“I’m sorry, Faith. I had hoped that wouldn’t happen.”
“You’re a public person. It was inevitable.” She seemed troubled and he stopped, turned to face her. She didn’t look at him at first, but when she did, he could see the worry in her eyes.
His heart squeezed at the look on her face. He knew how much that impulsive nude photo had affected her, how much it had shaped her life. It would have been hell to endure what she’d endured. “You are concerned that if you appear in the paper with me, someone will find that old picture of you, aren’t you?”
She shrugged, and he knew she was trying to put a brave face on it. “It’s silly. I’m no one. Who’s going to care about an old nude photo that isn’t even all that good? It would take an extraordinary effort to find it, and then to connect it to the woman I am today.”
Yet with the press, anything was possible. Especially where it concerned his life. They’d dug up just about everything he’d ever done. The only thing they didn’t know was who his father was. He didn’t protect the conte’s identity for the man’s family—or even for his own, since the conte no longer had the power to harm them—but because he didn’t want the old man to have any credit for who Renzo had become.
“I wish I could tell you it won’t happen, but the truth is that I don’t know.” He put his hands on her shoulders and bent until he was looking her in the eye. “I promise you that I will do everything in my power to find and destroy that photo before it can happen.”
She shook her head. “It’s out there, Renzo. I don’t think even you can make it go away for good.” She sighed. “I knew if I were seen with you, there was a good chance I’d end up in the papers. And I was willing to take the risk. So whatever happens next, I’ll deal with it.”
She looked determined, strong, even though he knew she was afraid. But that was Faith: practical and brave, and convinced she had to look after herself because no one else would. He pulled her into his arms and hugged her tight. “We will deal with it, cara, should it come to pass.”
“It’s sure to thrill Cottonwood if it gets that far,” she grumbled. “I think I was the most excitement they’d had since Sherman marched to the sea and burned the town down around their ears.”
Renzo blinked. Her voice was syrupy and sweet with that slow drawl he loved, but he didn’t understand the reference. “What is Sherman?”
She laughed softly. “A Civil war general typically reviled in the South. It happened over one hundred years ago. It was very exciting, according to Miss Minnie Blaine, who’s nearly one hundred herself and remembers her grandmama talking about it when she was a child.”
“I should like to visit this South someday,” he said truthfully. “It sounds fascinating.”
She pushed back and arched an eyebrow. “I can see you there, Renzo. Eating barbecued ribs and drinking sweet tea. You’d be the third most exciting thing to happen to Cottonwood.”
“Only the third?” he teased. “Perhaps I should do something a bit more scandalous first.”
She laughed. “Perhaps you’d care to text a nude photo of yourself to the town elders? That would surely get some blood pumping.”
“Happily, cara, if it meant they would forget about your photo.”
She looked wistful, and he reached out to push a strand of hair from her face. “They will never forget it. I am persona non grata in Cottonwood.”
“I doubt that,” he said. “But I understand why you think so. It was a long time ago, and you are a very successful career woman now. Would they truly not welcome you back if you wanted to go?”
She frowned. “I don’t want to go. Ever.”
He understood her conviction. They were more alike than she knew, but instead of telling her so he took her hand and pressed it to his lips. Then they continued down the street, threading their way back toward the apartment and talking about the differences between Georgia and Italy. He was so lost in the conversation that he didn’t realize where they were until it was too late. They emerged from a narrow alley between buildings, out onto a wider thoroughfare, and he realized his mistake. He’d come here as if on autopilot, and he stiffened even as Faith gasped at the magnificent villa before them.
“Oh, it’s gorgeous,” she exclaimed. “Does someone actually live there, or is it open to tourists?”
The wrought iron fence surrounding the Villa de Lucano was imposing, but the house that sat back from the street was ornate, part of its facade carved from Carrara marble and carefully timeworn in that way that only houses in the Old World could be.
The gardens were vast, lush, manicured. A fountain gurgled somewhere out of sight. Renzo imagined children playing there, imagined a father coming outside to greet them after time away, bending to hug them all as they flew into his open arms. It was an old fantasy, and not a particularly welcome one.
“No, it is a private residence,” he said, unable to hide the bitterness in his voice.
She turned to him, her soft eyes questioning. And, in spite of everything she’d shared with him, he still couldn’t seem tell her the shameful truth of his life before he’d become Lorenzo D’Angeli, tycoon, Grand Prix bad boy, superstar.
He wasn’t ready for that. Didn’t know if he would ever be ready for it. He would never, ever allow his life to sink to that level again. Anger surged through him.
He had to win the championship. Had to.
Success was everything. Renzo wanted his father to choke on his success, to regret every single day that he had not found a way to be a part of his son’s life. The conte was proud, and Renzo was the richest, the most successful of his children. And no one knew.
“Is everything okay, Renzo? Does your leg hurt?”
“A bit,” he said, seizing on the excuse. His leg did hurt, but it was a mild discomfort more than anything.
She looked contrite, and for that he felt a pinprick of guilt. He knew she blamed herself, as if the walking was her fault.
