studied her. He’d often heard about a woman glowing—when she’d had fabulous sex, when she was in love, when she was pregnant—but he’d never noticed that glow until today.
There was something about her that drew his eye and wouldn’t let him look away. She moved with a grace that was far more sensual than he’d realized before. He didn’t usually pay attention to women’s fashion, other than to note how a woman looked in her clothes, but he’d found himself analyzing Faith’s clothing and wishing he could remove it. Not because she looked dowdy or boxy or unattractive, but because she looked chic and put together and it annoyed him when men turned to look at her.
And plenty of them had turned to look at her.
She’d worn a casual dress with sandals. The dress accented her waist, her breasts, and flared over her hips into a swingy skirt that fluttered and swirled when she moved. Her legs were bare, and he found himself thinking of how they’d felt wrapped around his waist as he’d taken her body into sweet oblivion.
She’d been so innocent, and so carnal at the same time. He thought back to the moment he’d unwrapped her like a present, and his body grew as hard as the Carrara marble on the pedestal.
“It’s wonderful,” she said, turning to him and reaching for his hand, her eyes shining with unshed tears that caused his chest to ache.
“Si, it is quite magnificent.”
“Thank you for bringing me.”
He tugged her into the circle of his arms, uncaring that others moved around them like water flowing around a rock in the stream. “I can think of a few ways you can show your appreciation later,” he told her.
Her eyes widened as she felt the strength of his desire for her. “How can you possibly be …?”
He grinned at the word she did not say. Aroused. Ready? “Aren’t you?”
The heat of a blush spread over her cheeks. “Yes, I have to confess that I am.” She put her forehead against his chest. “I can’t believe you’ve managed to turn me into the kind of woman who would rather spend the day in bed with you than do just about anything else.”
He threaded his fingers into the silk of her hair. “I would have been happy to oblige had I known.”
She looked up at him again. “If I weren’t starving, I’d suggest we leave right now and go back to the villa.”
Possessiveness, hot and sharp, flared inside him. “Ah, but there is no need, cara. I have an apartment nearby. But first, lunch.”
He took her hand and led her from the gallery. They emerged onto the street and walked a few blocks to one of his favorite Florentine restaurants. They were greeted like old friends and shown to a table on the terrace with a lovely view of the Duomo. Usually, Renzo liked a bit more privacy, but since it was Faith’s first time in Italy, he wanted to indulge her appetite for adventure.
They started with a beef Carpaccio that was so thin and tender it melted in the mouth, a mozzarella di bufala and tomato salad, and then moved on to a luscious spaghetti carbonara before finishing with panna cotta and espresso. Faith ate everything with gusto, her eyes closing from time to time while she sighed and licked her lips.
It was refreshing to see a woman eat something other than a salad for a change. American women—especially the ones like Katie Palmer and Lissa Stein—seemed to subsist on nothing but lettuce and water for the most part.
But then he had to acknowledge that it was more the sort of woman he’d dated rather than a cultural trait. The Faith Blacks of the world seemed to have no trouble enjoying a good meal. Faith was so refreshing, so different—so real. Why had he avoided real women in his life? Why had he always chosen the ones who, deep down, repelled him?
In spite of his desire to get Faith alone again, he was also enjoying her company. They lingered over their coffee, talking about things like how he got started building motorcycles, what had made him want to race and how she’d ended up in New York. For the first time ever, he found himself wanting to share more about himself with her than he had with anyone else.
Faith knew what it was like to be ostracized from her family. Knew how it felt to have a father care more for himself and his reputation than he did for you. She would understand—and yet he couldn’t quite bring himself to tell her. He wasn’t golden like Niccolo Gavretti, who came from a supremely wealthy family with pedigree and influence, and who’d grown up with every privilege.
He was a mongrel in comparison, a cur slipping into back alleys and stealing food and clothing. He couldn’t tell Faith that, couldn’t bear the pity or the disgust in her eyes if he did.
So he said nothing.
The sun dipped lower in the sky and golden light bathed the square, turning everything he’d always taken for granted into something magical. Or perhaps that was because he was seeing it through her eyes.
Nothing that good could last, however. Soon, he began to notice camera flashes. At first, he thought it was tourists—but then the flashes became more numerous, and directed toward them. Renzo swore, and Faith turned to look, her expression falling after the picture snapped.
He knew what she was afraid of, and he wanted to leap over the railing and rip the cameras away from the paparazzi. He wanted to smash them into a million pieces and protect her from any fear of her old photo coming to light again.
But an action like that would only inflame their curiosity, so instead he took her hand and tugged her toward the back of the restaurant. He laid a handful of bills on the counter for the owner, who apologized profusely, and then they exited the restaurant into the alley behind it and hurried toward another alley.
Renzo took her on a crisscross trip through the city, but the photographers never caught up to them. Soon, he slowed their pace until they were strolling pleasantly along as if everything was normal.
“I’m sorry, Faith. I had hoped that wouldn’t happen.”
“You’re a public person. It was inevitable.” She seemed troubled and he stopped, turned to face her. She didn’t look at him at first, but when she did, he could see the worry in her eyes.
His heart squeezed at the look on her face. He knew how much that impulsive nude photo had affected her, how much it had shaped her life. It would have been hell to endure what she’d endured. “You are concerned that if you appear in the paper with me, someone will find that old picture of you, aren’t you?”
She shrugged, and he knew she was trying to put a brave face on it. “It’s silly. I’m no one. Who’s going to care about an old nude photo that isn’t even all that good? It would take an extraordinary effort to find it, and then to connect it to the woman I am today.”
Yet with the press, anything was possible. Especially where it concerned his life. They’d dug up just about everything he’d ever done. The only thing they didn’t know was who his father was. He didn’t protect the conte’s identity for the man’s family—or even for his own, since the conte no longer had the power to harm them—but because he didn’t want the old man to have any credit for who Renzo had become.
“I wish I could tell you it won’t happen, but the truth is that I don’t know.” He put his hands on her shoulders and bent until he was looking her in the eye. “I
