Her Italian Soldier

He rummaged around inside until he spotted it, never dreaming the day would come when he would find use for it. Grazie a Dio Lucca hadn’t lost a limb.

Armed with the precious heirloom, he left the bedroom and headed for the kitchen, where he’d put the duffel bag. He’d packed the pill bottle in his shaving kit on top. Once he’d swallowed painkillers, he ran the tap water, then lowered his head and drank his fill. It tasted good.

He eventually shut off the tap. One more stop to the bathroom before sinking into oblivion.

By now he was leaning heavily on the cane. The short climb to the house had done its damage. Only a few more feet … Come on. You can do it! But even as he said the words, the cane slid on the tiles from his weight and he went crashing.

A loud thump resounded in the hallway followed by a yelp and a volley of unintelligible cursing in Italian. Annabelle shot up in bed. Someone—a man—was in the house, thrashing about after some kind of fall. It couldn’t be Guilio. He would have phoned if he’d intended to come over for some reason. Maybe it was the caretaker Guilio had forgotten to tell her about.

With her heart in her throat, she slid out of bed. After throwing on her robe, she hurried over to the door. When she opened it, enough moonlight spilled from the doorway of the other bedroom to outline a figure crawling on his hands and knees.

Knowing the intruder was hurt in some way, she felt braver as she found the switch in the hall and turned on the light. His dark head reared back in complete surprise, revealing a striking face riddled with lines of pain. She grabbed for the cane she could see lying a few feet from him and lifted it in the air.

“I don’t know who you are,” she said through clenched teeth. “You probably don’t speak English, but I’m warning you I’ll use this if you make another move.” With a threatening gesture, she took a step toward him.

“You have me at a disadvantage, signorina.”

His deep voice spoke beautiful English with the kind of Italian accent that resonated to her insides. He was probably in his mid-thirties. The dangerous-looking male didn’t have the decency to flinch. Even on the floor twisting in agony, he exuded an air of authority. She doubted he was anyone’s caretaker. This kindled her fear of his lean, hard-muscled body on a level she didn’t wish to examine.

“You’re trespassing on private property, signore.”

He strained to brace his back against the wall. A black T-shirt covered his well-defined chest. With his legs stretched out full length in jeans molding powerful thighs, she could see he would be six-two or six-three if he were standing. He put her in mind of someone, but she couldn’t think who.

“You took the words out of my mouth, signorina. A man has the right to come home to his own house and be alone.”

She drew in a fortifying breath. “I happen to know that no one has lived in this house for years.”

His lids drooped over his eyes. He was exhausted. Perspiration beaded his forehead and upper lip. She saw the signs of his pain and felt unwanted sympathy for his distress, but it only lasted until he said, “Nevertheless it’s mine, so what are you doing here?”

“You’re the intruder,” she snapped. “I’ll ask the questions if you don’t mind. First of all, I want to see your ID.”

“I don’t have it on me.”

“Of course you don’t.”

“It’s in the kitchen.”

“Of course it is,” she mocked again. “And if I ask for your name, you’ll lie to me, so there’s no point. We’ll let the police get the truth out of you.”

That made him open his eyes enough to gaze up at her through inky black lashes. “How sad your cynicism is already showing.”

Heat made its way into her cheeks. “Already?”

“Well, for one thing you’re not married.” He stared at her ringless fingers. “Disillusionment doesn’t usually happen to a woman until she’s approaching forty. At least that’s been my assessment.”

He’d pressed the wrong button. “It would take a broken-down, forty-year-old cynic of a man to know, wouldn’t it? Your vast knowledge on the subject doesn’t seem to have done you a whole lot of good. No wedding ring on your finger, either. Not even the paler ring of skin to give proof you’d once worn one. What you need is a walker that won’t slip, signore, not a cane.”

The lines around his mouth tightened. She didn’t know if she’d hit her target, or if he was reacting to his pain.

He slanted her an impatient glance. “Why don’t you admit you’re a down-and-out tourist who doesn’t have enough money for a hotel room, so you cased the area and settled on this empty house.”

