green grass and lush vineyards as far as the eye could see.
“We aren’t in Rome?” she asked dumbly. How long had she slept anyway?
Renzo laughed. “No. This is my home in Tuscany. We are closer to Florence than Rome now.”
“I … I missed it all,” she said. Disappointment ate at her.
“You were tired, cara. Besides, there will be plenty of opportunities to see the countryside again.” He tucked her arm in his and led her toward the house. “Now, however, you will wish to rest and freshen up. There is a party tonight.”
Her heart fell. “Tonight?”
“You are nervous?” he asked gently, stopping to face her.
Yes, but she wouldn’t admit that. Faith swallowed. What if there were photographers? What if someone back in Cottonwood saw her in a tabloid? Would they recognize her? She thought of her past coming back to haunt her now, after she’d run so far and done so much to change who she was, and felt sick.
“I—I was thinking you might want to rest,” she said, letting her gaze drop briefly to his leg.
His expression shuttered when she met his eyes again. “I appreciate the concern, cara, but it is not necessary. There is much to be done in the next few weeks and little time to waste.”
She wanted to tell him that looking after his health wasn’t a waste of time, but she knew he didn’t want to hear it. Renzo was determined to ride the Viper even if it killed him. She shoved down the feeling of panic that seemed determined to wrap around her throat and faced him squarely. She wasn’t sure if the panic came from her fear of discovery or her fear for him—or both, more likely—but she didn’t want to think about it any longer.
“Then perhaps we should work on your schedule for a while,” she said briskly, attempting to be all business and hoping he didn’t see that she was upset.
He studied her for a moment before his sexy mouth curved into a smile that made her heart skip a beat. “Si, this is a very good idea. Next week, I take the Viper onto the track to begin training. I will have little time for business meetings then.”
Faith’s heart thumped in slow motion. “Next week? Is it ready so soon?”
Excitement danced in his eyes while her stomach twisted in fear. “It is.”
And Renzo would be flying around a track at speeds approaching, perhaps exceeding, two hundred miles per hour. With a leg that could cramp at any moment and render him incapable of controlling the motorcycle.
Faith didn’t want to think about the consequences of that scenario. Instead, she threw herself into her work once they reached Renzo’s home office. They worked for a couple of hours, and then Renzo pushed back from his desk and told her to go get some rest.
“I’m fine,” she said.
“Your eyes keep closing. You can hardly keep them open.”
It was true, but he’d shown no signs of being tired and so she’d kept on working. “It’s called blinking,” she said stubbornly.
Renzo laughed. “Indeed.” He got to his feet and stretched. “Nevertheless, go to your room and blink there. I am going to do the same. Come, I will show you where you are staying.”
Faith followed him up the wide marble staircase that sat imposingly at the center of the house. She could hardly keep from gawking as they’d walked through the villa. It was lovely, with marble floors, Oriental rugs, old oil paintings and tapestries on the walls, and vases of flowers filling every surface. There were antiques mixed with modern furnishings, giving it all an eclectic and lush feeling.
It was as sumptuous as the Stein’s penthouse, and yet it was more livable. The kind of place where you could actually put your feet on a table and not be too worried that you were mistaking some sort of modern art piece for a footstool.
Renzo led her down a long hallway with tall doors that opened to bedrooms filled with light. The last one was hers, he told her, and she stepped into the room, certain he’d made a mistake. This was the kind of room you gave to guests, not employees. There was a huge tester bed covered in white linen, antique wardrobes for her clothing, a delicate writing desk by a window, and silk chairs and a couch where she could lounge in the evenings. There was even a television, and three sets of tall windows, which opened onto a balcony with a table and chairs.
Perfect for morning coffee, she thought.
“Do you approve?” he asked as she stood with her back to him and gaped. It was like something out of a travel fairy tale—the kind of thing you dreamed of when you read about Tuscany and imagined yourself living there.
Faith turned to him. “It’s lovely, Renzo. Thank you.”
“I am glad you are pleased.” He came over and put his hands on her shoulders, skimmed them down her arms. “I am across the hall, cara, should you require anything.”
Faith bit the inside of her lip. “I—I’m sure I’ll be fine. But thank you.”
His smile was wickedly sensual. “Nevertheless,” he said as he bent and kissed her on both cheeks while a tidal wave of flame rolled through her, “I am there.”
The party, it turned out, was being held in a villa nearby. Faith slept for a couple of hours, and then dressed in a figure-skimming red cocktail dress with a halter top that kept her modest and a pair of silver strappy heels that made her feel like a princess. She’d asked Renzo why she needed to go along earlier when they were working, and he’d looked at her with that gorgeous broody look he got and told her she was going because he’d realized after the Stein’s party that she was good repellant.
“Repellant?” she’d asked, certain her puzzled frown must have amused him.
“Female repellant,” he’d deadpanned before going on to explain that he did not need the distractions of women in his life right now.
“And what am I?” Faith murmured as she studied herself in the mirror. Especially when she considered the way he’d told her that he was across the hall if she needed anything.
Anything, he’d stressed. Faith shivered as she remembered the feel of his lips on her cheeks, the imprint of his fingers on her arms.
Renzo D’Angeli was a very confusing man, she decided. And very sexy, a little voice added.
Faith ran the brush through her hair one last time. She didn’t look half-bad, though she still wasn’t in the same league as the Katie Palmers of the world. Her hair was smooth and golden, hanging down her back in a lustrous fall, and her eyes really stood out with the addition of eye shadow, liner and mascara.
It was her in the mirror, and not her. Her as she’d never been, she amended. She hadn’t been allowed to wear makeup when she was growing up, and she’d never been allowed to do anything with her hair other than leave it long. As the daughter of a preacher, she’d been required to be as plain and circumspect as possible.
Until the day she hadn’t been.
Faith turned away from the mirror and grabbed her wrap and tiny purse. Then she hurried
