Renzo stood, his features dark and alarmed. “Faith?”
Faith wrapped her arms around her body. “I’m sorry, but that was a mistake. I didn’t mean for it to go that far, so please just forget it happened.”
He looked stormy, and so sexy she wanted to weep. Had that gorgeous, gorgeous man really been kissing her? Little Faith Louise Winston of all damn people?
“Forget?” he asked dangerously. “I hardly think that is possible, Faith.”
“It was a mistake,” she said. “I work for you, and tomorrow I’ll be at the office like always, and you’ll be there doing what you always do, and it will be so awkward that I’ll want to scream. But I won’t. And you’ll find a new girlfriend soon, and then you can forget about kissing me.”
He shoved his hand through his hair, muttering in Italian, and then picked up his vodka and tonic and drained it. “Why would I want to forget it, Faith?”
“Because I’m nothing special,” she said. Good Lord, was the man dense?
“Don’t talk like that,” he commanded, his eyes flashing, and she laughed nervously.
“Don’t worry. I don’t think I’m awful or anything. I am special, but in my world. Not in yours. You wouldn’t even be here if you hadn’t dumped Katie Palmer today.”
“Katie Palmer has nothing to do with this,” he growled.
“But she does,” Faith said, hoping she sounded as cool and logical as she was trying so hard to be. She’d been kissing Lorenzo D’Angeli, motorcycle magnate, Grand Prix bad boy, right here in her humble little living room. If he weren’t still standing there in all his magnificently male glory, she’d think she was making the whole thing up. That the vodka and tonic she hadn’t even taken a sip of had gone to her head and made her hallucinate. “Katie Palmer is the kind of woman you prefer. All your girlfriends have looked like some version of her, you know.”
His gaze narrowed, but she tumbled on recklessly. “Tall, leggy, effortlessly beautiful, with long dark hair and perfect makeup and size zero bodies that could really probably use a hamburger or two a bit more often …” She cleared her throat, waved a hand down her body. “As you can see, I am none of those things. I’m short, curvy and not in the least bit effortlessly beautiful. And I like to eat. Pasta, hamburgers, the occasional French fry. No, you should really go find that Lissa woman and make her your next fling.”
He looked utterly furious. “Santo cielo, I am not arguing with you over this.” He took his phone from his pocket. “Perhaps you are correct. Lissa would certainly not argue with me when I wanted to kiss her.”
“Not many women would,” Faith said, stung in spite of everything she’d said to push him away.
“But you did.” He made a call to a taxi company while she stood there feeling miserable, her heart squeezing tight as she wondered if she’d made a mistake.
Of course she hadn’t. He was her boss!
“I need our relationship to be professional,” she said when he finished his call, as much to convince herself as him. “I like my job and I don’t want to feel uncomfortable there.”
Renzo waved a hand as if it were nothing. Which, to him, it probably was. Women came and went with alarming regularity in his life. What was one more?
Indeed, his fury with her seemed forgotten as he moved toward the door with only the barest trace of a limp. “It never happened, Faith. Thank you for the massage, and for the drink. I will see you in the office tomorrow.”
And then he walked out and left her standing there, her lips still tingling and her body aching with thwarted desire. Either she was the bravest woman in the world, or the biggest fool to send him away.
The problem was that she wasn’t quite sure which.
Renzo got into the office early the next morning. Faith had not yet arrived when he walked past her desk and into his office with the tall windows and custom decor. Low-slung Italian leather couches faced each other in front of his desk, and he dropped onto one of them to read the reports that were sitting on the table there.
The Viper was nearly ready to take to Italy. The thought should fill him with triumph, and yet it only made him worry about what else might go wrong. He’d taken a pain pill last night, and this morning he felt perfectly fine—but when was the next time his leg would give out? And what would his rivals do if they learned he was not at his best? Niccolo Gavretti was looking for a chance to cream him. If his biggest rival knew about his weakness, he would exploit it whenever and however possible.
And then there was Faith. Renzo rubbed his temples for a moment and then dropped the reports. Where had his world-renowned cool gone last night when he’d needed it? He’d succumbed to the temptation to kiss her because she’d bent over him and her scent had driven him insane. He’d wanted just a taste. One brief taste, to see if he was losing his mind in lusting after his PA, or if there was something more beneath that buttoned-up surface.
He could still remember the utter shock he’d felt when his mouth touched hers. The lightning bolt of excitement that had rocketed through him with the same force as a fast ride on a fast track. There was nothing more exhilarating than opening up the throttle and giving the bike gas.
But kissing Faith had compared to that feeling. He’d wanted her. His body had gone from zero to two hundred plus in a matter of seconds. Even thinking of it now made him hard.
He knew when a woman wanted him, and she definitely had. And he’d had every intention of taking advantage of the chemistry between them at that moment. He’d been unable to stop himself from pressing her back on the couch when she’d kissed him with such fervor.
She was hot and sweet and more innocent than she seemed. She’d kissed him with all the finesse of a rank amateur, and yet it had done nothing but heat his blood. He usually liked his women polished and experienced, but Faith had managed to make him forget his preferences.
He’d wanted her and damn the consequences of sleeping with his PA. Hell, he still wanted her. He’d told her the kiss was forgotten, but he had forgotten nothing.
There was a knock on his door and he glanced at his watch. Eight o’clock on the dot, which meant it was probably Faith arriving. “Enter,” he said, standing up and crossing to his desk.
The door slid open and Faith stood there in a boxy black suit, short heels, and with her hair scraped back on her head as always. “I wasn’t sure if you were here,” she said briskly. “Would you like coffee, Mr. D’Angeli?”
A trickle of annoyance filtered through him. “Si, that would be good, thank you.”
She turned away.
“Faith,” he called, and she stopped, pivoted to face him again.
“Yes sir?”
The formality grated on him, but he knew she did it to keep him at a distance. He wanted to tell her to take her hair down. To take off that ridiculous boxy jacket and unbutton her blouse to show some cleavage. To come over and wrap her arms around him so he could fit her body to his and kiss her thoroughly.
He would, of course, say none of those things. Another woman would smile and pout and do exactly what he wanted. But not Faith. If he said those things to her, she would slay him with a cold stare. And then she would walk out of his office and he’d be lucky if she ever came back.
“We’re leaving for Italy in a week. Please make arrangements.”
Her jaw dropped and for a moment he thought she would refuse. He waited for it, wondered how he would command her to go once she’d turned him down. Because he wanted her there with him. Because, maledizione, he wanted her. She intrigued him like no one else with her hidden beauty and prickly demeanor.
And