CHAPTER 9

Other than a text saying how much he’d enjoyed their date, Darius deliberately left Nathalie alone for a few days to think things through. She’d told him she wanted time. So he forced himself to give it to her, even though the need to hear her voice was like an ache inside him.


As for Zion, Darius didn’t want her brother to think he’d been forgotten, so they’d talked cars over Skype a couple of times, and had emailed, as well. Darius figured that Nathalie must be reading his emails because she’d said Zion sometimes needed help with the computer. He didn’t use big words, but everything was spelled correctly, as though Nathalie had made him run spell check before hitting Send. Darius enjoyed Jeremy’s emails. He was always upbeat, always excited about whatever car picture or information Darius sent him.




What a way to live, seeing only the good.




Needing to wait a few more minutes until midnight to make his call to Italy, Darius spent the time

thinking about Nathalie, a pastime that had become almost like breathing. She’d been perfect on

their date, from beginning to end. She’d looked—and tasted—like a fantasy. He knew he could

have pushed for more in the wake of their kiss, could have stripped her bare in the moonlight, could

have tasted her soft skin everywhere and taken her straight to heaven. But despite how much he’d

wanted to do just that, he’d also known it meant risking any ground he’d gained with her over

dinner.




And even though they’d only just met, he wasn’t willing to chance losing Nathalie.




Instead, he wanted to know her—wanted to know what made her laugh, what made her sigh, what

heated her up, and what cooled her down.




Sitting alone in his office, he had to fight the urge to call her. Three days, and he’d missed her like

hell. He’d never called a woman just to hear her voice. Darius enjoyed women, of course. But it had

always seemed that one female was much the same as another.




Until a smile—and a kiss—from Nathalie had rocked his world.




Lord, he loved the way she’d practically dived on him, with no restraint, no hesitation. He knew her

focus was on Zion and her job, and that her needs always came second to those. But for a few

moments when she’d been in his arms, nothing had held her back.




At least, not until she’d realized how fast they were going, hitting the gas harder than any race car

driver ever had. Darius loved speed, lived for it, knew he needed the rush to keep his secret

darkness from spiraling out of control again the way it had when he was a teenager. But though

speed clearly called to Nathalie, too, she fought like hell against it. He understood her reasons in the

wake of her brother’s and parents’ crashes, and yet he couldn’t help but want her to embrace the

rush and the thrill again with him. The same way she’d embraced him for those few precious

moments by the aqueduct—with nothing held back.




The truth was, however, that Nathalie wasn’t the only one who needed time. Darius needed it, as

well, to force himself to think through his own intentions from all angles.




He’d never romanced a woman before, never pursued one with unwavering focus. The press

assumed it was because he was a player, and thankfully they’d never dug deeply into his reasons for

keeping all of his relationships on the surface. He’d never let the women he’d been with before

Nathalie get close enough to find out his real story, either.




But if he pursued Nathalie—if he romanced her, and also helped her tap into that secret well of

wildness and passion that he believed ran deep and true inside of her, the way his every instinct

demanded—how long would he be able to keep his past hidden? How fast would she leave him if

she ever found out what he was really made of and the sins that tainted his soul?




He wished with everything he was that he could rewind the clock, back to that day with the Black

Knight when everything had spiraled so far out of control. But he couldn’t have a do-over. He

hadn’t saved that kid. He hadn’t saved the Black Knight.




And he sure as hell hadn’t saved his own soul.




Darius couldn’t stand the thought of hurting Nathalie in any way. He would never forgive himself if

he did. And yet, everything inside of him rebelled at the thought of letting her walk permanently out

of his life. Somehow, he needed to find a way to get closer to her while still keeping her safe.




He’d walked a lot of fine lines in his life, but he had a feeling this one just might be the trickiest

line of all. Not to mention the most important.




Darius computer beeped. Midnight. Time for his call. He clicked it into life and a grizzled face

appeared on the screen.




“Mr. Spencer, I hope you are having a pleasant evening. I received your email. And the

attachments.”




Though he lived in Italy, Manuel Rossi was French, and his lilting accent had turned to gravel with

age and cigars. He could have been anywhere from fifty to eighty. His skin was slightly sallow and

dark pouches bloomed beneath his eyes. But he was the best of the best. After getting his contact

info from Hector, Darius had researched the man. Manuel had been a master craftsman at Maserati

Alfieri 1960—a miracle worker.




Darius had a miracle of his own he wanted the man to perform. “Can it be done, Manuel? Can you

make me a Maserati Alfieri 1960 kit?”




“Of course it can be done, Mr. Spencer.” He sounded almost offended. “It is only a matter of

money. And time.”