Surrendering to the Italian's Command

by Kim Lawrence

  ‘I teach,’ she slurred tiredly. The virus and the events of the last hours were catching up with her big time.

  Danilo blinked. ‘You’re a teacher?’

  ‘No, I’m an excellent teacher,’ she rebutted with a half-smile, then yawned.

  Danilo, still making the mental adjustment, didn’t register her attempt at humour. ‘So what do you teach?’

  ‘After I graduated I did some supply teaching, then for a term I was a support classroom worker for a little boy with muscular dystrophy, now I teach reception class.’ She gave a self-conscious little grimace, aware that she had given away more information than the casual question required.

  ‘A teacher with experience of...’ Encountering the puzzled, expectant gaze lifted to his face, he tipped his head slightly. ‘Bear with me... This man tonight, he knows where you live?’

  Tess closed her eyes. ‘Thanks for that comforting parting shot. I’ll sleep better for it.’

  ‘I am not trying to be comforting.’

  ‘Imagine my shock.’

  ‘I am trying to offer a practical solution. The fact is he has broken in here once and I wouldn’t put it past him to try a stunt like that again. So, as I see it you have two options. You can go down the legal route or—’

  ‘Live in fear?’ she interrupted with a bitter laugh. ‘I hate to interrupt this little motivational speech, but—’

  ‘Come to Italy. Your stalker won’t find you there.’

  She could only assume he was trying to lighten the mood. ‘Why not Australia? I’ve always fancied a bit of surfing.’ She opened one eye. ‘Don’t do comedy, it’s not you.’

  ‘My little sister, Natalia, lives at home with me, work takes me away often—’

  ‘You’re offering me a job as a childminder?’

  ‘Natalia is almost nineteen.’ His dark eyes moved in an assessing sweep over her face. ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Twenty-six.’

  ‘There was an accident and my sister is temporarily in a wheelchair. Her life has been on hold, most of her school friends have moved on...away... I think she feels isolated sometimes.’ His focus had been so much on pushing forwards with Nat’s recovery that it could be argued he had virtually pushed her into the arms of that no-hoper Marco.

  It could happen again, and he couldn’t be there for her all the time, but if she had someone there her own age, another woman to confide in... ‘I think it might help her.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ The picture he painted touched her deeply. ‘Your parents...?’

  ‘Were killed in the same accident.’

  A powerful wave of empathy swept through Tess, almost painful in its intensity. She squeezed her eyes tighter closed over the hot sting of unshed tears and cleared her throat before responding huskily.

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ It seemed lame but what else could she say?

  He cut a sideways look at her before tipping his head in acknowledgement.

  ‘But I couldn’t.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Indignation gave her the strength to lift her heavy eyelids. ‘Are you serious? I can’t just up and leave—’ She stopped and thought, or could she?

  It would solve the immediate problem, give her a breathing space to decide what to do about Ben and she was missing out on her holiday. She’d always wanted to see Italy.

  ‘The decision is yours,’ he said, giving the impression that he’d lost interest in the subject. ‘When you have decided...’ He pulled a card from his breast pocket and looked around for an empty surface to put it on before handing it directly to Tess.

  ‘This is the number of my assistant in London. She will coordinate things on this end, flights and so forth. She will take up your references. I was thinking that you could travel at the end of the week, either Thursday or Friday, unless your cold doesn’t clear up.’

  ‘I have flu,’ she countered automatically. ‘You want references?’

  ‘Is that a problem?’

  ‘No, it is not a problem.’

  ‘When I leave you will lock the door.’ Slinging the edict over his shoulder, he walked through the door.

  * * *

  It was around two in the morning when Tess woke up on the sofa, the business card clutched in her hand. She glanced over to the unlocked door and shivered. Well, she’d slept a little at least, no doubt the result of combining the brandy with the cold and flu meds she’d been liberally popping in an attempt to feel better. She looked at the card again, reading out the name printed on it in bold italics.

  Danilo Raphael.

  She would consider his offer but only after she had locked the door.

