Seduction in the palazzo!

Ever since a horrific accident for which he blames himself, Danilo Raphael has remained closed off and emotion-free. But when he sees English rose Tess Jones being attacked, he cannot quell his protective instincts and offers her sanctuary...in his imposing Tuscan palazzo.

Tess Jones may be a virgin, but she knows what she wants in a man, and this autocratic Italian, no matter how darkly sexy, isn’t it! But as hot summer days melt into sultry nights, Tess finds herself surrendering to Danilo. Their passion changes Tess irrevocably, but she must leave unless Danilo relinquishes the past that holds him back...

‘Ever since you arrived here—’

Danilo stopped abruptly, as if he could not force the words past the thickening atmosphere that quivered with tension. It made her think of that stillness before a storm. She was always overpoweringly conscious of his physical presence, his raw masculinity, but now that awareness had jumped.

Tess’s pulse leapt as she struggled to drag her eyes from the muscle that was clenching and unclenching in his cheek.

His voice was so deep it was barely more than a whisper. His expression made every cell in her body want to run away. But for some reason by the time the message reached her brain it said something different. Her eyes never left his face as she took a step towards him. His hands closed over her upper arms and impatiently he dragged her into him until their bodies were close enough for her to feel the heat of his body, feel the tension in his muscles, inhale the scent of his skin.

It was an unimaginable situation and yet she had imagined it. The knowledge came with a rush of head-spinning excitement. Somewhere in the back of her mind there lingered a small corner, a fragment of sanity that was telling her this was a bad idea, but she determinedly ignored it.

‘Say my name.’

She swallowed the emotions swirling inside her, making her throat close.

‘I want to hear you say it.’

KIM LAWRENCE lives on a farm in Anglesey with her university lecturer husband, assorted pets who arrived as strays and never left, and sometimes one or both of her boomerang sons. When she’s not writing she loves to be outdoors, gardening or walking on one of the beaches for which the island is famous—along with being the place where Prince William and Catherine made their first home!

Books by Kim Lawrence

Mills & Boon Modern Romance

One Night with Morelli

Captivated by Her Innocence

The Petrelli Heir

Santiago’s Command

Stranded, Seduced...Pregnant

Unworldly Secretary, Untamed Greek

Under the Spaniard’s Lock and Key

The Sheikh’s Impatient Virgin

Wedlocked!

One Night to Wedding Vows

One Night With Consequences

Her Nine Month Confession

A Secret Until Now

Seven Sexy Sins

The Sins of Sebastian Rey-Defoe

Royal & Ruthless

The Heartbreaker Prince

At His Service

Maid for Montero

Protecting His Legacy

Gianni’s Pride

Visit the Author Profile page at millsandboon.co.uk for more titles.

Surrendering to the Italian’s Command

Kim Lawrence

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Aunty Pat, a gutsy lady.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

TESS LEANED HER hot forehead against the fridge and struggled to inject a smile into her hoarse voice. ‘I’m fine,’ she lied. ‘I feel a hundred times better.’

‘You’re a terrible liar,’ Fiona retorted.

Tess straightened up and lifted a hand to her throbbing head, responding to the affection in her friend’s voice with a weak smile. ‘No, I’m a very good liar.’

Only yesterday she had sounded sincere when she’d told her mum’s PA that she was really sorry she couldn’t attend the community centre official opening where her mum was cutting the ribbon. Flu had its plus points—though in this case she wasn’t lying, she really was feeling better; even so a hundred times better than utterly wretched was still pretty awful.

‘I would have dropped in on my way home but I had to work late. You’re not the only one with this flu—half the office is off sick. It’s a nightmare. But I’ll definitely stop by in the morning after I drop off Sally and the girls at the station. Is there anything you need?’

‘You really don’t need—’

‘I’ll be there.’

Tess applied a tissue to her red nose. She was too tired to argue.

‘Well, don’t blame me if you catch this thing,’ she grumbled.

‘I never get the flu.’

‘I think they call that tempting fate,’ Tess muttered as she rested from the two steps she had taken, leaning heavily against the worktop counter. It was crazy but her knees were still shaking from the effort of walking from the bedroom to the kitchen.

Fiona cut across her. ‘In the meantime make sure you get plenty of fluids—’ Tess heard the sliver of sharp anxiety that slid into her friend’s tone as she added, ‘You did change all the locks?’

‘I did everything the police suggested.’

Which amounted to becoming a prisoner in her own flat. She glanced over at the extra bolts that had been fitted to her front door when she’d had her locks changed.

‘They should have arrested the disgusting sicko.’

‘They raised the possibility of a restraining order—’

The admission drew a gasp from Fiona. ‘Then why...?’ Followed by an understanding groan. ‘Oh, of course, your mum...?’

Tess said nothing; she didn’t need to. Fiona was one of the only people who understood. She’d been there when, at ten, Tess had become the poster girl for her mum’s crusade against school bullying. And Fiona had been there again when her mum had used a tearful image of her at her dad’s funeral as part of her campaign to win a local council election.

‘She means well,’ Tess said, unable to resist the knee-jerk reaction to defend her parent. It was true that Beth Tracey—she had reverted to her maiden name after she was widowed—did have the best of intentions, and though she had a genius for self-promotion it was never herself she promoted, but her good causes.

‘The rumour is that she’s going to put herself forward as an independent candidate for mayor?’

‘I heard that rumour too.’ Lucky for her, Tess reflected grimly, that her ambitious parent had finally accepted the fact her only daughter was not a political asset, though that didn’t stop her trying.

‘Even if I had gone down that route there is no guarantee the court would have granted it. He comes across as very...well...harmless. And I had no proof he’d even been in the flat. After all, he didn’t actually t...take anything.’ Tess hated the quiver in her voice—she’d sworn not to be a victim.

‘What he did was way worse, Tess. That creep invaded your home.’

