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He could easily throw her out. Why didn’t he? Because he’d made a promise to Carlotta? The wife he’d adored...?
‘Miss Bishop?’
She started. His sharp tone indicated that she’d missed a chunk of what he’d said. ‘I’m sorry, can you repeat that?’
His lips—comprising a thin upper and a surprisingly full and sensual lower, which alarmingly evoked lustful forbidden thoughts—firmed. ‘I invited you, once again, to sit down.’
She frowned. He had a thing about ordering her to be seated. Was it merely a power play or...?
‘Am I boring you or are you under the misconception that I appreciate flighty females?’ he rasped, his accent thickening with irritation.
‘You’re aren’t—and I’m not. I’m just trying to wrap my head around all of this. Haven’t you ever had a bombshell dropped on you?’
Bleakness dulled his eyes before he blinked it away. ‘More times that you will ever have the misfortune to encounter, I’m sure.’
She sat down and dragged her gaze from his to the painting behind his desk, pretending to study what looked like a priceless masterpiece as she fought the urge to inform him how wrong he was. How no one in the world should have to bear the burden of the bombshells she’d had dropped on her.
Abruptly he rose, crossed the room and seated himself directly opposite her, forcing her to focus on him. Not that it was any hardship. He was the epitome of a hot flame on a cold, dark night, drawing a hapless moth to its doom. She stared, taking in the vibrancy of his olive skin, the pronounced jut of his Adam’s apple and the steady pulse beating at his throat.
An unfettered urge to stroke her fingers over that spot took Faye by surprise, making her swallow a gasp. Maceo’s eyes narrowed, then conducted a sizzling scrutiny of his own before resting on her suddenly tingling mouth.
She wasn’t sure how long they stayed locked in that tight, breath-robbing capsule. His phone’s ping made her jump, releasing her from the spell.
Maceo glanced down for a moment before his gaze returned to hers. The heat had receded, and in its place was cool regard. ‘Just so there’s no misinterpreting the information, I’ll have my lawyers provide you with a copy of Carlotta’s will once we’re done here. Your inheritance will be handed over at my discretion. And I’ve decided, Miss Bishop, that you need to appreciate where the money came from. Perhaps once you experience the hard work and sacrifice that went into your windfall, you won’t be as flippant about it.’
Faye frowned. ‘I told you—that was just shock. It wasn’t my intention to cause offence.’
‘Then prove it. I am not simply going to hand over the share. Carlotta didn’t want me to and, after meeting you, I am certainly not inclined to.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean—after meeting me? You barely know me!’
The moment he leaned back in his seat she knew her response was what he’d angled for all along. And she’d walked straight into his trap.
‘Here’s your chance to rectify that, then. Prove that this bequest means more to you than just money.’
‘How? Do you wish me to commission a plaque in Luigi and Carlotta’s honour? Sign my name in blood? Maybe get a tattoo on my skin?’
He shrugged, as if they were discussing the weather, but Faye instinctively knew his every word so far had been calculated to gain this result.
‘Nothing so dramatic. My request is simple. Walk in their shoes for a time. You will stay in Italy, immerse yourself in Casa di Fiorenti. Show a little appreciation for what Luigi spent his life building. When I’m satisfied, you’ll receive your inheritance.’
Faye gripped the armrests of her chair, unsure whether to be shocked or amused. His face was deadly serious, and his eyes warned her to plot her next move wisely or prepare to lose.
‘I have obligations. I can’t just abandon them to come here and jump through hoops for you.’
He shrugged, distracting her with those incredible shoulders. ‘Then by all means leave. Carlotta has granted me a flexible timescale of up to five years. Perhaps she believed you wouldn’t be so quick to turn up once she was gone? Let my assistant know when you think you’ll be available during the next five years and I’ll endeavour to make some time in my schedule for you.’
Her fingers dug into the expensive leather as he sauntered back to his desk, opened a file and proceeded to ignore her.
Faye forced her jaw to unlock. ‘That doesn’t work for me.’
He didn’t look up. ‘Then we’re at an impasse, Miss—’
‘My name is Faye. I’d prefer you use it instead of that barbed formality designed to put me in my place—wherever you deem that to be. Believe me, I’m very aware of our differences, and I promise I won’t tell if you come down a step or two from your lofty perch.’
He relaxed deeper into his seat, taking a stance that she was learning meant keener speculation, a deadlier attack. ‘What do you do for a living...Faye?’
The effect of his voice uttering her name was unexpectedly visceral. Disturbing enough to double her pulse rate and make her aware of every inch of her skin.