  CHAPTER THREE

  WHEN SHE TOLD Fiona of her plan the next day her friend was horrified.

  ‘You’re mad, crazy. You have no idea who this man is!’ She looked at the business card he had handed her. ‘Anyone can get one of these printed. For all you know he could be a pervert—’

  ‘Give me some credit, Fi, I’m not an idiot. I looked him up online. He’s legitimate.’ He was actually a bit of a legend in his own lifetime, but, afraid of being accused of exaggeration, Tess didn’t share these details. Instead she picked up her phone, scrolled down on the screen and handed it to Fiona—it was simpler.

  Her friend took it without looking and snorted. ‘Online I’m legitimately a size ten. People make stuff up all the time—’ She glanced down and took a deep breath, the expression of awe that spread across her face almost comical. ‘Wow! He rescued you?’

  ‘I like to think of it more that he happened along at the right moment.’ And what would have happened if he hadn’t? Tess pushed the question away. Some things it was better not to know and she already had enough problems sleeping.

  Fiona couldn’t take her eyes off the phone screen. ‘He really looks like that? This photo’s not airbrushed or anything?’

  ‘Well, he looks a bit older.’ Harder, would have been more accurate. In the flesh Danilo Raphael possessed a streamlined lean toughness that didn’t come across in the photos online, and there had been a lot to compare and contrast, but most were of him looking younger though still dramatically good-looking. The camera really did love those cheekbones, and so, it seemed, did the wide selection of women pictured draped all over him.

  ‘He’s a hottie!’

  Tess chose to ignore Fiona’s comment and folded the last item in her case. She huffed gently as she closed the lid. ‘I hate packing and I never take the right thing,’ she complained.

  ‘You look good in a bin sack,’ her friend consoled. ‘If I had your figure...well, never mind that. So,’ she said, handing back the phone, ‘what does gorgeous do when he’s not rescuing women?’

  ‘Makes money.’

  ‘He’s sounding better all the time.’

  ‘It seems he buys failing companies and makes them work, or at least he used to. He took over the family firm when his parents died a couple of years ago, and they had pretty much a finger in any pie you care to mention...’ Tess mentioned a few. ‘After their death, though, he dropped off the party circuit—’

  ‘Got married and had a few kids?’

  Tess managed to conceal her reaction to the question and shrugged. She had no idea why the idea of Danilo Raphael enjoying domestic bliss shocked her so much, but her friend’s analysis of the low public profile did work.

  ‘Maybe?’ The information she had about the accident online was sketchy. The headlines were lurid and, though there was little detail, she felt safe assuming that this was what had brought about the change in this ex-playboy’s lifestyle.

  ‘You do realise what you described is called asset stripping? And asset strippers are not a breed noted for their warmth and human kindness.’

  ‘He said he wasn’t kind,’ she remembered. Strangely, despite the trauma and her fever she could remember every word he had said and the exact intonation of his husky voice. She caught Fiona looking at her and carefully wiped away whatever expression had been on her face that had ma
de her friend stare. ‘But I’m hired to be a companion to his sister, not hold hands with him.’ An image floated into her head of his long brown fingers; she pushed it away. ‘I doubt if I’ll even see him.’

  * * *

  One step through the door and Danilo swung back, the expression on his lean face impatient as he gave a shrug and responded to Franco’s question.

  ‘She’s petite, maybe even a little mousey, she’s probably looking lost...big eyes in a small face.’ His mouth quirked as the description brought a disappointed look to his cousin’s face. ‘What were you expecting, a supermodel?’

  His cousin gave a grin. ‘It wouldn’t have hurt. So what do you want me to do with this mouse?’

  ‘Drop her off at the house. Nat is expecting her.’

  ‘You don’t expect me to stay and babysit, then? I’m meant to be meeting the event organiser later this morning.’

  ‘Your cousin Angelica will look after her and introduce her to Nat.’ The furrow between his dark brows deepened. ‘More problems with the party?’

  ‘Just a few tweaks. I want it to be perfect.’