Tess was glad her friend couldn’t see her as her knees sagged and she slid down to the floor. The incident had been the turning point, the moment Tess had realised that ignoring the man, even feeling sorry for him, was not an option. He was dangerous!

Even a month after the event the memory still had the power to send a wave of nausea through her, powerful, but nothing like the sick disgust, the profound sense of violation she had experienced that evening. The rose petals on the bed and the champagne and glasses displayed on the bedside table had been terrifying enough, but it had been the open underwear drawer that had made her rush to the bathroom to throw up.

It was as if her stalker had wanted her to know, and yet he had taken great care not to leave any evidence of his identity.

‘I know.’ Tess cleared her throat and struggled to steady her voice. ‘I suppose from their point of view people leaving flowers and champagne isn’t a major crime.’

‘Stalking is these days. Did you tell them about the emails?’

‘There was nothing threatening. The police were sympathetic.’ Tess had been prepared not to be believed but the professionals had found it easier than she had to accept that the deep and meaningful relationship Ben Morgan believed he shared with Tess consisted only of the odd good morning they had exchanged at the bus stop.

‘Well, sympathy is going to be really useful when he stabs you in your sleep one dark night!’

Alerted by Tess’s audible gasp, Fiona stopped and hastily backtracked. ‘Not that he would, of course. The man’s a wimp, a total loser! Me and my big mouth. Are you all right, Tess?’

Teeth clenched, Tess stubbornly fought her way back from the place where Fiona’s angry remark had sent her, ignoring the icy fist in her stomach. Her chin lifted. To feel fear meant the crazy had won.

‘Nothing two aspirin and a cup of tea won’t cure,’ she said, struggling wearily to her feet.

‘Turn that thing down, you lot, or I’ll switch off the cartoons... Sorry about that,’ Fiona continued, raising her voice above the din that Tess could now hear in the background. ‘My dear sister is taking a bath and the twins are running rings around me. Under-fives and a white carpet are not a good combination...who knew?’

‘You go and save your carpet, Fi.’

‘Are you sure you’re all right? You sound awful.’

Tess managed a hoarse chuckle. ‘I look even worse.’ She pushed a strand of lank hair from her face and turned her back on her distorted reflection in the polished surface of the kettle. A glance in the mirror, when she’d dragged herself out of bed earlier, had already revealed her red nose, dark circled eyes and ghostly pallor. ‘But I’m fine.’

A snort of exasperation echoed down the line.

‘All right,’ she admitted. ‘I feel terrible but I’m going to make myself a cuppa and go back to bed.’

‘Good plan. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

Putting on the kettle, Tess opened the fridge and pulled out an open carton of milk. Her congested nose meant it wasn’t until it landed in a congealed gloopy mess in the bottom of her mug that she realised it had soured.

Deprived of it, suddenly all Tess could think about was a cup of tea. The corner shop was less than two hundred yards from her front door...if she took the shortcut through the alley.

Tess, still in her pyjamas, left the flat huddled in the duffel coat that Fiona’s boyfriend had left behind the last time he and Fi had come to supper. He was a slight man but the coat still swamped Tess’s petite frame.

Slow and steady, she counselled her shaking knees. Like I have a choice! She had made it halfway down the alley when she heard the helpful policewoman’s soothing voice in her head.

‘Look, don’t get paranoid. You’ve done right to remove your online presence—a pain, I know, but the anonymity makes people like this guy feel brave. As for the rest, just take a few common-sense precautions—if you’re out stay with friends, and if you’re alone keep to public places where there are plenty of people and the lighting is good. Very often guys like this fasten onto someone else.’

Tess’s heart gave an extra-hard thud as she stopped dead, suddenly very conscious of the oppressive darkness that seemed to press in on her.

She had put herself in exactly the sort of situation the police had suggested she avoid.

Teetering feverishly on the brink of panic, she took a couple of deep breaths that made her cough, not calm. The hacking sound echoed off the high walls on either side as she resisted the messages from her feverish brain that made her want to turn around and run. That was a bad idea on two counts: she wasn’t capable of running and she was actually closer now to the other side—the main street, where there were lights and people and safety.

‘You’ll be fine...fine, totally fine, you are not a victim...not a victim...’ Her mantra stalled as the figure appeared at the other end of the alley. He barely paused before he began to walk towards her.

Tess opened her mouth to scream and nothing came out. She was living a nightmare, the horribly familiar recurrent one where she was paralyzed. She couldn’t breathe. As if something malevolent were sitting on her chest—someone malevolent.

‘Relax, I’m here to look after you, darling—’

It was not a scream but it was a noise. Desperately she tried again to raise the alarm...

* * *

‘Without knowing the details of your sister’s case I can’t be sure, but from what you tell me I doubt very much if she would be a suitable candidate for the treatment.’

Don’t kill the messenger!

Danilo let his eyelids lower to hide his expression before letting the tense breath escape his lungs in a carefully managed exhalation.

‘But if you would like me to see her...?’

Danilo’s lashes lifted.

The man sitting opposite saw the question in the dark depths. ‘Obviously you’ll want to discuss it with her?’

‘Who?’

‘Your sister. I understand that she had already had several unsuccessful treatments?’

From somewhere the memory of the angry words of the kid he had warned off his sister the previous month came back to him. ‘You don’t want to see me here again, but what about what Nat wants? She wants to see me, and I want to see her. I love her. When are you going to let her live her own life?’

‘She wants to walk.’

The man’s understanding expression aggravated Danilo, who got to his feet and tipped his head in acknowledgement. ‘I will be in touch.’

Her own life.

A life. That was what he wanted for his sister. It was to that end he had taken her to every top spinal expert, he had made himself familiar with every new piece of research. He would not give up, but he would ask her and she would agree with him.

She always did.

Frowning at his annoying inner voice, he waved away the driver who had got out of the limo to open the door.

‘I’ll walk.’

As he strode, hands dug in his pockets, along the pavement shining from the recent shower, he was lost in his own thoughts so he barely registered the sting of unseasonal hail that began to fall again, quickly covering his hair in icy, white fragments that clung to the dark strands. It was a typical British summer.

