The Italian's Passionate Proposal
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Sarah Morgan
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8
CHAPTER ONE
THE freezing air was thick with softly falling snowflakes and the darkened streets of the East End of London were totally deserted. With less than a week to go until Christmas, most people were at home, decorating trees and wrapping presents.
Carlo Santini was barely aware of the inhospitable nature of his surroundings. He was restless and on edge, frustrated beyond belief by recent developments in his life. A frown on his handsome face, he paced rhythmically along the icy pavement, his footsteps muffled by the thick covering of snow, the collar of his black coat turned up against the cold.
He’d been warned to keep to his apartment and the hospital but he was totally fed up with the warnings.
In fact, he was so disillusioned with his life that when things had finally come to a head and he’d been ordered to leave Italy for a short time, he’d been only too happy to comply.
His old life was starting to feel like a prison.
Having enormous wealth was a fantasy for most people but for Carlo the reality had become an increasing burden over the years and he embraced the chance to pretend that it didn’t exist, even for a few precious weeks. Being forced to come to London and work under an assumed name was a gift that he was determined to grab with both hands.
For the first time in his whole life, no one would know who he was.
People would respond to his medical and personal skills rather than his reputation as a billionaire playboy or his impressive connections.
Suddenly aware of just how quiet the streets were, Carlo narrowed his eyes and took a brief look around. He’d always refused to have a personal bodyguard and the recent threats to his life hadn’t changed that. He preferred to look out for himself.
He gave a slight smile. Matteo Parini, his father’s chief of security, was probably in their London apartment biting his nails at this very moment, wondering where he was.
And Carlo was under no illusions about his safety. Even hidden in the East End of London under an assumed name, he wasn’t safe. Not until they caught the men who were threatening his life. But at least for a few hours he could pretend that nothing was wrong.
Suddenly aware that two men had appeared in the street ahead of him, he tensed his broad shoulders slightly. They were walking slowly and Carlo’s eyes narrowed suspiciously as he watched them.
Why would they be dawdling when it was below freezing? It was hardly the night for a winter stroll.
Then he saw one of them glance across the street and for the first time noticed a young boy, slight in build, hurrying along the pavement, clutching a stuffed bin bag, his eyes down as he struggled against the snow.
Guessing their intention before they’d even acted, Carlo removed his hands from his pockets, his lean features suddenly showing a strength of purpose. Without drawing attention to himself, he increased his pace, every sense on alert as he closed the distance between them.
With no warning they suddenly turned and sprinted across the snowy street, attacking the young boy viciously, grabbing the bin bag that he was carrying and pushing him roughly to the ground.
Carlo’s eyes gleamed and adrenaline rushed through his veins, but before he could reach them the young boy was back on his feet, lithe and agile. He grabbed one of the men in a classic judo hold and threw him heavily onto the pavement.
Carlo winced at the sickening thud and gave a surprised smile.
Maybe the lad didn’t need his help after all. He seemed to be doing pretty well by himself.
Or maybe not…
As the man lay groaning on the ground, his accomplice grabbed the boy round the throat and Carlo saw a flash of steel.
His blood heating, he moved swiftly, using the element of surprise to his advantage, attacking the man from behind and enclosing his wrist in a deadly grip until the knife fell to the ground.
‘Let him go…’ He couldn’t think of a suitable word in English so he switched to Italian, twisting the man’s arm behind his back in a ruthless hold that forced him to release the boy.
The other attacker scrambled to his feet, winded by the fall, bracing himself for a fight.
Breathing heavily, he caught the cold, dangerous look in Carlo’s eyes and backed away, his change of heart evident.
‘Hey, it wasn’t my idea…’
He glared at his friend, still held captive by Carlo’s deadly hold, and then turned and ran for it, sprinting away as fast as he could, slipping and sliding on the snowy street in his haste to put distance between them.
Swearing fluently, the other man whimpered with the pain in his arm and Carlo reluctantly let him go, kicking the knife out of reach, cold fury erupting inside him. Why were they attacking a kid?
Rubbing his arm, the man gave an angry snarl, landed a final vicious kick in the boy’s stomach and then turned and ran after his friend.
