A Proposal to Remember

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.