Unnoticed and Untouched. Lynn Harris Raye
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Did she cry at the end of the night—or series of nights—when she realized the current man was gone and never coming back?
“Over here,” Faith said, leading the way to a tiny kitchen, which had barely enough room for two adults to stand together.
Her fragrance surrounded him as he joined her, that soft fresh scent he’d come to identify with her over the past few months. A sharp sensation rolled through him.
“I dropped it here,” she said. “And it’s rolled somewhere. It can’t have gone far.”
For a moment, he wasn’t sure what they were talking about. For a moment, for the barest of seconds, he wanted to press her soft body against the counter with his, wanted to drag the pins from her hair and see the golden mass tumble free. He shook the thought from his mind and focused on the task at hand.
“If you will allow me,” he said, taking out his mobile phone and starting the application that turned the camera flash into a steady beam of light.
She couldn’t leave the small space without brushing against him. A sliver of pleasure passed through him at the brief contact. Stress, he thought. Simply stress.
“And why were you putting on your earrings in the kitchen, Miss Black?” he asked as he stooped, ignoring the pain in his leg, and swept the light back and forth across the floor.
“I was in a hurry,” she said. “I wanted to make it down to the street by the time your car arrived.”
He tilted his head back to glance up at her. “You were planning to stand outside? Dressed like this?”
She shrugged. “I would have stood inside the building until I saw the car, but yes. I’m sorry you had to come up and get me.”
The light flickered over something that glinted gold. Renzo swept the light into a corner again, found the small backing. He picked it up and pushed himself to his feet.
He gritted his teeth against the agony of spasming muscles and aching bone. “Miss Black, I am many things, not all of them pleasant, but I would hope that you realize I am not so callous as to make a lady wait in a dark and drafty hallway for my arrival.”
“No, of course not,” she said quietly, and he knew he must have looked severe. Yet he could not tell her why. Not without admitting what he would admit to no one—that he was weak, vulnerable, not made of iron after all.
Her gaze fell from his as she held her hand out to receive the tiny backing.
Renzo stared at the top of her golden head for a moment. He could have dropped it into her palm. That would have been easy. Prudent even. But he found he wanted to touch her again, wanted to see if he felt that same tiny jolt that he had this afternoon when he’d put his hand on hers before she could pick up the telephone. He’d dismissed the sensation as something akin to static electricity.
He put his fingers around her wrist and she gasped, her fingers curling inward on reflex before she forced them open again. He held her hand steady while he placed the backing in her palm. Her skin was soft, warm, and he wondered if the rest of her was equally as soft. Shockingly, a sliver of need began to tingle at the base of his spine. Renzo dropped her hand as if it had suddenly turned into a flaming brand.
Dio.
Her eyes were wide before she turned away. Her fingers shook as she fastened her earring in place, and he knew she must be affected, too. What was this sudden chemistry? Where had it come from? And why did he want to touch her again just so he could feel the jolt?
“There,” she said unnecessarily when she completed the task. “I’m ready.”
“Then we should be going,” he said crisply. He helped her into her wrap and then waited while she locked the door. He had her precede him down the stairs, so that if he limped she would not know.
When they reached the street, his driver was standing at the ready with the door open. Renzo held his hand out to help Faith inside, but she did not take it, climbing into the custom Escalade on her own. He slid into the white leather seat beside her, and the door closed with a heavy thud.
They’d been gliding through the streets toward Manhattan for several minutes before she spoke. “Is there anything I should know about tonight, Mr. D’Angeli?”
Renzo glanced over at her. She was looking up at him with that focused look she usually got whenever he went over the morning reports with her.
Familiar ground, grazie a Dio. Perhaps now he could stop thinking about the way she smelled, about how delicate and feminine she seemed when he’d never quite noticed that about her before. Why had he noticed it now?
“We are attending a dinner at Robert Stein’s residence,” he said. “I am sure you realize why this is important.”
She gave a firm nod. “Stein Engineering has patented a new form of racing tire. You wish them to build tires exclusively for the Viper instead of using stock tires. It would be an advantageous partnership.”
“Ah, so you do pay attention in the meetings,” he teased.
She looked surprised. And somewhat offended. “Of course I do. It’s what you pay me for, Mr. D’Angeli.”
Yes, it was what he paid her for. And tonight, he was paying her for something different. He, Lorenzo D’Angeli, was paying a woman to pretend to be his date. It was ludicrous, and yet he found he was rather looking forward to the evening in a way he would not have been had Katie Palmer been sitting beside him.
The Katie Palmers of the world were too obvious in their desire to own him, too certain of their sex appeal, and too jealous of his time and attention. He always found it amusing at first, but he quickly tired of it.
He knew it was his own fault, because that was the sort of woman he chose. But he’d watched his sweet, fragile mother pine for love for years, and he’d watched her be hurt again and again. She took things too seriously, thought every new man was her savior.
Because of that, Renzo had studiously avoided the kind of women in his own life who couldn’t understand that sex was sex and love didn’t enter the equation. He didn’t believe in love, or at least not romantic love. If romantic love was real, then his mother should have found happiness years ago.
Faith wasn’t like the women he usually dated. She wasn’t superficial—and she wasn’t fragile, either. In fact, she was looking at him now with what he thought might be thinly veiled disgust. A hot feeling blossomed inside him.
A challenge. He loved challenges.
Renzo couldn’t quite stop himself from doing what he did next, if only to ruffle her cool. He reached for Faith’s hand, took it in his while he traced small circles in her palm with his thumb. Her breath drew in sharply, and he could feel a tremor slide through her body. A current of satisfaction coiled within him. She was not impervious, no matter how hostile she looked, and that pleased him.
“Do you not think, cara mia,” he purred, “that you should perhaps call me Renzo?”
CHAPTER TWO
FAITH’S skin sizzled beneath his touch, as if someone had dropped cool water onto hot coals. Her breath froze in her chest, and her voice refused to work as he traced little whorls in her palm. His hand was warm and solid, his thumb perhaps the most sensual thing she’d ever experienced as it moved softly against her skin.
Faith blinked as if it were a mirage that would disappear as soon as she did so. It did not.
Surely, then, she was asleep in her bed, dreaming that Renzo D’Angeli was holding her hand and speaking in a sultry voice that entreated her to call him by his first name.
Because this could not be real. She’d worked for him for six months, and he’d never once shown the slightest bit of interest in her as a woman. Not that she’d ever wanted him to. He was precisely the sort of man she despised the most: handsome, arrogant and certain he was entitled