Surrendering to the Italian's Command Read online

  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 b
een 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.