Carlo was itching to chase them but he was aware that the young boy was doubled up in pain from the kick. He reached out a hand to offer support and found himself flat on his back on the pavement, staring up at the stars.
How the hell had that happened?
He was an expert in several martial arts and had spent his entire life prepared to defend himself. He just hadn’t expected to have to defend himself from someone who didn’t even reach his chin and whom he’d just rescued.
But clearly the boy didn’t realise he was being rescued.
Grunting with pain, every muscle in his body protesting, Carlo struggled to sit up and then ducked as a booted foot flew in the direction of his face.
‘Stay away from me, you scum!’
Deciding that this was becoming dangerous, he grabbed the foot and brought the boy down as gently as he could, rolling on top of him so that he could hold him securely.
‘I’m not trying to hurt you,’ he gritted, grabbing both arms and pinning the boy to the pavement. Finally the boy stopped wriggling and glared up at him defiantly and Carlo felt something shift in his stomach.
He’d never seen a boy with eyes that beautiful.
They were an amazing shade of green, fringed with thick lashes that were inky black.
Following through on a totally male instinct, he released the boy’s hands and jerked off the woolly hat, sucking in his breath as soft dark hair tumbled down and trailed in the snow.
Not a boy…
His last coherent thought was that she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen in his life.
And then she hit him.
Carlo winced as her small fist made contact with his cheekbone, pain splitting the side of his face. He swore fluently in Italian and moved his jaw gingerly, testing for fractures.
He’d say this for the girl, she certainly knew how to fight. Why had he ever thought she needed his protection?
Careful not to hurt her, he shifted himself so that he pinned her more securely and caught hold of her hands as she struggled.
‘Porca miseria, I’m not attacking you,’ he growled impatiently. ‘I’m rescuing you!’
Her eyes were blazing up into his, her chest rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath.
‘Rescuing me? You’re not rescuing me, you’re suffocating me! And ranting at me in a strange language. Let me go!’
She was gorgeous.
Utterly captivated, Carlo gave her a lazy smile but didn’t move an inch. He was enjoying it far too much to move. The feel of her soft, womanly body under his was fantastic. How could he ever have thought she was a boy?
He must be losing it…
Her outraged glare faded and she stared up at him, her stunning green eyes locking with his. ‘Are you going to lie on top of me all night?’
Given the chance, yes.
‘Is that an invitation?’ Carlo knew he ought to move and help her up, but all he wanted to do was bend his head and kiss her.
So he did.
As his mouth came down on hers he hung onto her hands, fully expecting her to take another swipe at him, but after the briefest hesitation her soft lips parted and she kissed him back, sighing slightly as he used all the skill of his thirty-four years to seduce a response from her.
When he finally dragged his mouth away from hers he felt drugged. It had only been a taste but it had been enough to make him want the whole meal.
‘Wh-what did you do that for?’ Those amazing green eyes were still staring up at him, and for the first time in his life Carlo found it difficult to string a coherent sentence together. His body and brain felt disconnected.
‘Kiss of life,’ he murmured huskily, his mind and body still focused on her mouth. ‘They were pretty rough with you—I thought maybe…’
‘I don’t think it worked.’ Her expression was slightly dazed and her voice was smoky and feminine. ‘Want to try it again?’
Carlo lowered his head and kissed her thoroughly, this time releasing his grip so that he could use his hands to haul her body even closer to his.
He felt her shudder under him, felt her slim arms slide round his neck, and for endless moments he was lost in the soft, sweet wonder of her mouth.
Then he heard a shout from the pavement opposite and rolled to his feet, instantly alert.
Be discreet, his father and brother had said.
Lying on a snowy pavement kissing a gorgeous female in full view of anyone who happened to pass probably didn’t qualify, he admitted ruefully, reaching down a hand to pull her up.
She staggered to her feet and then jerked her hand away as if his touch had singed her.
‘I can’t believe we just did that.’ She backed away from him and lifted her fingers to her lips, her expression stunned. ‘I can’t believe I let you kiss me. You’re a stranger. I don’t kiss strangers.’
She looked confused and wary, and he forced himself to stand still and give her some space. He could hardly blame her for being nervous of him. After all, she’d just been mugged.
