It was a sensual mouth. A cruel mouth. A mouth she wanted on hers.

His eyes snapped open, then went unerringly to her face. The heat she saw there was unmistakable. It nearly fixed her feet to the spot, but she forced herself to move as if nothing was any different. As if they were still Miss Black and Mr. D’Angeli, and this was simply a morning at the office and she was taking him coffee.

Faith set her own drink down and turned back to him. The look in his eyes scorched her, made her long for things she knew she could not have. Things she should not want. She’d been nearly ruined once in her desire to please a man. She would never forget herself again. What she wanted was more important than what a man might want from her.

Men could not be trusted.

Renzo reached up and took her hand in his. Her skin sizzled as fire snaked through her.

“You feel it too,” he said. “I know you do.”

“Renzo—” she began, but he bent and fitted his gorgeous mouth to hers, silencing her.

About the Author

LYNN RAYE HARRIS read her first Mills & Boon® romance when her grandmother carted home a box from a yard sale. She didn’t know she wanted to be a writer then, but she definitely knew she wanted to marry a sheikh or a prince and live the glamorous life she read about in the pages. Instead she married a military man, and moved around the world. These days she makes her home in North Alabama, with her handsome husband and two crazy cats. Writing for Harlequin Mills & Boon is a dream come true. You can visit her at www.lynnrayeharris.com

Books by Lynn Raye Harris:

MARRIAGE BEHIND THE FAÇADE

CAPTIVE BUT FORBIDDEN

STRANGERS IN THE DESERT

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

Unnoticed and Untouched

Lynn Raye Harris

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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To the men in my life—my husband, Mike, who has never met a sport he didn’t like (and who patiently attempts to explain the rules to me every time), and to my dad and father-in-law, who both love motor sports. I still don’t get that hockey thing, and I’ll never understand what makes baseball on television so fascinating, or why anyone wants to watch cars go in circles for hours. But I do, finally, mostly understand American football. I think.

CHAPTER ONE

“MISS BLACK, you will accompany me this evening.”

Faith’s head snapped up. Her boss, Lorenzo D’Angeli, stood in the doorway to his office, looking every bit the arrogant Italian businessman in his custom suit and handmade loafers. Her heart skipped a beat as she contemplated his gorgeous face—all hard angles and sharp planes, deeply bronzed skin, and eyes as sharp and clear blue as a Georgia spring sky. It wasn’t the first time—and likely wouldn’t be the last—but it irritated her that she reacted that way.

She knew all about men like him. Arrogant, entitled and selfish—she had only to look at the way he treated the women who paraded in and out of his life with ruthless regularity to know it was the truth, in spite of the fact he’d only ever been courteous to her.

“The dress is formal,” he continued. “If you need clothing, take the afternoon off and charge your purchases to my account.”

Faith’s heart was skipping in earnest now. She’d often gone shopping for her boss in the six months she’d worked for him, purchasing silk ties or gold cuff links at his direction or picking up little gifts for whatever woman he was seeing at the time, but he’d never told her to shop for herself. It was, without question, unusual.

And perfectly impossible.

“I’m sorry, Mr. D’Angeli,” she said as politely as she could, “but I don’t believe I understand you.”

His stance didn’t soften an inch. “Miss Palmer is no longer going. I need a date.”

Faith stiffened. Of course. But stepping in because he’d had a fight with yet another woman he was sleeping with was not part of her job description.

“Mr. D’Angeli,” she began.

“Faith, I need you.”

Four words. Four words that somehow managed to stop the breath in her chest and send a tremor over her. Oh, why did she let him get to her? Why did the mere thought of parading around town on his arm make her feel weak when he was the last person she would ever want to be with?

She forced herself to think logically. He wasn’t saying he needed her. He needed the efficient PA at his side, ever ready to make calls or take notes or rearrange his schedule at a moment’s notice.

He did not need the woman. Lorenzo D’Angeli needed no woman, she reminded herself.

“It’s highly inappropriate, Mr. D’Angeli. I cannot go.”

“Faith, you are the only woman I can count on,” he said. “The only one who does not play games with me.”

Her ears burned. For God’s sake. Narcissus himself hadn’t been that self-focused. “I don’t play games because I’m your personal assistant, Mr. D’Angeli.”

“Precisely why I need you with me tonight. I can trust you to behave.”

Behave? She wanted to smack him. Instead, she gave him an even look, though her pulse was racing along like one of the superbikes that had made D’Angeli Motors famous. For as long as she lived, she’d never understand how she let this man get to her. He was darn pretty to look at, but he believed everything revolved around him.

Including her, it would seem.

“Shall I ring Miss Zachetti for you? Or Miss Price? I’m sure they’re available. And if they are not, they certainly will be when they realize who’s calling.”

They’d fall all over themselves for another night in his company, Faith thought, frowning. She hadn’t yet met a woman who wouldn’t.

Renzo stalked toward her desk. Then he put his palms on it and leaned down until his eyes were nearly on a level with hers. She could smell his cologne, that expensive scent of man and spice and sleek machine that she always associated with him. No matter how beautifully groomed he was, how perfect, he still had an edge of wildness that made her think of the motorcycles he both built and raced.

He was famous the world over for his cool. Famous for staring down death at two hundred plus miles an hour on the track with nothing between him and the asphalt but a bit of leather, steel and carbon fiber. This was the man who’d won five world titles before a severe crash left him with pins in his leg and a cane that doctors said he would always need to walk.

