One Night In…

‘Oh, is that what that was?’ Meghan slapped her forehead in a parody of understanding. ‘Sorry. Silly me. Because it sure didn’t feel that way. It felt like you were condemning me for every single thing I thought you didn’t believe!’

‘I don’t,’ Alessandro said calmly. ‘Not now. But I knew you did, and I had to show you that. Only then would you be able to move on. Stop blaming, stop being the victim.’

‘Thanks for the psychotherapy.’ Meghan turned away in disgust—disgust at herself for falling into his trap, and for the damn thing working.

He knew her better than she knew herself, and it didn’t make sense. It wasn’t fair. She didn’t like feeling so vulnerable, so exposed, so raw.

And yet, she realised with sudden, sweet surprise, it was a relief.

It was a relief to be known and not judged. To be accepted, not condemned. To not carry the burden of her secrets, her shame, alone.

‘Marry me, Meghan.’

It was tempting. Far, far too tempting. To marry a man she barely knew, a man she shouldn’t trust.

Except she did trust him. More, she knew, than she’d ever trusted anyone else.

‘Alessandro, it’s crazy.’ She tried to laugh; it came out as a wobble. ‘We barely know each other.’

‘Actually, I think I know you rather well.’

That much was true. How had he slipped beneath her defences, her skin? When had it happened? How had she not seen, felt, realised until now, when she was exposed and empty and he was tempting her with promises, with hope?

With a second chance.

‘I don’t know you,’ Meghan pointed out. That was true, too. She didn’t understand him at all—couldn’t fathom how such tenderness could be coupled with a refusal to love, how his smiles hid a seething darkness, a vulnerable need so at odds with the strength and control he radiated.

‘You know you can trust me, at least. Don’t you?’

‘Yes …’ She just didn’t know where that trust would lead her.

‘So why not?’

‘ Why? Why not an affair? A few days at your villa and then a sweet parting? Isn’t that what you had in mind all along?’ Her chin lifted in challenge even as the words rent her soul.

Alessandro raised his eyebrows. ‘Is that all you think you’re worth? An affair? Not marriage?’

‘I thought you thought that was all I was worth,’ Meghan responded quietly.

He inclined his head in cool acknowledgement. ‘Now you know that’s not true.’

Meghan tried to laugh, to pierce the unreality of the situation. ‘You haven’t fallen in love with me, have you?’ She’d meant it as a joke, but it fell horribly flat. It came out as a plea, a prayer.

‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘But then you haven’t fallen in love with me either. We don’t believe in love, remember? Or was that a lie?’ His expression turned hard for a moment.

She looked away, out of the window. Twilight was descending on the hills with a purple softness, a peace was cloaking the world that felt so removed from the shattered atmosphere of this room.

‘No, it wasn’t a lie.’ She’d loved Stephen, and he’d used it to his advantage, to control her, time and time again. She’d accepted the snubs, the sneaking around, the hasty moments and couplings, because she’d thought that was what you did when you loved someone. You accepted whatever they gave. You gave whatever they were willing to take.

No matter how much it hurt. No matter how much it cost.

‘Good.’

She looked at him curiously. How could such a gentle and tender man be so hard, so unforgiving? ‘Have you ever been in love?’

‘No.’

‘Never? And you never want to be?’

‘No. Love is a cheap emotion, used to manipulate and blame. I’m not interested in love.’

‘You’ve loved someone, surely?’

Alessandro’s mouth twisted in a bitter smile. ‘My heart’s not broken, if that’s what you mean.’

Meghan shook her head. ‘There must be some reason why you don’t want to love … be loved. It’s a natural human desire. You know my reason. What’s yours?’

His eyes narrowed, blackened. ‘Don’t analyse me, Meghan. Don’t try. Just understand this. I won’t love you. Ever. And I won’t be loved.’ His voice tightened ominously. ‘And, Meghan, if you think you can make me change my mind, you can’t. I don’t love. Anybody. Not even my mother, my father. Not you. You should know that from the start. I thought, in fact, that such a … condition might appeal to you. No danger—isn’t that right?’ He smiled mockingly. ‘Our hearts don’t need to be involved. Won’t be involved.’