  ‘That is the general idea,’ Danilo agreed, holding eye contact long enough to see his cousin squirm. The lie was obvious but Danilo, already late for a meeting, let it lie.

  ‘So I can just dump her and run?’

  * * *

  Tess, who had adjusted her step to accommodate the slower pace of her travelling companion, was about the last person from the London flight to clear the customs checkpoint, and as they entered the arrivals lounge together the elderly Italian lady was immediately surrounded.

  The size of her laughing family was equalled by the number of kisses being exchanged. The warmth and volume of their greeting was overwhelming, and for a moment Tess shared the warmth and was literally swept along by it, until a young man kissed her and then drew back, blushing with teenage embarrassment as he quickly apologised for his mistake.

  ‘Signora, mi dispiace.’

  The old lady, laughing, took Tess’s hand and introduced her.

  ‘This is Tess, who held my hand during take-off and landing.’

  ‘It was a mutual thing. I was terrified too.’

  ‘Is there someone here to meet you?’ the man who had identified himself as her travelling companion’s son asked.

  Tess nodded, her eyes sweeping the area, refusing to acknowledge the tiny blip of anticlimax that tightened in her stomach. It wasn’t as if she had expected even for one moment to be met personally by Danilo Raphael.

  ‘I think that might be him over there.’ She nodded towards the only person remaining, a young man in a designer suit who stood with hands in his pockets scanning the room impatiently and glancing up at the arrivals board at intervals. ‘Excuse me, and congratulations on the birth of your first grandchild,’ she added with a smile.

  * * *

  ‘Excuse me?’

  The scowl on Franco’s face lifted a little as the petite woman with the long glossy hair, wearing a pair of spiky ankle boots and a swingy little skirt that showed off her slender, shapely legs, stopped right in front of him. For a moment it seemed less important that Danilo was going to blame him for the no show of the English mouse.

  Franco swallowed, his heart beating a little faster as she smiled. It was a really great smile.

  ‘By any chance are you looking for me?’

  ‘All my life, cara.’

  The extraordinary amber eyes continued to meet his with a directness he was beginning to find unnerving. One of the feathery dark brows rose. She gave a kind smile and observed, ‘Which is not actually so very long, is it?’

  Feeling like a schoolboy and not enjoying the novelty value—he might not be able to impress his older cousin but young females were normally putty in his hands—he felt his face colour.

  ‘I’m sorry, but you seemed to be looking for someone, so I thought perhaps you’d been sent to meet me by Mr Raphael?’ She blinked away the intrusive image of the Italian’s dark, strongly sculptured features and focused on the handsome and far less disturbing face of the young man she was addressing.

  ‘You’re the m... Mou...’ Franco shook his head and allowed his eyes to drift to the pink pouty lips. ‘I think,’ he said regretfully, ‘there has been some mistake.’

  The words echoed the thought that had been fighting to make itself heard in Tess’s head ever since she had boarded the flight. Was she making a colossal mistake here? She gave her glossy head the slightest of shakes and straightened her slender shoulders, pushing away the doubt. Mad or not, she’d made her decision and she was going to make the best of it.

  ‘I should have introduced myself. I’m Tess Jones.’

  Franco’s jaw dropped, before moments later a smile spread across his features. ‘And I’m Franco. Danilo said... Sorry, I was expecting someone...not you,’ he finished awkwardly. ‘Danilo is my cousin.’

  ‘Well, that’s a relief.’ She arched a curious brow. ‘Who were you expecting?’

  Franco sidestepped the question. ‘I thought you were with your family?’ Franco nodded towards the group who were gathered around the elderly lady that the stunning English girl had appeared with.

  The curious pucker between her feathery brows smoothed as she accepted the explanation. ‘Oh, the Padrones.’ She lifted a hand and waved. ‘No, I’ve never met them before. Carlita and I just bonded over our fear of flying. We got talking and she’s quite a character and so proud of her family. Her youngest daughter lives in London—she’d just had her first child.’ Tess tucked the woman’s address into her bag and waved once more to the family who were moving towards the exit.