There were moments in life where a man was forced to face up to his failings, his weaknesses. He’d been in London the night that he’d faced his, the night of the accident that had robbed his parents of their lives and left his teenage sister in a wheelchair.

He should have been there, he should have been at the wheel of the car, and if he had things might have been different. He’d never know because he’d had a better offer, a night with a beautiful blonde in London. The excuse had come so easily.

Self-disgust churned in Danilo’s belly as he relived the moment when the police had finally tracked him down to the hotel room. By that point the city sky had been streaked with morning light and his little sister had been in a hospital bed in Rome fighting for her life for over seven hours. And she had been alone because their parents had been lying on a mortuary slab.

He’d put a night of casual sex ahead of duty to his family.

If he’d not been such a selfish bastard...well, who knew? Things might have turned out differently. Would his more youthful reflexes have made all the difference? He’d never know; that was his punishment. Compared to Nat, though, he’d got off pretty lightly and she’d done nothing to be punished for, but one thing he did know was that while he had breath in his body he would not stop searching for a cure for his sister.

It was the right thing to do, the only thing to do, he had no doubts. And yet...? His frowning contemplation of the wet pavement deepened as he trudged along it with the surgeon’s words—discuss it with her—floating around in his head. He kept picturing Nat’s face the last time her hopes had been raised by the promise of a miracle cure and then dashed. She’d looked so bleak.

He shook his head, refusing to acknowledge the doubts in his head. His little sister was the strongest person he knew and he had to stay strong for her, stay positive, and one day she would walk.

He was so deep in his own thoughts that he’d walked past the alley before he registered the sound: a woman’s cry, filled with fear. His response was hard wired—there was no question of walking on and pretending he’d not heard. A few seconds later he was at the entrance to the cobbled alleyway; the overhead street light illuminated the scene and seconds told him all he needed to know.

The guy had hold of the woman and she was trying to escape.

Danilo struggled to hold back the red mist that threatened. Bullies were a species that always challenged the objectivity he prided himself on. He could spot one at fifty paces, and like muscle memory the sight of a bully in action always awoke the fifteen-year-old in him, the one who had yet to enjoy a spectacular growth spurt that had seen him grow twelve inches in as many months and the musculature that went with it putting him safely beyond the attention of those creeps in life who looked for victims who were seen as weaker or different.

* * *

The man didn’t see him coming so he put up no resistance when Danilo took hold of his collar and physically dragged him away from the young woman. One glimpse of her pale face, too pale to be pretty—the cheekbones too sharp, the eyes too big, the mouth...actually the mouth was pretty good—cranked up his chivalrous levels several more notches.

She reminded him of Nat, not that there was any physical similarity. Nat was beautiful, not plain, and his sister was tall, not tiny. Still, he’d not been there for Nat when she’d needed him, but he was here now.

‘What the hell...?’

The guy let out a frustrated bellow, flailing wildly, his arms windmilling as he was set down on his feet yards away from the cowering figure of the woman. Apart from her, he didn’t look so big—and obviously he didn’t feel it either, when he turned and saw Danilo standing between him and his victim.

The aggression in the man’s face diminished significantly but the wariness in his eyes was mingled with calculation as he held out his hands and smiled.

‘This is a misunderstanding...’ He spoke while moving in a direction that would give him access to the woman now hidden from his view behind Danilo.

Danilo negated his ploy by shadowing the move before allowing his glance to linger on the scratch that was seeping blood on the guy’s cheek. Good for her, he thought approvingly.

‘I don’t think so. Do you want me to call the police?’ he asked the woman without taking his eyes off the other man.

‘I just want to go home.’

The hoarse little whisper had a heartfelt sincerity that didn’t help Danilo’s struggle to resist the impulse to shake the guy until his teeth rattled. Then she sniffed and he almost lost it. Instead he moved to her side.

‘Or a hospital?’

‘She’s fine. Police...?’ The falseness in the laugh grated on Danilo. ‘You’ve got it all wrong, mate. This was just a misunderstanding. You know how it is. Something and nothing—sweetheart.’

In a heartbeat Tess tipped from relief to outright panic. What if this man believed him? What if he left her alone with bonkers Ben?

‘I am not your mate.’

It wasn’t until her rescuer spoke in a voice that held a twenty-below chill that Tess realised she had grabbed his arm in a death grip. His words made her feel better, but just to be sure she didn’t let go; instead she tightened her grip and moved in closer.

‘And to answer your question, no, I do not know how it is to force myself on a woman.’

‘She’s mine...’

Ben’s voice made Tess’s skin crawl. She shook her head in mute rejection. The denial locked in her throat, all she could do was squeeze her eyes closed to avoid the stare of Ben’s cold, creepy eyes, but not before it had loosened the lid on the box in her head marked Don’t deal—lose, bury, forget!

The deeply buried memory that escaped was so clear that for one disorientating moment Tess was sixteen again, cornered by the man her mum was dating. Watching helplessly as he locked the door, his smile and his soft, oily voice making her skin crawl and her insides chill as he told her they could have some fun. Tess knew she was lucky she never found out what his idea of fun entailed because it turned out that sleazy creeps did not find it fun to have their victim throw up all over their expensive new shoes!

‘You know, it’s been a long day,’ the man beside her drawled.

She clung to the sound of his voice, focusing on the faint attractive accent, letting it drag her free of the memories that even now made her feel unclean, but most of all angry because she had felt weak and helpless. ‘And I am not interested in a debate. However, we could move this discussion to the nearest police station?’

There was a silence followed by footsteps. Tess focused on the clean male scent of the man beside her and let it wash away the memory of the sour scent—a combination of sweat and cheap fragrance—that had emanated from her stalker.

The sound of footsteps had faded before her rescuer spoke again. ‘He’s gone. You can open your eyes.’

