Surrendering To The Italian's Command

‘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.

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