“It’s not far now,” he said, guiding her away from the Villa de Lucano. “Just a few minutes more.”
Once they reached the apartment, Renzo laid his keys on a table and went to look out the huge plate window fronting the living area. He’d picked this apartment because of the city view, and because it was the best money could buy. He could see the rooftop of the Villa de Lucano, but that didn’t usually bother him.
Now, however, it irritated him.
He stood with his hands in his pockets and stared at nothing in particular. Faith came to his side and quietly studied the view with him.
“What is it, Renzo?” she finally said when he didn’t move or speak. “I know something is bothering you, and I know it’s not your leg.”
He closed his eyes for a moment. Of course she knew. She was attuned to him somehow. He didn’t understand the connection between them, but he knew there was one. It was odd, and yet somehow necessary, too.
The words he didn’t want to say burned at the back of his throat until he had to let them out or choke on them. “It’s that place. The Villa de Lucano.”
She pulled him around to face her, her green eyes wide and full of concern. “What is it about that place that bothers you so much?”
He studied her for the longest time—the sheen of moisture in her eyes, the determined set to her jaw, the high color in her cheeks. She’d endured much humiliation, and she’d survived it. She’d reinvented herself, the same as he had. She understood what it took to do so.
“The Conte de Lucano is my father,” he found himself saying. And once he’d said that much, he told her the rest. What did it matter? “He does not want to know me. He never has.”
He watched the emotions play over her face: confusion, anger, sadness and worry.
“Oh Renzo, I’m sorry,” she finally said, her voice barely more than a whisper. A moment later, a single tear spilled down her cheek. It stunned him that she would cry for him. He caught the droplet with his thumb, smoothed it away.
“Tears, cara?” he a
sked.
She closed her eyes and shook her head, as if shaking the tears away. “I’m just emotional. It’s part of being a girl.”
He laughed in spite of himself. In spite of the vise squeezing his chest. She made him laugh, even when he did not want to. He pulled her closer and dipped to nuzzle her hair. He ached inside, but for once it was almost bearable.
“I like very much that you’re a girl.”
And then, because he didn’t want to talk anymore—because he didn’t think he could talk anymore—he swept her off her feet and carried her into the bedroom.
CHAPTER TWELVE
FAITH looked up from her computer, her heart doing that funny little flip thing it always did as the door to Renzo’s office opened. They were spending days at the factory now while he went over the details for the Viper and for the next production launch. The launch was timed to coincide with the Viper’s debut on the Grand Prix circuit, and everyone was working long hours to make it happen smoothly.
She’d never been so happy and so miserable at the same time. She was happy because she enjoyed being Renzo’s lover, and miserable because she felt as if she’d done everything wrong. The other office staff kept their distance. She knew why. It wasn’t a language barrier, as everyone spoke English, but more of a perception barrier. She was the boss’s girlfriend, and everyone knew it.
It was, in some respects, a nightmare. She felt their censure, and it felt far too much like the censure she’d gotten at home when the photo of her began to circulate. People were distant, judgmental. They whispered behind her back.
She hated the way it made her feel. As if she were different. Damaged.
It had been inevitable, she supposed. The pictures of the two of them had finally appeared in the paper after the night in Florence when they’d been photographed together at the restaurant. Those photos were innocuous, but when you added in the photo of the kiss at the party, it didn’t take a genius to put two and two together.
Her heart had beat so hard when she’d seen that picture that she’d thought she would pass out. Renzo had hugged her to him and told her not to worry. So far, he’d been right. There’d been nothing about her real name or the photograph that had caused her so much pain.
Still, she feared the feelings it would dredge up once the photo was public knowledge again. She’d thought she could handle it, but now, with the office staff treating her like she was a leper, she wasn’t quite so confident.
She smiled as Renzo approached. He was as mind-numbingly delicious as always as he came over to her desk, clad in a custom suit and loafers, his dark hair curling over his collar. His blue eyes were sharp, but she could see the strain in them. He’d been pushing himself relentlessly, riding the Viper, working on the details for the launch—and making love to her at night in his bed.
A tendril of heat coiled in her belly and her body responded with a surge. Those nights were the hottest, most incredible she’d ever known. Renzo had taught her things she’d have blushed at only a few weeks ago, but things that she now did hungrily, greedily, as if she couldn’t get enough of him.
Which, she acknowledged, she couldn’t.
But she wanted more than just the physical from him. She wanted his heart, his trust. She’d thought perhaps she was starting to get those things that night in Florence when he’d told her who his father was, but they’d not spoken of it since. They’d spoken of nothing so deeply emotional again. It was as if he regretted letting her see inside his life.
“Did that fax from Robert Stein arrive?” he asked.
“It just came through,” she replied, handing him the papers she’d taken from the machine only a moment before he’d opened the door.
He took it, frowning as he looked it over, and her heart squeezed tight with all the emotions she had to keep bottled inside. She felt hot and achy and needy every time she looked at him.
But it was more than that.
Whenever he touched her, whenever he played with Lola, everything inside her hurt. In a good way. She knew what it was, even if she’d never felt quite this way before. She was in love with him, but she didn’t dare tell him.
