Rising Stars & It Started With… Collections. Кейт Хьюит
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could die. His words shocked her. Turned her on. She wanted to know what sort of things he’d imagined. Wanted to know what he would do if she said yes.
But she was cautious. Scared. She wasn’t sophisticated enough to know how this worked or what tomorrow would bring if she said the yes he wanted her to say. The yes she was dying to say.
“I—I’m not sure this is a good idea,” she said quickly. “This isn’t part of my job—”
He pulled away from her suddenly. And then he swore in Italian, the words hot and sharp and nothing like the sexy words he’d just said to her. Faith wanted to cry at the loss of his heat.
He pounded the steering wheel once, a sharp, violent move that made her jump. And then he shoved a hand through his hair before turning the key. The car roared to life again, the dash lights illuminating the harsh lines of his jaw. Disappointment rolled through her, along with a healthy dose of regret. Why had she spoken? Why had she pierced the happiness that had been racing through her body like a nuclear explosion?
He turned to look at her, his blue eyes penetrating even in the darkness. “I would never pay a woman—any woman—to have sex with me, Faith. Do you understand that?”
“I wasn’t suggesting—”
“You were,” he snapped. “You keep throwing your job at me, as if I have no idea what it is I pay you for.”
Her heart throbbed because she knew he was right.
He reversed onto the roadway and popped the car into gear before turning to her again. “I assure you that I know exactly what I pay you for. And I want you because you are beautiful and fascinating, not because you’re convenient. If you believe that, then by all means go to bed alone tonight.”
Faith couldn’t sleep. Partly, it was the jetlag. And, partly, it was the adrenaline still coursing through her body after the way Renzo had kissed her in his car. She’d been so close to heaven, and so far at the same time.
It shocked her to admit it, but she’d wanted him with a fierceness that she would never have believed possible only a week ago. That was the power of Renzo D’Angeli, she thought sourly. He was gorgeous, compelling and utterly amazing. When he turned all that male power on you, you wanted to let him continue until the very end. Until you were a sobbing mess begging him for another chance.
What else explained the way women kept throwing themselves at him, despite his reputation for never staying with one woman longer than a couple of months?
Nothing. And she was little different, apparently. Renzo was a flame that she wanted to immolate herself in—even though she knew she shouldn’t. Pitiful. For all her professionalism, for all her belief that she alone would be immune to him, she was no different from the rest.
Faith threw the covers back and yanked on her robe. She owed him an explanation for the way she’d behaved, but it would have to wait until morning. She’d insulted him, and she hadn’t meant to do so. But she’d been confused, scared, and she’d said the first thing that had popped into her head.
The wrong thing.
From the beginning, Renzo had made it clear that the decisions about what she did were hers to make. The decision to go to the party at the Stein’s, though he’d cajoled pretty hard. The decision to come to Italy. Even the decisions about how to style her hair and what to wear, though he’d forced her into making the choices in the first place. He had not once told her how things would be, though he’d certainly pushed her into action.
Renzo might be her employer, but he would not ever expect it to give him access to her body. She knew better, and yet she’d implied he’d believed it did.
Faith’s stomach growled, and she realized she’d failed to eat at the party. She’d been nervous, waiting for Renzo to arrive, trying to hold her own with Niccolo Gavretti—who had refused to let her search for Renzo by herself. Well, now she knew why. No doubt he’d orchestrated that moment when he’d tried to kiss her precisely because he knew Renzo was watching.
Clearly, there was something more between them than simple rivalry—and she’d been the one caught in the middle of their feud tonight, the collateral damage as they waged their war against each other.
Faith slipped from her room, hesitating at Renzo’s door when she saw a light coming from underneath it, but continued down the hall and then down the marble staircase to the large kitchen at the back of the house.
She found a loaf of bread on the counter and some cheese in the fridge, and then dug around for a knife with which to slice them. Once she’d fixed a small plate, she turned to go back to her room, but stopped when a shadow moved outside the door. Her heart lodged in her throat and she wondered for a moment if she should scream, but then the door opened and a man stepped inside.
A man with a tiny, mewling bundle in his arms.
“Renzo?”
He looked up as if he’d just realized she was there. The kitten mewed again, such a sad, pitiful little sound, and Faith’s heart squeezed tight.
Renzo came toward her and set the kitten on the large island, blocking the tiny thing from escaping. “I kept hearing something outside my window,” he said. “I couldn’t find the mother, or any trace of other kittens. I think maybe she moved the litter and forgot one.”
“It’s so little. It can’t be more than a month old.”
Renzo picked the creature up again and held it out to her. “You know what to do with cats, si?”
She took the kitten, a lump forming in her throat as it shivered hard. “He—or she—probably needs milk,” Faith said. “But we have to warm it up. Cold milk won’t do. It’ll make his belly ache.”
Renzo moved to the refrigerator and took out the milk. Then he found a saucepan and poured some in before setting it on the stove and turning on the burner. His hair was disheveled, and she realized for the first time that he wasn’t wearing a shirt. His broad chest was muscled, firm, and she found her breath shortening as she watched him move.
He wore a pair of sleep pants with a drawstring tie that hung low on his hips, revealing the tight ridges of his abdomen and the arrow of dark hair that disappeared beneath the waist of his pants.
“He must have been terribly loud if you could hear him in your room,” she said, hugging the kitten close and stroking the silky fur. She’d missed having a cat since Mr. Darcy had died last year. The little body began to rumble with a purr instead of a shiver, and tears filled Faith’s eyes as she thought of the kitten lost and scared.
Renzo turned from the stove and leaned against the counter, crossing one leg over another as he stood there looking at her. “Si. I did not realize it was a cat at first, the whine was so high-pitched. He was in the bougainvillea beneath my windows. If I had not been standing on the balcony, I would not have heard him.”
“He’s lucky you went looking for him,” she said.
“I could not leave him there.”
“No.”
After a moment, Renzo turned and rummaged in a cabinet for a small bowl. Then he stuck his finger into the milk on the stove, testing it. Faith’s heart did a little skip at that sign of tenderness in such a hard man.
“It is ready,” he said, pouring the milk and bringing the bowl over to the island. Faith set the kitten down and he immediately began to drink. His purr grew louder, and she glanced at Renzo. They laughed together.
“He is as loud as the Viper,” Renzo said. “Perhaps we should call him that.”
Faith felt heat curling through her stomach, her limbs. “We don’t actually know it’s a he,” she pointed out. “He might be a she.”
“Ah, then we will have to call her Miss Viper.”
“You would keep this cat?” she asked.
“No,”