But of course he hadn’t accepted that fate. He’d worked hard to lose the cane, and even harder to get back on the racetrack. His determination had netted him four more world titles and the nickname of the Iron Prince. Iron because he was unbreakable and Prince because he ruled the track.

And now that iron-willed, determined, unbreakable man was staring at her with eyes so blue and piercing that she dropped her gaze nervously in spite of her determination not to. Faith reached for the telephone, her heart pounding in her throat.

“Which lucky lady will it be?” she asked, cursing herself for the falsetto note that betrayed her agitation.

Renzo’s hand lashed out, lay against hers where it rested on the receiver. His skin was warm—shockingly so, she thought, as her flesh seemed to sizzle and burn beneath his. A surge of energy passed through her fingers, her wrist, up her forearm, down her torso and up her spine at the same time. Her body responded with a tightening that was very much unlike her.

“There is a bonus in it for you, Miss Black,” Renzo said, his voice silky smooth as it caressed her name. “Whatever clothing you buy, you may keep. And I shall pay you one month’s salary for complying with my simple request. This is good, si?”

Faith closed her eyes. Good? It was great. A month’s extra pay would look very good in her bank account. It would put her that much closer to being able to buy a condo for herself instead of renting an apartment. When she had her own place, she’d finally feel like she’d accomplished something. Like she’d left the Georgia clay behind and made something of herself, in spite of her father’s pronouncement that she never would amount to anything.

But she should still refuse. Wherever Lorenzo D’Angeli went, there were photographers and media and attention. She didn’t want or need that, hadn’t ever worried about it as a PA in an office. But as the woman on his arm, no matter that it was simply a job?

It wouldn’t matter that it wasn’t real. Her picture would be taken. She could end up on the front page of some tabloid….

And just as quickly the photo would disappear. It was one night, not a lifetime. What were the chances anyone would see a photo of Faith Black and connect her to Faith Louise Winston?

Poor, disgraced Faith Winston. She shivered inwardly. She would not live her life in fear of that single mistake returning to the fore. She was a grown woman now, not a naive teenager.

“Where is the event?” she asked, cursing herself even as she did so. It was a crack in her resolve, and he knew it.

The pressure of Renzo’s hand eased, fell away. His eyes gleamed hotter than before—or perhaps she was hallucinating. Yes, of course. Hallucinating. Because there was no way he was looking at her with heat in his gaze.

“Manhattan,” he said. “Fifth Avenue.” He stood to his full height, and she tilted her head back to look up at him. A satisfied smile lifted the corners of his sensual mouth. “Please be ready by seven, Miss Black. My car will call for you then.”

“I have not agreed to go,” she said, her mouth as dry as a desert—but they both knew she was on the precipice of surrender. Yet some stubborn part of her refused to cave in so easily. Everything came so effortlessly to this man, and she had no desire to be yet another thing that fell into his lap simply because he wanted it to happen. The one time she’d allowed a man to talk her into something she’d been reluctant to do, the consequences had been disastrous.

But this man was her boss. He was not pretending an affection he did not feel simply to get her to comply with his request. And she was no longer an impressionable eighteen-year-old—how disastrous could the consequences really be?

“You have nothing to lose, Faith,” Renzo said, his accent sliding over her name so sensuously that she shivered in spite of herself. “And much to gain.”

“This is not part of my job description,” she insisted, clinging to that one truth in the face of his beautiful persuasion.

“No, it is not.”

They stared at each other without speaking—and then he bent to her level again, palms on the desk once more.

“You would be doing me a great favor,” he said. “And you would be helping D’Angeli Motors in the process.”

And then he smiled that killer smile of his, the one that made supermodels, nubile actresses and picture-perfect beauty queens swoon in delight. She was alarmed to realize she was not as unaffected as she’d always supposed she would be.

“You are of course free to refuse, but I would be most grateful to you, Faith, if you did not.”

“This is not a date,” she said firmly. “It’s business.”

He laughed, and she felt the heat of embarrassment slip through her. Why had she said that? Of course he wouldn’t see her as a real date. She was too plain to ever be taken seriously as his date, but if he wanted to pay her to pretend, then fine. So long as they kept everything on a business foundation, she’d take the money and run.

“Assolutamente, cara,” Renzo said, gifting her once more with that smile, with the laser intensity of deep blue eyes boring into hers. “Now please, take the afternoon off. Go to Saks. My car will take you.”

“I’m sure I can find something suitable in my closet,” she insisted.

His look said he doubted it. “You happen to have the latest designer attire in your closet, Miss Black? Something appropriate for a gathering of New York’s elite?”

Shame coiled within her. He paid her quite well, but she wasn’t a fashionista. Not only that, but she had a condo to save for and no need to wear a formal gown. Until now. “Probably not,” she admitted.

His smile was indulgent, patient. “Then go. This is part of the deal, Miss Black.”

He disappeared behind his office door as if he had no doubts she would obey. Faith wanted to protest, but instead she sighed. And then she logged off her computer and gathered her purse. She’d launched herself into the deep end. She had no choice but to sink or swim.

Renzo’s leg ached tonight. He set his laptop aside and rubbed his hand against the pain as the Escalade moved through Brooklyn traffic on the way to his PA’s apartment. The discomfort was growing worse as the months went by, not better. He swore softly. His doctors had told him this might happen, but he’d worked too hard to let everything he’d gained slide away. He’d defeated the pain once; he would do so again.

