanted him to kiss her. There was nothing but heartbreak in allowing herself to think of a man like Renzo wanting her. She was his PA, not his girlfriend.

  “I do understand the value of money, cara,” he said, his voice breaking the silence between them as the car rolled through the streets of Rome. “I was not born rich.”

  She turned to look at him. She knew that, of course, because she’d read all about him when she’d joined the company. He’d started competing in motorcycle races at seventeen, had been picked up by a major manufacturer and ridden their motorcycles for a few years before coming up with his own designs. He’d poured every euro he had into building his first motorcycle, gotten sponsorship and investors and built D’Angeli Motors into a powerhouse in the industry while others had looked on in shock.

  Renzo was formidable, both in his industry and in life, she thought. No wonder he’d maneuvered her so smoothly into changing her hair and buying clothes today. He did not accept defeat. Ever. “Did you grow up in Rome?” she asked.

  His gaze was blank. “No. A small town on the Amalfi Coast. My mother was a waitress in a hotel there.”

  “And your father?”

  The corners of his mouth tightened, and a throb of premonition squeezed her heart. “I do not have a father, cara.”

  She didn’t quite know what to say to that. She felt like she’d tripped into a minefield, and there was nothing to do now but finish the journey and hope for the best. “I’m sorry, Renzo.”

  He shrugged. “It has been this way my whole life. I am not bothered by it.”

  But he was. She could tell by the bleak look on his face, the way his voice was carefully controlled. Whatever it was, it bothered him a great deal.

  “My father is a preacher,” she said, and then wondered why she’d admitted that to him. But he’d seemed so lost, and she’d found herself wanting to confess that while she had a father, their relationship wasn’t perfect.

  He looked at her with interest. “A preacher? What is this?”

  Faith twisted her fingers together. She didn’t like talking about her family. It inevitably brought up painful memories, but she’d started the conversation and had to finish it. “He’s a minister. In a church.”

  “Ah, I see.” His gaze was suddenly keen. “Perhaps this explains much about you.”

  It explained a lot, actually, but she was far too embarrassed to tell him all of it. “He was a hard man to live with,” she said softly. “He expected much out of his children. I was the disappointment. My brother Albert was an Eagle Scout, and I…”

  She swallowed. Renzo reached for her hand. She let him take it, a little tingle of awareness beginning to sizzle up her spine as he threaded his fingers in hers.

  “All children think they are a disappointment at one time or another. It is rarely true, I believe.”

  “It is definitely true in my case,” Faith said. “I haven’t spoken to my father in eight years.”

  His eyes searched hers, their blue depths full of dark emotion. “I’m sorry, Faith. I can tell this upsets you.”

  She shrugged. But yes, it hurt, even after all this time. She’d been so stupid. So naive and innocent and gullible. And she’d paid the price. Jason hadn’t. He was a male, and males stuck together.

  “I, um, I shouldn’t have said anything,” she replied, her gaze firmly fixed on their linked hands. “It makes me uncomfortable to talk about it.”

  He brought her hand to his mouth and feathered his lips across her skin. His breath was hot as he spoke. “Then we will not speak of it again.”

  Tears pricked her eyes. She really didn’t want to like him, and yet she couldn’t quite help it at the moment. “Thank you.”

  “It is nothing,” he said. And then his voice grew firm, determined. “You are a good woman, Faith. Never believe otherwise.”

  “You don’t really know me,” she said. “I might be nothing more than a very good actress.”

  At that he laughed. “Actually, you aren’t an actress at all,” he told her. “Your every emotion is written across your face. Would you like to know what I see there now?”

  She met his gaze evenly. His eyes glittered with heat and promise, and she could feel her nipples responding, tightening, her breasts growing heavy and firm. Her sex throbbed with need, her body growing tight and achy.

  “What do you see?” she asked, surprised at the husky turn of her voice.

  He lifted his hand to her face, traced his thumb across her bottom lip. She bit back the moan that wanted to escape as he did so. “I see a woman who wants me…but who is terribly afraid to admit it.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  “YOU ARE MISTAKEN, RENZO,” Faith said once she found her voice again. Her heart, in the meantime, was pounding at light speed. “You really should see a doctor about that ego, you know. It must be such a burden carrying that thing around.”

  One corner of his mouth lifted in a grin. “You amuse me, and yet I recognize this tactic. It’s not working, by the way.”

  “Tactic? What tactic? I assure you I’m only speaking the truth.”

  He leaned toward her, his eyes gleaming hotly. “Then prove it to me, cara mia. Kiss me and prove to me that you are unaffected.”

