Surrendering To The Italian's Command. Kim Lawrence

was losing the will to live.’

      Tess kept her eyes straight ahead, aware of the occasional waft of warm breath on her cheek, trying to retain as much dignity as possible—a bit late for that! The hardness of his chest, the warmth, the false intimacy of the situation—all lent another layer of disorientation to what had been a very disorientating experience!

      Outside her door he put her back down on her feet.

      ‘You’re very kind.’

      His jaw clenched. ‘I am not kind.’

      ‘Well, I think you are.’ She fished in one of the deep pockets for her key. ‘So thank you, and goodnight.’

      For the first time Danilo noticed there was something quite stubborn about her rounded chin. He found his eyes sliding lower down the column of her neck, the swanlike curve exposed now as she unfastened the top button of her ridiculous coat. She was too pale and too thin but her skin had a flawless, almost translucent quality. He scrutinised her with casual curiosity, wondering what she’d look like if she didn’t dress like a reject from a charity shop.

      ‘Not that good a night for you.’

      She gave a sigh. It looked as if he wasn’t going until she was inside. Flipping her hair, which hung in wet rats’ tails down her back, off her face, she made a frustrated sound through clenched teeth. Her hand was shaking so hard she couldn’t fit the key in the lock. ‘There’s a knack,’ she panted, her breathing almost as erratic as her heart rate while ironically the man who had just carried her up three flights of stairs was not even breathing hard. He might not be breathing hard but she could feel the impatience rolling off him in waves. It didn’t help.

      As her frustration built Tess resisted the impulse to kick the door. Instead she rested her forehead on the door and jiggled the key once more.

      Her sigh was one of intense relief when it finally opened. She reached for the light switch and stepped inside before turning around. ‘Thank you again. I’ll be fine now.’

      Danilo, his head ducked to avoid the low beams in what had presumably started off as the servants’ quarters in the house, nodded, half turned and then lost the fight with his conscience.

      He closed his eyes and sighed. He really wanted to walk away. He wanted to listen to the voice of common sense that was urging him not to get involved, the same voice reminding him that this was none of his business, that no good, as his English nanny years ago had been fond of darkly warning, would come of it!

      But inevitably the tug of guilt was too strong to resist.

      ‘You don’t look fine.’ That was a massive understatement. Under the strong electric light her face was the colour of paper, the shadows circling her eyes so dark they looked like bruises.

      Well, I can’t argue with that! Tess’s own gaze collided with the critical stare of her dark-eyed rescuer—no man should be allowed eyelashes that long—and stopped. She had just had a close encounter with her own personal stalker, she was struggling to stay upright on knees that felt like cotton wool and she was worried about how she looked... Tess put it down to the temperature she was inevitably running.

      ‘Can I call someone for you?’ It was called passing the buck and seemed like a very good idea. ‘You shouldn’t be alone.’

      Alone. The word echoed around in her head in an unpleasant way that made her glance for reassurance at the row of locks on the door. Of course she shouldn’t be alone. She should and would have been enjoying her third day of a fortnight in the sun with Lily, the classroom assistant, and Rose, who taught the other reception class, if it hadn’t been for this wretched flu bug.

      Her wistful thoughts went to her friends enjoying sun, sea and maybe even a bit of romance and she felt a twist of envy. The only other person she could call on was Fiona, and though she knew her friend would drop everything if she knew what had happened Tess had no intention of spoiling Fiona’s last night with her sister and nieces, who lived in Hong Kong. This much-anticipated visit was rare.

      There was her mum, of course, and she’d come running. As ambitious as her parent was, she had always put her daughter’s welfare ahead of her career, a fact Tess hadn’t always appreciated, but if her mum knew what had happened and got the full Bonkers Ben story then by the morning Tess’s story, and her name, would have gone viral and appear in every newspaper, while her mum, looking glamorous, caring and just the sort of person you’d want to vote into office, would be doing the rounds of the breakfast TV programmes. When she had a cause her mother was relentless and self-promotion came as naturally to her as breathing, neither of which in themselves was a bad thing, but Tess knew from experience what it felt like to be at the centre of one of her mum’s campaigns, and maybe she was selfish but she hated the idea of being stigmatised as a victim almost as much as she hated the idea of the attention.

      Tess squeezed her eyes shut, but remained aware of the dark, brooding presence. His height was emphasised by the sloping beams. She didn’t need her macho guardian angel to tell her she’d have to deal with the Ben situation; she already knew that. But not tonight. If she thought any more her head might explode.

      Tess opened her eyes. ‘I think—’ She blinked. She hadn’t invited him and she hadn’t been conscious of him moving, but he was standing in her hallway. The presence that earlier had felt comforting now, in the enclosed space, tipped over into disturbing.

      ‘There isn’t anyone,’ she blurted, then, conscious that might have made her sound as if she had no friends, she added tiredly, ‘All I need right now is to sleep off this flu.’

      ‘So what happened back there, you’re going to act like it didn’t happen?’

      His disapproval hit an exposed nerve. ‘I’m trying,’ she gritted, feeling a flash of irritation with him for hanging around asking questions and making it impossible for her to do just that. Close on the heels of irritation came guilt; he had rescued her.

      Danilo’s gaze travelled from her face to the row of locks on the door and his face hardened as he translated what he saw. He felt the hot fury rise in him and fought to damp it down to a low simmer. There were relationships that went sour and then there were people who... His fists clenched as he thought about what in a perfect world would happen to bullies and cowards.

      ‘Your boyfriend from the alley?’

      She nodded tiredly. ‘Not boyfriend,’ she said without any real hope he’d believe her. His sardonic expression suggested she was correct in this assumption. She opened her mouth then closed it, shaking her head, trying to tell herself that it didn’t matter what a total stranger thought.

      Teeth gritted, she focused on unfastening the toggles of her man-sized duffel coat, though size was all a matter of perspective, and for that matter so were men, she mused tiredly. While Fiona’s boyfriend, Matt, was an average-sized guy, she was lost inside his coat. She couldn’t think of any circumstances where she’d be wearing any garment belonging to the man whose eyes she could feel on the back of her neck, but they’d have to send in a rescue team with tracker dogs to recover her if she ever did.

      The visual dragged out a laugh between huffs of exhaustion as she struggled with the coat.

      The gurgle brought a flash of angry incredulity to his eyes. Was Tess so used to having boyfriends rough her up that she could laugh about it? His jaw tightened. Tales of abusive relationships never failed to outrage Danilo. The men were easy to understand—they were inadequate bullies, and his contempt for them was absolute. But he could never understand why some women always seemed to go back to them, believing that things would change.

      It is not your role, Danilo, to lecture this woman on self-respect and personal safety, but the reminder didn’t lessen the knot of anger in his chest.

      Tess continued to struggle with the coat that felt like a ton weight on her sore shoulders. In fact every inch of her hurt and his scrutiny wasn’t helping. The man could communicate more with silences than most people could with a three-page speech, and this time it was disapproval she was getting. No doubt he was