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?’
‘Absolutely.’ His voice was husky and he saw her breath catch in her throat.
‘You’re at least six foot three and you’ve got more muscles than I’ve ever seen on one body,’ she pointed out, appreciation in her eyes as they wandered over his broad shoulders. ‘You tackled those guys without a second thought and you certainly don’t look like a man who’s afraid of much.’
Up until five minutes ago he would have agreed with her, but since the moment she’d thrown him to the floor everything had changed.
‘I’m afraid of never seeing you again.’
The only sound was the soft whisper of snow as it floated past her stunned face and settled on the black wool jacket she was wearing.
When she finally spoke her voice was shaky. ‘I suppose I’m meant to say that you’re being ridiculous.’
He stepped closer to her, aware of just how delicate she was. Suddenly he felt fiercely protective. ‘Say it, then.’
She stared up at him and he could see that she’d stopped breathing. ‘I—I can’t.’ A look of confusion crossed her face. ‘Oh, help! What are you doing to me?’
Their eyes held, the heat and tension between them almost melting the snow.
Without shifting his gaze, Carlo held out a hand, and after endless seconds she stepped towards him and took it.
He pulled her against him and stroked her snowy dark hair away from her face, thinking how beautiful she was.
She stared up at him and he could see her breathing quicken. ‘I—This is crazy. I really ought to be going…’
‘Me, too. Do you think we should kiss each other goodbye?’ He was only a breath away from touching her mouth with his when she dipped her head and gave him a gentle push.
‘What is it that you do to me? I don’t behave like this! I don’t even know you.’
Carlo stared down at her thoughtfully, a warm feeling spreading through his body.
He never met people who didn’t know him.
In Italy, everyone knew him. His picture appeared regularly in the newspapers and gossip columns and he hated it. He hated being public property.
But to this girl he was a stranger and it was a totally novel experience.
‘Everyone is a stranger the first time you meet them,’ he pointed out gently, and she gave him a half-smile that betrayed her confusion.
‘That’s true, I suppose, but I don’t usually kiss men I’ve only known for five minutes.’
‘So I’ll hang around until you’ve known me for longer,’ Carlo said, and she rolled her eyes in exasperation.
‘Are you always this persistent?’
No. He never usually needed to be. He was one of the richest men in Italy and he was usually the one tactfully keeping women at a distance.
‘Look, why don’t we go somewhere warm and grab a coffee or something?’
‘I can’t. At least, not right now.’ She glanced at her watch and pulled a face. ‘There’s somewhere I have to be and I don’t want to be too late. It’s not the best of places in the middle of the day, but at night it’s horrid. I meant to go earlier but I had to stay late at the hospital. I need to go and do my visit and you ought to go home and get some ice on your cheek,’ she said, touching it with gentle fingers, guilt in her eyes. ‘I’m really, really sorry. I wasn’t thinking straight.’
‘Forget it.’ Carlo gave a lopsided smile, wondering where all his smooth chat-up lines had gone when he needed them. He could think of a dozen things to say to her in Italian but none at all in English. ‘Just remind me never to get on the wrong side of you.’
She lifted an arm and pretended to flex her biceps. ‘Scary, that’s me.’
Carlo looked deep into those green eyes and decided that she definitely was scary, but not for any of the reasons she imagined.
The scariest thing of all was that even though he’d only known her for five minutes, there was no way he was letting this woman out of his sight. Part of him knew that he should walk away from her. He was involved in something nasty and he certainly didn’t want her dragged into it. But he wasn’t prepared to let her go even for a moment. He was going to see where this led and deal with the consequences later.
‘All right, if you won’t come with me then I’ll have to come with you on your call, and then we can both put ice on my face together.’
As a pick-up line it was novel, but he was past caring.
He was a desperate man.
If she turned and walked away, he’d have to consider kidnapping her.
‘You can’t come with me on my call.’ She clutched the bin bag more tightly. ‘It’s a professional visit. I can’t just take a man I picked up on the street.’
‘I picked you up,’ he pointed out, and she rolled her eyes.
‘Details. Details.’
He gave a lopsided smile. ‘Would it help if I confessed that I’m an obstetrician?’