  Faith sat stiffly beside him, lacing her fingers together in her lap. “That would be unprofessional, Mr. D’Angeli.”

  He lounged back on the seat, watching her with dark humor sparking in his gaze. “Another tactic, lovely Faith. First you insult me. Then you wish to distance me with your formality.”

  “I’m your PA,” she said. “It’s perfectly appropriate.”


  “But aren’t you curious?”

  Her heart thumped at the wicked sparkle in his gaze. Of course she was curious. “Not at all.” She smoothed the fabric of the green dress. “Honestly, does this usually work for you? I’d have thought you had much more complex methods to employ.”

  He laughed. And then he leaned toward her and it was everything she could do not to scoot away and cling to the door like a frightened virgin. “You try to push me away with your thorniness, but it doesn’t work the way you suppose it does, cara mia.”

  She drew her body upright, holding herself rigid in the seat. “Then you are not as smart as I thought you were. A shame, considering how many people depend upon you.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Do you know what you need, Faith?”

  “Sleep,” she ventured. “I didn’t get a lot of it last night.”

  One eyebrow lifted. “What I propose does involve a bed, but sleep isn’t part of the equation. At least not immediately.”

  She turned her head away to hide the blush that she knew was creeping up her neck and spreading over her cheeks. A moment later Renzo gasped. She turned, her heart tumbling at the anguish tightening his features. He clenched his fists at his sides, and his lips were white with pain.

  “Renzo, are you all right? Is it your leg?”

  He nodded once, and she sidled toward him, suddenly uncaring about keeping her distance. “Stretch your leg out if you can. Let me massage it.”

  His head fell back against the seat, his skin turning ashen as he stretched the leg. She had no doubt he was in agony. “Dio, it hurts,” he said.

  “Do you have any pain pills?”

  “I do, but I took one last night. I can’t take another for a few days yet.”

  His muscles were so tight. Faith massaged rhythmically, trying to ease the cramp. “Why not?”

  His blue gaze pierced into her, the depths filled with pain and even perhaps a little bit of fear. “They are addictive, Faith. I can’t allow that to happen.”

  No, a man like Renzo would not wish to be addicted to painkillers. She admired his willpower even though she feared he might be a bit too strict with parceling out the pills. “What about anti-inflammatories? Surely you can take those.”

  “Si.”

  Faith grabbed her purse and dug through it until she found a bottle. “Here, I have something. They’re over the counter and completely safe.”

  He blinked at her. “And why do you need these?” he asked, accepting the two pills she shook into his palm.

  “My wrists sometimes hurt at the end of a long work day. Typing,” she added when he continued to look perplexed. She poured water into one of the crystal goblets set against one wall of the limousine and handed it to him. He put the pills in his mouth and drank, and Faith continued to massage his leg until he grasped her hands and pulled her against him, wedging her into the curve of his body where he lay back against the seat.

  “Just sit with me,” he said softly, his breath ruffling her hair. “That is all I want.”

  “But your leg—”

  “The spasm is easing. It does not always last long. Thankfully, this is one of those times.”

  Faith thought she should move away from him, but she couldn’t do it. She could feel the tension in his body and knew he still hurt, so she leaned against him and sat very still. The heat of his body slid beneath her skin, the sensation both thrilling and comforting. His hand came up to stroke her hair, and goose bumps prickled along the back of her neck.

  This was wrong, so wrong. And yet it felt too good.

  They didn’t speak, and eventually her eyes started to feel heavy, her body languid. Soon, in spite of her attempts otherwise, she fell asleep against Renzo. When she awoke, the car had stopped and Renzo was gently shaking her.

  Faith pushed upright, horrified with herself for falling asleep on him. “I’m sorry.”

  Renzo was smiling. “For what? Being tired? I rather enjoyed it, cara. You are incapable of being prickly when you are asleep.”

  Faith smoothed her hair, certain it must be a wild mess, and dug through her purse for her mirror, praying to God she hadn’t drooled in her sleep. Or that she wasn’t now sporting raccoon eyes. A quick check in her compact assured her that she still looked presentable, once she slid her fingers through her hair to tame any flyaways.

  Renzo exited the vehicle and stood waiting for her while a bevy of uniformed staff swarmed around the car, sorting luggage and packages and carting them into the house. Faith blinked at the facade in front of her. The stone house had that timeworn ocher color that only seemed to exist in Italy. It was less ornate than she’d expected it would be, and she stood with her head tilted back, taking in the wooden shutters and twining bougainvillea and climbing roses that graced both corners of the home. Spilling from each window was a profusion of bright red blooms.