He curled his hand into a fist and dug into the muscle. He wasn’t finished yet. He refused to be.

Niccolo Gavretti of Gavretti Manufacturing was his biggest competitor, and Niccolo would love nothing more than to see Renzo lose not only the next world title but also D’Angeli’s domination of the market. Renzo frowned as he thought of Niccolo. They’d been friends once, or at least Renzo had thought they had.

He knew better now.

And he would not lose. He would be the one to take the D’Angeli Viper onto the track and prove that he’d created the greatest superbike the racing world had ever seen—once the kinks in the design were worked out—and he would win another world title in the process.

His investors would be happy, the money would keep flowing and the next production version would be a huge hit with the public. Then Renzo would gladly retire from racing and leave it to the D’Angeli team to continue to dominate the motorcycle Grand Prix circuit.

Dio, per favore, one last title—one last victory—and he would stop.

Tonight was critical to his success, and he hoped he had not made a mistake in asking his plain but efficient secretary to accompany him. Desperate times, however, called for desperate measures.

He could appear at Robert Stein’s party alone, of course. Perhaps everything would be fine if he did. But he had no desire to spend the evening avoiding Stein’s daughter. Lissa was too young, too spoiled and too obvious in her attention.

And Robert Stein did not seem to appreciate his daughter’s interest in Renzo one tiny bit. Though Renzo did not normally care what fathers thought, in this case he wanted it clear that he had no interest in Lissa Stein. For that, he’d needed a date, a woman who would stay close to his side and do his bidding when asked.

Everything had been perfect until this morning when he’d found himself saying the words to Katie Palmer that he usually said to a woman he’d grown tired of. He’d dated her for a month now, and she’d started to grow too clingy. The makeup bag tucked into one corner of his bathroom vanity wasn’t too bad, nor was the toothbrush. Yet it was the shiny pink ladies’ razor with several refills in his shower that, oddly enough, had been the last straw.

He had no problem with a woman spending the night when he invited her to do so. He was, however, quite irritated to find one starting to move herself in piece by piece after only a dozen nights together. Sex was an important and fulfilling aspect of his life, but he saw no need to confuse the issue with cohabitation. Renzo did not need to live with a woman to enjoy her, and he always made it clear in the beginning what his expectations were. Whenever someone crossed that line, they were summarily dismissed from his life.

Katie Palmer was a beautiful woman, an exciting woman, and yet she’d begun to leave him cold even before the pink razor and its endless refills had appeared. He wasn’t quite sure why. She was exactly the sort of woman he usually dated—beautiful, slightly superficial and intellectually undemanding.

Renzo picked up his laptop again and stared at the report he’d been working on. He should have perhaps taken Faith’s suggestion to invite a former girlfriend tonight instead of pressing her into service, but when the idea had first struck him as he’d sat at his desk and stared at a neatly typed memo with a helpful sticky note arrow pointing to the line for his signature, he’d had a sudden idea that taking his capable, mousy little PA with him would be far more productive than taking a woman who expected him to pay attention to her.

If he took Faith, it was business. She was a quiet, competent girl. She was not necessarily unattractive, he supposed, but he’d never really looked at her for signs of beauty. Why would he? She was his PA, and she was quite good at her job. His calendar had never been so orderly or his appointments so seamless.

Faith was perfect, even if she wasn’t much to look at. She wore severe suits in dark colors that hid whatever figure she might have and scraped her golden hair back into ponytails and buns. She looked, truth be told, like a box. She also wore dark-rimmed spectacles.

But her eyes were green. He’d noticed that before, whenever she’d looked up at him through her glasses, her gaze sparking with intelligence. They were not dark like an emerald, but golden green like a spring leaf. And she smelled nice. Like an early-morning rain mingled with exotic flowers. There was no sharp perfume, no stale smell of smoke or alcohol or tanning solution.

But when she’d looked up at him this afternoon, her eyes flashing and a blush spreading over her cheeks, he’d had one wild, inconceivable moment when he’d imagined pulling her across the desk and fitting his mouth to hers.

Which made no sense. Faith Black was neat and efficient and smelled nice, but she wasn’t the kind of woman he preferred. He liked her because she was professional and excellent at everything she did. He was not attracted to her.

It was, he supposed, an anomaly. A sign of the stress he’d been under for the past few months as his engineers worked to bring the Viper to top form. There were problems that had to be worked out or the bike would fail on the track.

And Renzo refused to accept failure. He’d poured a great deal of money and time into the development of this motorcycle, and he needed it to succeed. Success was everything. He’d known that since he was a teenager, since he’d realized that he actually had a father but that his father had not wanted to know him.

Because he wasn’t a blue blood like the Conte de Lucano, or like the conte’s children with his wife. Renzo was the outcast, the unfortunate product of a somewhat hasty affair with a waitress. He hadn’t been supposed to succeed—but he had, spectacularly, and he had every intention of continuing to do so.

Lorenzo D’Angeli never backed down from a challenge. He lived for them, thrived on them.

The limousine came to a halt in front of a plain concrete apartment building in a somewhat shabby neighborhood. Renzo winced as he moved his leg. It ached enough that he should allow his chauffeur to retrieve Faith, but he was just stubborn enough to refuse to permit even that small moment of vulnerability.