Her eyes widened in disbelief and she started to laugh.
He frowned at her. ‘What’s so funny?’
‘I’m just trying to imagine any of the obstetricians I know fighting like you did.’ She shook her head slightly, still laughing. ‘I’m failing dismally. They’re all very puny and academic. They’d have trouble wrestling with a microscope.’
He lifted an eyebrow, pretending to be offended. ‘You don’t think I’m academic?’
‘You mean you’ve got all that muscle and a brain?’ She batted her eyelids and he grinned appreciatively.
‘I certainly have.’ He adored her sense of humour. ‘So, now do you believe I’m an obstetrician?’
‘No.’ Her cheeks were rosy from the cold. ‘I’ve worked with loads of obstetricians and none of them look like you.’
Was that good or bad?
‘So what’s wrong with me?’
Her smile faded and he saw the uncertainty in her eyes, and something else that had a serious effect on the fit of his jeans. ‘Oh, there’s nothing wrong with you at all. That’s what I mean.’
His blood heated and he had to stop himself grabbing her again. ‘Well, until you see me in action you’re just going to have to take my word for it. So, can I come?’
She tipped her head to one side. ‘Well, if you’re truly an obstetrician, then tell me where you work.’
‘I’m doing a locum job at St Catherine’s from tomorrow.’
Using a false surname that only he, his security team and the most senior member of the hospital were aware of.
Her eyes widened. ‘That’s spooky! I work there, too.’
Did she, now? That was the best news he’d had for months.
‘Which definitely means I can come on your visit,’ he said smoothly. ‘We’re colleagues. And after that I’m walking you home and we can heal each other’s bruises.’
Her lips parted slightly and he held his breath. If she said no, he was in big trouble.
‘I—I don’t know…’
The wary look was back and he gave her a smile that he hoped was non-threatening.
‘Look, I know this was an unconventional meeting, but you don’t need to be scared of me. If I step out of line you can always black my other eye.’
Maybe he was playing dirty by appealing to her conscience but he didn’t care. He wasn’t going to let her walk out of his life.
‘All right.’ She hauled the bag onto her shoulder and jerked her head towards a high-rise building in the next street. ‘Come with me to see Kelly and then we’ll go back to my place and sort your face out. It’s the least I can do after having tried to half kill you.’
Resisting the impulse to punch the air in triumph, Carlo shortened his stride to match hers and followed her up seemingly endless flight of soulless concrete steps that intersected the flats.
He glanced around with a deepening frown.
No wonder she didn’t like coming here at night. The place was menacing and rough. Definitely not somewhere to be after dark. Especially for a woman on her own. The walls were covered in graffiti, there were smashed windows and boarded-up doors and, even this close to Christmas, there was very little evidence of festive cheer.
The girl came to a halt in front of a door, tugged the woollen hat back on her head and stuffed her hair back underneath it.
‘All part of the disguise.’ She tossed him a smile that made his whole body ache, and tapped on the door.
‘Kelly?’ She leaned closer to the door. ‘Kelly, it’s Zan. Let me in.’
Zan? Carlo blinked in surprise.
What sort of a name was Zan?
He was still trying to work it out when the door jerked open and a burly man stood there.
If ever a man was looking for a fight it was this one, and instinctively Carlo straightened his shoulders and prepared himself for trouble.
What the hell was the girl doing in a place like this? This certainly wasn’t his idea of midwifery.
‘Hi, Mike.’ Zan didn’t seem remotely nervous. Instead, she just gave the man the same warm smile she’d used on him earlier and peeped round him into the flat. ‘Can I see Kelly? I brought some stuff…’
She jiggled the black bin back temptingly and Mike’s face darkened.
‘We ain’t taking no charity!’
Zan shook her head. ‘Of course you’re not. It isn’t charity,’ she said easily, her tone relaxed and friendly. ‘Mothers swap clothes all the time. Someone I look after was having a clear-out—I just thought you might find it useful, but I can offer it to someone else if you prefer…’
Mike glowered at her and then opened the door wider. ‘And while we’re at it Kelly ain’t going to hospital, so don’t even think about suggesting it.’ He looked over her shoulder and his eyes narrowed as they fixed on Carlo. He looked at him man to man, his eyes resting on the width of Carlo’s shoulders. ‘Who’s he?’
