Rising Stars & It Started With… Collections. Кейт Хьюит
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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 her 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