Surrendering To The Italian's Command

‘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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