‘Let me take a wild guess. It won’t be happening?’ he said.
The dryness in his voice could have started a brush fire. But it was nothing compared to the clamouring in his head as his demons rushed back, mocking his desperation to escape.
‘No, it won’t,’ she stressed, pushing at his shoulders.
It didn’t help that her voice shook. Or that uncertainty wavered across her face.
But little by little, her resolve hardened. Maceo saw it and despised it, because he was jealous of his inability to feel the same way. To stop himself from reaching out for more when he didn’t deserve it.
More than a little bewildered, he laughed under his breath. Perhaps this was another hard lesson he needed to learn.
‘Pico stays with me,’ she stated, her chin once again tilted in defiance as he rose from the bed and paced away from temptation.
Dio mio, her ferocity sparked a fire inside him. One he wanted to burn in. ‘And who are you to dictate such a thing?’
‘I’m the one he comes to when he misses his mistress. I’m the one he follows around, despite your unreasonable orders. The one he knows will give him the affection he needs.’
Jealousy seared harder, as did the chasm of desolation inside him. ?
?Did you ever stop to think I have valid reasons for those orders? He’ll most likely grow attached to you, believing you will fill the void, when that couldn’t be further from the truth. You have experienced what it feels like to be abandoned, if your emotional outbursts about Luigi are to be believed. And yet you would visit it upon another creature?’
Her keen eyes rested on his face. ‘Are we talking about Pico or you, Maceo?’ she demanded softly.
That peculiar trepidation tightened his chest. He opened his mouth, intent on a brusque denial. But it died in his throat because he was aware that some of his words might stem from a place he didn’t like to examine very often.
‘You think you know me that well?’ he asked gruffly instead.
‘You’ve lost your family in hard circumstances. If I were you, I’d be devastated too. And I’d be terribly afraid of getting attached. To anything or anyone. But—’
‘But nothing. We’re not talking about me,’ he interjected, alarm bells clanging because she was hitting far too close to home. ‘We’re discussing Pico.’
Hurt wavered across her face before her chin rose higher. ‘He’ll adapt.’
‘Will he? Or is that another foolish wish? A way to absolve yourself of guilt because you might be leaving a scar on a recently bereaved soul?’
Dio mio, could he hold a starker mirror up to himself?
Her gaze dropped before boldly meeting his. ‘You say that as if he won’t have you when I’m gone. Surely having more people to love is better than having none?’
That shell inside him fractured again, leaching needs that would betray his parents’ memory. But, as hard as he tried, Maceo couldn’t find the strength to seal it. ‘Be very careful, Faye.’
He expected her customary feisty response, but a look that closely resembled sadness shrouded her face. ‘I will be, Maceo. I always am.’
She turned away. Dismissed him.
Maceo left her room, leaving his triumphant dog behind, and puzzled for the dozenth time why another encounter with Faye Bishop had left him feeling as if he’d grappled with a cyclone and lost, when only recently he’d vowed to win...
CHAPTER SEVEN
IF CAPRI WAS a cool and sophisticated haven, St Lucia was a sultry, tropical paradise.
The lush vegetation, exotic birds and the sheer profusion of colour seemed almost too good to be true. But then for the last handful of weeks Faye had felt as if she was living in a lucid dream. One of heightened emotion and intense drama, mainly in the form of the man seated next to her in the air-conditioned Jeep with tinted windows, his eyes shielded by a pair of designer sunglasses as they drove away from his private airstrip.
The long flight from Italy to St Lucia had been surreal in itself. Because of course she’d been introduced to another level of affluence in the form of the Fiorenti private jet, equipped with every item of luxury imaginable. And, whether she’d been ensconced in the living area or—in a futile bid to come to terms with the previous night’s episode with Maceo, during which she’d skated even closer to danger—retreating to an area that had turned out to be Maceo’s personal cinema room, the flight attendants had been a discreet glance away, ready to cater to her every whim.
Not that she’d been tempted to request anything beyond refreshments. She’d been entirely consumed by their interaction from the night before.
Was still consumed by it.