She would have had to have been deaf not to hear the warning. ‘But why should I marry you?’ she protested, hating how weak her voice sounded.

His smile was lethal, predatory, possessing. ‘You desire me. It is a good basis for marriage.’

‘Physical desire?’ Meghan didn’t bother keeping the disbelief from her voice. ‘Sex?’

He shrugged, unperturbed. ‘Why not? If we were married there would be no shame in that.’ His gaze roamed over her again.

Meghan felt a blush stain the tender skin between her breasts, crawl up her throat. She watched Alessandro watch that humiliating, revealing stain, a smile playing about his lips. He stared at her, his expression smouldering, daring her to respond, to deny what pulsated between them.

‘A high price for you to pay to sleep with me,’ Meghan couldn’t help but jibe, and Alessandro slashed his hand through the air.

‘Do not debase yourself to me. Ever.’ He paused, his words becoming a caress, a temptation. ‘You would have security, Meghan. No more waitressing, no more grotty hostels. No more running.’

‘I don’t need you for that,’ she whispered.

‘No, but it would help, wouldn’t it? What about when you go back home?’

‘I’m not going back home!’

‘Not now,’ Alessandro agreed, his tone far too placid, too convincing. ‘But never? Can you honestly say you will never see your family again?’

Meghan swallowed. ‘I don’t know.’

‘If you are married to me you can go home with your head held high, a husband at your side. A rather powerful husband. I could buy out all the poky little shops in that town if you wanted me to.’

Meghan managed a shaky laugh. ‘I’m not interested in revenge.’

‘I’m not talking about revenge. I’m talking about power. Power that won’t be abused. Power that you will have at your disposal. The power not to be ashamed. Afraid.’

Colour scorched her cheeks once more. Alessandro caught her hand in his, stroked the tender skin of her palm.

‘Can you tell me you don’t want that?’ he asked softly. ‘Can you tell me that isn’t tempting to you?’

Meghan looked down. His finger stroked her palm, her wrist, her heart. How did he know? How could he possibly guess the thoughts racing through her mind so easily?

Power. The thought called to her with a siren song, lured her forward to a treacherous future. She could be secure. She could live without fear. Safe from the past, the knowing looks, the scorching shame.

She couldn’t wander her way through Europe for ever; it was a half-life at best. She’d put off thinking of the future because she was afraid to face it.

She knew she could start over in another town, begin another life, but the prospect held no appeal. The shame would still be there—the fear that someone would believe what Stephen had, would act as Stephen had.

With Alessandro as her husband she would never need to be afraid again. She would be in control … with him. She could hold her head high.

She could finally have power, and it would not be abused.

She shook her head. It was crazy, but it was tempting.

‘And what do you get out of this bargain?’ she asked after a moment, uneasy suspicion rippling through her.

‘I get a wife who won’t expect me to love her. A wife I desire. Most women want to marry for love. I’m not interested in deceiving or disappointing them. The women who don’t want to marry for love are usually after money. Mine. I’m not interested in them either.’

It sounded chilling, as soulless as a business transaction at a bank. ‘If you’re so against love,’ Meghan asked quietly, ‘why marry at all?’

He hunched one shoulder in a half-shrug. ‘I told you before. It’s not easy being alone.’

‘Get a dog,’ she snapped, and he smiled faintly.

‘I don’t want a dog.’

‘What do you want, Alessandro?’ Meghan asked, and she held her breath for the answer.

His expression stilled, blanked. Although his face was a mask, she sensed the urgency underneath. ‘I want you.’

Meghan’s heart lurched. Yearned. This was what she wanted to hear. Yet she was still afraid. She couldn’t trust it. Not this time. Not again. ‘Why me?’

‘I don’t know,’ he admitted, with an honesty that stung just a little. ‘But I want you, Meghan. I want a life … a life that’s different. A life together.’

‘But without love?’ Meghan clarified, after her heart had stopped stumbling. ‘It sounds kind of cold.’

