A Night In His Arms. Annie West

      He strode up behind Lucy.

      She must have sensed movement for she swung round, her face pale.

      Her eyes widened. She gulped, drawing attention to the tense muscles in her slender throat and the flat line of her mouth. She looked down, murmuring reassurance to Chiara, but not before he’d seen the fear in her eyes. Half an hour ago those eyes had danced with pleasure at the sight of the pretty town and its market stalls.

      Naked fury misted his vision.

      Domenico stalked the last pace towards her. In one swift movement he scooped up Chiara and cuddled her close. He looped his other arm around Lucy and pulled her to him. She was rigid as a board and he felt tension hum through her, an undercurrent of leashed energy.

      ‘I don’t know who you are,’ he growled at the harridan in the thick of the crowd, ‘but I’ll thank you not to frighten my family.’

      Beside him Lucy jerked then stilled. He heard her soft gasp and rubbed his palm up her arm. It was covered in goose bumps. Damn him for leaving them alone!

      ‘But she’s—’

      ‘It doesn’t matter who she is, signora. But I’ll have your name.’ His voice was lethal. ‘I’ll need it for my complaint to the police. For public nuisance and harassment.’ He watched the woman wilt. ‘Possibly incitement to violence.’

      He turned and glared at the gathering, which had already thinned substantially.

      ‘And the names of anyone else involved.’

      He turned to Chiara, giving them time to digest that. ‘Are you all right, bella?’

      She nodded. ‘But Lucy isn’t. She was shaking.’

      ‘It’s all right, little one. I’m here now and Lucy will be fine.’

      Domenico felt Lucy shudder and held her tighter, wishing he had both arms free to hold her. Wishing he hadn’t dispensed with security support today. He turned back to the street. Only a couple of people remained, watching wide-eyed. He heard the woman at the front whispering.

      ‘He’s the one in the magazine. The one whose—’

      ‘Basta!’ He scowled. ‘One more word from you and I’m pressing charges.’ He gave her a look he reserved for underperforming managers. A moment later, she and her companions had scuttled away.

      ‘Right, girls.’ He turned towards the main square, his arms tight around Chiara and Lucy, his tone as reassuring as he could make it over simmering fury. ‘Gelato time. I’m having lemon. How about you?’