Smarting from the accusation she said, “What if I were? You’ve done the same thing by waiting until the middle of the night to find a vacant spot to lick your wounds.”

“Like a stray dog, you mean?”

Behind his snarl-like question she heard a bleakness that matched the whitish color around his lips. They’d traded insults long enough. His pain caused her to relent. “I’m a guest here for a time. My name is Annabelle Marsh. What’s yours?”

He rested his head of unruly black hair against the wall. “None of your business” was the off-putting response.

His eyes had closed, giving her enough time to hurry into the bedroom and grab her cell phone off the side table. When she returned seconds later, his lids fluttered open. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded curtly.

“I’m calling Guilio Cavezzali, my employer. He’ll know how to deal with you.”

“No, don’t—” He lunged forward and pulled her down, cradling her between his legs with great strength.

The gesture sent the cane flying down the hall. His hands tore the cell phone from her other hand. It slid even farther away. She felt his warm breath on her nape. “I can’t let you call him at this hour.”

Did he know Guilio? The name seemed to mean something to him. Annabelle had been a fool to feel any pity for him. Now she was at his mercy. She schooled her voice to remain steady. “What is it you want?”

“Invisibility for the rest of the night. One word from you could ruin everything.”

“I guess if you were being hunted by the police you wouldn’t tell me, or maybe you would and don’t care.”

He made a strange sound in his throat. “I’m not on anyone’s suspect list. More to the point, how long have you been staying here?”

She could feel the pounding of his heart against her back. It was too fast. His pain would have spiked from the sudden exertion. “I only arrived in Ravello this evening.” In her own way, she’d wanted invisibility after a full day.

“How soon will you be seeing him again?”

“He’ll be sending a car for me tomorrow at eleven. I’ll probably see him later in the day.”

“What exactly do you do?”

This man who’d broken into the house seemed to know more than she’d given him credit for, but she wasn’t about to reveal information about Guilio. Seeing as this stranger had her locked in his grip, he had the upper hand. What choice was there except to answer with as much truth as she dared and still protect Guilio. His name was synonymous with Amalfi and prominent throughout Italy. “I’m working for him temporarily.”

“Why aren’t you living in a pensione or an apartment?” The man was full of questions.

“I asked him to find me a farmhouse that rented out rooms. That’s when he told me I could stay here. There’s no place more beautiful than the Italian countryside. Living here is like walking right into the picture on a calendar of Italy and never wanting to come back out.”

“That’s very interesting.” He’d said the words, but he didn’t sound as if he believed her.

She breathed in sharply. “Now that that I’ve answered all of your questions, it’s only fair you answer one for me. Who are you?”

“Lucca Cavezzali,” he groaned.

“Oh, no—” she cried. This was Guilio’s only son, the adored child he’d had with his first wife, the eighteen-year-old who’d gone into the military and had trained to be a fighter pilot for the Italian air force—his father’s pride and joy!

If she told him the specific nature of her job, it would ruin the surprise his father had been planning for over a year.

Now that she thought about it, the two men had similar builds, though Guilio was shorter. She saw a vague resemblance in some of their facial features, but Lucca must have inherited his black hair from his mother. Guilio hadn’t mentioned anything about his son being injured.

She tried to get away from him, but he held her firmly against him. “Because of you, signorina, my best laid plans have been shot to hell for tonight, as you Americans like to say.”

“You’re right! We do like to say,” she spluttered back. “Allow me to thank you very much, signore. Your unexpected, unforetold nocturnal invasion has changed my plans, too. If you’ll let me go, I’ll phone for a taxi and be gone from here inside of a half hour.”

To her dismay she would have to explain to Guilio why she’d suddenly decided to go to a hotel after all. She would have to think up a good excuse for leaving, but she’d worry about that later.

“Now who’s licking wounds,” he muttered with uncanny perception.

“That’s none of your business.”

“I’m afraid it is. But uprooting you tonight won’t be necessary, provided you’re willing to cooperate with me and keep my presence here a secret until tomorrow.”