  ‘Where exactly did Danilo find you?’

  For the first time her candid gaze fell from his.

  ‘Long story but he was very...kind.’ Not sold on the accuracy of her description, Tess absently rubbed the frowning indent above the bridge of her small straight nose as one of the jumble of memories that had imprinted strongly surfaced.

  For a disorientating moment the weight of a muscled arm draped across her shoulders was so real that she inhaled, anticipating the spicy fragrance with minty overtones she recalled.

  She inhaled again, this time to focus, feeling irritated with herself. There was no point coming to Italy to escape if you brought the bad memories with you.

  Danilo? Kind? While his cousin was one of life’s good guys, he was not what most people would call kind. Franco managed to maintain a bland expression while his imagination went into overdrive.

  * * *

  It was midnight by the time Danilo drove his car past the security cameras mounted on the gates that swung open as he approached and closed behind him as he drove down the familiar mile-long tree-lined driveway that led to Palazzo Florentina, the Tuscan home that had been in the Raphael family for generations now. The home he had returned to after his parents’ deaths.

  The road split just as the distinctive building with its central golden stone tower, spotlit in the darkness, came into view. He drove along the right-hand fork and through the arch into the well-lit courtyard, built from the same distinctive stone as the main house.

  Once, when the place had been the summer home of a royal family who had built the place—there was a tenuous family link to the Raphaels—all of these buildings would have been the stable block. Nowadays only one wing housed horses. So far Danilo hadn’t been able to bring himself to reduce the number of animals. His mother had been a keen horsewoman and had adored each and every one, so he justified his economically irrational action, or lack of it, by promising himself that he would ride more—when he had the time.

  He approached the wing opposite where the horses were housed in luxury, heading for the garages that took up another wing. The rest had been converted into accommodation. The largest staff apartment was occupied by a distant cousin. Since the death of her husband, Angelica had taken on the role of housekeeper, and her apartment was the only one that had its own garden.

  He did
n’t bother raising the automatic doors; instead he parked on the cobbles, glancing up as he got out at the section of the buildings where Franco had an apartment. No lights showed at the windows, but then his young cousin rarely spent a night there if he had a better offer, which he frequently did. He’d probably crawl into work late tomorrow looking like hell!

  Danilo’s lips quirked as he recognised the irony of his disapproval—or was that envy? He was hardly in a position to judge considering that there had been a time not so long ago when he’d been the guy who partied most nights and the photos still existed to prove it.

  Not that he led the life of a monk now—he knew his limitations—but nowadays his sex life was more...discreet. Discreet and disposable. He smiled without humour to himself, liking the alliteration.

  He was a changed man. Approval of senior family members who had once accused him of bringing disrepute to the family name might have meant more had he changed his lifestyle out of choice. His public face had changed, his life had changed, but had he? Deep down wasn’t he still the same selfish bastard he had always been? Take today and the English mouse—he had outsourced her to his cousin without a second thought, but the world thought he was a responsible, upright and valued member of society.

  His lips twisted into a parody of a smile in response to the kick of self-loathing in his belly. Because isn’t that what matters? he thought to himself.

  His smile died, but the tired lines bracketing his mouth remained as his lean face set in a cynical expression, which was in danger of becoming permanently engrained. The fact was he didn’t give a damn what anyone thought of him. He wasn’t out to garner good opinion. The only thing he wanted, the thing his entire life focused on, was seeing his sister walk again.

  He strode on, his lean face set in lines of steely determination now as he pushed aside the guilt that was a distraction and an indulgence.

  Leaving the keys in the low-slung sports car—the security on the estate was good—he cut through the avenue of cedars, glad to feel the soft evening air on his face. He’d been cooped up in an air-conditioned office half the day and well into the evening. Dinner had been more about securing a contract than socialising so it had been annoying that the senior manager of the firm he was dealing with had not seemed to realise this and had brought his wife along, which had meant the meal had dragged on and no decisions had been reached.