Surrendering to the Italian's Command Page 3

  ‘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 f
ew 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?