Cooperate? For the second time that night she was suffering fresh shock after learning his identity. “You ask a lot of your prisoners.” She’d been trying to wiggle free from his viselike grip, but it was no use. He might be injured, but he was incredibly strong and fit.

“I’m a desperate man.”

Annabelle moaned. “So I’ve noticed. Why don’t you want your father to know you’re back?”

“Back from where, signorina?”

His condescending tone told her that no matter what she said, he wasn’t going to like it. “He mentioned that you’re in the military.” She moistened her lips nervously. “Did you arrange for a special leave or something?”

“That’s not your affair, either.”

She supposed it wasn’t. “You’re right, but I can tell you’re in pain. You should be in bed.”

“I was on my way there.” He’d come from the other part of the house, probably the kitchen. His speech had slowed, leading her to believe he’d drugged himself with something strong.

“Your bed isn’t made up. You’ll have to use mine.”

“As long as you don’t leave my sight. For the rest of the night we’ll lie on the same bed to ensure you don’t play the informer before morning.”

Annabelle had no illusions. That was a command, not an invitation. She refused to react. “Fine. If you’ll let me stand, I’ll help you get up, then you can lean on me. My bedroom isn’t far.”

He let her go with one hand, using it to brace himself against the wall while he clung to her arm with the other. She sensed he would have cried out if he’d been alone. Together they moved to her bedroom with him leaning on her. Undoubtedly she would have collapsed from his weight if they’d had to go much farther.

By some miracle they made it to the bed. He fell on his side, taking her with him. She ended up on her back and felt his hand curl around her wrist, making certain she wouldn’t get away. As he settled against the pillows, his sigh of relief echoed off the walls of the room.

When she’d helped him up moments ago, the dark stubble on his jaw had brushed against her cheek by accident, reminding her of his undeniable masculinity. No doubt he’d been traveling a long time without stopping to freshen up. Between fatigue and the medication he’d taken for his pain, she assumed he’d be asleep before long.

She, on the other hand, lay next to him, wide-awake. There’d been no man since she’d divorced Ryan. With Guilio’s son facing her inches away, her senses were in chaos. The situation was so surreal she wondered if she were dreaming.

“Don’t be afraid,” Lucca murmured, thinking he’d read her mind. “I couldn’t take advantage of you if I wanted to, which I don’t.”

His words might have pricked her if she hadn’t already been through a hell she never wanted to repeat. “Then we’re both in luck because I can assure you that a rude, brooding, unshaven male slithering home under cover of darkness is no woman’s idea of joy beyond measure.” His earlier remarks still smarted.

He made a sound that bordered on angry laughter, but none of it mattered. In another few minutes he’d be dead to the world. Once his hand released her, she would find some clean bedding in the hall closet and make up the other bed.

“Your pillow smells of strawberries.”

The observation came as a surprise. In fact everything he said and did had knocked her off balance. “It’s probably still damp, too. I’ll get you another one.”

His hand restrained her from moving. “After the places I’ve been, I like it.” The words came out in a slur.

“You can let go of me. I’m not going to reveal your secret.”

“Why not?” came the unexpected question “It’s the kind of thing a woman can’t wait to do.”

If he could still try to rile her, then he wasn’t as close to sleep as she’d supposed. Probably because of his pain. She fought an unwanted rush of sympathy for him. “That kind of assumption comes from knowing too many females on a superficial basis.”

“You’re an authority on my love life now?” he growled.

“Italian men have a certain reputation, signore. As we American women understand it, the Italian male is a jack of all trades, but master of none. I think it’s one of the personal casualties in your particular line of work.”

To his credit he let her baiting go before he said in a raspy voice, “You still haven’t answered my question.”

For the most important of reasons. She happened to know that Lucca’s next furlough wasn’t scheduled until August when he visited with his father in Milan. The big surprise Guilio was planning for him would take place at the largest Amalfi showroom in Italy. From there the cars were manufactured and exported around the world.

