to laugh, she backed from him. “It’s been busy, really! See the floors wet with tracked snow? I’d better get a mop…”
“Always such a busy little bee.” He sneered, stopping her with one bony, sinewy hand. “You really think you’re better than me, don’t you?”
“No, of course not, I—”
Darryl grabbed her blue smock, looking down at her, breathing hard. “I’m tired of being nice to you for nothing.”
She heard the bell jingle above the door. But before she could look, he grabbed the back of her head, coming at her with his pink, rubbery lips.
“What are you doing—let me go!”
“You act so prim,” he panted, “but you sleep around. You had that kid, didn’t you? I know you want me—”
“No,” she whimpered, struggling to turn her face away.
Darryl yelped as a large hand grabbed him by the shoulder, spinning him around, yanking him backward like a dog on a leash.
Lucy gave a little cry as she saw a dark, towering figure pick up her manager by the lapels of his jacket. Darryl struggled futilely while the man, far taller and stronger than him, lifted him off the floor.
The stranger’s eyes were hard and black. In a voice as cold and implacable as death, he growled into his face, “Get. Out.”
“Yes,” Darryl gasped.
The giant tossed him to the floor. Her manager scrabbled back like a crab, tripping over his own feet in his eagerness to get away. He paused at the door.
“You’re fired!” he bleated at Lucy, then rushed out into the snowy night, revving the engine of his old gray sedan down the dark street.
Fired? She was fired? Her heart pounding, Lucy looked at her rescuer beneath the fluorescent overhead light.
The dark stranger looked down at her. His expressive eyes seared hers. He didn’t touch her. He didn’t have to. Just the heat of his glance made her tremble from deep within, as if he’d just woken something deep inside her…
“Are you hurt, signorina?” His voice was accented and deep.
She had to lean back to see his face. She was five-six, not terribly petite, but the man still towered over her. His shoulders were impossibly broad, the lines of his long, black coat elegant and sharp, and his face…his face! Roman nose, high cheekbones. His blue eyes stood out against his olive skin. He had black, wavy hair, a darkly shadowed chin and crinkles at the edge of his eyes. Early thirties?
But he took her breath away. The way he’d saved her—the way he looked at her now. She’d never known a man could be at once so beautiful and so strong. He was like a handsome prince out of a long-forgotten dream.
“Signorina?” His eyes were intense, searching as he reached over to touch her cheek. “If he hurt you—”
She felt his brief touch like an explosion up and down her body. Her blood trembled as if she’d just thrown herself naked into a bed of snow. “No. I’m fine…I’m…” She sucked in her breath and repeated numbly, “I’m fired.”
Fired.
No way to pay Mrs. Plotzky.
With no babysitter, she couldn’t go to her two part-time jobs. And since Chloe’s trip to the E.R. last month for croup, Lucy was already a month behind on her rent. Her landlord had threatened to throw her out on the street if she didn’t catch up.
Cold days stretched before her, Chicago’s icy wind wailing like a baby’s cry, and frigid, desperate nights scavenging beds at homeless shelters. She’d be destitute with her baby in the dead of winter, no job, no money, no home…
Her baby. She’d failed her baby.
Lucy’s heart rose up in her throat, nearly choking her. Her lips soundlessly repeated her daughter’s name. Her knees trembled, her body shaking with a whole year of repressed grief and exhaustion. And everything started to go black…
The man caught her before she could hit the floor. Lifting her as if she weighed nothing, he held her against his chest.
“You’re done here,” he growled, and started carrying her toward the door.
Carrying her to the door?
She blinked up at him, feeling dazed and lightheaded—and not just because of nearly fainting. Being close to this stranger, being cradled in his arms, did strange things to her heart rate. He was as darkly handsome as any hero from a novel. As he carried her past the counter, her eyes fell upon her battered paperback copy of Wuthering Heights poking out of her bag on the floor.
But this dark, handsome stranger wasn’t Heathcliff. And she certainly wasn’t pampered, spoiled Cathy. Romantic tales had nothing to do with real life.
She’d learned that the hard way.
Lucy shook herself out of her reverie. “Where—where are you taking me?”
“Out of here.”
“Put me down!” Every insane man in Chicago seemed to be stopping by tonight—all of them intent on ruining her life! She kicked and struggled in his arms. “Let me go!”
Abruptly he released her, and she slid down his impossibly hard, impeccably dressed body. Her own body broke out in a cold sweat as she stood somewhat shakily on her own two feet.
“I think the phrase you’re looking for,” the man said, “is thank you.”
She’d been grateful to the man for saving her from Darryl’s advance, but now… What did Lucy care about some forced kiss, when her baby might soon have no home?
“Thank you?” she demanded furiously. “For what? For getting me fired? I could have handled Darryl just fine if you hadn’t interfered!”
“Sì.” His sensual mouth curved upward. “You obviously had the situation well in hand.”
She ground her jaw. “You’re going to call him right now and tell him you’re sorry!”
“I am sorry only that I didn’t use his face to mop your dirty floor.”
If she didn’t get her job back, she would be forced to take her baby to a homeless shelter. If all the shelters were full, which was likely during Chicago’s cold, hard winter, they’d have to live out of Lucy’s decrepit old hatchback, on the street, freezing…
And it was all her fault for not doing a better job at protecting her daughter.
Terror ripped through her. “I need this job!”
“No. You do not.” He looked down at her, so handsome, with the calm arrogance that only came from wealth. “You cannot pretend you took this job out of anything but desperation.”
Lucy felt
