The Italian's Passionate Proposal

Carlo searched for the words to reassure her, but before he could speak she stooped to pick up the bin bag and winced in pain.

‘Are you hurt?’ He frowned, surprised and confused by the rush of possessiveness that swamped him. He didn’t even know her name, but the thought that they’d hurt her filled him with red-hot anger. ‘That was a nasty kick.’

He searched his brain for a non-sexual way of suggesting that he take a look at her stomach. He was a doctor after all.

‘I’m OK.’ She brushed her snowy dark hair away from her exquisite face. ‘I suppose I’ve got you to thank for that.’ She gave him a cautious look, still keeping herself at a safe distance. ‘If you hadn’t intervened he probably would have used that knife. I’m sorry I floored you. It all happened so fast I panicked. I thought you were with them.’

She still looked wary, and every muscle in her body was tense, but at least she hadn’t run off.

‘Don’t apologise. I’m glad you floored me.’ Remembering the feel of her soft body under his, he was more than glad. If she hadn’t done that, he probably wouldn’t have kissed her. And, having kissed her…

His eyes dropped hungrily to her mouth again and he wrestled with the instinct to act like a caveman and drag her somewhere quiet, where he could make love to her until she couldn’t stand up.

But she was visibly nervous and he wasn’t going to blow his chances by rushing her. So, instead of grabbing her, he pushed his hands firmly into his pockets and kept his distance.

‘Do you always kiss people who knock you to the ground?’ She was watching him carefully with those incredible eyes, as if she hadn’t quite decided whether she should run or not.

‘Never.’

Her fingers tightened on the bin bag. ‘So why did you kiss me, then?’

Carlo was finding it harder and harder to breathe normally. ‘Because you’re stunning.’

The wariness left her face and she threw back her head and laughed aloud. ‘Dressed in torn jeans and an ancient coat with a woollen hat on my head? Very sexy, I’m sure.’

‘Kissing is a good way of distracting an attacker,’ he drawled, unable to drag his gaze away from her gorgeous face. ‘It’s the element of surprise.’

‘Well, I’ve done judo since I was six but that’s a move I’ve never used,’ she confessed, still smiling. Suddenly she seemed more relaxed. Her eyes sparkled and snow stuck to her lashes and shiny dark hair, and it occurred to him that if he could have anything he wanted for Christmas then it would be her.

Preferably unwrapped.

‘Are you saying that you’ve never been kissed by your opponent before?’ His words and eyes teased her but his body and brain were deadly serious as he moved closer. ‘You’ve been missing out.’

Their eyes locked and she smiled hesitantly. ‘It certainly takes your mind off fighting.’ Suddenly her smile faded and she stared at his cheekbone in dismay. ‘Oh, no! Did I do that? Have I given you a black eye?’

He didn’t care about his eye. At the moment he was more concerned about other parts of his anatomy that he was finding distinctly uncomfortable. His jeans were just too tight to accommodate such an extreme reaction.

She stood on tiptoe and touched his bruised cheekbone gingerly, her voice contrite. ‘We ought to get some ice on that.’

Ice. He gritted his teeth. Maybe if he thought about ice it would help him out of his dilemma. He was reacting like a hormonal teenager.

He looked down at her. ‘Are you sure you’re all right? They were pretty rough with you.’

It occurred to him that, apart from being wary of him, she didn’t seem particularly shaken up. He tried to think of one other woman of his acquaintance who would have fought like that and still been smiling afterwards. He failed dismally. All the women he knew panicked if they so much as chipped a nail.

‘I’m OK, thanks to you. Apart from ripping my favourite jeans. I was thinking about something else or they wouldn’t have taken me by surprise.’ She peered at his face again, her expression guilty. ‘You saved my life and in return I hit you. That never happens in the movies. I should have been sobbing with relief and gratitude, instead of which I may have given you a black eye.’

‘I love a dominant woman,’ Carlo drawled lightly, and she laughed.

‘Next time I’ll try not to panic.’

‘I’m not surprised you panicked.’ His expression was serious. ‘But I don’t think he would have used the knife.’

He said it to reassure her, in case part of her was still scared. Or maybe it was himself that he was reassuring. The thought of what might have happened if that creep had done what he’d threatened was too horrific to contemplate.

She pulled a face. ‘If it hadn’t been for you, he probably would.’ Her tone was matter-of-fact. ‘This area is notorious for muggings and other unsavoury acts. I’m lucky you were passing and bothered to help. Do you think we should call the police?’

Carlo froze. The last thing he needed was to draw attention to himself.

‘I think they’re long gone,’ he said carefully, his expression guarded. ‘And I didn’t really get a good look at them, did you?’

‘No.’ She shook her head and he changed the subject neatly.

‘What are you doing out on your own on a night like this?’

She altered her grip on the bin bag. ‘I’m working.’

Working?

What sort of work required her to walk the streets at ten o’clock at night wearing worn jeans, a woolly hat and carrying a bin liner?

Surely she wasn’t…

She looked up at him and started to laugh. ‘I wish you could see your face! I can assure you I don’t do what you’re thinking! Actually, I’m a midwife,’ she said, as if it was perfectly obvious to anyone but a complete idiot.

A midwife?

He’d worked with midwives for most of his adult life, but none of them had looked like her.

Carlo tried to ask her something intelligent but all he could see was that gorgeous smile that seemed to take over her whole face. Suddenly his brain and his body seemed to be ruled by a vicious rush of male hormones. He’d dated some of the most beautiful women in the world, but he couldn’t remember a single one who had threatened his ability to walk in a straight line. Until now.

‘Do all English midwives walk around in the dark, carrying bin liners?’

‘I was trying not to attract attention,’ she confided, and he gave a wry smile.

‘I think you need more practice.’

‘You might be right.’ She looked sorrowfully at her torn jeans. ‘They must have thought I had something exciting in my bin bag.’

‘And have you?’

‘Well, I haven’t robbed a bank, if that’s what you mean.’ She chuckled and hoisted the bag towards her, twisting the neck so that the contents were safe. ‘Actually, I’m on my way to see a patient. So, if you’re sure your face is all right, I suppose this is where we say goodbye.’

No way!

‘I’ll come with you,’ he said immediately. ‘There’s no way I should be allowed to walk these streets on my own. It’s not safe.’

She looked up at him, her cheeks dimpling. ‘You need my protection?’