Surrendering To The Italian's Command. KIM LAWRENCE
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don’t love me—I’m still recovering.’
‘Then that’s a no. I have a suggestion.’
‘Another lock? A remote cottage on the Outer Hebrides? Already thought of it.’
‘Your door won’t take another lock and it rains too much in the Hebrides.’
When did this Englishwoman become your problem?
Obviously she wasn’t his problem, except in the sense she had evoked such a strong protective response in him, which was as difficult to ignore as a kick in the chest.
Try harder!
He responded to the suggestion from his dark side with a thin smile, which morphed into a frown as his dark veiled glance lifted from the tiny defenceless figure on the sofa and slid to the door with its rows of locks. All he had to do was walk through it. He’d done what anyone could expect of him and more.
So why was he still here?
Because he knew about the price of selfish actions, he lived with guilt, it was a constant presence in his life and he didn’t want any more.
And it wasn’t about playing the hero. That would, he reflected, his lips forming a fleeting sardonic smile, have been a serious case of miscasting.
When he thought of heroes he thought of his little sister. She was the most heroic person he knew. Bleakness drifted to his eyes. Maybe, he speculated, that was why he felt such a strong compulsion now he couldn’t save Natalia, but he had the opportunity to save someone... His lips twisted in a cynical smile—it helped that it required little or no effort on his part and no sacrifice.
‘That stuff is actually quite good.’ She leaned back, feeling quite mellow as the glow from the cooking brandy in her stomach began to spread. The floating feeling was pleasant.
‘When are you back in college?’
‘School,’ she corrected sleepily, and yawned as she watched him through the mesh of her lowered eyelashes. At a purely aesthetic level he was well worth looking at. A few sleepy moments later she realised that he was looking at her, not lost in admiration, but because she hadn’t answered his question—now, what was the question?
‘I teach,’ she slurred tiredly. The virus and the events of the last hours were catching up with her big time.
Danilo blinked. ‘You’re a teacher?’
‘No, I’m an excellent teacher,’ she rebutted with a half-smile, then yawned.
Danilo, still making the mental adjustment, didn’t register her attempt at humour. ‘So what do you teach?’
‘After I graduated I did some supply teaching, then for a term I was a support classroom worker for a little boy with muscular dystrophy, now I teach reception class.’ She gave a self-conscious little grimace, aware that she had given away more information than the casual question required.
‘A teacher with experience of...’ Encountering the puzzled, expectant gaze lifted to his face, he tipped his head slightly. ‘Bear with me... This man tonight, he knows where you live?’
Tess closed her eyes. ‘Thanks for that comforting parting shot. I’ll sleep better for it.’
‘I am not trying to be comforting.’
‘Imagine my shock.’
‘I am trying to offer a practical solution. The fact is he has broken in here once and I wouldn’t put it past him to try a stunt like that again. So, as I see it you have two options. You can go down the legal route or—’
‘Live in fear?’ she interrupted with a bitter laugh. ‘I hate to interrupt this little motivational speech, but—’
‘Come to Italy. Your stalker won’t find you there.’
She could only assume he was trying to lighten the mood. ‘Why not Australia? I’ve always fancied a bit of surfing.’ She opened one eye. ‘Don’t do comedy, it’s not you.’
‘My little sister, Natalia, lives at home with me, work takes me away often—’
‘You’re offering me a job as a childminder?’
‘Natalia is almost nineteen.’ His dark eyes moved in an assessing sweep over her face. ‘How old are you?’
‘Twenty-six.’
‘There was an accident and my sister is temporarily in a wheelchair. Her life has been on hold, most of her school friends have moved on...away... I think she feels isolated sometimes.’ His focus had been so much on pushing forwards with Nat’s recovery that it could be argued he had virtually pushed her into the arms of that no-hoper Marco.
It could happen again, and he couldn’t be there for her all the time, but if she had someone there her own age, another woman to confide in... ‘I think it might help her.’
‘I’m sorry.’ The picture he painted touched her deeply. ‘Your parents...?’
‘Were killed in the same accident.’
A powerful wave of empathy swept through Tess, almost painful in its intensity. She squeezed her eyes tighter closed over the hot sting of unshed tears and cleared her throat before responding huskily.
‘I’m so sorry.’ It seemed lame but what else could she say?
He cut a sideways look at her before tipping his head in acknowledgement.
‘But I couldn’t.’
‘Why not?’
Indignation gave her the strength to lift her heavy eyelids. ‘Are you serious? I can’t just up and leave—’ She stopped and thought, or could she?
It would solve the immediate problem, give her a breathing space to decide what to do about Ben and she was missing out on her holiday. She’d always wanted to see Italy.
‘The decision is yours,’ he said, giving the impression that he’d lost interest in the subject. ‘When you have decided...’ He pulled a card from his breast pocket and looked around for an empty surface to put it on before handing it directly to Tess.
‘This is the number of my assistant in London. She will coordinate things on this end, flights and so forth. She will take up your references. I was thinking that you could travel at the end of the week, either Thursday or Friday, unless your cold doesn’t clear up.’
‘I have flu,’ she countered automatically. ‘You want references?’
‘Is that a problem?’
‘No, it is not a problem.’
‘When I leave you will lock the door.’ Slinging the edict over his shoulder, he walked through the door.
* * *
It was around two in the morning when Tess woke up on the sofa, the business card clutched in her hand. She glanced over to the unlocked door and shivered. Well, she’d slept a little at least, no doubt the result of combining the brandy with the cold and flu meds she’d been liberally popping in an attempt to feel better. She looked at the card again, reading out the name printed on it in bold italics.
Danilo Raphael.
She would consider his offer but only after she had locked the door.
WHEN SHE TOLD Fiona of her plan the next day her friend was horrified.
‘You’re mad, crazy. You have no idea who this man is!’ She looked at the business card he had handed her. ‘Anyone can get one of these printed. For all you know he could be a pervert—’
‘Give me some credit, Fi, I’m not an idiot. I looked