Annabelle remembered the look in Guilio’s eyes as he’d talked about wanting to honor Lucca when they met at the end of the summer. She would never spoil that reunion by revealing ahead of time what she knew he had in store for his son.

Exhausted over the stunning events of the last hour, her eyelids closed. “If I haven’t responded, it’s because anyone who has gone to your lengths to sneak back under the radar in the dead of night must have the kind of baggage he wouldn’t want anyone to know about.”

She felt his body stiffen.

“What do you say we both try to get some sleep, signore? I don’t know about you, but I have a big day tomorrow.”

“You’ve got me intrigued about the nature of the work you do for my father. It must be beyond classified, otherwise he wouldn’t be treating you like a princess. Nor would he have installed you in a house that is sacrosanct to me.” His voice suddenly sounded as if it had come from a deep cavern.

The blood started pounding in her ears. “Sacrosanct?” she whispered.

“You mean he didn’t tell you I was born here? Would it surprise you to know my mother died in this house?”

Oh, no.

To think she’d called him the intruder. “Your father only told me your mother willed this farm to you. I didn’t realize about the house.”

“Let’s just say he has kept an eye on it for me.”

CHAPTER TWO

A DULL throbbing ache woke Lucca. It radiated up his thigh to his groin. His medication had worn off. He needed some more quick before the pain flared out of control, as it had done last night.

Last night…

He rubbed a hand over his prickly jaws, groaning in self-disgust.

Sunlight filled the room, forcing him to squint. He checked his watch. Twenty to eleven. He found himself alone, still dressed in the same clothes minus his shoes, which she’d removed. The bed was in total disarray, evidence he’d had one of his nightmares. The quilt and pillows lay on the floor.

Naturally she was long gone. By now the American would have alerted his father, who had her allegiance. Lucca was sure he could expect a visitor shortly.

A spate of Italian invective poured out of him.

He turned slowly to roll off the mattress and gave a start to see his near-empty bottle of pills on the bedside table. It hadn’t been there last night. She’d even supplied a glass of water. On the other side of the lamp lay the cane. He decided the nurses at the hospital had nothing on her. His father required efficiency. She had that trait down pat.

Lucca had planned on total privacy for one night, but he had to admit that being this close to his pills meant he didn’t need to suffer another accident on the way to the kitchen.

After swallowing three, his stomach growled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon on the last leg of his flight to Naples. During the long wait for the train to Salerno, sleep had been impossible. The lack of it always increased the pain. By the time he’d hired a car to drive him to Ravello, he’d been ready to collapse.

A quick scan of the room revealed none of her belongings. He heard no noise and imagined the car she’d mentioned had already come for her. Alone at last, he got up from the bed and tested his weight with the cane. Last night’s accident had been an aberration. As long as he didn’t lean on it too heavily, the cane would do fine until he’d recovered.

The trip from the bathroom to the kitchen wasn’t too bad. His duffel bag was still on the floor where he’d left it. It looked untouched.

He opened the fridge and found it stocked. This house had belonged to his mother’s family. She and his father had lived in it until she’d died. In the will, she’d left the house and property to Lucca. At the time he’d joined the military, he and his father weren’t speaking, but he knew Guilio would keep an eye on it.

How strange he’d decided to install his new American employee here. Even though she’d claimed she wanted to stay at a farmhouse, his father wouldn’t have gone to the trouble to open up the house where he’d started out his married life for just any person working for him. This woman had to occupy a unique place in the scheme of things.

That’s why she hadn’t opened up to him last night. She and his father had something private going on. He had to admit she’d recovered fast from her fright last night. His interrogation of her proved she was a quick study.

Naturally Guilio would have sent down one of the maids from the villa to make sure things were ready for her. He reached for a handful of fat grapes from a bowl and popped them in his mouth. Their juice squirted pure sugar.

The microwave was new. His father had set her up with the necessities. A jar of freeze-dried coffee stood next to it. He preferred cappuccino chiaro, but in the military he’d learned to drink it black and made himself a cup.