Zan opened her mouth but Carlo spoke first.
‘I’m a doctor. Carlo Bennett.’
He almost stumbled over the surname, because it wasn’t his and he wasn’t used to it yet, but it was the name that everyone had agreed he should use while he was hiding out in London. As a qualified surgeon he was actually entitled to call himself Mr, but he didn’t think this was the time to worry about the finer points of titles. ‘I’m going to be working in this area and Zan said I could come with her on some visits.’
Aware that Zan was staring at him, Carlo gave the other man a friendly smile and reached out a hand.
There was a moment’s hesitation and then Mike shook it briefly, but his expression was still unfriendly.
‘You don’t look English and you don’t sound English.’
‘Part Italian,’ Carlo lied smoothly, denying some of his heritage in the interests of discretion. Mike pulled a face, leaving no one in any doubt of what he thought of foreign doctors.
‘Well, you can come in as you’re here, but you might as well know that I hate doctors and I’m not having one of them near my woman. Zan’s the only one I’ll let look at her.’
‘No problem.’ Careful to be non-confrontational, Carlo strolled into the flat after Zan, trying not to show his shock as they walked into the tiny sitting room.
The room was filthy and stacked high with old newspapers and half-eaten plates of food. In the middle of the carpet a German shepherd dog lay with its head on one paw, eyes fixed warily on Carlo.
The place was damp and freezing, and in the corner was a thin wisp of a girl with a rounded stomach and skinny legs.
‘Hi, Kelly.’ Clearing a space on the sofa, Zan sat down and opened the bin bag. ‘How are you feeling?’
Kelly glanced nervously at Mike, who gave a nod. ‘I’m doing OK,’ she said in a low voice, ‘but I’m pretty tired. Well, very tired, actually.’
And he would have bet half his fortune that she was anaemic, Carlo thought, running a professional eye over the patient and her surroundings. Judging from the remains of the food on the plate, she wasn’t eating properly.
‘I think it’s possible that you may be anaemic,’ Zan was saying as she delved into the bag for a blood-pressure cuff. ‘That basically means that your blood isn’t carrying enough oxygen. It can happen very easily when you’re pregnant, especially if you don’t eat properly.’
Carlo blinked with admiration. So she’d homed in on the same problem immediately.
She checked Kelly’s blood pressure and then glanced at Mike. ‘I really want to take a blood sample, Mike.’
‘No way.’ His tone was unfriendly. ‘I’m not having you sticking needles in her. Just do what you have to do and leave.’
Zan’s expression was understanding. ‘I’m just trying to help her, Mike. She’s thirty-four weeks pregnant. If she is anaemic then that could be the reason she’s so tired, and we need to get it sorted out before she has the baby. I want to check the iron levels in her blood.’
‘No needles.’ Mike moved towards Zan and Carlo took a step forward, ready to intervene.
No way was that thug going any nearer to Zan.
‘If you’ve got iron in your bag then just give it to her,’ Carlo said smoothly, and three pairs of eyes turned to look at him.
‘There’s a strong chance that you are anaemic, and obviously we’d like to check that out.’ He spoke directly to Kelly. ‘But if you’d rather we didn’t then the next best thing is to just give you the iron.’
‘Will it hurt the baby?’
‘It could hurt you if you don’t have it,’ Carlo said gently. ‘Being pregnant and giving birth to a child place huge demands on your body. We need to correct it or you could have problems during your delivery and you’ll be exhausted afterwards. When you come into the hospital we—’
‘She ain’t coming into the hospital!’ Mike growled, and Zan cleared her throat.
‘Don’t let’s worry about that now. You’ve got my number, and you know that I’ll deliver Kelly any time you want me to, anywhere you want me to, but we really do need her to take some iron.’ She reached into her bag and pulled out a bottle of tablets. ‘Will you take one a day for me?’
Kelly glanced at Mike for approval before taking the bottle, and he gave a brief nod.
‘And now can I just check the position of the baby?’
‘Not with him in the room.’ Mike glared at Carlo, who strolled towards the living-room door immediately.
