Vettori's Damsel in Distress (Harlequin Romance Large Print) Read Online Free Page B

imagine what fun it would be trying to tempt him out.
    Dante glanced down as the kitten, a tiny front paw resting against the steep side of the bath, protested at this indignity. ‘Smart thinking.’
    ‘When you’ve taken a room apart looking for a kitten that’s managed to squeeze through a crack in the skirting board,’ she told him, ‘you learn to keep them confined.’
    ‘You live an interesting life, Angelica Amery,’ he said, watching as she attempted to slip the buttons at her wrist without getting blood on her dress.
    ‘Isn’t that a curse in China?’ she asked.
    ‘I believe that would be “May you live in interesting times”,’ he said, ‘but you’ll forgive me if I say that you don’t dress like a woman in search of a quiet life.’
    ‘Well, you know what they say,’ she replied. ‘Life is short. Eat ice cream every day.’
    A smile deepened the lines bracketing his mouth, fanned out from his eyes. ‘What “they” would that be?’
    ‘More of an “it”, actually. It’s Rosie, our vintage ice cream van. In her
Little Book of Ice Cream
.’ He looked confused—who wouldn’t? ‘Of course she has a vested interest.’
    ‘Right...’
    ‘It’s the sentiment that matters, Dante. You can substitute whatever lifts your spirits. Chocolate? Cherries?’ No response. ‘Cheese?’ she offered, hoping to make him laugh. Or at least smile.
    ‘Permesso?’
He indicated her continuing struggle with shaky fingers and fiddly buttons.
    Okay, it wasn’t that funny and, giving up on the buttons, she surrendered her hand.
‘Prego.’
    He carefully unfastened the loops holding the cuff together, folded the sleeve back out of the way, then, taking hold of her wrist, he pumped a little liquid soap into her palm.
    Her heart rate, which was already going well over the speed limit, accelerated and, on the point of telling him that she could handle it from here, she took her own advice. Okay, it wasn’t ice cream or even chocolate, but how often was a seriously scrumptious man going to take her hand between his and—?
    ‘Coraggio,’
he murmured as his thumb brushed her palm and a tiny whimper escaped her lips.
    ‘Mmm...’
    He turned to look at her, the edge of his faintly stubbled jaw an enticing whisper away from her lips. ‘Does that sting?’
    ‘No...’ She shook her head. ‘That’s not...stinging.’
    She was feeling no pain as he gently massaged the soap between her fingers, around her thumb, wrist and into her palm. All sensation was centred much lower as he rinsed off the soap, pulled a thick white towel from a pile and carefully dried her hand.
    ‘Va bene?’
he asked.
    ‘Va bene,’
she repeated. Very, very
bene
indeed. He was so deliciously gentle. So very
thorough
.
    ‘Hold on. This
will
sting,’ he warned as he took a box of antiseptic wipes from the cupboard over the sink and opened a pouch.
    ‘I’ll try not to scream,’ she said but, taking no chances—her knees were in a pitifully weak state—she did as she was told and, putting her other hand on his shoulder, hung on.
    She’d feel such a fool if she collapsed at his feet.
    Really.
    His shoulder felt wonderfully solid beneath the soft wool shirt. He was so close that she was breathing in the scent of coffee, warm male skin and, as his hair slid in a thick silky wedge over his forehead, she took a hit of the herby shampoo he used. It completely obliterated the sharp smell of antiseptic.
    He opened a dressing and applied it carefully to the soft mound of flesh beneath her thumb.
    ‘All done.’
    ‘No...’
    Dante looked up, a silent query buckling the space between his brows and her mouth dried. He’d been right about the need to hang on. The word had slipped through her lips while her brain was fully occupied in keeping her vertical.
    ‘There’s something else?’ he asked.
    ‘Yes... No...’ She hadn’t been criticising his first aid skills; she just hadn’t wanted him to stop. ‘It’s nothing.’
    ‘Tell me,’