Her Italian Soldier. Rebecca Winters

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.