trickle of annoyance filtered through him. “Si, that would be good, thank you.”
She turned away.
“Faith,” he called, and she stopped, pivoted to face him again.
“Yes sir?”
The formality grated on him, but he knew she did it to keep him at a distance. He wanted to tell her to take her hair down. To take off that ridiculous boxy jacket and unbutton her blouse to show some cleavage. To come over and wrap her arms around him so he could fit her body to his and kiss her thoroughly.
He would, of course, say none of those things. Another woman would smile and pout and do exactly what he wanted. But not Faith. If he said those things to her, she would slay him with a cold stare. And then she would walk out of his office and he’d be lucky if she ever came back.
“We’re leaving for Italy in a week. Please make arrangements.”
Her jaw dropped and for a moment he thought she would refuse. He waited for it, wondered how he would command her to go once she’d turned him down. Because he wanted her there with him. Because, maledizione, he wanted her. She intrigued him like no one else with her hidden beauty and prickly demeanor.
And her secrets. He wanted to know her secrets. What had made sweet Faith turn her back on her family?
Color bloomed on her cheeks, brought life and sparkle to her glorious eyes. She hesitated for a long minute. “Yes sir,” she said. “I will.”
Faith had never been outside of the United States before. She had her passport, because it had been required when she’d started working for D’Angeli Motors, but she’d never actually thought she would have reason to use it.
Now, as she stood in her apartment and looked around to make sure she’d forgotten nothing, she could hardly believe she was going. Renzo hadn’t been able to tell her how long they would be gone, but he’d told her to continue to pay her rent here if it made her comfortable since she would be provided housing in Italy at no extra charge.
In his house. Faith gulped. She would be living in his house, a stone’s throw away from him, for twenty-four hours a day. Why had she agreed to go? How could she live with him, as an employee, and watch him go about his life as if nothing had ever happened between the two of them? He had already forgotten it, as he’d assured her he would, while she could think of little else.
But that wasn’t the worst of it. The worst was that she imagined he would most certainly entertain women from time to time. In the same house she’d be living in. As an employee.
Faith made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a cry of distress. She’d meant to refuse to go. She’d meant to tell him that she couldn’t go to Italy and could she please have a transfer to another office, but she’d stood there and looked at his handsome face, at the mouth she’d been kissing only hours earlier, and felt all her resolve crumble into nothing.
She’d said yes, just like some besotted female. She was furious with herself over it. For hours, she’d debated going back in there and telling him no, telling him she’d made a mistake and she wanted to stay right here, thank you very much.
But she hadn’t. And now a car was waiting to take her to JFK for the flight to Italy. She took one last look around, and then locked the door behind her and headed down to the street. The driver had already taken her luggage down, so that when she emerged from the building, he popped out of the car and came around to open her door.
She slid into the plush interior of the black town car and belted herself in for the ride. It took nearly an hour in traffic to reach the airport, but once there she was ushered onto a huge Boeing business jet that belonged to D’Angeli Motors.
The interior was nothing like any plane she’d ever been on. She’d had no occasion to board the company’s international jet before, but now she gaped at the sumptuous interior. Renzo was a wealthy man indeed if he could afford all this. Rich wood grains, buttery leather chairs and couches, a bar, televisions and custom carpeting that had the D’Angeli Motors logo woven into it. It was all so stunning, and it only served to remind her of how ridiculous it was to think he’d actually wanted her the night of the party. She was not the sort of sophisticated woman who matched this lifestyle.
In fact, she’d been thinking of other plane trips she’d taken in the past and she’d dressed for comfort with the typical economy class seating in mind. She wore stretchy jeans, a hooded sweatshirt and tennis shoes she could slip on and off without untying. In her carry-on backpack, she had a couple of books, an ereader, a music player and headphones, along with a few power bars and a bottle of water. She even had a travel pillow, which seemed silly since she was positive this jet was probably equipped with real pillows and blankets.
A sophisticated woman would have arrived wearing the latest fashions and carrying matching luggage—Louis Vuitton, no doubt—instead of dressed like a refugee and carrying snacks.
She was embarrassed suddenly, and it made her uncomfortable. She knew what it was like to feel like an outsider, like an idiot, and though wearing the wrong clothing and failing to be sophisticated didn’t compare to what had happened before, the shame and anger were similar.
She felt stupid, useless, and she stood and clenched her fingers into fists, digging her nails into her palms. She’d left naive Faith Winston behind when she’d left home and changed her name, but that Faith sometimes crept up on her and made her feel as if she’d escaped nothing after all. As if she were still the preacher’s daughter who’d been so stupid as to send a scandalous picture to a boy.
“Ah, Faith,” Renzo said, and she looked up to see him standing just inside the entrance to the main cabin and smiling at her. She swallowed at the sight of him. His sharp blue eyes raked over her, appraising her—and no doubt found her lacking. He was dressed for comfort, too, she noted, but his jeans were designer labeled, and the soft cotton shirt he wore unbuttoned over a navy D’Angeli Motors T-shirt was probably hand woven by cloistered virgins or some such.
Because, if any man could afford such a thing, it would be Renzo.
He came forward and took her arm, leading her back toward the cabin he’d been in. “You look lovely,” he said in her ear as he stopped just short of the entry.
Fire leaped along her nerve endings. “No, not really,” she blurted, confusion and fear breaking through the surface of her calm.
His eyes dropped over her again. “And I say you do.” He gave her arm a squeeze and then led her into the room he’d come from.
Two men sat at a table, papers spread out across the surface, but they stood as she entered the room with Renzo. She recognized them as two of the engineers on the project. “You have met Bill and Sergio before, have you not?” Renzo said, gesturing to the two men.
“I’ve met them, yes,” she said, shaking hands with each man in turn. They were polite, but she was certain they were curious. Renzo had an entire staff at his Italian headquarters. Could he really not find a PA who kept his appointments straight?
Renzo put a hand on the small of her back. It was a possessive move, a familiar move, though it probably only looked gentlemanly to those observing. Faith could feel her color rising, and her gaze dropped away from the other men’s.
“Let me show you where you will be most comfortable,” Renzo said.
“Thank