Italian... Tess speculated as she tilted her head to look up at the tall stranger. He’d have looked beautiful to her if he’d had a bad case of acne, but he didn’t. He was actually incredibly good-looking.

‘I could kiss you!’ Relief made her more painfully honest than normal, and saying what she was thinking always had been one of her faults. ‘But don’t worry, I won’t. I have the flu.’ She let go of his arm and patted the fabric and let out a long fluttering sigh. ‘I’m awfully glad he didn’t hit you.’

His crack of laughter made her smile too, and as their eyes brushed she realised that he wasn’t just good-looking, he was amazing!

He had the olive skin tone that went with jet-black hair, an angular face, dramatic chiselled cheekbones, high forehead, his face bisected by a straight nose, yet the austerity of his strong features was offset by an incredibly sensuous mouth.

His smile was pretty incredible too. It made her feel dizzy. But then he wasn’t smiling, he was frowning and she was still feeling dizzy; his dark features were swimming in and out of focus in a weird way.

‘It’s none of my business...’

So why are you making it your business? asked the exasperated voice in Danilo’s head.

Appreciating the meaning of the phrase weak with relief for the first time, Tess turned her head too quickly and felt the world spin.

‘But don’t you think maybe you should be a little more careful in your choice of boyfriends?’ he observed, tempering both his advice and his disapproval. He might feel he was speaking on behalf of a brother she might have somewhere, but he wasn’t and thank goodness for that. One little sister was enough... Two...? He hadn’t been able to keep the one he had safe.

At least this woman didn’t laugh at him the way Nat had or doubt his qualifications when it came to relationship advice. What Natalia didn’t understand was that actually he was perfectly qualified, because for a long time he’d been the man that brothers warned their sisters not to date.

This woman just looked at him blankly, eyes wide, as though he were speaking a foreign language. He allowed himself the luxury of cursing softly in his native tongue, relieved when he saw comprehension spread across her face.

‘No, he is...never...not...’

Through the rushing sound in her ears Tess could hear her own voice, then there was just the rushing.

Guilt and alarm grabbed at Danilo and he swore again, low and fluently under this breath, as he placed a steadying hand across her shoulders. She sagged like a rag doll and he wrapped his other arm around her middle. It was then he realised several things: she was shaking and, despite her petite appearance underneath the massive coat, she had curves. Only one fact was relevant.

‘You’re not going to faint.’

He said it in a way that at any other time would have made her laugh. Macho men who thought just saying something made it so always made her laugh. They generally didn’t know why she was laughing—alpha males so often had no sense of humour.

She didn’t laugh now though. Instead she leaned against the hand that was now pressed between her shoulder blades and hoped like hell he was right.

‘I’ll be fine.’ The world was swimming back into focus and, yes, he was still as impossibly good-looking.

It didn’t seem a very realistic statement, considering the unhealthy sheen of perspiration on her pale skin, but he approved of positive thinking, especially when the option was having an unconscious female on his hands.

‘Breathe deeply, in and out...no, not too deeply.’ He steadied her violent sway and left his arm around her waist while he pulled out his phone. He wondered if his plan to fly directly back to Rome was still realistic. ‘That’s better...’

She’d thought his eyes were brown, and they were incredibly dark, but now as he captured and held her gaze she realised they were midnight blue, like the night sky, and flecked with tiny points of silver that glittered like stars. From nowhere the phrase soul stripping came into her head, though actually clinical was more accurate.

She moistened her dry, cracked lips with her tongue and nodded. ‘I’m fine now.’

She looked a million miles from fine. ‘My car is coming. Where do you live?’

Tess, her heart still pounding though now with relief and not terror, heard herself recite her address like some obedient lost child. ‘I don’t need a lift. It’s just around the corner.’ What else was around the corner? Bonkers Ben? She shuddered. The mocking nickname no longer worked in making him seem harmless and absurd. He’d been waiting for her...watching? Was he still watching?

The realisation he could extract himself from this little drama sooner rather than later sent a surge of relief through Danilo and for a split second he was sorely tempted to accept the rejection at face value.

Then she looked over her shoulder, the movement fear-filled and furtive—hell!

‘It’s on my way.’

‘It is?’ She suspected it was a lie but wasn’t about to call him on it. The thought of meeting up with her stalker sent a shudder through her.

Concern roughened the edges of his voice as he said softly, ‘You’re safe now.’

His voice pulled her back from the brink of panic; the unexpected gentleness in it made her want to cry.

‘Please don’t be nice,’ she begged. ‘I’ll cry. I know I’m being...’ Pathetic. ‘I’m not normally so—’ Tess brought her teeth down on her wobbling lower lip and blinked back weak tears. ‘He... Ben... He isn’t my boyfriend. He just thinks he is.’

Danilo dismissed her explanation with a shrug of his broad shoulders. ‘Not my business.’ And he had no desire to make it his business, he reminded himself, turning his head as his sister’s features superimposed themselves over the pale, pinched face of this young woman, producing a familiar knife thrust of guilt that he didn’t try to evade.

‘I have a sister not that much younger than you.’ The woman was a little older than he had first assumed. ‘And I hope if she ever needed—’ His sister had needed and he hadn’t been there.

The woman took a deep breath and Danilo’s habitual objectivity slipped as he watched her attempt to regain control. The effort to straighten her slender shoulders sent a jerky convulsive ripple through her entire body; the air left her lungs in a long gusty sigh, but not the tension.

Heavy lids shadowing his stare, Danilo was torn between reluctant admiration and irritation, his irritation reserved for the protective instincts he felt shift and tighten in his chest as a solitary tear escaped the swimming eyes lifted to his. Things got tighter as he watched it slide slowly down her cheek. He had never seen eyes quite that shade of golden amber before.

Her eyes, almond-shaped and framed by thick, spiky black lashes, lifted her face from plain. They were extraordinary. Still, she was not his responsibility.

‘Well, thank you. I’d be grateful if it’s not out of your way, but I’ll be fine now—really.’