The car door opened and Renzo stepped onto the pavement, looking right and left, surveying the street and the people. The area didn’t seem unsafe, yet it was worn. An unwanted memory tugged at his mind as he stood there. Another time, another place.

Another life, when he’d had nothing and had to struggle to feed his mother and younger sister. He’d been angry then, terribly angry. He’d always thought that if his mother had been more forceful, more demanding, she could have at least gotten the conte to make sure they had food and shelter. But she was weak, his mother, though he loved her completely. Too weak to fight back when she should have done so.

He ruthlessly squashed the feelings of helplessness the memory dredged up. Then he strode into the building and made his way to Faith’s apartment on the second floor. There was no elevator. Renzo took the stairs quickly, in spite of the sharp throb in his leg. When he reached Faith’s door, he took a moment to blank the pain from his mind before he rapped sharply.

She answered right away, the door whipping open to reveal a woman who might have made his jaw drop had he not had better control of himself. Faith Black was … different. A small spike of something—he did not know quite what—ricocheted through him as he studied her. She had not transformed into a voluptuous goddess, but she had transformed. Somehow.

The glasses were gone, and she was wearing makeup. He wasn’t certain she ever wore makeup at the office, though perhaps she did. If she did, it wasn’t quite like this, he was certain. Her lips were red, full and shiny from her lip gloss. Kissable.

Kissable?

“Mr. D’Angeli,” she said, blinking in surprise.

“You were expecting someone else?” he asked mildly, and yet the thought of her doing so caused a twinge of irritation to stab into him. Odd.

“I—well, yes. I had thought you were sending your car. I had thought I was meeting you at the event.”

“As you see, this is not the case.” He let his gaze drop slowly before meeting her pretty eyes again. She seemed surprised—and somewhat annoyed. She’d never been anything but professional in all their interactions, but what he saw in her eyes now made him wonder if it was possible that she did not like him.

Impossibile. Of course she did. He’d yet to meet a woman who didn’t. He turned his best smile on her. “You look quite delightful, Miss Black.”

And delectable, he was shocked to realize.

Her hair was piled on her head, but it wasn’t quite as scraped back as usual; instead she’d pulled it into an elegant twist from which one disobedient tendril had escaped to lie against her cheek. Her pale lavender gown was demure, with a high neck, but it was also sleeveless and molded to her full breasts before falling away in ripples of fabric to the floor.

It was disconcerting, to say the least, to realize that she had a shape—and that shape was not a box. Quite the contrary, she was a study in curves, from the soft curve of her jaw to the curve of her bosom and down to the curve of her hips that he could just make out beneath the flowing fabric of her gown. He couldn’t quite take his eyes from her, as if she might change back into the creature he knew if he looked away.

Color stained her cheeks as her green gaze fell from his. Satisfaction rippled through him. She was not immune after all. “Thank you. I—I was just searching for my earring backing. I dropped it and I’m not sure where it’s gone.”

He noticed then that she was only wearing one small diamond earring. “Allow me to help,” he said, pushing the door wider. She stepped back somewhat reluctantly, but she let him inside.

The apartment was small, but neat. The furnishings were worn, and there were a variety of magazines piled on a central table—including a couple of motorcycle magazines, it amused him to note. He was on the cover of the topmost one, in full leathers, looking grim as he stood beside a prototype of the Viper. And with good reason, considering the bike had fallen far short of what he’d been aiming for when he’d taken it out on the track. Not that the reporter had known, of course.

He dragged his gaze away from the magazine, continuing his study of Faith’s home. A shelf stacked high with books ran along one short wall. The walls were industrial white, but she’d tried to punch it up with bright pictures and pillows on the furniture. It was a decidedly feminine space, though not in any overt way.

He thought of his mother decorating their tiny apartment in Positano with garlands of flowers and pretty fabric, and his jaw hardened as his thoughts turned dark. Did Faith also bring home an endless parade of men she hoped would fall in love with her? Did she cry at the end of the night—or series of nights—when she realized the current man was gone and never coming back?

“Over here,” Faith said, leading the way to a tiny kitchen, which had barely enough room for two adults to stand together.

Her fragrance surrounded him as he joined her, that soft fresh scent he’d come to identify with her over the past few months. A sharp sensation rolled through him.

“I dropped it here,” she said. “And it’s rolled somewhere. It can’t have gone far.”

For a moment, he wasn’t sure what they were talking about. For a moment, for the barest of seconds, he wanted to press her soft body against the counter with his, wanted to drag the pins from her hair and see the golden mass tumble free. He shook the thought from his mind and focused on the task at hand.

“If you will allow me,” he said, taking out his mobile phone and starting the application that turned the camera flash into a steady beam of light.

She couldn’t leave the small space without brushing against him. A sliver of pleasure passed through him at the brief contact. Stress, he thought. Simply stress.

“And why were you putting on your earrings in the kitchen, Miss Black?” he asked as he stooped, ignoring the pain in his leg, and swept the light back and forth across the floor.

“I was in a hurry,” she said. “I wanted to make it down to the street by the time your car arrived.”

He tilted his head back to glance up at her. “You were planning to stand outside? Dressed like this?”

She shrugged. “I would have stood inside the building until I saw the car, but yes. I’m sorry you had to come up and get me.”

