The Italian's Passionate Proposal. Sarah Morgan

then it would be her.

      Preferably unwrapped.

      ‘Are you saying that you’ve never been kissed by your opponent before?’ His words and eyes teased her but his body and brain were deadly serious as he moved closer. ‘You’ve been missing out.’

      Their eyes locked and she smiled hesitantly. ‘It certainly takes your mind off fighting.’ Suddenly her smile faded and she stared at his cheekbone in dismay. ‘Oh, no! Did I do that? Have I given you a black eye?’

      He didn’t care about his eye. At the moment he was more concerned about other parts of his anatomy that he was finding distinctly uncomfortable. His jeans were just too tight to accommodate such an extreme reaction.

      She stood on tiptoe and touched his bruised cheekbone gingerly, her voice contrite. ‘We ought to get some ice on that.’

      Ice. He gritted his teeth. Maybe if he thought about ice it would help him out of his dilemma. He was reacting like a hormonal teenager.

      He looked down at her. ‘Are you sure you’re all right? They were pretty rough with you.’

      It occurred to him that, apart from being wary of him, she didn’t seem particularly shaken up. He tried to think of one other woman of his acquaintance who would have fought like that and still been smiling afterwards. He failed dismally. All the women he knew panicked if they so much as chipped a nail.

      ‘I’m OK, thanks to you. Apart from ripping my favourite jeans. I was thinking about something else or they wouldn’t have taken me by surprise.’ She peered at his face again, her expression guilty. ‘You saved my life and in return I hit you. That never happens in the movies. I should have been sobbing with relief and gratitude, instead of which I may have given you a black eye.’

      ‘I love a dominant woman,’ Carlo drawled lightly, and she laughed.

      ‘Next time I’ll try not to panic.’

      ‘I’m not surprised you panicked.’ His expression was serious. ‘But I don’t think he would have used the knife.’

      He said it to reassure her, in case part of her was still scared. Or maybe it was himself that he was reassuring. The thought of what might have happened if that creep had done what he’d threatened was too horrific to contemplate.

      She pulled a face. ‘If it hadn’t been for you, he probably would.’ Her tone was matter-of-fact. ‘This area is notorious for muggings and other unsavoury acts. I’m lucky you were passing and bothered to help. Do you think we should call the police?’

      Carlo froze. The last thing he needed was to draw attention to himself.

      ‘I think they’re long gone,’ he said carefully, his expression guarded. ‘And I didn’t really get a good look at them, did you?’

      ‘No.’ She shook her head and he changed the subject neatly.

      ‘What are you doing out on your own on a night like this?’

      She altered her grip on the bin bag. ‘I’m working.’

      Working?

      What sort of work required her to walk the streets at ten o’clock at night wearing worn jeans, a woolly hat and carrying a bin liner?

      Surely she wasn’t…

      She looked up at him and started to laugh. ‘I wish you could see your face! I can assure you I don’t do what you’re thinking! Actually, I’m a midwife,’ she said, as if it was perfectly obvious to anyone but a complete idiot.

      A midwife?

      He’d worked with midwives for most of his adult life, but none of them had looked like her.

      Carlo tried to ask her something intelligent but all he could see was that gorgeous smile that seemed to take over her whole face. Suddenly his brain and his body seemed to be ruled by a vicious rush of male hormones. He’d dated some of the most beautiful women in the world, but he couldn’t remember a single one who had threatened his ability to walk in a straight line. Until now.

      ‘Do all English midwives walk around in the dark, carrying bin liners?’

      ‘I was trying not to attract attention,’ she confided, and he gave a wry smile.

      ‘I think you need more practice.’

      ‘You might be right.’ She looked sorrowfully at her torn jeans. ‘They must have thought I had something exciting in my bin bag.’

      ‘And have you?’

      ‘Well, I haven’t robbed a bank, if that’s what you mean.’ She chuckled and hoisted the bag towards her, twisting the neck so that the contents were safe. ‘Actually, I’m on my way to see a patient. So, if you’re sure your face is all right, I suppose this is where we say goodbye.’

      No way!

      ‘I’ll come with you,’ he said immediately. ‘There’s no way I should be allowed to walk these streets on my own. It’s not safe.’

      She looked up at him, her cheeks dimpling. ‘You need my protection?’

      ‘Absolutely.’ His voice was husky and he saw her breath catch in her throat.

      ‘You’re at least six foot three and you’ve got more muscles than I’ve ever seen on one body,’ she pointed out, appreciation in her eyes as they wandered over his broad shoulders. ‘You tackled those guys without a second thought and you certainly don’t look like a man who’s afraid of much.’

      Up until five minutes ago he would have agreed with her, but since the moment she’d thrown him to the floor everything had changed.

      ‘I’m afraid of never seeing you again.’

      The only sound was the soft whisper of snow as it floated past her stunned face and settled on the black wool jacket she was wearing.

      When she finally spoke her voice was shaky. ‘I suppose I’m meant to say that you’re being ridiculous.’

      He stepped closer to her, aware of just how delicate she was. Suddenly he felt fiercely protective. ‘Say it, then.’

      She stared up at him and he could see that she’d stopped breathing. ‘I—I can’t.’ A look of confusion crossed her face. ‘Oh, help! What are you doing to me?’

      Their eyes held, the heat and tension between them almost melting the snow.

      Without shifting his gaze, Carlo held out a hand, and after endless seconds she stepped towards him and took it.

      He pulled her against him and stroked her snowy dark hair away from her face, thinking how beautiful she was.

      She stared up at him and he could see her breathing quicken. ‘I—This is crazy. I really ought to be going…’

      ‘Me, too. Do you think we should kiss each other goodbye?’ He was only a breath away from touching her mouth with his when she dipped her head and gave him a gentle push.

      ‘What is it that you do to me? I don’t behave like this! I don’t even know you.’

      Carlo stared down at her thoughtfully, a warm feeling spreading through his body.

      He never met people who didn’t know him.

      In Italy, everyone knew him. His picture appeared regularly in the newspapers and gossip columns and he hated it. He hated being public property.

      But to this girl he was a stranger and it was a totally novel experience.

      ‘Everyone is a stranger the first time you meet them,’ he pointed out gently, and she gave him a half-smile that betrayed her confusion.

      ‘That’s true, I suppose, but I don’t usually kiss men I’ve only known for five minutes.’

      ‘So I’ll hang around until you’ve known me for longer,’