He’d thought about pulling out. He really had. But the media expected him to ride. His investors expected him to do so, as well. The whole world was waiting for Renzo D’Angeli, the Iron Prince, to zoom onto the track and claim the ultimate victory for the tenth time. It would be a great feat, and everyone was watching.
Some were hoping he would fail. Niccolo Gavretti, of course. And quite possibly his father. They had never spoken, but Renzo knew his father followed the sport. He’d even seen the conte in the paddock once before. Backing Gavretti, naturally. The De Lucanos and the Gavrettis were old friends, blue bloods who stuck together in business and in life.
Renzo tossed down the papers that he’d been trying to concentrate on and leaned back in his chair, propping his leg on a low table that he’d pulled over for the purpose.
Dio. He rubbed the knotted muscles hard, hoping to ease the pain. He thought of calling Faith, but she was angry with him. Besides, he didn’t want to admit that she’d been right. He couldn’t admit it.
He slipped open a desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of over-the-counter painkillers. He shook two pills into his hand—and then shook out two more. He had to remain focused on the goal. Everything else was secondary.
He took the pills, and then picked up the phone and punched in a number. When a familiar voice answered on the third ring, he knew he was doing the right thing. For her, he would win again. For her, he would rub victory in the conte’s face once more.
“Renzo,” his mother said. “Ciao, darling!”
They were at the factory late. Renzo rode the Viper again, zooming around the track at speeds Faith was certain were somehow faster than he’d ever ridden before. When he dismounted, there was no hitch in his gate, no weakness that she could detect. He’d had a great few days, though she knew it was only a matter of time before the pain got to be too much for him.
He kept a bottle of painkillers on the nightstand, rationing them out as if they were the last, most precious pills on earth. She admired his strength of will even while she cursed his stubbornness. If he would take them more regularly, or see a doctor, perhaps something could be done. Something that would ensure his safety on the track.
After he showered and dressed, they drove into Florence where they went to his apartment and changed for the evening. There was another party tonight, another gathering of investors and people who followed the MotoGP circuit. The season would start soon and all the teams would be heading to Qatar for the first race.
Eighteen races in thirteen countries. It was a grueling circuit, with two or three races each month, plus all the travel that was required to move from country to country. The logistics of it were a nightmare. Now that she knew what Renzo actually did, it was no wonder she’d worked at D’Angeli’s New York factory for months before she’d ever seen him in person.
She loved being here with him, but she almost wished she’d remained in the financial office of the company. If she had, she wouldn’t be so desperately in love with him now. She wouldn’t be here, praying that every time he took that beast of a motorcycle on the track, he’d make it out alive.
Faith looked at the dress she’d selected for tonight and felt her heart thump hard. It was more daring than anything she’d yet worn. Black, made of clingy jersey, and figure hugging from the strapless bosom to her ankles. There was a slit up one side that went as high as midthigh.
She finished her hair and slipped into the dress, then slid her feet into glittery peep-toe platforms. She studied her appearance in the mirror, pleased with the elegant sensuality portrayed before her. Yes, it was a long way from the preacher’s daughter to this, but she was comfortable, confident in the way she looked.
When she joined Renzo in the foyer, his gaze glided over her approvingly. But then his expression clouded.
“I’m not sure I want you going out like that, cara.” He kissed her on the cheek and she inhaled his clean, fresh scent, closing her eyes for a brief second as she did so. “You look…too sexy for your own good.”
Faith reached for her wrap, her pulse thrumming. “Nevertheless, it’s what I’m wearing. I brought nothing else with me.”
She hadn’t forgotten that he’d dismissed her earlier, though it seemed as if he had. She thought for a minute he might pull her close and kiss her properly, but she was glad he did not. She couldn’t quite bear it right now, when she was fighting with herself over what she meant to his life.
They arrived at the party, held at one of Florence’s museums, fashionably late. Reporters and photographers were stationed outside the exclusive location, snapping pics and shouting questions to everyone who arrived. Faith hesitated before exiting the car. Renzo squeezed her hand, and she found the strength to join him on the red carpet. She always felt as if she didn’t belong, and yet while he held on to her, she could do anything.
Faith pasted a smile on her face as they moved down the line. Renzo stopped every so often, smiling for the cameras as he anchored her to his side like a pretty ornament.
Finally, they passed inside. The host and hostess greeted them, fawning over Renzo before he extracted himself from their grip. The next guest came in, and the routine started all over again.
Faith accepted a glass of champagne from a waiter passing by with a tray. Between the paparazzi just now and Renzo’s reaction to her concerns earlier, her nerves were frayed tonight. She sipped the liquid, hoping it would at least take the edge off.
She couldn’t stop thinking about the way Renzo had shut down when she’d mentioned his leg. It bothered her a great deal that he would cut her from the important parts of his life, that he would refuse to discuss something so elemental as his fitness to do the job he intended to do. Was she just supposed to accept his edict and hope for the best?
Yes, clearly, she was. Faith tried not to frown as they moved through the gathering. Renzo introduced her to so many people she would never remember them all. She noted that while he did not say she was his PA, he also did not say she was his girlfriend. He introduced her simply as Faith.
