jaw and slanted his mouth over hers, silencing her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
F AITH was furious. She sat in Renzo’s sports car, her arms folded over her breasts and her head turned toward the window, seething. Renzo shifted smoothly, the engine revving into the night as the car raced along the Tuscan roads toward his villa.
How dared he? First, Niccolo Gavretti had thought he could have his way with her, and then Renzo had come along—hot, furious and broody as hell—and the standoff had begun. It wasn’t about her—it was about who was in control, about who got what he wanted.
Renzo had kissed her in front of all those people while cameras flashed and caught the moment forever. Her heart did a long slide into the bottom of her stomach. It had only been a matter of time before she was photographed with Renzo, so she could hardly be surprised about it.
And yet the panic that clawed into her now wouldn’t go away. She’d done nothing wrong. Not now, and not eight years ago. But she dreaded the attention if that old photograph was brought to light. The shame and helpless rage.
What angered her most about tonight was that Renzo hadn’t kissed her because he’d wanted to, but because he’d wanted to prove something to Nico. He’d been marking her as his, but only because he knew it would irritate the other man.
The moment he’d let her go, she’d turned on her heel and marched for the door. It was the calmest, most rational response she’d been capable of, since staying there would have necessitated her slapping the both of them.
Renzo hadn’t argued when she’d told him she wanted to go. He’d simply led the way to his car and roared out of the driveway without saying another word.
Now, the car ate up the roadway until Faith’s heart began to beat hard for a different reason. “Renzo, you’re scaring me. This isn’t the track.”
He swore, but the car throttled back to a more-reasonable speed. His hands flexed on the wheel, and his handsome face was harsh in the lights from the dash. He looked furious, which only fueled her anger.
“I don’t know why you’re angry,” she said. “I’m not the one who embarrassed you by kissing you in front of all those people.”
He shot her a disbelieving glance. “You’re embarrassed? Over what?”
She turned toward him, arms still crossed, her heart racing. It was merely a game to him, while to her it could mean being the subject of public scrutiny again. “I realize that you may think you’re God’s gift—heaven knows enough women have told you so—but not everyone wants their private life put on display for the world to see. Not only that, but we
have
no private life! You did it just to prove a point to Nico.”
His eyes flashed. “Do not call that man Nico,” he growled. “He only wanted to use you so he could get to me.”
Another spike of anger launched her blood pressure into the danger zone. “Do you think I don’t know that? I’m not stupid, Renzo. Two of Italy’s most famous bachelors fighting over me? I hardly think so. I just happenedto be the bone that both dogs decided they wanted to control tonight. If there had been a juicy steak nearby, they’d have fought over that instead.”
Renzo swore again. And then he jerked the car off the road and onto a narrow dirt track she hadn’t seen before he turned. The car jolted to a stop and then he unsnapped her seat belt and reached for her before she knew what he was planning.
He crushed her mouth beneath his, his fingers sliding into her hair, his tongue demanding entrance. She opened to him, too shocked by the onslaught to protest. She should be angry. She should push him away. She should do anything but let him kiss her as if he were a dying man and she the last hope he had for salvation.
But, shockingly, she was turned on. Her body was on fire. Her nerve endings were zinging with sparks and her sex ached for his possession. She was throbbing, aching, melting—needing things she’d
CHAPTER SEVEN
F AITH was furious. She sat in Renzo’s sports car, her arms folded over her breasts and her head turned toward the window, seething. Renzo shifted smoothly, the engine revving into the night as the car raced along the Tuscan roads toward his villa.
How dared he? First, Niccolo Gavretti had thought he could have his way with her, and then Renzo had come along—hot, furious and broody as hell—and the standoff had begun. It wasn’t about her—it was about who was in control, about who got what he wanted.
Renzo had kissed her in front of all those people while cameras flashed and caught the moment forever. Her heart did a long slide into the bottom of her stomach. It had only been a matter of time before she was photographed with Renzo, so she could hardly be surprised about it.
And yet the panic that clawed into her now wouldn’t go away. She’d done nothing wrong. Not now, and not eight years ago. But she dreaded the attention if that old photograph was brought to light. The shame and helpless rage.
What angered her most about tonight was that Renzo hadn’t kissed her because he’d wanted to, but because he’d wanted to prove something to Nico. He’d been marking her as his, but only because he knew it would irritate the other man.
The moment he’d let her go, she’d turned on her heel and marched for the door. It was the calmest, most rational response she’d been capable of, since staying there would have necessitated her slapping the both of them.
Renzo hadn’t argued when she’d told him she wanted to go. He’d simply led the way to his car and roared out of the driveway without saying another word.
Now, the car ate up the roadway until Faith’s heart began to beat hard for a different reason. “Renzo, you’re scaring me. This isn’t the track.”
He swore, but the car throttled back to a more-reasonable speed. His hands flexed on the wheel, and his handsome face was harsh in the lights from the dash. He looked furious, which only fueled her anger.
“I don’t know why you’re angry,” she said. “I’m not the one who embarrassed you by kissing you in front of all those people.”
He shot her a disbelieving glance. “You’re embarrassed? Over what?”
She turned toward him, arms still crossed, her heart racing. It was merely a game to him, while to her it could mean being the subject of public scrutiny again. “I realize that you may think you’re God’s gift—heaven knows enough women have told you so—but not everyone wants their private life put on display for the world to see. Not only that, but we
have
no private life! You did it just to prove a point to Nico.”
His eyes flashed. “Do not call that man Nico,” he growled. “He only wanted to use you so he could get to me.”
Another spike of anger launched her blood pressure into the danger zone. “Do you think I don’t know that? I’m not stupid, Renzo. Two of Italy’s most famous bachelors fighting over me? I hardly think so. I just happenedto be the bone that both dogs decided they wanted to control tonight. If there had been a juicy steak nearby, they’d have fought over that instead.”
Renzo swore again. And then he jerked the car off the road and onto a narrow dirt track she hadn’t seen before he turned. The car jolted to a stop and then he unsnapped her seat belt and reached for her before she knew what he was planning.
He crushed her mouth beneath his, his fingers sliding into her hair, his tongue demanding entrance. She opened to him, too shocked by the onslaught to protest. She should be angry. She should push him away. She should do anything but let him kiss her as if he were a dying man and she the last hope he had for salvation.
But, shockingly, she was turned on. Her body was on fire. Her nerve endings were zinging with sparks and her sex ached for his possession. She was throbbing, aching, melting—needing things she’d
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