The delivery started firm and slowly faded, ending on a definite wobble. She looked at him with eyes that made him think of the runt of the litter of golden retrievers his father’s favourite dog had produced.

Danilo, promised first choice of the puppies, had, against all advice, chosen the sickly-looking one who everyone had warned would not survive. But that little animal had gnawed its way into his heart with those eyes.

The dog had survived and was still rewarding his decision with unconditional love, though her coat was less glossy than it had been before she’d got old and stiff.

‘But if perhaps you could walk with me, if you’re heading that way?’ Tess was shaking again, her body seized by inner tremors she had no control over. She didn’t shrug off the hand that came to rest gently against her shoulder blades. She was glad of the contact while recognising she was acting like the sort of woman she despised: weak, malleable and in need of male support. And this particular male had an attitude that normally would have got under her skin.

Cut yourself a break, Tess, you’ve got the flu and you’ve had a run-in with your unhinged stalker.

CHAPTER TWO

‘I’M TESS.’ IT SEEMED only good manners to tell the man who had saved her from a situation that could have ended up with her being a crime statistic her name.

‘Raphael, Danilo Raphael.’

An angel’s name. Appropriate given the circumstances, though her guardian angel had the physical appearance of the fallen variety.

They had reached the end of the alley, where she hesitated. Danilo walked past her and out onto the identical-Victorian-house-lined street. ‘Right or left?’

Tess didn’t immediately respond because she was doing yet another mental regrade of his position on the gorgeous scale! She pressed a hand to her chest to alleviate the breathless sensation.

There were a number of people who could look pretty good in subdued light but a lot less that could look good spotlighted by the artificially white blanching glare of a street lamp. Her fallen angel could take the unkind illumination, probably because there was not a plane or angle on his crushingly handsome face that didn’t deserve to be lit up. It was flawless.

But he was not just a pretty face—the rest of him looked pretty awesome too. This was a man who didn’t need good lighting or perfect tailoring to set him apart from his fellow men!

As she paused, mouth slightly ajar, he raised a darkly defined brow questioningly. A slither of liquid heat washed through her, the effects of the fever obviously, as she gave her head a tiny shake and, feeling embarrassed, she stepped out, glancing nervously over her shoulder before tilting her head back to reply to his question.

It struck her for the first time that if she were looking for danger, then in a line-up she would dismiss the mild-looking, bespectacled creep who had been stalking her for the past months. Raphael, on the other hand, was not a man anyone would dismiss. He was the living, breathing photofit image of dark, brooding and dangerous to know.

Not just because he was a hundred feet tall and hard—he’d lifted Bonkers Ben as though he were a rag doll! Her stomach gave a tiny flip as she recalled the tensile strength in the fingers that had curved around her upper arm. This man had a dangerous vibe.

Mum always had said don’t judge a book by its cover, which had always struck Tess as ironic even when she was a kid considering how much trouble her parent went to to present the right image to the public. Today it was all about image. Was this rampantly male stranger the product of some image consultant’s efforts or did all that come naturally?

‘Right,’ she said, gesturing vaguely in that direction. The fact was she was never likely to know anything about this enigmatic man with his intimidatingly perfect profile beyond the fact that he had appeared at the right moment, and for that she would always be grateful. ‘It’s the fourth house along. The one with the red door.’

‘This is it.’

Danilo glanced at the row of names beside buttons on the door frame; either this building was larger than it looked or the homes within were the size of shoeboxes. ‘I’ll see you to your door.’

Tess had enough fight left in her to challenge his not open for debate attitude. ‘That’s really not necessary.’

As she spoke she realised that the long, low car she had been aware of in the periphery of her vision had stopped. Like the man himself, it looked expensive. She nodded in its direction. ‘It looks like your lift is here.’

He turned and raised a hand.

‘I’ll only be a moment.’

Tess watched as he strode over to the car and spoke for a moment to the driver. She was tempted to slip inside but being caught before she had closed the door on him would have been embarrassing, not to mention ungrateful. And there was the fact it was not exactly hard work to watch him; not only was he supremely elegant, but every move he made suggested a physical power that was riveting.

He returned a moment later and nodded towards the door. ‘After you.’

‘Fine,’ she sighed out as she stepped a little ahead of him into the hallway. ‘I’m on the top floor.’ The curved staircase and the encaustic tiles underfoot were about the only original features left in the building which had been unsympathetically ‘modernised’ back in the seventies.

‘Where is the lift?’

‘We don’t have one.’ The trick, she told her shaking knees, was to take one step at a time—literally. This might take some time!

She had gone up the first three steps, the situation not made easier by the man behind her who was vibrating silent impatience, when she heard a soft growl.

His flight might not be an option now, but at this rate he’d be here half the night and she’d be on her knees by the time she got to the top floor. Sure, the woman was remarkably plucky, but he’d always thought plucky was another word for stubborn.

It was all a bit of a blur as one moment Tess was holding onto the bannister, and the next she was being casually lifted up into his arms. She grabbed the fabric of his jacket as he strode onwards and upwards.

‘Quite unnecessary,’ she gasped, sounding a bit like one of those heroines who fainted a lot and got rescued by dashing heroes—she gave a laugh. She was so not that girl!

‘I was losing the will to live.’

Tess kept her eyes straight ahead, aware of the occasional waft of warm breath on her cheek, trying to retain as much dignity as possible—a bit late for that! The hardness of his chest, the warmth, the false intimacy of the situation—all lent another layer of disorientation to what had been a very disorientating experience!

Outside her door he put her back down on her feet.

‘You’re very kind.’

His jaw clenched. ‘I am not kind.’

‘Well, I think you are.’ She fished in one of the deep pockets for her key. ‘So thank you, and goodnight.’

For the first time Danilo noticed there was something quite stubborn about her rounded chin. He found his eyes sliding lower down the column of her neck, the swanlike curve exposed now as she unfastened the top button of her ridiculous coat. She was too pale and too thin but her skin had a flawless, almost translucent quality. He scrutinised her with casual curiosity, wondering what she’d look like if she didn’t dress like a reject from a charity shop.