It was a silly thing to focus on, but it was yet one more piece of evidence piled onto all the rest that had her wondering about her place in his life. Was this how it began for the other women he’d been with? Did they all start searching for signs that they meant more to him than just a warm body in his bed?
You knew, she told herself. You knew what this was, and you did it anyway.
She didn’t say much, but then she wasn’t expected to. Renzo stayed by her side for the longest time, but then he got caught in a crowd of men who wanted to talk motorcycles and ended up drifting away from her. In a way, she was relieved. She wasn’t in the mood for a party, and it meant she could escape somewhere quiet for a few moments.
Faith glided through the rooms of the museum, studying the art, enjoying the rarity of having a gallery to herself while she was dressed up and sipping champagne. This certainly wasn’t the kind of life she’d led before becoming Renzo’s lover, and it would not be the kind she led after. If her old friends in Cottonwood could see her now, wouldn’t they be surprised?
“Abandoned, bella?”
Faith gasped at the voice as she spun to find Niccolo Gavretti watching her from the entrance. He looked sinful in his tuxedo and white shirt, but he did not move her. For a moment, she wished he did. How easy would it be if she could just cast off her current lover for a new one?
“I am not abandoned,” she said coolly. “Renzo is busy.”
“I noticed,” he said, his lips curving in a smile. “And he will only get busier once the season starts. There will be no time at all for lovely distractions when he is so focused on winning.”
Ice dripped down her spine as she gripped the glass hard and tried not to react. “I’m sure I’ll survive,” she said.
He smiled his cool predator’s smile. “I am sure you will, bella.”<
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He crossed the room to her side, tilted his head back to study the painting of a weeping Madonna. It was a beautiful picture, dark and lovely, with the most vibrant blues and golds that made Mary stand out from the rest of the scene.
“If you wish for a change, lovely Faith, I am certain we could have a good time together. I promise I would not leave you to amuse yourself while I caroused with my buddies.” His silvery eyes fixed on her and she shivered. There was nothing but coldness behind that gaze. Ruthlessness.
Another time, before she’d fallen in love with Renzo, she might have been flattered. But she knew Niccolo’s goal in approaching her now that she’d been caught between them once before. He only wanted to annoy Renzo. It had nothing at all to do with her.
And she wasn’t tempted anyway. Far from it.
“I don’t like change,” she said, her voice a touch sharp. “If you will excuse me.”
He laughed. “You have only to let me know if you change your mind.”
“I won’t.”
Her pulse raced as she brushed past him, but he didn’t try to stop her. She headed for the noise of the more-populated areas of the museum. As soon as she stepped out of the gallery, she ran into Renzo. Her heart thumped.
He was frowning. “I’ve been looking for you, cara mia.”
“And now you’ve found me,” she said brightly. Too brightly, because his gaze sharpened. Damn Niccolo Gavretti.
“What have you been doing all alone, Faith?”
“Looking at paintings,” she said. “They are really quite amazing.”
She heard footsteps behind her, and knew precisely who it was. Knew what Renzo would see and what he would think. And she suddenly didn’t feel like pretending anymore. She’d done nothing wrong, and if he couldn’t trust that she hadn’t, then she wanted to know it.
“Ciao, Renzo.”
He stiffened. She could see his entire body go rigid, his eyes flashing fire. “Nico,” he replied, his voice cold in spite of the angry heat in his gaze.
“I’m looking forward to our match in Qatar.”
Renzo vibrated with anger. “I’m not sure why. The Viper is far better than anything you’ve designed lately—assuming you haven’t stolen anything that does not belong to you.”
Niccolo’s eyes flashed. “Still banging that drum, Renzo?”
“We both know the motorcycles are not your true passion. It’s simply another way to spend your father’s money and stay out of the way doing it, si? You could not design an original bike if your life depended upon it.”
Niccolo smiled, but it was a flat, lethal curving of the lips that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Arrogant as always, Renzo. I’ll enjoy watching you fail.”
Renzo’s jaw could have been carved from granite. “I won’t fail.”
“You might.” Niccolo strolled toward them, his hands thrust casually into his pockets. Then he stopped and let his gaze slide to Renzo’s thigh. “If your leg continues to give you trouble, who knows what will happen?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THEY LEFT THE party soon after and returned to Renzo’s apartment. Renzo did not speak during the short car ride, and Faith didn’t quite know what to say. She wanted to defend herself, to say that she hadn’t told Niccolo Gavretti anything, but she couldn’t speak. Every time the words formed on her tongue, they wouldn’t come out.
Because if she spoke, if she denied it, she sounded guilty. She looked guilty, considering that she’d been alone with the man he hated—the man he’d accused of stealing from him—and she was the only one who knew he’d been having trouble. Except, clearly, she was not the only one. Someone else knew, or had at least guessed.
She wanted Renzo to trust her, to believe that she wouldn’t tell anyone his secrets.
And yet he was silent.
She waited for him to say something, to ask her to explain, until she couldn’t wait anymore. Until they climbed from the car and stood in the darkened street with the cool Tuscan air making her shiver and pull her wrap tighter.
