Summer Surrender: Capelli's Captive Virgin / Italian Boss, Proud Miss Prim / The Italian's One-Night Love-Child

‘Support is “I’m here if you need me”,’ Alessio drawled. ‘Support isn’t “you’re not doing what I think you should do”.’

Lindsay’s head was filled with images of a vulnerable toddler clinging to her in bed, night after night. ‘You don’t understand—’

‘Maledizione, why do you think she hasn’t called?’ His tone was brutally direct. ‘Because she knows you’re going to disapprove of what she’s doing. She knows that when you pick up that phone, all she’s going to get from you is a lecture.’

‘No.’ Lindsay’s lips felt dry. ‘No, that isn’t—’

‘Have you ever tried to understand her? Did you ever ask yourself why she wanted to stay in Rome? I’ll tell you why—because it was the only way she could possibly run her life without your constant interference.’

Frozen to the spot, Lindsay could barely breathe. ‘That isn’t true.’ Her stomach heaved and for a moment she actually felt physically sick. ‘And you have no right to say those things to me. What does someone like you know about love? Or relationships?’

She turned and paced back across the room, her arms wrapped around her body as she struggled to hold herself together.

It wasn’t true. None of the horrid things he was saying was true.

Yes, she was protective of Ruby. But she was the older sister. It was her responsibility to look after Ruby. She’d always done it, ever since they were children.

‘Will you let me sleep in your bed, Linny?’

She’d smothered Ruby with love, compensating for the lack of care and affection they’d received from their parents. She’d been the sister and the mother.

Lindsay dug her hands into her hair as she forced herself to examine the facts.

Of course she was going to support her sister and offer advice.

She’d been the very best sister she could be. Hadn’t she?

Tormented by a tiny seed of doubt, Lindsay felt as though her entire world were unravelling.

She’d been so sure of herself. So certain. And suddenly she just didn’t feel certain anymore.

She needed space to think—

She needed to get out of this confined space—

Somehow she managed to make her lips move. ‘I need some air.’ Tugging open the door, she staggered as a powerful gust almost dragged it out of her hand, the wind howling like a choir of a thousand ghosts, daring her to venture outside.

But Lindsay didn’t care—

Whatever lay outside, it had to be better than being trapped with Alessio.

Wincing as the door was almost taken off its hinges, Alessio spent a few seconds cursing the whole female race and their tendency to the dramatic, before springing to his feet.

Hurricane-force winds were blowing outside and she’d decided that she needed some air?

Was she crazy?

But even as he asked himself that question, something slightly uncomfortable twisted inside him. No, she wasn’t crazy. She was just upset. Very, very upset.

And he was the cause of that upset.

Unaccustomed to experiencing feelings of guilt, Alessio strode towards the door, reminding himself that he’d merely told her the truth. And if it had been a painful truth, well, that was because she’d been deluding herself.

In the long term, he’d done her a favour.

She’d probably thank him.

So why was he wishing he could wind the clock back and been given an opportunity to keep his mouth shut?

Trying to dismiss the image of her white face and the distressed look in her eyes, Alessio strode to the door.

If she didn’t have the sense to know it was dangerous out there, then he was going to have to go and fetch her.

Immediately the strength of the wind stole the breath from his lungs and he wondered how someone as slight as Lindsay had managed to stay upright in the path of such a powerful force.

As he secured the door behind him he found himself wondering why she hadn’t turned back.

But he knew the answer to that. She hadn’t turned back because of him. She was either so angry with him she couldn’t bear to be within the same four walls, or else she was so upset by what he’d said that she needed to think.

Either way, she was putting herself in physical danger.

Black, deadly clouds had replaced perfect blue sky and Alessio glanced along the beach, searching for a solitary figure.

And then he saw her. Her arms were wrapped around her body and she was staring out to sea, apparently oblivious to the anger of the storm that was building. Her pale hair had broken loose from the clasp and for once she hadn’t bothered to pin it up again. As if to taunt her with that fact, the wind caught it and blew it wildly around her face and shoulders. She looked like a mermaid, contemplating a return to the sea. She also looked—fragile.

Alessio frowned. Fragile? He always thought of Lindsay Lockheart as composed and controlled. Even the night she’d been attacked on the streets of Rome, she’d been remarkably collected, more concerned about her sister than herself.

But she didn’t look composed or controlled. She looked—broken.

Swearing fluently in two different languages, he strode across to her, ready to blast her for taking such a stupid risk.

But as he drew closer he saw that her cheeks were wet and her eyes were glistening.

Maledizione—

Alessio executed an emergency stop, his natural inclination to retreat in the face of female emotion acting as a break. Given the choice, he would have preferred to do battle with ten storms than mop up tears.

He took a step backwards.

Obviously she wanted to be alone, he reasoned. If she’d wanted his company, she would have stayed in the cottage.

Convincing himself that what she needed most was some space and time to herself—after all, hadn’t she chosen to come out here alone?—he was about to retreat when another powerful gust of wind slammed into them and she lost her balance.

In one stride, Alessio was next to her. He closed his arms around her and braced his strong legs to support them both against the force of the wind. ‘Do you have a death wish? It isn’t safe out here!’ She felt impossibly fragile and he wondered why she hadn’t already been blown over.

He glared down at her, but his feelings of anger and exasperation dissolved in an instant as he registered her tortured expression. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’

This was a different Lindsay. A desperately unsure, insecure Lindsay. There was no sign of the competent exterior that she presented to the world. She even looked different, for once oblivious to the fact that her hair was blowing loose around her face and the fact that she was dressed only in a swimming costume. She looked incredibly young.