Surrendering To The Italian's Command. Kim Lawrence

back weak tears. ‘He... Ben... He isn’t my boyfriend. He just thinks he is.’

      Danilo dismissed her explanation with a shrug of his broad shoulders. ‘Not my business.’ And he had no desire to make it his business, he reminded himself, turning his head as his sister’s features superimposed themselves over the pale, pinched face of this young woman, producing a familiar knife thrust of guilt that he didn’t try to evade.

      ‘I have a sister not that much younger than you.’ The woman was a little older than he had first assumed. ‘And I hope if she ever needed—’ His sister had needed and he hadn’t been there.

      The woman took a deep breath and Danilo’s habitual objectivity slipped as he watched her attempt to regain control. The effort to straighten her slender shoulders sent a jerky convulsive ripple through her entire body; the air left her lungs in a long gusty sigh, but not the tension.

      Heavy lids shadowing his stare, Danilo was torn between reluctant admiration and irritation, his irritation reserved for the protective instincts he felt shift and tighten in his chest as a solitary tear escaped the swimming eyes lifted to his. Things got tighter as he watched it slide slowly down her cheek. He had never seen eyes quite that shade of golden amber before.

      Her eyes, almond-shaped and framed by thick, spiky black lashes, lifted her face from plain. They were extraordinary. Still, she was not his responsibility.

      ‘Well, thank you. I’d be grateful if it’s not out of your way, but I’ll be fine now—really.’

      The delivery started firm and slowly faded, ending on a definite wobble. She looked at him with eyes that made him think of the runt of the litter of golden retrievers his father’s favourite dog had produced.

      Danilo, promised first choice of the puppies, had, against all advice, chosen the sickly-looking one who everyone had warned would not survive. But that little animal had gnawed its way into his heart with those eyes.

      The dog had survived and was still rewarding his decision with unconditional love, though her coat was less glossy than it had been before she’d got old and stiff.

      ‘But if perhaps you could walk with me, if you’re heading that way?’ Tess was shaking again, her body seized by inner tremors she had no control over. She didn’t shrug off the hand that came to rest gently against her shoulder blades. She was glad of the contact while recognising she was acting like the sort of woman she despised: weak, malleable and in need of male support. And this particular male had an attitude that normally would have got under her skin.

      Cut yourself a break, Tess, you’ve got the flu and you’ve had a run-in with your unhinged stalker.

       CHAPTER TWO

      ‘I’M TESS.’ IT SEEMED only good manners to tell the man who had saved her from a situation that could have ended up with her being a crime statistic her name.

      ‘Raphael, Danilo Raphael.’

      An angel’s name. Appropriate given the circumstances, though her guardian angel had the physical appearance of the fallen variety.

      They had reached the end of the alley, where she hesitated. Danilo walked past her and out onto the identical-Victorian-house-lined street. ‘Right or left?’

      Tess didn’t immediately respond because she was doing yet another mental regrade of his position on the gorgeous scale! She pressed a hand to her chest to alleviate the breathless sensation.

      There were a number of people who could look pretty good in subdued light but a lot less that could look good spotlighted by the artificially white blanching glare of a street lamp. Her fallen angel could take the unkind illumination, probably because there was not a plane or angle on his crushingly handsome face that didn’t deserve to be lit up. It was flawless.

      But he was not just a pretty face—the rest of him looked pretty awesome too. This was a man who didn’t need good lighting or perfect tailoring to set him apart from his fellow men!

      As she paused, mouth slightly ajar, he raised a darkly defined brow questioningly. A slither of liquid heat washed through her, the effects of the fever obviously, as she gave her head a tiny shake and, feeling embarrassed, she stepped out, glancing nervously over her shoulder before tilting her head back to reply to his question.

      It struck her for the first time that if she were looking for danger, then in a line-up she would dismiss the mild-looking, bespectacled creep who had been stalking her for the past months. Raphael, on the other hand, was not a man anyone would dismiss. He was the living, breathing photofit image of dark, brooding and dangerous to know.

      Not just because he was a hundred feet tall and hard—he’d lifted Bonkers Ben as though he were a rag doll! Her stomach gave a tiny flip as she recalled the tensile strength in the fingers that had curved around her upper arm. This man had a dangerous vibe.

      Mum always had said don’t judge a book by its cover, which had always struck Tess as ironic even when she was a kid considering how much trouble her parent went to to present the right image to the public. Today it was all about image. Was this rampantly male stranger the product of some image consultant’s efforts or did all that come naturally?

      ‘Right,’ she said, gesturing vaguely in that direction. The fact was she was never likely to know anything about this enigmatic man with his intimidatingly perfect profile beyond the fact that he had appeared at the right moment, and for that she would always be grateful. ‘It’s the fourth house along. The one with the red door.’

      ‘This is it.’

      Danilo glanced at the row of names beside buttons on the door frame; either this building was larger than it looked or the homes within were the size of shoeboxes. ‘I’ll see you to your door.’

      Tess had enough fight left in her to challenge his not open for debate attitude. ‘That’s really not necessary.’

      As she spoke she realised that the long, low car she had been aware of in the periphery of her vision had stopped. Like the man himself, it looked expensive. She nodded in its direction. ‘It looks like your lift is here.’

      He turned and raised a hand.

      ‘I’ll only be a moment.’

      Tess watched as he strode over to the car and spoke for a moment to the driver. She was tempted to slip inside but being caught before she had closed the door on him would have been embarrassing, not to mention ungrateful. And there was the fact it was not exactly hard work to watch him; not only was he supremely elegant, but every move he made suggested a physical power that was riveting.

      He returned a moment later and nodded towards the door. ‘After you.’

      ‘Fine,’ she sighed out as she stepped a little ahead of him into the hallway. ‘I’m on the top floor.’ The curved staircase and the encaustic tiles underfoot were about the only original features left in the building which had been unsympathetically ‘modernised’ back in the seventies.

      ‘Where is the lift?’

      ‘We don’t have one.’ The trick, she told her shaking knees, was to take one step at a time—literally. This might take some time!

      She had gone up the first three steps, the situation not made easier by the man behind her who was vibrating silent impatience, when she heard a soft growl.

      His flight might not be an option now, but at this rate he’d be here half the night and she’d be on her knees by the time she got to the top floor. Sure, the woman was remarkably plucky, but he’d always thought plucky was another word for stubborn.

      It was all a bit of a blur as one moment Tess was holding onto the bannister, and the next she was being casually lifted up into his arms. She grabbed the fabric of his jacket as he strode onwards and upwards.

      ‘Quite unnecessary,’ she gasped, sounding a bit like one