‘Fine,’ she sighed out as she stepped a little ahead of him into the hallway. ‘I’m on the top floor.’ The curved staircase and the encaustic tiles underfoot were about the only original features left in the building which had been unsympathetically ‘modernised’ back in the seventies.

‘Where is the lift?’

‘We don’t have one.’ The trick, she told her shaking knees, was to take one step at a time—literally. This might take some time!

She had gone up the first three steps, the situation not made easier by the man behind her who was vibrating silent impatience, when she heard a soft growl.

His flight might not be an option now, but at this rate he’d be here half the night and she’d be on her knees by the time she got to the top floor. Sure, the woman was remarkably plucky, but he’d always thought plucky was another word for stubborn.

It was all a bit of a blur as one moment Tess was holding onto the bannister, and the next she was being casually lifted up into his arms. She grabbed the fabric of his jacket as he strode onwards and upwards.

‘Quite unnecessary,’ she gasped, sounding a bit like one of those heroines who fainted a lot and got rescued by dashing heroes—she gave a laugh. She was so not that girl!

‘I was losing the will to live.’

Tess kept her eyes straight ahead, aware of the occasional waft of warm breath on her cheek, trying to retain as much dignity as possible—a bit late for that! The hardness of his chest, the warmth, the false intimacy of the situation—all lent another layer of disorientation to what had been a very disorientating experience!

Outside her door he put her back down on her feet.

‘You’re very kind.’

His jaw clenched. ‘I am not kind.’

‘Well, I think you are.’ She fished in one of the deep pockets for her key. ‘So thank you, and goodnight.’

For the first time Danilo noticed there was something quite stubborn about her rounded chin. He found his eyes sliding lower down the column of her neck, the swanlike curve exposed now as she unfastened the top button of her ridiculous coat. She was too pale and too thin but her skin had a flawless, almost translucent quality. He scrutinised her with casual curiosity, wondering what she’d look like if she didn’t dress like a reject from a charity shop.

‘Not that good a night for you.’

She gave a sigh. It looked as if he wasn’t going until she was inside. Flipping her hair, which hung in wet rats’ tails down her back, off her face, she made a frustrated sound through clenched teeth. Her hand was shaking so hard she couldn’t fit the key in the lock. ‘There’s a knack,’ she panted, her breathing almost as erratic as her heart rate while ironically the man who had just carried her up three flights of stairs was not even breathing hard. He might not be breathing hard but she could feel the impatience rolling off him in waves. It didn’t help.

As her frustration built Tess resisted the impulse to kick the door. Instead she rested her forehead on the door and jiggled the key once more.

Her sigh was one of intense relief when it finally opened. She reached for the light switch and stepped inside before turning around. ‘Thank you again. I’ll be fine now.’

Danilo, his head ducked to avoid the low beams in what had presumably started off as the servants’ quarters in the house, nodded, half turned and then lost the fight with his conscience.

He closed his eyes and sighed. He really wanted to walk away. He wanted to listen to the voice of common sense that was urging him not to get involved, the same voice reminding him that this was none of his business, that no good, as his English nanny years ago had been fond of darkly warning, would come of it!

But inevitably the tug of guilt was too strong to resist.

‘You don’t look fine.’ That was a massive understatement. Under the strong electric light her face was the colour of paper, the shadows circling her eyes so dark they looked like bruises.

Well, I can’t argue with that! Tess’s own gaze collided with the critical stare of her dark-eyed rescuer—no man should be allowed eyelashes that long—and stopped. She had just had a close encounter with her own personal stalker, she was struggling to stay upright on knees that felt like cotton wool and she was worried about how she looked... Tess put it down to the temperature she was inevitably running.

‘Can I call someone for you?’ It was called passing the buck and seemed like a very good idea. ‘You shouldn’t be alone.’