‘It doesn’t have to be.’

‘Tell me how.’

‘Companionship, desire, affection.’ He ticked them off on his fingers. ‘Don’t those mean something to you?’

All too much. ‘What’s the difference?’ Meghan challenged. ‘Wouldn’t you call those things love?’

He levelled her with one knowing look. ‘Would you?’

No. Love was needing someone like air or water. Needing despite the desire or affection. Needing even though it hurt, even though pain sliced through you, even though it killed you.

She glanced away. ‘What about children?’ There was an ache of longing like a physical pain, deep in her belly.

‘Do I want them? Yes. I need an heir. Someone to run Di Agnio Enterprises when I am gone. Someone to pass it on to.’

‘And would you love your children?’ Meghan asked, her throat raw and aching.

Alessandro paused. ‘I would certainly give them every affection, every opportunity.’

Meghan shook her head. Was it possible to have affection and desire—to enjoy them—without love? She didn’t know. Didn’t know if she could take the risk to find out.

His hand circled her wrist and he pulled her towards him, caressing her with his words. ‘You can stop running, Meghan. You can stop hiding who you are, what happened to you. I already know, and I accept you. I believe you. Does it really matter if I don’t love you?’

She was so near she could feel his breath feathering her face. She lifted her head, saw the truth, the heat blazing in his eyes.

She was tired of running. Of being alone, afraid, ashamed.

‘I wasn’t looking to be rescued,’ she said in a low voice.

He smiled, skimming his fingers along her cheek. ‘We never are.’

‘And you? Will I be enough for you?’ Meghan asked, a thread of uncertainty, of fear, in her voice. ‘What if you get tired of being married? Being married to me? What then?’

Alessandro looked down at her, blinked slowly as he took in her words. When he spoke his voice was quiet, yet as strong and taut as a wire. ‘I honour my promises,’ he said. ‘I honour my word. No matter what you … or anyone … thinks. That is the man I am. The man I mean to be.’ He spoke with a fierce determination that roughened his tone and burned in his eyes.

She wanted to believe. She wanted to so much.

‘It can happen,’ he promised softly. ‘It can happen for both of us. We can forget the past, what people thought, what they believed. We can be something new—something wonderful and true—to each other.’

It sounded wonderful. But was it real? And could it happen without love? And what was he running from?

‘I … I need to think about it,’ she said, her voice a raw whisper. ‘It’s too big a decision to make so quickly.’

‘I can give you tonight,’ Alessandro said. ‘Tomorrow I have to return to Milan, to deal with business. Insulting Richard Harrison—as satisfying as it was—is sure to have repercussions.’

‘And if I say no in the morning?’ Meghan asked, transfixed by the unreality of the situation.

‘I’ll take you to the station in Spoleto. Or the airport— wherever you’d like to go.’

A ticket to her next destination. The thought had no appeal. Her travelling, once exciting and vibrant, was now just another excuse to run away.

Yet the realisation that he would dismiss her so easily—so coldly—chilled her to the marrow.

‘And if I say yes?’ she whispered.

‘You come with me to Milan, meet my family, and we get married.’

Alessandro spread his hands, smiling, although there was a coolness, a remoteness in his eyes that stung Meghan’s soul. Who was this man? Would she ever understand him?

‘As soon as possible.’

‘That easy?’ she asked, in both disbelief and hope.

‘That easy.’

The sky was inky black, studded with stars, as Alessandro prowled along the terrace outside. He’d already knocked back a glass of whisky, the fiery liquid burning all the way to his gut, and it hadn’t helped.

What had he done?

He’d asked Meghan Selby—a virtual stranger—to marry him. A pretty young woman he’d mistaken for a whore—who’d mistaken herself for a whore.

He laughed aloud—a rasping sound that echoed in the still night and held no humour.

He didn’t think Meghan was a whore. She was, he thought with something close to regret, far too innocent. Too naïve … about him.

He recalled the aching vulnerability in her eyes, the shadows of both remembered and anticipated pain, and cursed himself— not for a fool, but for a madman.