The light flickered over something that glinted gold. Renzo swept the light into a corner again, found the small backing. He picked it up and pushed himself to his feet.

He gritted his teeth against the agony of spasming muscles and aching bone. “Miss Black, I am many things, not all of them pleasant, but I would hope that you realize I am not so callous as to make a lady wait in a dark and drafty hallway for my arrival.”

“No, of course not,” she said quietly, and he knew he must have looked severe. Yet he could not tell her why. Not without admitting what he would admit to no one—that he was weak, vulnerable, not made of iron after all.

Her gaze fell from his as she held her hand out to receive the tiny backing.

Renzo stared at the top of her golden head for a moment. He could have dropped it into her palm. That would have been easy. Prudent even. But he found he wanted to touch her again, wanted to see if he felt that same tiny jolt that he had this afternoon when he’d put his hand on hers before she could pick up the telephone. He’d dismissed the sensation as something akin to static electricity.

He put his fingers around her wrist and she gasped, her fingers curling inward on reflex before she forced them open again. He held her hand steady while he placed the backing in her palm. Her skin was soft, warm, and he wondered if the rest of her was equally as soft. Shockingly, a sliver of 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?”

CHAPTER TWO

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 refused the more daring dresses that showed too much cleavage or leg. Obviously Renzo had a preferred style he liked his women to wear. And Faith had been determined to wear what she liked, regardless of who was paying for the gown.

When the woman had brought the lavender gown out, Faith had known it was the one. When she put this dress on, she felt elegant, pretty and demure enough to please even her upright father.

Renzo finished his phone call and turned to her. “I need you to stay by my side tonight,” he said. “It is very important that you do so.”

Faith swallowed. “Of course, Mr—Renzo.”

She could see his frown in the light from the television. “I’m counting on you, Faith. You have never failed me yet.”

But she had disappointed him when she’d nearly called him Mr. D’Angeli again, and it bothered her. Because this was part of the job and he expected her to be able to do what he asked. It shouldn’t be difficult, yet she was letting her nerves get the best of her.

Faith turned her head to look out the window as she pressed her fingernails into her palm and dug in. She would do a good job. Because he’d asked her to, and she’d agreed. She owed him that much. Tonight was important to the success of the Viper.

She knew that the Viper meant everything to him. How many times had she left the office late while he was still there, only to come in the next morning and find he’d never left? He worked hard on the designs, worked with his team to implement the changes that were required to make the motorcycle a success, and he worked hard on the business of running D’Angeli Motors.

D’Angeli wasn’t only known for its racing bikes, of course. They also made production motorcycles that were popular with enthusiasts everywhere. Sales were growing steadily in the States, though perhaps not as quickly as Renzo would like. She knew he counted on the Viper to usher in a new wave of prosperity and growth for his company. And what was good for D’Angeli Motors was also good for her. For all his employees.

His phone rang again. He looked at the display and swore in Italian before sending the call to voice mail.

A woman, no doubt. Probably Katie Palmer. Katie was an underwear model, Faith recalled. If Renzo couldn’t be satisfied with a woman who looked that good naked, what on earth would it take to make him happy?

She shuddered to think it. No doubt he wanted a woman who fawned over his every move, who would feed him ice-cold grapes and fetch his slippers in her teeth were he to desire it. Arrogant, entitled man.

Eventually, the limo stopped in front of an ornate prewar building on Fifth Avenue. A moment later, a uniformed doorman swung the door open and Renzo stepped out before turning and holding out his hand for her. Faith took a deep breath as she gathered her tiny, jeweled purse and tugged her wrap tighter. She thought about refusing his help like she had before, but it was darker now and this was unfamiliar ground. It would not do to land on her face in her finery.

She put her hand in his and let him assist her from the tall SUV. But as her foot hit the pavement, she wobbled in her high heels. She barely had time to lose her balance before Renzo steadied her, a broad hand coming to rest on her waist while the other held her hand firmly.

The hand on her waist seared her. It was like being struck by lightning. They looked at each other for some seconds before he spoke.

“You are full of surprises, Miss Black,” Renzo said softly, his fingers spanning her waist, scorching her through the silk georgette of her gown.

“Shouldn’t you call me Faith?” she asked, her heart thrumming at both the feel of his hand on her body and the way he said she was full of surprises. As if he were pleased.

Oh for God’s sake, stop. She could care less what he thought. Really.

His teeth flashed white in the night. “Of course. Faith. Are you ready to go up? We are expected.”

Faith drew in a deep breath. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“You forgot something,” he said, his voice sliding across her nerve endings like a shiver.

Faith blinked up at him, struck anew by the symmetrical beauty of his face. How could a man be so gorgeous?

“What did I forget?” she managed to say without turning into a stammering nitwit. She could feel her face flaming, and she wanted to turn and climb straight back into the Escalade. And then she wanted to berate herself for being a ninny.

“As ready as I’ll ever be, Renzo,” he said.

He watched her expectantly, and she realized they weren’t moving until she got it right, no matter how difficult it was for her to think of him as Renzo instead of Mr. D’Angeli. No matter that it was far safer to think of him as Mr. D’Angeli. Far easier to maintain her professionalism that way.

But there was no getting around it. He wasn’t moving, and she didn’t want to stand on the sidewalk all night. She’d been lucky there’d been no paparazzi waiting for him and she didn’t feel like tempting fate any further than she already had.

