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?”
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 to excessive adoration.
But he was not noticing her in that way. It was impossible. He was simply playing along with the expectation they would be less formal together when she was posing as his date.
Yes, that must be it. Of course.
“I will try, Mr. D—Renzo,” she said quietly, her heart beating in her ears.
“Much better,” he said, smiling his lady-killer smile. But the thumb didn’t stop moving and a tendril of heat made its way up her arm and down through her core, pooling in the deepest, most secretive part of her. It figured. Of all the men to affect her, it would be this one. A man she couldn’t have in a bazillion years, even if she’d wanted him.
Which she did not. He was gorgeous, but about as trustworthy as the viper he’d named his motorcycle after.
She wanted him to let her go. And she didn’t. The languidness stealing over her at his touch was addictive. What would she feel if he pulled her into his arms and kissed her? Would she lose her mind the way his other women did?
The thought was not a pleasant one. She’d already lost her mind over a man—or at least everyone thought she had—and she had no desire to experience that ever again. One second of stupidity, and Jason Moore had shattered her trust in men—in people—forever.
She was just about to ask Renzo to let her go when his phone rang.
“Perdono,” he said before he took the call.
Faith folded her hands over her evening bag and watched the news ticker on the muted television screen across from her. That had been close. She didn’t like feeling even remotely attracted to this man. She pictured Katie Palmer sashaying out of his office just a few days ago, lipstick smudged, hair mussed, and felt her dislike of him swell.
Yes. That was precisely how it was supposed to be.
Faith shifted in her seat. She’d ridden in his limo before, accompanying him to meetings across town, but this was the first time she’d sat here in an evening gown. When she’d gone to Saks today, she’d been surprised to be met by a personal shopper whom Renzo had arranged for her.
Faith had viewed gown after gown, the personal shopper growing perplexed, to say the least, when she
