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