Not that she was important or her secrets all that earth-shattering —but she’d left her old life behind and she had no wish to revisit the pain and humiliation of it ever again.

She pulled in a breath. “As ready as I’ll ever be, Renzo.”

“Fabuloso,” he said. “Already, you are perfect.”

The Stein’s penthouse apartment was magnificent. It took up two levels at the top of the building, and boasted a terrace planted just like a formal English garden. There were trees, arbors, a profusion of rosebushes and even a carpet of grass. Lights strung around the perimeter had the effect of softly illuminating the area and making one believe they were at a garden party. Central Park stretched out below, a dark inky spot in the night bordered by the bright lights of the Upper West Side across the way. If Faith stood near the edge of the terrace and looked left, she could see the Plaza gleaming white while the red taillights of taxis streamed by on Fifth Avenue.

She rarely came into Manhattan. The D’Angeli Motors factory was on Long Island, and she lived in Brooklyn. At the end of the day, she was too tired to venture into the city. And the weekends were her time to read, watch television and catch up on her laundry and housecleaning. She wasn’t the sort of girl who had time to pop into the Plaza for afternoon tea.

But now, standing here, she almost wished she was. She could afford that much at least. But a place like the Stein’s apartment was another story. This was how the supremely wealthy lived. It was at turns exhilarating and depressing.

She worked long hours to afford what she had and to save up for her own place someday, and other people had manicured grass growing on top of a building in Manhattan. Faith shook her head. Life was very strange sometimes.

She glanced over at Renzo. They’d only been here twenty minutes, and already she felt that her coming had been a waste of time. He did not need her. He stood nearby, chatting with Robert Stein and a group of gentlemen. They were watching him raptly, laughing and agreeing with something he said, and then toasting him with their glasses held high. A moment later, Stein was turning away at an entreaty from his wife, and Renzo turned to look toward where Faith stood near the terrace wall, a glass of wine in her hand.

There was something electric in his gaze, something that shot straight to the deepest heart of her and twisted an emotion out of her. She took a sip of her wine. How very annoying to not be able to control her response to him. To be exactly like every other woman who couldn’t control herself around him.

Except that she could control herself. And she would.

He said something to the men and then he was striding toward her, confident and sure. Until, for the briefest of moments, he seemed to favor his right leg. Faith frowned. A second later, he was moving as gracefully as ever. And yet she was positive he’d been in pain. That was the leg with the pins, the one that had been supposed to end his career several years ago.

“I’m sorry to have left you standing here alone,” he said.

Faith shook her head, frowning at the thought his leg might be bothering him. “Not at all. You came here to talk to Mr. Stein. That should take precedence.”

He tilted his head as he studied her. It disconcerted her until she wanted to drop her lashes and shield her eyes, but she would not shrink from him. It was not the first time tonight he’d looked at her that way. Each time, she felt as if he were dissecting her and viewing the parts individually. As if he weren’t quite certain what to make of her.

Well, she wasn’t certain what to make of herself. What was she doing at a party full of rich people, pretending to be the date of one of the most handsome and dynamic men in the world? No one would believe it for a minute.

She didn’t. She just wanted to be at home, wrapped in her fuzzy robe and reading a book. That was believable.

“You are interesting, Faith,” Renzo said.

She lifted her chin. She would not be flattered by his smooth charm. “Not really. I’m just doing my job.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Is that what you call it?”

“Yes,” she said firmly. “I’m here because you asked me to be, plus you offered to pay me. It’s work.”

He looked amused. “And what if I asked you to come to Italy with me? Would you do it?”

Faith swallowed. Italy? She couldn’t pretend that the thought didn’t excite her. She’d never been out of the country before, and she couldn’t imagine a more wonderful place to go. Pasta, pizza, cappuccino. Mmm. It made her mouth water just to think it.

She’d always believed she would be shuffled to another of the company’s officers once Renzo returned to Europe. She still believed it. He couldn’t really be serious. He had another factory in Italy, and another office that was no doubt staffed with an efficient Italian PA.

“That depends,” she said, her throat constricting around the words.

“I need you, Faith. You keep my life together, and I don’t want to live without you.”

Faith could only blink. And then she had to suppress a laugh—because how many women would die to hear Renzo say those words to them? Of course he meant them a very different way, but it was still amusing.

“I wish I had a tape recorder,” she said, and then bit her lip when she realized she’d spoken aloud.

He looked perplexed. “Why is this?”

Faith shrugged, laughing. What was the use in denying it? “Because I could probably sell it many times over. I can think of a handful of women who would pay to hear those words from your lips. And I’m sure there are more trailing in your wake. I could retire early.”

Renzo laughed. “Ah, si, it could be very profitable for you. And yet I hope you will consider my offer to accompany me to Italy.”

“You haven’t made the offer yet,” she said, feeling bold and breathless at the same time.

His smile was turned up full force. “Have I not? Dear Faith, please accompany me to Italy. I will give you a twenty percent raise and cover all your expenses while we are abroad.”

Twenty percent. Faith swallowed. “Well, as wonderful as that is, I think you’ve forgotten something.” Because she had to be honest, no matter how much she might like to leap on the offer.

“And what is that?”

“I don’t speak Italian. I don’t speak anything but English, in fact.”

His smile did not dim. “And yet the international language is English. How do you suppose people in Italy converse with people in Germany? No, this is not an issue. Besides, you will learn Italian while you live there.”