  “Do you like it?” Renzo asked.

  “It’s lovely.”

  “Then look this way,” he said, turning her until she was facing a long slope of garden that butted up against a stone wall—beyond which was a beautiful valley dotted with tall cypresses, yellow fields, purple flowers, green grass and lush vineyards as far as the eye could see.

  “We aren’t in Rome?” she asked dumbly. How long had she slept anyway?

  Renzo laughed. “No. This is my home in Tuscany. We are closer to Florence than Rome now.”

  “I…I missed it all,” she said. Disappointment ate at her.

  “You were tired, cara. Besides, there will be plenty of opportunities to see the countryside again.” He tucked her arm in his and led her toward the house. “Now, however, you will wish to rest and freshen up. There is a party tonight.”

  Her heart fell. “Tonight?”

  “You are nervous?” he asked gently, stopping to face her.

  Yes, but she wouldn’t admit that. Faith swallowed. What if there were photographers? What if someone back in Cottonwood saw her in a tabloid? Would they recognize her? She thought of her past coming back to haunt her now, after she’d run so far and done so much to change who she was, and felt sick.

  “I—I was thinking you might want to rest,” she said, letting her gaze drop briefly to his leg.

  His expression shuttered when she met his eyes again. “I appreciate the concern, cara, but it is not necessary. There is much to be done in the next few weeks and little time to waste.”

  She wanted to tell him that looking after his health wasn’t a waste of time, but she knew he didn’t want to hear it. Renzo was determined to ride the Viper even if it killed him. She shoved down the feeling of panic that seemed determined to wrap around her throat and faced him squarely. She wasn’t sure if the panic came from her fear of discovery or her fear for him—or both, more likely—but she didn’t want to think about it any longer.

  “Then perhaps we should work on your schedule for a while,” she said briskly, attempting to be all business and hoping he didn’t see that she was upset.

  He studied her for a moment before his sexy mouth curved into a smile that made her heart skip a beat. “Si, this is a very good idea. Next week, I take the Viper onto the track to begin training. I will have little time for business meetings then.”

  Faith’s heart thumped in slow motion. “Next week? Is it ready so soon?”

  Excitement danced in his eyes while her stomach twisted in fear. “It is.”

  And Renzo would be flying around a track at speeds approaching, perhaps exceeding, two hundred miles per hour. With a leg that could cramp at any moment and render him incapable of controlling the motorcycle.

  Faith didn’t want to think about the consequences of that scenario. Instead, she threw herself into her work once they reached Renzo’s home office. They worked for a couple of hours, and then Renzo pushed back from his desk and told he
r to go get some rest.

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  “Your eyes keep closing. You can hardly keep them open.”

  It was true, but he’d shown no signs of being tired and so she’d kept on working. “It’s called blinking,” she said stubbornly.

  Renzo laughed. “Indeed.” He got to his feet and stretched. “Nevertheless, go to your room and blink there. I am going to do the same. Come, I will show you where you are staying.”

  Faith followed him up the wide marble staircase that sat imposingly at the center of the house. She could hardly keep from gawking as they’d walked through the villa. It was lovely, with marble floors, Oriental rugs, old oil paintings and tapestries on the walls, and vases of flowers filling every surface. There were antiques mixed with modern furnishings, giving it all an eclectic and lush feeling.

  It was as sumptuous as the Stein’s penthouse, and yet it was more livable. The kind of place where you could actually put your feet on a table and not be too worried that you were mistaking some sort of modern art piece for a footstool.

  Renzo led her down a long hallway with tall doors that opened to bedrooms filled with light. The last one was hers, he told her, and she stepped into the room, certain he’d made a mistake. This was the kind of room you gave to guests, not employees. There was a huge tester bed covered in white linen, antique wardrobes for her clothing, a delicate writing desk by a window, and silk chairs and a couch where she could lounge in the evenings. There was even a television, and three sets of tall windows, which opened onto a balcony with a table and chairs.

  Perfect for morning coffee, she thought.

  “Do you approve?” he asked as she stood with her back to him and gaped. It was like something out of a travel fairy tale—the kind of thing you dreamed of when you read about Tuscany and imagined yourself living there.

  Faith turned to him. “It’s lovely, Renzo. Thank you.”

  “I am glad you are pleased.” He came over and put his hands on her shoulders, skimmed them down her arms. “I am across the hall, cara, should you require anything.”

  Faith bit the inside of her lip. “I—I’m sure I’ll be fine. But thank you.”