CHAPTER EIGHT

      RENZO could hardly wrap his head around the fact that his sexy PA was still a virgin. How was this possible when she was so passionate beneath the prim exterior? This was a woman who kissed with her whole body. She focused every bit of concentration she had on the meeting of lips and tongues, and the effect was exquisite.

      Renzo shifted at his desk as his body began to react to the memory of kissing her last night in his car. She’d been like a living flame in his arms, and he’d wanted to burn himself up in her. When he’d encountered the damp evidence of her desire for him, it had been all he could do not to rip the thin silk from her body and bury himself inside her then and there.

      Thankfully he had not, since she was a virgin. Not only would she likely not have appreciated such an introduction to lovemaking, but what if she took it too seriously? What if she thought that because they’d had sex, they had a future together?

      Faith was serious, proper, a preacher’s daughter. She’d probably want to get married, have babies, do charity work, hostess parties and drag him to school functions.

      He did not know that for a fact, but if it was true, he did not want to hurt her when she learned he wanted none of those things. He wasn’t against marriage or babies in principle, but he wasn’t quite sure he would ever take that step.

      He liked his life the way it was. He liked the excitement of the track, the excitement of a new lover in his bed whenever he chose, and the excitement of creating something that would make him richer than he’d ever dreamed possible when he’d still been an angry teenager with a grudge against the world.

      In short, he liked the freedom to do what he wished. He always made it clear to the women who got involved with him there was no future with him, and he didn’t see that changing anytime soon.

      Faith said he’d misread her last night, but he was certain he had not. She’d wanted him, and if he’d swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed, he was fairly certain she would not have objected. If he’d done so, he could be buried inside her right now instead of sitting at his desk and fighting an erection that wouldn’t go away.

      Renzo glanced down at the report that she’d handed him an hour ago, and then back up at where Faith sat at a desk nearby, clicking keys on her computer and generally ignoring him. He couldn’t seem to concentrate on anything other than her. It was quite annoying.

      If he had sex with her, she would leave him—but perhaps that was the lesser of two evils at this point since he needed to turn his attention to the next few months on the circuit and couldn’t seem to do so.

      He let his eyes skim down her form. Her hair was perfectly coiffed this morning, and she wore a cinnamon-colored jacket and skirt that showed off her legs. Gone were the unfashionable short black heels; in their place was a pair of platform pumps in brown suede. Faith had her legs tucked to one side of her chair, one lovely leg crossed over the other.

      Thank God she had not looked like this in New York.

      He’d been insane to take her to a salon, even more insane to take her shopping afterward. He’d known she was beautiful beneath the ill-fitting suits and glasses and severe buns, but he’d made a mistake in showcasing that beauty for others to see.

      For Niccolo Gavretti to see. Renzo’s grip tightened on the pen he was holding until he threw it down in disgust before it cracked. Gavretti had tried to kiss her and it had made him crazy. Crazy enough to mark her as his at a party attended by everyone who was anyone. Soon, the story would appear in the tabloids that regularly reported on his life. He had a feeling that Faith wouldn’t like that, but there wasn’t much he could do about it now.

      She must have sensed he was looking at her because her head snapped up, her eyes meeting his evenly. But then she glanced down, just for a moment, and he knew she was still thinking about it, too.

      “How is Lola this morning?” he asked, thinking of the tiny ball of fur that he’d found in the bougainvillea. The little thing had clawed him something fierce until she’d realized he wasn’t going to hurt her. He had scratch marks on his arms this morning, and one on his chest.

      “She’s fine,” Faith said. “I think she’ll be able to eat kitten food if I can go and buy her some today.”

      Renzo waved a hand. “Consider it done,” he said, picking up his mobile phone and calling Fabrizio, the household butler. “Anything else?” he asked while he still had the man on the phone.

      “A proper litter box, litter, a playhouse—maybe I should just make a list.”

      “I will wait,” he said, and Faith began to scribble on a piece of paper. She handed it over and Renzo read off the items to Fabrizio, who took everything in his stride. Dio, who knew one tiny creature needed so many things?

      When he hung up again, she was watching him. “I forget sometimes just how exalted a life you lead,” she said. “When was the last time you shopped for yourself?”

      Renzo laughed. “I can’t remember, cara. When I want something, I make a call. It is much more preferable to the way I used to live.”

      “And how was that? Like the rest of us mortals?” She was teasing him, and he found he liked it. She was trying so hard to make everything seem normal again. Did he want to give that up by taking her to his bed? He was very afraid he did.

      “There was a time,” he said, “when I didn’t always have enough money to buy food for the day. It’s amazing what you will do when you’re hungry.”

      Her eyes filled with sadness, and he realized he’d said more than he’d meant to say. That was what he got for only having half his mind on the question and the other half on her legs.

      “I’m sorry, Renzo. I know what it’s like to worry about where your next meal is coming from. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

      His senses sharpened at the unhappy note in her voice. “When did this happen to you, Faith?”

      She pushed back from her desk and folded her arms. The movement pressed her already lush breasts even higher. Renzo stifled a groan.

      “I left home without much of a plan. It was inevitable there would be some difficulties along the way.” She shook her head. “But I don’t really want to talk about it. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

      “You never want to talk about it,” he said, suddenly wanting to know more about her. What did he know, other than she was from Georgia, that she didn’t speak to her family, and that she had a cat that’d died last year?

      Her eyes flashed. “Neither do you,” she accused. “We both tap-dance around the difficult parts of our lives. And maybe that’s best. You’re my boss, not my boyfriend.”

      At that moment, he wanted to be more. He wanted to be the man she told her problems to. The one whose arms she lay in at night before going to sleep.

      Dio, this was insane. Renzo shoved back from the desk and stood. There was only one place he was going to stop thinking about her, at least for a little while. It would only be temporary, but temporary was better than nothing.

      “If you’re finished with your work for the morning, it’s time to go to the track, cara.”

      Something else flashed in her eyes then—fear? Inexplicably, it made him angry. There was nothing to be frightened of. He knew what he was doing. He was Lorenzo D’Angeli. He’d won nine world titles, broken records—and shattered his leg.

      He tightened his fingers into fists at his side. Yes, he’d