LITMIR.BIZ

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made for someone else, and that he should have found some way to warn her. But it was too late to worry about that now, and her appearance hardly mattered, for Savannah Ross had him and everyone else in the palm of her hand. She was so richly blessed with music it was all he could do to remain in his seat.

      She refused to let the supporters down. She carried on regardless as more pins followed the first. She was expected to reflect the hopes and dreams of a country, and that was precisely what she was going to do—never mind the wretched dress letting her down. But as she prepared to sing the last few notes the worst happened—the final pin gave way and one pert breast sprang free, the generous swell of it nicely topped off with a rose-pink nipple. Not one person in the crowd missed the moment, for it was recorded for all to see on the giant-sized screen. As she started to shake with shame, the good-natured crowd went wild, applauding her, which helped her hold her nerve for the final top note.

      Thrust from his seat by a rocket-fuelled impulse to shield and protect, Ethan was already shedding his jacket as he stormed onto the pitch. By the time he reached Savannah’s side, the crowd had only just begun to take in what had happened. Not so his target. Tears of frustration were pouring down her face as she struggled to re-pin her dress. As he spoke to her and she looked at him there was a moment, a potent and disturbing moment, when she stared him straight in the eyes and he registered something he hadn’t felt for a long time, or maybe ever. Without giving himself a chance to analyse the feeling, he threw his jacket around her shoulders and led her away, forcing the Italian tenor to launch into Canto degli Italiani—or ‘Song of the Italians’, as the Italian national anthem was known—somewhat sooner than expected.

      There was so much creamy flesh concealed beneath his lightweight jacket it was throwing his brain synapses out of sync. Unlike all the women he’d encountered to date, this young Savannah Ross was having a profound effect on his state of mind. He strode across the pitch with his arm around her shoulders while she endeavoured to keep in step and remain close, whilst not quite touching him. As he took her past the stands the crowd went wild. ‘Viva l’Orso!’ the Italians cried, loving every minute of it: ‘hurrah for the Bear’. The England supporters cheered him just as loudly. He wondered if this compliment was to mark his chivalry or the fact that Ms Ross could hardly conceal her hugely impressive bosom beneath a dress that had burst its stitches. He hardly cared. His overriding thought was to get her out of the eyeline of every lustful male in the Stadio Flaminio, of whom there were far too many for his liking.

      It crossed his mind that this incident would have to have happened in Italy, the land of romantic love and music, the home of passion and beauty. He had always possessed a dark sense of humour, and it amused him now to think that in his heart, the heart everyone was so mistakenly cheering for, there was only an arid desert and a single bitter note.

      By the time Ethan had escorted Savannah into the shelter of the tunnel she was mortified. She felt ridiculously under-dressed in the company of a man noted for his savoir faire. Ethan Alexander was a ruthless, world-renowned tycoon, while she was an ordinary girl who didn’t belong in the spotlight; a girl who wished, in a quite useless flash of longing, that Ethan could have met her on the farm where at least she knew what she was doing.

      ‘Are you all right?’ he asked her gruffly.

      ‘Yes, thank you.’

      He was holding on to her as if he thought she might fall over. Did he think her so pathetically weak? This was worse than her worst nightmare come true, and it was almost a relief when he turned away to make a call.

      It couldn’t be worse, Savannah concluded, taking in the wide, reassuring spread of Ethan’s back. This was a very private man who had been thrust into the spotlight, thanks to her. No doubt he was calling for someone to come and take her away, nuisance that she was. She couldn’t blame him. She had to be so much less in every way than he’d been expecting.

      While he was so much more than she had expected … Ethan Alexander in the flesh was a one-man power source of undiluted energy, a dynamo running on adrenalin and sex. At least that was what her vivid imagination was busy telling her, and she could hardly blame it for running riot. No television-screen or grainy newspaper-image had come close to conveying either Ethan’s size or his compelling physical presence. And yet the most surprising shock of all was the way his lightest and most impersonal touch had scorched fireworks through every part of her. He’d only touched her elbow to help steer her, and had draped his jacket across her back, and yet that had been enough to hot-wire her arm and send sparks flying everywhere they shouldn’t.

      Her thoughts were interrupted by the young physio coming over to see if she could help. ‘It wasn’t your fault,’ Savannah assured her, hoping Ethan could hear. She didn’t want him blaming the young girl for Savannah’s problems. ‘It was my breathing,’ she explained.

      ‘What a problem we’d have had if you hadn’t breathed!’ The young physio shared a laugh with Savannah as she started pinning Savannah back into the dress. ‘And I’m really glad you did breathe, because you were fantastic.’

      Savannah had never been sure how to handle compliments. In her eyes she was just an ordinary girl with an extraordinary voice, and no manual had come with that voice to explain how to deal with the phenomenon that had followed. ‘Thank you,’ she said, spreading her hands wide in a modest gesture.

      But the girl grabbed hold of them and shook them firmly. ‘No,’ she insisted, ‘Don’t you brush it off. You were fantastic. Everyone said so.’

      Everyone? Savannah glanced at Ethan, who still had his back turned to her as he talked on the phone. She pulled his jacket close for comfort; it was warm and smelled faintly of sandalwood and spice. Tracing lapels that hung almost to her knees, she realised that even though Ethan’s jacket was ten sizes too big for her it did little to preserve her modesty, and she hurriedly crossed her arms across her chest as he turned around.

      ‘Okay, I’ve finished,’ the physio reported. ‘Though I doubt the pins on Ms Ross’s dress will hold for long.’

      ‘Right, let’s go,’ Ethan snapped, having thanked the girl.

      ‘Go where?’ Savannah held back nervously as the physio gave her a sympathetic look.

      ‘Ms Ross, I know you’ve had a shock, but there are paparazzi crawling all over the building. Don’t worry about your bag now,’ Ethan said briskly when Savannah gazed down the tunnel. ‘Your things will be sent on to you.’

      ‘Sent where?’

      ‘Just come with me, please.’

      ‘Come with you where?’ The thought of going anywhere with Ethan Alexander terrified her. He was such an imposing man, and an impatient one, but with all the paparazzi in the building the thought of not going with him terrified her even more.

      ‘After you,’ he said, giving her no option as he stood in a way that barred her getting past him.

      ‘Where did you say we were going?’

      ‘I didn’t say.’

      Savannah’s nerve deserted her completely. She wasn’t going anywhere with a man she didn’t know, even if that man was her boss. ‘You go. I’ll be fine. I’ll get a cab.’

      ‘I brought you to Rome, and like it or not while you’re here you’re my responsibility.’

      He didn’t like it at all, she gathered, which left one simple question: did she want this recording contract or not? She couldn’t take the chance of losing it, Savannah realised. She hadn’t come to Rome to sabotage her career. She might not like Ethan’s manner, but she was here on his time. Plus, she didn’t know Rome. If her only interest was getting home as quickly as possible, wasn’t he her best hope?

      She had to run to keep up with him, and then he stopped so suddenly she almost bumped into him. Looking up, Savannah found herself staring into a face that was even more cruelly scarred than she had remembered. Instead of recoiling, she registered a great well of feeling opening up inside her heart. It was almost as if something strong and primal was urging her to heal

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