Temptation's Song. Janice Sims

room of the police station alongside muggers, prostitutes and she didn’t know how many more types of criminals. She, Belana and Patrice had gone to dinner earlier in the evening and then she had gone to the train station to see them off to Rome. She was remaining in Milan in order to find an apartment and finish her paperwork. Her new agent had told her she needed to fill out the forms before she would be allowed to live and work in Italy during the time it would take to rehearse and star in Dominic Corelli’s new opera.

      As she had been walking back from the train station, which was not far from her hotel, she was accosted by a strange man. He had apparently found her irresistible in her evening attire, a modest, sleeveless white dress, its hem falling about two inches above her knees, and a pair of white, strappy sandals. Without saying a word, and for no conceivable reason, he had reached out and pinched her on the behind as she had passed him. Right after that, Elle had turned around and slapped him across the face as hard as she could.

      It hadn’t ended there, though. He had obviously taken her slap as an invitation, because he’d grabbed her and pulled her roughly against his chest. Even though they were about the same height, he was very strong and Elle couldn’t push out of his embrace.

      She’d struggled, desperately looking around for someone to come to her aid. But the people passing them on the street had looked away, not wanting to get involved.

      “Let go of me!” she’d yelled at him.

      “Isn’t this what you tourists want when you come to Italia?” he’d asked, leering at her.

      His breath had reeked of stale wine. Elle had tried to push him away, jerking her head back from him as he tried to kiss her. She felt something hard on his left side under his jacket. He was carrying a gun.

      Now she panicked. Was she going to be attacked and killed on a Milan street?

      Well, if he was going to try to harm her, she’d just as well go for broke. She kneed him. She heard the breath escape his throat and smelled his vile exhalation. Then she ran for her life, right into the arms of a uniformed police officer.

      She was never happier to see anyone in her life. “Officer!” she cried in Italian, pointing at the man, who was doubled over in pain. “That man grabbed me against my will. And he has a gun!”

      To her horror the man she had kneed removed a policeman’s badge from his inside jacket pocket and wheezed, “She’s under arrest for attacking an officer.”

      “Me?” Elle cried, indignant. “He attacked me! Smell his breath—he’s drunk—drunk and out accosting innocent tourists. He told me I was asking for it!”

      The uniformed policeman calmly cuffed her. “Miss, I advise you not to say anything else until you call your lawyer.”

      So that’s how she had come to be handcuffed to a chair, sitting beside a bottle blonde who was dressed in a black leather dominatrix outfit and matching thigh-high boots. The woman smiled at her. “New to this part of town?” she asked in Italian.

      She obviously thought Elle was a working girl, too.

      “Very new,” Elle replied.

      “I thought so,” said the woman, her black eyes roaming over Elle’s clothes. “You’re wearing white. There isn’t much demand for innocence anymore. They can find that on the Internet these days.” She reached inside her cleavage and produced a business card. “But you have potential. I’m Violetta. Call me and I’ll get you on the right track.”

      Elle accepted the card and put it in her own cleavage. “Thanks.”

      Violetta smiled. “We girls have to look out for one another.” She sneered at an officer who passed too close to their chairs. “Why are you people so slow?” she hissed at him. “Some of us have better places to be. Move your asses!”

      The police officer bowed in her direction. “So sorry to keep you waiting, madam,” he said sarcastically.

      Violetta kicked at him with her stiletto-heeled boot. He quickly jumped out of range.

      “That’s right, run, you coward!” She laughed with satisfaction.

      Elle glanced down at her watch. They had confiscated her purse, but let her keep her watch. It was after eleven. She wondered if they had actually phoned Dominic Corelli or had simply told her they would.

      They had laughed at her when she had told them she had been hired by Dominic Corelli to appear in his next opera. She imagined that he was well-known here in Milan, and well respected. The derisive looks she’d gotten after making her claim was proof of that. They thought she was a raving lunatic.

      She had hated to have to contact him, but she didn’t know anyone else in Milan. After this, he would probably inform her that he no longer wanted her in his opera. Hell, he probably wouldn’t even want her in his city.

      Frowning, she sat up straighter on her chair and held her head up high. Why was she being pessimistic? She hadn’t done anything wrong. That drunken cop had put his filthy hands on her and if she hadn’t defended herself he might have done much more.

      But how would she prove her innocence?

      “Elle?”

      Elle looked up into Dominic’s face. He smiled. She grimaced. “Signor Corelli, I’m innocent, I swear.”

      “I know you are,” he said comfortingly.

      He gestured to an officer standing nearby, who stepped forward and unlocked Elle’s handcuffs.

      Elle looked on in amazement. Was that all it had taken, for Dominic Corelli to show up and vouch for her? If so, this was a crazy country. What about her rights as a human being? What about being innocent until proven guilty?

      She stared up at him as she got to her feet. “What’s going on? Did they catch that officer in a lie?”

      A short, middle-aged man in a dark gray suit came up behind Dominic and tapped him on the shoulder. Dominic turned around.

      “You can take Signorina Jones home,” said the man. “The off-duty officer who accused her of striking him admitted that he had too much to drink tonight and may have behaved inappropriately toward Signorina Jones when he met her on the street.”

      “Thank you,” Dominic said, shaking the gentleman’s hand. “I apologize for waking you, Felix, but Signorina Jones needed someone who knows his way around the legal system.”

      “That’s why your family has me on retainer,” the lawyer said pleasantly. He smiled at Elle. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that very uncomfortable experience, Signorina.”

      “Thank you,” Elle said in a low voice. She was so relieved that she felt tears fill her eyes. She didn’t allow them to fall, though.

      “You can pick up your belongings on the way out and all evidence of this incident will be struck from the record. Except, of course, your statement about the condition the officer was in when he accosted you. That will remain on his record. He is being severely disciplined for his behavior.”

      Elle felt some satisfaction upon hearing this news, and even though she wanted to press charges and see him punished to the full extent of the law, she wanted to get out of there even more.

      “Thank you so much,” she said again to the lawyer.

      Felix left and Dominic offered Elle his arm. She took it, grateful for his support. He led her over to the evidence room, where she retrieved her purse, made sure everything was in it and they left the police station arm in arm.

      Outside, Elle breathed in the night air and looked up at the black sky. The city sparkled around them. Traffic, lighter at night but still somewhat heavy, made a racket as late-night pedestrians strolled leisurely down the streets.

      “Are you all right?” Dominic asked quietly.

      Elle met his eyes and smiled wanly. “Not really. But I will be after a good night’s sleep.