“I didn’t tell him, Renzo.”
He looked at her over the roof of the sports car. “I did not say you did.”
But he sounded cold.
Her heart burned and she felt hot, in spite of the chill. “No, you didn’t say anything.”
His gaze pinned her, and she knew that he was fighting with himself, that he did in fact think she might have betrayed him.
It hurt more than she’d ever realized it could. How could he possibly think such a thing of her?
They climbed the stairs to his apartment and went inside. Faith removed her wrap and draped it over a chair. Then she kicked her heels off and waited.
“Niccolo Gavretti is not to be trusted, Faith,” he finally said. “He will do anything to win, including cheat. He will tell any lie, use any grain of information. You should not talk to him. Ever.”
Her stomach twisted. There was certainly more to the story than he’d ever told her before. And if he was going to accuse her of betraying him, then she felt she deserved to know. “What happened between you?”
She wasn’t sure he would speak. She watched a hint of sadness chase across his features. But then it was gone, and in its place was the usual fury she saw whenever he spoke of Niccolo.
“We were friends once. Long ago. He knew what my dreams were, what I was planning to do with my designs. Instead of backing me as he promised, he started his own business—with designs remarkably similar to mine.”
“He stole from you.” It made her sick, and angry. She wanted to punch Niccolo Gavretti’s handsome face herself.
“He would love nothing better than to destroy me. I think it would soothe his guilty conscience to know he’d won in the end. Which is why you should not talk to him.”
She touched his arm. “I didn’t tell him anything, Renzo. Anyone who saw you that first day on the track could have surmised what was happening. You fell to your knees. A lot of people saw it.”
His expression grew hard. “You accuse one of my people of spying on me?”
Pain squeezed her belly tight. “Why not? Or am I the only suspect?”
He shoved a hand through his hair and swore. Then he ripped off his bow tie and shrugged out of the bespoke tuxedo jacket. “I know you wouldn’t say anything deliberately, Faith. Nico is quite good at extracting what he wants to know.”
If he’d stabbed her in the heart with a rusty knife, he couldn’t have hurt her more. “I’m not an idiot, Renzo! I didn’t say anything to anyone. Ever. Not even accidentally!”
“You could have implied—”
“I implied nothing,” she shouted. Fury held her in its cold grip. How could he think she would betray him, even unintentionally? She wouldn’t, not ever. Her body shook with the adrenaline pulsing through it.
Renzo stared at her for a long moment. She didn’t know what he would do, what he would say—but then he came over and gathered her to him. She stood stiffly in his embrace and refused to soften even while she swallowed angry tears.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his lips against her hair. “I’m sorry. I know you would not have said anything.”
She put her arms around him and buried her face in his chest. She loved him so much it hurt. And she feared for him.
“I didn’t tell him—but maybe you should consider that he’s right. You don’t know what’s going to happen when you get out there.”
“It’s always been that way on the track, Faith. You never know what will happen. It’s part of the challenge.”
She clutched his shirt. She was afraid for him, especially now that she knew how much Niccolo Gavretti hated him. “But it’s too dangerous now. Maybe you should retire from the circuit. Let someone else do this.”
She felt him stiffen and knew she
’d said the wrong thing. He pushed her back, holding her at arm’s length, and glared at her.
“I’m not retiring, cara. Not until I’ve won.”
Her vision was growing blurry, but she no longer cared if she cried or not. “Why do you have to be so stubborn? It’s your life we’re talking about. How many times do you need to win before you’ll be satisfied? How many times do you need to prove yourself?”
He turned and went over to the liquor cabinet, poured brandy into a glass. Then he set it down without drinking it, put both his hands on the cabinet, and stood with his back to her for a long moment.
Faith wrapped her arms around herself. She’d gone so far now, way over the line maybe, but for the first time since she’d started to fall for him, she felt as if she’d done the right thing. As if she’d been herself instead of who she thought he wanted her to be. It felt good—and frightening at the same time.
“One more time, Faith,” he said. He turned and faced her, his eyes glittering hot. “I need to win one more time.”
She sniffled. “Is that one more race or one more championship?”
“You know what it is.”
She did. He meant he wanted to win another championship. Eighteen grueling races against a field of competitors who might be just as determined as he was. And who were certainly healthier.
“I’m not sure I can take it,” she said softly, truthfully. How could she sit in those stands and watch him each time, her heart in her throat while she waited for something to go wrong?
“I’ve crashed before. I’ll probably crash again. It’s part of the sport, cara.” He picked up the brandy and took a sip. “The goal is not to crash badly. To get up and walk away.”
She bit her trembling lip. “And just how are you supposed to do that when you can’t even walk without pain most of the time?”
His head snapped up, his nostrils flaring. “I’m fine, Faith. My leg only hurts when the muscles knot. Which is not most of the time.”
Faith swore. “That’s a lie, Renzo, and you know it. I massage it nightly for you. You practically live with an ice pack in the evenings. You’re hurting and you’re too stubborn to admit you have a problem. You might lie to everyone else, but don’t lie to me.”
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