‘Not that good a night for you.’

She gave a sigh. It looked as if he wasn’t going until she was inside. Flipping her hair, which hung in wet rats’ tails down her back, off her face, she made a frustrated sound through clenched teeth. Her hand was shaking so hard she couldn’t fit the key in the lock. ‘There’s a knack,’ she panted, her breathing almost as erratic as her heart rate while ironically the man who had just carried her up three flights of stairs was not even breathing hard. He might not be breathing hard but she could feel the impatience rolling off him in waves. It didn’t help.

As her frustration built Tess resisted the impulse to kick the door. Instead she rested her forehead on the door and jiggled the key once more.

Her sigh was one of intense relief when it finally opened. She reached for the light switch and stepped inside before turning around. ‘Thank you again. I’ll be fine now.’

Danilo, his head ducked to avoid the low beams in what had presumably started off as the servants’ quarters in the house, nodded, half turned and then lost the fight with his conscience.

He closed his eyes and sighed. He really wanted to walk away. He wanted to listen to the voice of common sense that was urging him not to get involved, the same voice reminding him that this was none of his business, that no good, as his English nanny years ago had been fond of darkly warning, would come of it!

But inevitably the tug of guilt was too strong to resist.

‘You don’t look fine.’ That was a massive understatement. Under the strong electric light her face was the colour of paper, the shadows circling her eyes so dark they looked like bruises.

Well, I can’t argue with that! Tess’s own gaze collided with the critical stare of her dark-eyed rescuer—no man should be allowed eyelashes that long—and stopped. She had just had a close encounter with her own personal stalker, she was struggling to stay upright on knees that felt like cotton wool and she was worried about how she looked... Tess put it down to the temperature she was inevitably running.

‘Can I call someone for you?’ It was called passing the buck and seemed like a very good idea. ‘You shouldn’t be alone.’

Alone. The word echoed around in her head in an unpleasant way that made her glance for reassurance at the row of locks on the door. Of course she shouldn’t be alone. She should and would have been enjoying her third day of a fortnight in the sun with Lily, the classroom assistant, and Rose, who taught the other reception class, if it hadn’t been for this wretched flu bug.

Her wistful thoughts went to her friends enjoying sun, sea and maybe even a bit of romance and she felt a twist of envy. The only other person she could call on was Fiona, and though she knew her friend would drop everything if she knew what had happened Tess had no intention of spoiling Fiona’s last night with her sister and nieces, who lived in Hong Kong. This much-anticipated visit was rare.

There was her mum, of course, and she’d come running. As ambitious as her parent was, she had always put her daughter’s welfare ahead of her career, a fact Tess hadn’t always appreciated, but if her mum knew what had happened and got the full Bonkers Ben story then by the morning Tess’s story, and her name, would have gone viral and appear in every newspaper, while her mum, looking glamorous, caring and just the sort of person you’d want to vote into office, would be doing the rounds of the breakfast TV programmes. When she had a cause her mother was relentless and self-promotion came as naturally to her as breathing, neither of which in themselves was a bad thing, but Tess knew from experience what it felt like to be at the centre of one of her mum’s campaigns, and maybe she was selfish but she hated the idea of being stigmatised as a victim almost as much as she hated the idea of the attention.

Tess squeezed her eyes shut, but remained aware of the dark, brooding presence. His height was emphasised by the sloping beams. She didn’t need her macho guardian angel to tell her she’d have to deal with the Ben situation; she already knew that. But not tonight. If she thought any more her head might explode.

Tess opened her eyes. ‘I think—’ She blinked. She hadn’t invited him and she hadn’t been conscious of him moving, but he was standing in her hallway. The presence that earlier had felt comforting now, in the enclosed space, tipped over into disturbing.

‘There isn’t anyone,’ she blurted, then, conscious that might have made her sound as if she had no friends, she added tiredly, ‘All I need right now is to sleep off this flu.’

‘So what happened back there, you’re going to act like it didn’t happen?’

His disapproval hit an exposed nerve. ‘I’m trying,’ she gritted, feeling a flash of irritation with him for hanging around asking questions and making it impossible for her to do just that. Close on the heels of irritation came guilt; he had rescued her.

Danilo’s gaze travelled from her face to the row of locks on the door and his face hardened as he translated what he saw. He felt the hot fury rise in him and fought to damp it down to a low simmer. There were relationships that went sour and then there were people who... His fists clenched as he thought about what in a perfect world would happen to bullies and cowards.

‘Your boyfriend from the alley?’

She nodded tiredly. ‘Not boyfriend,’ she said without any real hope he’d believe her. His sardonic expression suggested she was correct in this assumption. She opened her mouth then closed it, shaking her head, trying to tell herself that it didn’t matter what a total stranger thought.

Teeth gritted, she focused on unfastening the toggles of her man-sized duffel coat, though size was all a matter of perspective, and for that matter so were men, she mused tiredly. While Fiona’s boyfriend, Matt, was an average-sized guy, she was lost inside his coat. She couldn’t think of any circumstances where she’d be wearing any garment belonging to the man whose eyes she could feel on the back of her neck, but they’d have to send in a rescue team with tracker dogs to recover her if she ever did.

The visual dragged out a laugh between huffs of exhaustion as she struggled with the coat.

The gurgle brought a flash of angry incredulity to his eyes. Was Tess so used to having boyfriends rough her up that she could laugh about it? His jaw tightened. Tales of abusive relationships never failed to outrage Danilo. The men were easy to understand—they were inadequate bullies, and his contempt for them was absolute. But he could never understand why some women always seemed to go back to them, believing that things would change.

It is not your role, Danilo, to lecture this woman on self-respect and personal safety, but the reminder didn’t lessen the knot of anger in his chest.