He’d shown absolutely no signs of returning her feelings, and she wasn’t about to commit the mistake that she was certain other women had committed in the past.
And yet it made her angry, too. Why couldn’t she be herself? Why couldn’t she speak up and tell him how she felt? Why was she afraid to do so? If he threw her out, then at least she would know where she stood, wouldn’t she? Why waste time loving someone who didn’t love you back?
There was another side to her despair, as well. Every time Renzo went onto the track, she could hardly breathe. He’d been training hard, riding the Viper and icing his leg at night. She’d tried to convince him to see a doctor, to hire a masseuse, but he was stubborn and wouldn’t do it.
So she massaged his leg, praying that it was enough, that today would not be the day his leg would cramp up at two hundred miles an hour. She could stand it when he was alone on the track—but when he entered the circuit, and there were other screaming motorcycles all around him?
How could he stop if something happened? How could he possibly get out of the way in time?
He looked up then and caught her watching him. The answering heat in his eyes sent a surge of relief rushing through her. For now, at least, he was hers.
He glanced toward the open hallway that led to his suite of offices. No one was in sight, so he bent and fitted his lips to hers. She knew she should push him away, but she couldn’t do it. It had been hours since she’d kissed him.
He smelled delicious, and so very sinful. She wanted to strip away his clothes and lick her way down his body. And then she wanted to take him in her mouth and feel the power she had over him as he gasped and groaned his pleasure.
“Come into the office with me,” he said. “We’ll lock the door and—”
She put a hand over his mouth to silence him. “You know I can’t do that. Your people already dislike me enough. Especially that secretary you shuffled to another office.”
He darted his tongue out to lick her palm, then straightened again. “No one dislikes you, cara mia. And it was time for Signora Leoni to go. She never kept my appointments straight. But if you feel people don’t like you, you can work from home.”
Home. It was his home, not hers, but she loved it anyway. She was happy there, and not because it was beautiful and far more lush than she was accustomed to in her life, but because Renzo was there. And Lola, her sweet little kitten who was growing in leaps and bounds. Lola owned the place now. Even stodgy Fabrizio couldn’t resist her kitten antics.
Faith lowered her lashes. “I think you underestimate the benevolence of your staff, Renzo. They dislike me because they know we’re together. But I won’t leave. I’ll be fine working here.”
His hand ghosted over her hair. “You never give up, do you, Faith?”
She met his curious gaze. “I believe in working hard to get what I want. And I’m not going to let what anyone else thinks stop me.”
He bent and kissed her swiftly. “This is why I like you so much,” he said. “We are exactly alike, cara.”
Like? Her mind focused on that one word and wouldn’t let it go. Like. He liked her. After everything they’d shared, he liked her.
It stung. She turned back to her computer, angry that sudden tears pricked the backs of her eyes. Well, honestly, what had she expected? She’d known she shouldn’t get involved with him, but she’d gone down that road with very little hesitation when it came right to it.
“Have I said something?” he asked from behind her.
She shook her head. “Of course not. But I have a lot of correspondence to get through before the day is over. And you have a conference call in half an hour.”
“Ah, si, I do.” He sounded tired, and she turned to look at him. He ran the fingers of one hand through his hair.
Worry pricked her. “You need to rest, Renzo. Not
hing good will come of it if you keep burning the candle at both ends.”
Fatigue lines bracketed his mouth and eyes. “It is always this way before the season starts.”
“I can’t imagine it’s good for you when you need your strength.”
“There are a lot of things that aren’t good for me. But they must be done.”
“But your leg—”
“I’m fine, cara,” he snapped suddenly.
Faith gaped at him. It was as if she’d reached out to pet sweet little Lola and been bitten for her trouble. His expression was a mix of rage, bitterness and despair. She knew that he was tired, that he was worried, and that he was angry over the hand fate had dealt him.
But he would not share any of it with her. He would not tell her how he felt, or how scared he was. It hurt. After all she thought they’d shared together, he would not open up to her now. Instead, he lashed out, pushed her away.
She was no different to him than Katie Palmer. And that made her angry.
“I think we both know better,” she said, her heart throbbing. “You might deny it to everyone else, but you aren’t denying it to me.”
His jaw worked, his eyes flashing with a different kind of heat than they had a moment ago. “Type your letters, Faith,” he said. And then he turned and walked back into his office, shutting the door firmly behind him. Shutting her out.
Renzo went back to his desk and collapsed in the chair. He felt like an ass for snapping at Faith. But he’d been feeling edgier than ever lately. He was tired, and his leg throbbed almost nonstop these days. The pain was bearable, but only just.
Yet he knew if he told her the truth, she’d beg him not to ride the Viper. And he simply did not want to have that conversation with her.
With anyone.
Since the night a little over a week ago when they’d stumbled onto the via opposite the Villa de Lucano, he’d been more determined than ever to make the Viper a success. And the only way that was happening was if he kept the reins for a little while longer. His team was good, but a victory didn’t mean as much to them as it did to him.
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