“I—”

“Renzo, darling, there you are,” a cultured female voice called out, interrupting them. “I’ve been looking everywhere.”

Renzo stiffened as he turned toward the owner of the voice. The woman sauntering toward them was a stunning salon-blonde, dressed in a tight-fitting black sheath that showed a mile of tanned leg. Her hair hung long and straight down her back, and her makeup was absolutely perfect. She wore a fat diamond-drop necklace and matching earrings, and her shoes were gold.

“Lissa,” Renzo said. “How nice to see you again.”

Lissa’s gaze fell to Faith and slid over her with no small measure of contempt. The look very clearly said back away.

Oh puh-leeze. As if Faith were any competition. Still, she tilted her chin up and stood her ground.

Lissa turned her smile on Renzo. “Do I not get a kiss, darling? I had thought you Italians were all about the kiss when greeting friends.”

“Of course.” Renzo kissed her on both cheeks in the Italian manner and then turned and put an arm around Faith. Lissa’s eyes narrowed to slits while Faith’s entire body lit up like a firecracker as Renzo pulled her into the curve of his powerful frame.

This was not what she’d agreed to tonight, and yet in a way it had been. She was his date.

“Lissa, this is Faith.”

Faith held her hand out, surprised it didn’t shake when inside she was trembling so badly. Why, when she didn’t even like him all that much?

Lissa took it after a moment’s hesitation. “Very lovely to meet you,” Faith said.

“Yes, lovely.” Lissa’s tone said it was anything but. “Renzo, I had hoped to speak with you. Alone,” she added, her smile never wavering.

Renzo’s fingers skimmed over Faith’s bare arm, his touch setting off a chain of reactions inside her that ended with a sharp current of need settling between her thighs. She’d never felt anything quite like it. And she was furious it was happening now, here, with this man.

Her boss made Casanova look like an amateur, for pity’s sake. She knew it, and yet she responded anyway.

“You may say whatever you wish to say in front of Faith,” Renzo countered. “She is completely trustworthy.”

Lissa pushed her hair over one shoulder with an indolent gesture. Her eyes sparked. “It can wait,” she said tightly. And then she smiled. Faith had the impression of razor-sharp fangs lining the other woman’s mouth. “Perhaps a bit later, then.”

“Perhaps,” Renzo said.

Someone called to her, and Lissa turned and waved. “If you will excuse me, I must mingle.”

“Of course,” Renzo replied. “Do not let us keep you.”

Lissa insisted on kissing Renzo on both cheeks again and held her hand out to Faith, pressing it limply before gliding away in a cloud of malevolence that was quite possibly stronger than her perfume.

“Let me guess,” Faith said coolly, moving out of his grasp when the other woman had joined a group of people a few feet away. “She is the reason you needed a date tonight.”

“Si,” Renzo said.

Faith turned to look up at him, exasperated, and just a little hurt. “Honestly, I don’t know why you just don’t do what you always do and be done with it.”

His brows drew together. “What I always do?”

“Oh please, don’t act as if you don’t know. I’ve worked for you for six months, and I’ve yet to see a woman last more than a month with you. You wine them, dine them, give them presents and dump them.”

It was bold of her, but she’d had just enough wine to loosen her tongue. To be on the safe side, she deposited the half-finished glass on the terrace wall. If she drank the whole thing, heaven knows what she might say to him.

Renzo grinned. Not at all the effect she’d been going for. “You forgot one, Faith.” She frowned, but he leaned toward her and spoke before she could say anything. “Bed them.”

A flash of heat shot through her. Dammit! “Yes, of course. How could I forget that one? Silly me.”

She realized she was standing before him with her arms crossed defensively when he put his hands on her shoulders and skimmed them down her arms. “I had no idea you were so outraged by my behavior,” he teased.

Faith scoffed as she tried very hard not to react to his skin touching hers. Why didn’t she just shove him away? “Outraged? I have no say in anything you choose to do. I am not outraged. It was merely an observation.”

He put a finger under her jaw and tipped her chin up. His sharp eyes glittered with some hidden passion that hadn’t been there only a moment ago. It shocked her. And intrigued her.

He was so close. Too close, the heat emanating from him enveloping her, making her long to press into him and see just how hot she could feel. Would she burn up in his embrace?

No. No, no, no. She would not think of her Italian playboy boss in that way. It wasn’t safe. It was irresponsible. Reckless.

Faith did not do reckless. The one time she had, it had cost her far more than she could have ever dreamed. She was finished with reckless.

“But you disapprove,” Renzo said.

“Not this time.” And she almost meant it, except for the fact it would mean Renzo would actually sleep with that obnoxious woman. Though, on the other hand, the woman would pay for it in the end when Renzo dumped her. Faith might enjoy shopping for that parting gift. “Go for it.”

He laughed. “And what makes you think I have not already? That she just doesn’t understand I no longer want her?”

It was a valid point, but she knew better because she’d witnessed the fallout too many times. The tears, the desperate phone calls, the attempts to sneak past her and into his office in order to plead for another chance. Women could be, she’d decided, awfully pitiful sometimes. She wanted to tell them to get some dignity, to stop begging and go on with their lives. Men like Renzo were immune to histrionics.

“Because a woman who has been subjected to the D’Angeli treatment is usually angry with you. She wasn’t. She wants you, and pretty badly I’d say.”