Tess continued to struggle with the coat that felt like a ton weight on her sore shoulders. In fact every inch of her hurt and his scrutiny wasn’t helping. The man could communicate more with silences than most people could with a three-page speech, and this time it was disapproval she was getting. No doubt he was just willing her to get a move on so that he could get back to his own important life. Did he think she didn’t want that too? She gave a sigh of relief when the last toggle gave and the coat landed on the floor with a thud. She made no attempt to pick it up as she turned back to her rescuer.

‘Thought I might have to sleep in it. Look, thank you for what you did.’ She stopped when she saw he was still staring at the door.

Danilo could feel the pressure in his head as the anger beating inside his skull reached critical level.

‘You should not have to live like this!’ He flicked one of the locks with a long finger and spun around to face her, conscious as he did so that he’d just missed his chance to walk away. ‘It is outrageous! Madre di Dio! How long has this been going on?’

‘Please, I’ve already had this conversation once tonight. Nothing as bad as this has happened before,’ she added, feeling the irrational need to defend herself.

‘But something has happened before?’ He seized on the comment. ‘Do you still have feelings for this man?’

The question astonished her. ‘I’ve never had feelings for him. I barely know him.’ Or you, she wanted to add, but she didn’t because she wanted more for this to be over and for him to go away. Didn’t he know that guardian angels appeared at the right moment and then slipped away, silently, without comment, without giving a person a headache—a worse headache?

‘What are you wearing?’

In the middle of sliding off the scuffed running shoes she had slipped on as she’d left the flat, Tess stopped, a deep flush travelling over her pale skin as her eyes moved from the onesie, chosen for its comfort value and not glamour, to his face.

‘Pyjamas!’

‘Yes, pyjamas,’ she said, beginning to get irritated now. ‘Maybe you don’t wear them but I do.’ She stopped, the colour in her cheeks deepening—you just suggested he slept naked.

If only her embarrassment had stopped there but, no, now she’d said it she was thinking it too. Tess was seeing a total stranger naked!

‘You deserve better!’

Danilo had no idea where the words came from as he stood there, his embarrassment concealed behind a stony mask—he could assume that his seeming inability to walk away, duty done, conscience salved, was down to that initial nebulous connection he had made between her and Nat. He couldn’t save his sister, he had failed Nat, but he could save this woman, who seemed to have serious self-destructive issues.

It was a statement that Tess couldn’t take issue with, though she was uncomfortably aware that people rarely got what they deserved.

‘He really isn’t my boyfriend, though, like you, he thinks he is, he even tells people that he is, but in reality he is just a guy who uses the same bus stop as me. There is nothing more between us than small talk.

‘At first,’ she admitted, ‘I just thought he was sweet...then, it was all a bit insidious, really. He’d turn up places I was, outside school, and then there were the emails and the texts. I thought if I ignored him he would get fed up and go away, then last month I had a break-in. There’s no proof it was him. He didn’t take anything but he left roses and champagne and...well, I took advice and precautions.’

Danilo heard her out in silence, his anger towards the other man growing as she told her story. ‘I should have throttled the guy!’

‘Well, with any luck I gave him my flu!’ The grimly vindictive wish was so out of sync with the wan, pathetic figure standing there that he laughed. The sound drew her attention back to him. ‘I hope you don’t catch it.’

‘You should inform the police.’

‘He didn’t actually hurt me, or even threaten to, it’s just that I panicked. If I hadn’t—if I’d just talked—’

‘You were not to blame for what happened.’

‘I know that, I’m just saying that I could have handled it better.’ Actually what was she saying? She pressed a hand to her aching head. ‘I suppose I will contact the police, but not tonight.’

‘Suppose?’

Tess squeezed her eyes closed. ‘If you yell I warn you I will cry and it is not a pretty sight.’ Bending forwards as she was convulsed by a loud sneeze, she raised her head and found a box of tissues extended to her. She took a bunch and blew her nose loudly then, looking at him through watery eyes, rasped, ‘Thank you.’

‘So what are you going to do now?’ he asked, tuning out the voice in his head that said, Not your business.

With a sigh she turned her back and moved towards the kitchen area that was sectioned off by a breakfast bar. ‘I never got my milk for my cup of tea so I’m going to improvise,’ she informed him, pushing her hand to the back of the cupboard where a bottle of sherry and the cooking brandy lived.

Standing on the other side the breakfast bar, circa the nineteen seventies, like the rest of the place, he watched as she took the brandy bottle and glugged some in the bottom of one of the mugs that sat on the draining board. ‘Sorry, where are my manners? Would you like some?’

He looked at the label, a flicker of amusement moving across his face. ‘Thanks, but I’ll pass. Are you sure you should?’

She had enough energy left to silence him with a red-nosed killer look but not enough to get herself to the comfy armchair. She collapsed instead onto the sofa, glass in hand. Then, head pushed back into the cushion, she closed her eyes and took a swallow, choking a little as the raw alcohol burned her sore throat.

‘For a woman who is being stalked you are pretty trusting.’

Tess forced her heavy eyelids apart... Trusting? The point was she wasn’t. In fact by some people’s more relaxed standards she was paranoid, thanks in no small part to the long-ago incident with her mum’s boyfriend. It didn’t take therapy to figure out that the episode had left her with some trust issues. Though now was definitely not the moment for a forensic analysis of her non-existent sex life.

But maybe, she mused, her eyes drawn almost against her will to the hard angles and planes of the dark lean face of a man who exuded raw sexuality like a force field, it was the moment to wonder why it had not crossed her mind at any point tonight to feel threatened by this total stranger. Down to the fever or plain stupidity?

‘Wait, you’re not about to tell me you’re also some sort of freak who’s fallen desperately in love with me?’

He laughed. ‘No.’

She lifted a hand to find her ear torn, the blood already caking. So it wasn’t just her ear-ring she’d lost but her sense of proportion too—his laugh hurt!

She let the amusement in his voice wash over her, not out of choice but because she had reached the point where stringing two words together was an effort. The dignified high ground was a place Tess aspired to occupy, but she’d never made it there.