‘I’ll wait in the hallway.’
Whatever had happened to the man to make him so suspicious?
Five minutes later Zan called him back in.
Her eyes were troubled as they met his. ‘I don’t think the baby is growing quite as fast as it should—She’s small for thirty-four weeks.’
Carlo lifted his eyes to Mike. ‘Can I examine her?’
‘No!’
‘Mike, please?’ Zan’s voice was soft and reassuring and Mike hesitated, his jaw set.
Finally he nodded. ‘All right.’ He glared at Carlo. ‘But I’m watching you.’
‘That’s fine.’ Carlo moved his hands skilfully over the mother’s abdomen, thinking that he’d never seen such a half-starved waif in his life. Normally he dealt with the pampered wives of the hideously wealthy, and the contrast was extreme. As he examined the girl he realised just how bored he’d become, working in his world-famous Women’s Unit in Milan. The case he was seeing now presented so much more of a challenge, both medically and socially.
‘Well?’
Mike was looking at him threateningly and Carlo picked up the tape measure that Zan had used and measured Kelly from the top of the bump to her pelvic bone. The measurement was supposed to correlate roughly to the number of weeks of pregnancy, but in this case Zan was right. The baby seemed small.
‘Do you smoke?’
Kelly shook her head, but her eyes slid nervously to Mike and Carlo deduced that the man probably smoked heavily and that she was therefore subjecting the baby to passive smoking.
‘The baby does seem slightly smaller than we would like,’ he said gently, talking directly to Kelly. ‘Ideally I’d like to get you to come to the hospital for a series of scans. Nothing scary. We just slide a clever device that’s basically a camera over your stomach and we’re able to measure the size of the baby’s head. That gives us an indication of what size the baby should be, and we can then take a look at the rest of him.’
Kelly glanced at Mike, who shook his head.
‘She’s not going to hospital.’
Carlo frowned. ‘But—’
‘That’s fine,’ Zan interrupted quickly, shooting Carlo a warning look. ‘But if you change your mind then come and see us any time. I brought you some clothes, Kelly.’
She delved into the bin bag again and pulled out another bag full of tiny baby clothes, vests and a gorgeous blanket.
Carlo’s eyes narrowed.
If those clothes were second-hand then he was an Englishman.
Kelly gave a gasp and her face suddenly shone like the sun coming out from behind a cloud.
‘Someone was giving this away?’ She fingered one of the outfits in disbelief and Zan smiled.
‘They were no use to her.’
Oh, sure.
‘But they’re like new.’ Kelly looked at Mike, her expression pleading. ‘Can I keep them—please?’
Carlo found himself holding his breath and finally Mike nodded. ‘I suppose so,’ he muttered.
‘Oh, and I’ve had a word with the council,’ Zan said casually, ‘and they’re trying to rehouse you in a flat on the first floor.’
Kelly looked at her with hope in her eyes. ‘Really?’ Her slim shoulders sagged slightly. ‘I just can’t let myself get excited in case it doesn’t happen.’
‘It will happen, Kelly,’ Zan said firmly. ‘There’s no way you can stay here. The weather is getting colder, the flat is damp and there’s fourteen flights of stairs between you and the ground floor. How are you going to manage that with a baby when the lift’s out of order? I’ve been talking to Social Services about rehousing you and they’re doing their best.’
Carlo listened to her and wondered if the couple had any idea how lucky they were to have Zan to fight their corner.
‘She can take the tablets, but she ain’t coming to hospital for that scan thing,’ Mike said, and Zan looked him in the eye.
‘The baby isn’t big enough, Mike. We really need to—’
‘Get out!’
Kelly flinched and shrank back into her chair.
Carlo’s eyes narrowed slightly and he drew himself up to his full height, preparing himself for trouble.
‘We’re leaving,’ Zan said calmly, smiling at Mike as though he hadn’t just yelled at her in the rudest way possible. ‘We’ll talk about it again next time.’
‘She ain’t going to the hospital and that’s final.’
Zan stood up. ‘That’s fine, Mike.’ She turned to look at Kelly, her gaze direct. ‘Any problems, call me.’
With that she looked meaningfully at Carlo and walked out of the flat with him following close behind.