The look in his eyes was sharp. He moved a step closer and she shuddered involuntarily. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said, much too innocently. “I like the way you talk, Faith. It sounds like sweet syrup, all long and drawn out as if you had all day to speak. Not like the women in New York.”

“That’s because I’m from Georgia. It’s hot there. We talk slow and walk slow and, well, do a lot of things slow.” My God, she was babbling. To her urbane, gorgeous boss. Where was her dignity?

One of Renzo’s dark eyebrows arched. “Really? I can imagine that some things are done best when done slowly. How wise you people from Georgia are.”

Her heart was slamming into her ribs and a fine sheen of moisture was rising in the valley between her breasts. “I sound no different now than I have for the past six months. I can’t imagine how you haven’t noticed it before.”

He took another step and she backed up, found herself against the wall of the terrace where it curved inward. He put a hand on the wall beside her, trapping her as his other hand came up and caressed her jaw.

It was electrifying.

“I have been wondering this myself,” he said. “You have hidden yourself well, Faith.”

Her body hummed with electricity that she feared would scorch her if it continued for much longer. “I’ve hidden nothing. I’ve come to work every day and sat at a desk not ten feet from your office door. I’ve brought you coffee, papers. I’ve fielded phone calls and given you reports. And I’ve gone shopping for those goodbye presents for your women—”

“Ah,” he said softly, “you are offended.”

“No,” she replied. But then, because she couldn’t help it, she added, “Though I think you should shop for your own presents.”

Renzo laughed. “Perhaps you are correct, and yet you always choose the nicest things. How can I compete?”

“By employing a full-time personal shopper?”

His gaze dropped to her mouth for a moment and she sucked in a breath, trying to calm her racing heart. He hadn’t backed away, hadn’t taken his hand from her cheek in all this time they’d been talking. The sharp ache throbbing inside her was nearly unbearable.

And unfathomable.

“You have lovely eyes,” he said. “Why do you hide them behind those hideous glasses all day long?”

She stiffened. “They’re reading glasses. I need them to do my job.” A different kind of heat scorched her now.

Someone laughed nearby, and then Lissa’s voice drifted over the others. “So plain and unattractive. Honestly, I can’t see what he sees in her. Must be an Italian thing.”

Time seemed to stand still for a moment, hovering in the air above Faith’s head, threatening her with old humiliations and hurts. And then it drifted down over her, covering her in feelings she would rather forget.

She told herself not to care, but she did anyway. It hurt, being the center of negative attention. Though nothing Lissa said could come close to what Faith had gone through in the past when Jason had betrayed her trust, she was surprised to realize that it still had the power to hurt her.

For a moment, she was back in high school. Hearing the taunts, the snickers, the innuendos. Feeling the anger, the urge to lash out, the urge to escape.

Renzo’s jaw tightened. “I’m sorry, Faith.”

“It’s nothing,” she said lightly, drawing on hard-won reserves of strength. “She’s just jealous.” But moisture swam in her eyes and her throat ached with the effort not to let any tears fall. She thought that she’d learned how to deal with this eight years ago, but she’d been wrong. You never got over people pointing their fingers and laughing at you.

“We will go now,” Renzo said, his hands on her shoulders once more, this time imparting comfort rather than setting her on edge.

“No!” Faith swallowed the lump in her throat. She would not run. Not this time. “No, that’s exactly what she wants. Besides, have you got what you came here for tonight?”

He’d spent a few minutes with Robert Stein, but it had been in the company of others. And she was fairly certain he’d not talked business upon first arriving. No doubt he’d been hoping to broach that subject a bit later.

He frowned. “That is unimportant.”

Impulsively, she put a hand on his chest. The fabric of his tuxedo was smooth, cool, but beneath it his body was hard and hot. She knew he was in excellent shape considering that he was a top Grand Prix rider—not to mention she’d saved the heat-inducing magazine ad where he’d posed in his leathers with the zipper opened to his navel. She’d been unable to deny how sexy he was in that ad, even if she did think him heartless when it came to women. The magazine had gone into her keeper pile, much to her dismay.

Still, after all that, she was unprepared for how his body felt beneath her hand.

Power and leashed strength waiting for the right instant to explode into action. At the moment, however, he seemed very still beneath her touch, nothing but the beat of his heart vibrating against her palm. It was almost as if he was purposely holding himself still.

Faith forced herself to focus. “Please, Renzo, the Viper is important to you. Talk with Mr. Stein. Don’t worry about me. I can handle myself.”

She’d learned how after a trial by fire she would never forget.

His fingers wrapped around hers where they rested on his tuxedo. He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss there that sent a shudder rocketing down her spine.

“You are quite remarkable, Faith,” he said softly.

“Hardly,” she replied. She needed to put distance between them, now more than ever. She didn’t like this hot, achy feeling he called up inside her. It could come to no good for her. Even if he were interested in a plain girl like her, she had a lot more to lose than his usual women. Unlike the others, she’d find herself brokenhearted and jobless once he decided to dump her, were she foolish enough to give in to this silliness inside. “I’m thinking of my bottom line. If the Viper succeeds, then I can ask for an even bigger raise.”

Renzo threw back his head and laughed. “Indeed. Then come with me, cara.”

And, twining his fingers in hers, he led her into the center of the garden party.

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