On a good day—actually, any day but this one—she would now be informing him that she scrubbed up pretty well, as it happened, and that she had plenty of offers, which would have been childish, but true.

She had moved on a long way from the sixteen-year-old with the bad case of acne, braces and no discernible curves that had inspired the sleaze whom she had so conveniently thrown up over. He’d been less than happy about her obvious rejection of his unwanted advances, enough to issue a disgusted parting shot—‘You should be grateful I’d even look at you!’

The voluptuous curves had never materialised but two years later her skin had cleared, she had lost her braces and boys her own age had started noticing her. The trouble was their interest rarely lasted long, or, for that matter, was mutual.

Tess had discovered she seemed destined to attract the sort of man who equated her appearance and her small frame with a fragility she did not possess either physically or mentally.

No matter how good-looking a man was, Tess found it a massive turn-off when he treated her as if she were a china doll that might break, and when they discovered she wasn’t sweet and yielding, but actually quite tough, they tended to drift away disillusioned—all except Ben, of course.

The man who loved her for who she was turned out to be certifiably insane—maybe, she mused, that was what it took?

She fervently hoped not.

Tess didn’t really know who her perfect man was, but she knew he wouldn’t patronise her and he would treat her on equal terms. And if he could offer some mind-blowing sex that would definitely be a plus, but so far she had not come close to it!

Of course, while she was telling herself she was waiting for the right man and that she wasn’t going to be pressurised into settling, it occurred to her that she might be one of those women who were never going to meet the man who pressed all the right buttons. The women who blamed the men because they didn’t want to face the possibility it might be them? That they...she didn’t have it in her? A bubble of rebellion came to the surface of her drifting thoughts: no, I want passion!

‘I suppose you think that it was something I did?’

‘You can’t go through life worrying about what other people think. Are you awake?’

‘Unfortunately, yes.’

The dry comment made him smile. He could think of few people who could retain a sense of humour after the evening she had had. ‘Did you hear what I said?’

‘You 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.

CHAPTER THREE

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 him up online. He’s legitimate.’ He was actually a bit of a legend in his own lifetime, but, afraid of being accused of exaggeration, Tess didn’t share these details. Instead she picked up her phone, scrolled down on the screen and handed it to Fiona—it was simpler.

Her friend took it without looking and snorted. ‘Online I’m legitimately a size ten. People make stuff up all the time—’ She glanced down and took a deep breath, the expression of awe that spread across her face almost comical. ‘Wow! He rescued you?’

‘I like to think of it more that he happened along at the right moment.’ And what would have happened if he hadn’t? Tess pushed the question away. Some things it was better not to know and she already had enough problems sleeping.

Fiona couldn’t take her eyes off the phone screen. ‘He really looks like that? This photo’s not airbrushed or anything?’

‘Well, he looks a bit older.’ Harder, would have been more accurate. In the flesh Danilo Raphael possessed a streamlined lean toughness that didn’t come across in the photos online, and there had been a lot to compare and contrast, but most were of him looking younger though still dramatically good-looking. The camera really did love those cheekbones, and so, it seemed, did the wide selection of women pictured draped all over him.

‘He’s a hottie!’

Tess chose to ignore Fiona’s comment and folded the last item in her case. She huffed gently as she closed the lid. ‘I hate packing and I never take the right thing,’ she complained.

‘You look good in a bin sack,’ her friend consoled. ‘If I had your figure...well, never mind that. So,’ she said, handing back the phone, ‘what does gorgeous do when he’s not rescuing women?’

‘Makes money.’

‘He’s sounding better all the time.’

‘It seems he buys failing companies and makes them work, or at least he used to. He took over the family firm when his parents died a couple of years ago, and they had pretty much a finger in any pie you care to mention...’ Tess mentioned a few. ‘After their death, though, he dropped off the party circuit—’

‘Got married and had a few kids?’

Tess managed to conceal her reaction to the question and shrugged. She had no idea why the idea of Danilo Raphael enjoying domestic bliss shocked her so much, but her friend’s analysis of the low public profile did work.

‘Maybe?’ The information she had about the accident online was sketchy. The headlines were lurid and, though there was little detail, she felt safe assuming that this was what had brought about the change in this ex-playboy’s lifestyle.

‘You do realise what you described is called asset stripping? And asset strippers are not a breed noted for their warmth and human kindness.’

‘He said he wasn’t kind,’ she remembered. Strangely, despite the trauma and her fever she could remember every word he had said and the exact intonation of his husky voice. She caught Fiona looking at her and carefully wiped away whatever expression had been on her face that had made her friend stare. ‘But I’m hired to be a companion to his sister, not hold hands with him.’ An image floated into her head of his long brown fingers; she pushed it away. ‘I doubt if I’ll even see him.’

* * *

One step through the door and Danilo swung back, the expression on his lean face impatient as he gave a shrug and responded to Franco’s question.

‘She’s petite, maybe even a little mousey, she’s probably looking lost...big eyes in a small face.’ His mouth quirked as the description brought a disappointed look to his cousin’s face. ‘What were you expecting, a supermodel?’

His cousin gave a grin. ‘It wouldn’t have hurt. So what do you want me to do with this mouse?’

‘Drop her off at the house. Nat is expecting her.’

‘You don’t expect me to stay and babysit, then? I’m meant to be meeting the event organiser later this morning.’

‘Your cousin Angelica will look after her and introduce her to Nat.’ The furrow between his dark brows deepened. ‘More problems with the party?’

‘Just a few tweaks. I want it to be perfect.’

‘That is the general idea,’ Danilo agreed, holding eye contact long enough to see his cousin squirm. The lie was obvious but Danilo, already late for a meeting, let it lie.

‘So I can just dump her and run?’

* * *

Tess, who had adjusted her step to accommodate the slower pace of her travelling companion, was about the last person from the London flight to clear the customs checkpoint, and as they entered the arrivals lounge together the elderly Italian lady was immediately surrounded.

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