Italian Mavericks: Expecting The Italian's Baby. Andie BrockЧитать онлайн книгу.
most sense, but the street was deserted.
A moment later, she wished the street had stayed deserted as out of a side alley a group of young men appeared, five or six of them making enough noise for twenty. There was some good-natured banter and a bit of pushing and shoving. It was hard to tell the mood and quite honestly she didn’t fancy staying around to find out.
Alcohol, testosterone, peer pressure—not a good combination.
Hampered by her high spiky heels, she only got a few steps before one of the group spotted her.
Lara didn’t react to him or to the cacophony of calls and whistles, and instead just carried on walking. Do not show fear! Do not show fear!
Any minute now someone would walk round that corner, a figure of authority, someone who would say... ‘Ouch!’
By some miracle she managed not to fall when one of her heels came clear off, but her recovery was not elegant and the pain that shot through her ankle was agonising. She registered the laughter behind and this time it was her temper, not her heel, that snapped.
In the grip of a red-mist moment, she slipped off the broken shoe and, with it in her hand, turned to face the group. Her chest lifted in tune with her angry inhalations, her green eyes flashing contempt and fury, her mind clear of the fear she had felt just moments ago. The group of young men became the focus of all her accumulated anger and the humiliation seething inside her.
She was so focused on them that the fact that someone had come around the corner didn’t register on Lara’s radar.
Her red hair swirled around her like a silken curtain as she allowed her eyes to travel disdainfully over their collective heads.
Wrath swelled inside her, mingled with self-disgust. She had been running from them, and they were just kids... Well, teenagers really. Although this did not entirely remove the potential threat they represented, Lara was too mad to care. This was the real Lara, the one who stood her ground, not the one who’d run off crying because her dream lover had turned out to be a totally useless louse.
She took several limping steps towards them. Nobody was laughing now, the victim having taken them all by surprise, or perhaps they were just stunned by her beauty.
The scene’s new onlooker could identify with that!
Dio, but she was utterly stunning! She managed by some miracle to be graceful, even minus one heel. The red dress she wore clung lovingly to every inch of her sinuous curves and clashed with the glorious cloud of hair she tossed back. She brandished the shoe in one hand while delivering a killer glare at her persecutors like some glorious Valkyrie descended from the heavens. And then Raoul got his first full look at her face.
The purity of her features had been visible in profile—she had a little chin, high forehead, smooth sculpted cheeks, and straight little nose. But what he hadn’t been able to appreciate fully was the liquid flash of incredible long-lashed eyes set beneath curved, feathery, dark brows or the miracle of her mouth, the firm bottom lip softened by the lush fullness of the upper.
If the first stroke of heat had nailed him to the spot, this subsequent one shut down his brain, though the absence of his higher functions did not prevent other parts of his body continuing to act and react with painful independence.
‘Your idea of a good night out, is it?’
English, her voice pitched low even in anger; it had a sexy huskiness as she rounded on the gang who probably didn’t understand a word she was saying.
One laughed and she pounced on him with the verbal punch of a spitting cat. ‘Big man, aren’t you, with your friends around you?’ she jeered, swinging her stabbing finger around the group. ‘Alone would you or any of your friends here be so brave? You’re a bunch of pathetic losers who should be ashamed of themselves...’ She focused on the ringleader and pointed the finger at him. ‘If I was your mother I’d be ashamed!’
Under the battering tirade, several of the boys started to back away and one even lifted his hand and said, ‘Sorry, beautiful lady.’
Raoul agreed with the description but would have added gutsy to the description. He couldn’t think of another woman he knew who would have handled the situation in the same way. It had been a risky move, but you couldn’t help admire her bloody-minded bravery.
Who was she, this brave, slightly crazy redhead? She bent to rub her ankle, causing the red dress to pull tight across her hips and behind.
He thought that must be the trigger, her lovely bottom, and raging teenage hormones. Whatever the cause, the effect was an immediate and complete change of atmosphere. One second it looked as though the situation had been defused, but then one boy—that was all it ever took—who clearly wanted to show off in front of his friends, took a swaggering step forward. He yelled out a mocking taunt at his retreating comrades and advanced towards the redhead with leering intent.
As he watched, Raoul’s jaw tightened, though he could tell the girl didn’t understand a word of the filth the kid flung at her, but his attitude needed no translation. She stood poised in a flight-or-fight mode, watching him like a lamb watching a fox.
The situation, he decided, had gone on long enough. Raoul stepped out of the shadows, fists clenched. He found there was a smile on his face, now he finally had a legitimate target for the anger that still swirled around inside him.
* * *
Lara’s energising burst of angry adrenaline had exploded like a courageous firework, but now that it had smouldered and faded away she felt scared and terrifyingly vulnerable as the boy moved towards her.
She wanted to run but her feet seemed nailed to the ground. In the periphery of her vision she was aware that the others had stopped walking away, a couple had turned back and they were all watching...waiting...?
Weirdly her brain carried on functioning regardless of the paralysing dread. Then as the paralysis lifted instinct took over and she moved towards one of the street lights. An illusion of safety was better than nothing.
She lifted her hand to her ear and began to speak, her clear voice floating across to the young men, confusing them for a moment. But then one noticed that she had no phone in her hand and the yells began again.
Do not show fear.
A bit late for that, Lara thought. The group had slowly moved until she was surrounded. You should have run when you had the chance, said the voice in her head. Too late now! One tormentor might not have been so bad. She could have dealt with one, talked her way out perhaps, but with several, all egging each other on...?
Aware that her options had been reduced to calling for help and hoping someone would come to her aid, Lara opened her mouth to shout. Only a strangled squeak emerged, but it was drowned out by a new voice, a voice that held an edge of bored irritation.
‘Where have you been? I said outside the casino!’
The youths stopped and swivelled towards him. Raoul raised a sardonic brow and allowed his disdainful glance to drift over them, satisfied they were not going to present a problem. He ignored the flicker of something close to regret—now was not the time to get his knuckles bloody—and instead turned his scrutiny to the luscious redhead. As their glances connected he saw comprehension supplant the shock in her wide-spaced eyes—could that colour possibly be real?—and she didn’t miss a beat before replying, ‘Casino...?’ She shook her head. ‘No, you said we’d go on there afterwards.’
And that smile...!
He’d never understood dedicated enthusiasts who waited for hours in often uncomfortable positions to catch a glimpse of a rare bird. But he would wait for ever to see that smile again, especially as it deepened, revealing a dimple in her smooth cheek. Raoul couldn’t think of a reason in the world not to respond to the challenge in her emerald eyes.
‘And I’m not late, you’re early.’
He watched as she pulled off her other shoe, giving another excellent view of her delicious bottom,