In his line of vision to the terrace he noticed several branches from one of the lemon trees had grown and formed an overhang. While he leaned against the sink to sip the hot brew, he saw movement beneath them. Beyond the French doors he watched the back of a woman of medium height picking daisies near the half-hidden railing.

Her hair was caught beneath a large, broad-rimmed straw hat. The rest of her was dressed in a sleeveless white top trimmed with a small white eyelet ruffle. Equally immaculate white pants skimmed womanly hips down to the bone-colored sandals on her feet, where he glimpsed frosted pink toenails.

He waited until she turned enough for him to see the classic profile of Signorina Marsh. So she hadn’t gone off early … Last night her bathrobe had covered up her slender curves.

The whiteness of her fresh-looking outfit combined with the profusion of white petals drew his gaze. With that face partially hidden beneath the hat rim and set against a backdrop of blue sky melding into cobalt waters far below, it was like beholding one of those picture-perfect postcards in dazzling Technicolor.

As she came in through the unlocked doors bringing the sunshine with her, her eyes lit on him, but she kept going and put the flowers in a ceramic pitcher on the counter. After filling it with water, she placed it in the center of the rectangular kitchen table, which was inlaid with hand-painted tiles of lemons.

His mother used to bring in fresh flowers in the early morning. He experienced a moment’s resentment to be reminded of happier times that would never come again.

“I’ve always wanted to be able to decorate with flowers from my own garden. These are for me, but enjoy them if you want to. They’re glorious.” Dusting off her hands, she reached for a large straw handbag lying on one of the chairs and walked over to the side door.

With a parting glance from eyes a rare shade of periwinkle she added, “My ride will be arriving any minute. I’m going to walk out to the drive so you can remain invisible.” She started to open the door, then paused.

“Please wipe that morose expression off your face. You’re probably not that bad-looking when you aren’t carrying the world around on your shoulders like Atlas. Surely you realize I didn’t mean the things I said last night.”

“Only half,” he muttered in an acerbic tone after finishing the rest of his coffee.

“Hmm, maybe three quarters. When you make yourself another cup of coffee, there’s sugar in the cupboard. I’d say you needed a little sweetening. Before I leave, tell me the truth. How recently were you released from the hospital?”

His lips twisted unpleasantly. “What hospital would that be?” He opened the fridge and found a plum to bite into.

“The one where you had surgery on your right thigh. You’re favoring your other leg and can’t get into any one comfortable position for long.”

He munched until there was nothing left but the pit, which he removed and tossed in the wastebasket in the corner. “You’re mistaken, signorina.”

“No.” Annabelle remained firm. “The medication you’re taking tells me otherwise.”

On cue his dark brows furrowed with menace. “What makes you such an authority?”

“I’m a nurse with experience taking care of patients recovering from heart and thoracic surgery, gunshot wounds, broken bones.”

Stillness surrounded him before she saw a look of alarm break out on his face. “What’s wrong with my father?”

She blinked, trying to make sense of his hyperspeed leap from the subject at hand to Guilio. Once the light dawned, she cried, “No, no—I’m not working for your father in that capacity. I’m helping do some advertising for him. As far as I know, he’s fine!” she assured him, noting that his first reaction had been one of a son who loved his father. That cleared up one question haunting her.

His eyes looked disbelieving.

“You’re the person I’m worried about, signore. I’ve a feeling you left the hospital before it was wise. Combined with the fall you had last night, you need to nurse that leg as much as possible. Even if the pain has subsided for now, you’re wiped out.”

“Grazie for your concern.”

She decided the ice between them was thawing a few degrees. His sarcasm didn’t come off sounding quite as bitter as before. “Prego.” It was one of few words she knew in Italian for you’re welcome.

“One more thing, signore. I told Guilio I didn’t want any maids or housekeepers around while I’m here, so you should have no worries in that department. After work I’ll be back to pack and go to a hotel. I don’t know the exact time of my arrival, but rest assured I’ll be alone,” she promised with a pleasant expression.

He watched her disappear out the side door. If she could be believed, then he had little to worry about for the rest of the day. But it caused him to wonder that she’d be willing to keep his secret that long.