A devil.

What kind of a man but a devil offered marriage to a woman who had been so badly hurt—who surely deserved only love and tenderness when he could offer her neither?

He could pretend to be tender. He could say the right words, do the right things. Because he knew what the response would be, the response he wanted.

He knew how to play her.

He was good at that. He’d always been good at that.

Alessandro raked a hand through his hair and cursed softly. He’d finished with hurting people, with acting selfishly and leaving ruin and grief in his wake.

That was his old life. He’d put it aside two years ago, along with the memory of a smoking ruin and the still, lifeless form of his older brother.

And yet now he was risking not only his own soul—which he’d long since condemned—but someone else’s.

Meghan’s.

A woman who deserved so, so much more than he could give.

A woman who deserved so much more than him.

He stared out at the midnight sky, at the sliver of moon, pale and luminous, suspended above a still world, silent save for the rustling of leaves in the olive trees.

Eyes like sunlight on an olive grove.

Why had he asked her to marry him?

She would have agreed to an affair. He could have worked her out of his system, left her at the train station with a diamond bracelet and no backward glances.

He’d done it before. Many times.

So why marriage? Why now? Why her?

Because I’m not that man any more. I don’t want to be that man any more.

His lips twisted into a smile—a smile of self-loathing and also of self-acknowledgement.

He was that man. That wouldn’t change. He could pose, he could pretend, but underneath ultimately he knew who he was. Everyone knew who he was.

Everyone but Meghan.

He wasn’t like her—judged, condemned falsely by one twisted man. He’d been condemned by the truth.

The truth of who he was.

And yet … he wanted her. Wanted her with a desire that shook him, paralysed him with its blinding need, its power. Even made him a little bit afraid.

He wanted a saviour.

The realisation made him hurl his whisky tumbler onto the paving stones, where it shattered. Some things couldn’t be fixed.

Not the tumbler. Not him.

He was past redemption, past saving. He knew that; he’d been told it many times. He saw it in his own soul and he accepted the truth, as everyone who knew him had accepted it.

No matter how hard he tried, how far he ran, it wouldn’t change.

He couldn’t change.

She could change me.

It was a joke; it wasn’t fair. He couldn’t expect Meghan to save him, love him. Didn’t want it.

Didn’t want to need it.

He didn’t want—shouldn’t want—some pathetic, needy smalltown girl trying to fix him. Trying to love him. No matter what she said, he knew she would start to love him. He saw it in her eyes—the hope and the fear.

I won’t love … or be loved.

Except she had eyes like sunlight, and when she smiled he felt … hope.

But there was no hope, could be no hope. Not for him.

He was damned.

If he married Meghan he would be dragging her down with him.

Taking her with him to hell.

But he still wanted her. And he would have her. No matter what it took. No matter what it cost.

Because, Alessandro acknowledged with a bitter, mocking toast to himself, that was the kind of man he was. He was a selfish bastard who took his pleasures where he could, how he could, no matter who he hurt.

And he would hurt Meghan. He might try not to for a while, but the truth would out.

His own nature would out.

No matter what he’d tried to prove in the last two years, the reality was his own blackened soul … and what it would do to Meghan.

Hating himself, Alessandro turned back inside.

CHAPTER SEVEN

MEGHAN awoke to sunlight washing the room in shades of yellow and cream, a slight breeze from the open window ruffling the curtains.

She leaned her head against the pillow, willing herself to enjoy the simple sensual pleasure of the moment before the thoughts, the memories, the doubts came rushing back in.

And so they came, hurtling through her mind with stunning force, leaving her breathless when she hadn’t even moved.

She’d almost made love with Alessandro.

He’d stripped her bare, taken away her pretences, her pride.

He’d asked her to marry him.

Meghan pressed her fists to her eyes, wanting to cry, needing the release, but she’d already shed all her tears.

Her eyes were dry and gritty. It had been a long, sleepless night. Yet now, despite the agony of remembering, of allowing herself to process all that had happened, she realised she felt calm.

She felt strong.

