She saw a dark figure running towards her, felt another shoulder-wrenching jerk at her bag, and then suddenly the metal clips on the strap gave up the struggle and she was left lying on the ground, winded, bruised but free, her bag still clutched in both hands, while her assailants sped off with the dangling strap as their only prize.
It seemed safer to stay where she was. Her heart was pounding, she was shaking all over, and she felt deathly sick. She was dimly aware of someone bending over her, of a man’s deep voice speaking urgently in Italian, of a hand touching her shoulder.
‘No.’ She was galvanised into panicky reaction, kicking out. ‘Get away from me.’
She heard him mutter something under his breath as her foot connected with his shin. He said curtly in English, ‘Don’t be a fool, signorina. You called out for help. Can’t you see that’s what I’m trying to do? Are you badly hurt? Can you sit up?’
Wincing, Lucy allowed him to help her into a sitting position. The hands that touched her were gentle as well as strong, and a faint musky scent of masculine cologne teased her senses.
She turned her head slowly and looked at him, tensing with dismay as she realised that her saviour was none other than the man from the pavement café.
Nina’s designer stud, she groaned inwardly. It would be.
At close quarters, he was even more devastating. Handsome as a Renaissance prince, and, she acknowledged as his eyes narrowed in recognition, just as distant.
‘So, we meet again,’ he commented without pleasure. ‘What are you doing, wandering alone like this? Don’t you know it isn’t safe?’
‘I know now.’ She lifted her chin and gave him her own brand of dirty look. ‘Actually I was looking for someone, and I thought things like this only happened in big cities.’
‘Unfortunately, criminal elements from bigger places now sense there’s a living to be made even in towns like Montiverno.’ His tone was dry. ‘Now, let’s see if you can stand.’
She would have dearly loved to slap his patronising hand away, not to mention his sneering face, but she let him help her to her feet. She was bitterly aware that she was filthy from her contact with the ground, and that her new white cotton trousers were torn beyond repair. Every part of her seemed to be throbbing, and she knew an ignominious impulse to burst into tears.
Instead, she said, her voice wobbling slightly, ‘They wanted my bag, but I wouldn’t let them have it.’
‘Stupida!’ he said crushingly. ‘Better to lose your bag than be killed or maimed.’
Lucy pushed her dishevelled hair out of her eyes with a shaking hand. She said, ‘I’ve just been through one of the worst experiences of my life, and all you can do is criticise.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘That’s not all I can do. My car is nearby. I will drive you to the clinic for a check-up.’
‘No.’ The denial was instinctive and immediate, driven by some deep female consciousness that motorbike thieves were far from the only danger in the situation.
He was very still, his brows rising in regal hauteur. He said very quietly but with cool, relentless emphasis, ‘I beg your pardon?’
To add to her other ills, Lucy felt herself blushing all over as the amber eyes swept over her, slowly and comprehensively.
She said hurriedly, ‘I mean—thank you, but there’s no need for you to bother any more. I’m fine—really. Just—a little shaken.’
‘And prey, I think, to certain illusions.’ He was smiling, but there was no amusement in his eyes. ‘I am offering my help, signorina, but nothing more. I do not require sexual favours as a reward for my assistance, whatever fantasies you or your friend may enjoy,’ he added bitingly.
The contempt in his face and voice stung Lucy like a flick from a whip. There was no real reason to feel so mortified, she told herself angrily. He was a stranger to her, and she was never going to see him again, so what did it matter if he thought she was tarred with the same brush as Nina?
Yet somehow, and quite ridiculously, it seemed to matter a lot.
She said stonily, ‘Think what you wish, signore. I’m grateful for your help but not your opinion of me.’
‘Then accept my aid,’ he said. ‘Believe that I cannot simply walk away and leave you here like this.’ And, when she still hesitated, he added, ‘But on the other hand, signorina, I do not have the entire day to devote to your interests either. So please make up your mind.’
Lucy bit her lip. ‘Well—perhaps a lift back to the main square. I’m meeting my friends there.’
‘Of course,’ he said softly. ‘No doubt there will be more male talent to be reviewed. You should take care, signorina. You are not in the cold Anglo-Saxon north now. To provoke a Tuscan is to play with fire.’
She gave him a frigid Anglo-Saxon look. ‘Please don’t worry about me, signore. I’m fireproof, I assure you.’
Not that she felt it. Her abiding impression was that she had been run over by a bus, but she gritted her teeth and limped along beside him to where his car was parked in an adjoining street.
It was a sports car, naturally, black, long and low, with concealed power in every menacing line. Rather like its owner, Lucy decided, trying to extract some humour from the situation and signally failing.
She accepted his assistance into the passenger seat with as much dignity as she could muster, and sat in silence, hoping she was not bleeding onto his upholstery, as he expertly wove his way through the tangle of streets and traffic, out into the bustling familiarity of the main square again. Where he halted.
He said with cool politeness, ‘You are sure I may not take you to the clinic?’
‘Absolutely. The damage is only superficial, and I had an anti-tetanus jab before I came away.’ Lucy was aware that she was babbling, and stopped. ‘You’ve been very...’ She halted again. The only word she could think of was ‘kind’, so she said it, although she wasn’t convinced it was appropriate.
She fumbled for the door-catch, and he leaned across her to release it. Again she was aware of that tantalising musky fragrance, and of the disturbing warmth of his body close to hers. Too warm. Too close.
She met his gaze, saw a tiny flame dancing in the amber eyes, and heard herself swallow. Deafeningly.
He said sardonically, ‘So you think you’re fireproof?’
He leaned forward, took Lucy’s chin in his fingertips and kissed her on the mouth, slowly and very thoroughly.
Then he released her, and, with a graceful wave of his hand, indicated that she was free to go.
Burning, Lucy stumbled out of the car. Only to hear his voice following her, softly, mockingly.
‘I hope your Italian stud did not disappoint you. Arrivederci, signorina.’
Then, silently as a panther, the car slid away, and she was left staring after it, a hand pressed to her trembling