She sat up in bed, pushing her hair away from her face. Today was a new day. Today was the beginning of a new life.

Last night, somewhere between midnight and dawn, she’d decided to marry Alessandro.

It had been a long night of doubt, of uncertainty, and yet also of hope. Her mind told her to run far, far away from Villa Tre Querce, from the hold Alessandro had on her.

And yet she also knew she would never be able to run far enough. In the space of a few days he’d already marked her heart, her mind, her soul.

Even her body.

Just the thought of his hands on her, his fingers lightly skimming her skin, made her shiver in remembered pleasure.

I want you to touch me.

She drew her knees up, resting her chin on top. The breeze blowing from the window was warm, a sign of oncoming summer.

A new life.

What would life be like with Alessandro? The question sent a delicious shiver of anticipation through her, yet chasing it was the sharp bite of fear.

It could all go so horribly, horribly wrong.

Meghan closed her eyes as doubt assailed her once more.

Why was she doing this? It would be easier, safer to run away. Find a new place since she couldn’t return home.

Home. Just the word—the concept—brought pain slicing through her as a grim smile twisted her features.

You knew. You wanted it. You deserved it.

The voices of the past, still haunting her. The shadows, she realised, still there.

Would they ever go away?

You haven’t told him the truth.

The treacherous whisper of her conscience made her shudder. She could not tell Alessandro the truth. She could not share with him the extent of her shame. Admittedly it was hard for him to believe that she would think so little of herself simply because she hadn’t known Stephen was married.

If he knew how low she’d been brought … how ashamed she’d been …

The shadows flickered about the room, the echoes of Stephen’s taunts and leers like whispers in the corners.

And now? Wasn’t she just opening herself to the possibility of even more pain, more humiliation than ever before?

Yes, Meghan thought. She was.

Except now the power would be on her side. She would never be helpless again, never a pawn in someone else’s filthy desire, disgusting needs. She would never again be a victim.

Unless she was Alessandro’s.

The thought chilled her. If she fell in love with him, if she let him inside her heart even just a tiny bit, it could hurt.

It could hurt so much.

But that was a risk she was going to have to take.

When she’d run out of Stanton Springs she’d also run out of choices. She couldn’t go home. She couldn’t keep running. Not for ever.

Alessandro had been right when he’d asked, ‘Does it really matter if I don’t love you?’

Even though the question had caused her pain, she recognised the truth. It didn’t matter. It couldn’t.

She didn’t want to love him; he wouldn’t love her.

They could still be happy. And she would have power. Control. At last.

Why wouldn’t he love anyone? What was his secret? The truth behind the need?

That is the man I am. The man I mean to be.

If it were within her power she would help him become that man. She would make it happen.

Maybe one day he would tell her. And maybe, Meghan thought grimly, she would tell him. The truth. The whole truth.

Maybe.

Her stomach churning with nerves, but also with a new, fiery determination, she sprang out of bed. She dressed in her own clothes—faded jeans and a butter-yellow jumper. She pinned her hair back carelessly on top of her head and scanned her reflection in the mirror. She was pale, too pale, and her eyes looked huge, but there were freckles on her nose from the sun yesterday, and she couldn’t quite contain the smile lurking underneath her fear.

Dragging a shaky breath into her lungs, she headed downstairs. The house was silent, waiting, as Meghan descended the sweeping staircase, one hand on the wrought-iron railing.

Was Ana back? How would the taciturn housekeeper respond to the news that her employer was marrying? That he was marrying Meghan?

Meghan took another breath. She needed air.

She found Alessandro in the kitchen, drinking coffee and reading the newspaper as if he hadn’t a care in the world. His head was bent and his hair fell boyishly over his forehead. He raked it back with one careless hand, absorbed in the paper.

Meghan’s heart felt as if it had been squeezed, as if Alessandro had reached right inside and tugged even when he’d barely moved. Even when he hadn’t seen her.

Ana stood at the stove, preparing breakfast. She flashed Meghan a quick, malevolent glance before her face went blank and she turned back to the eggs on her stove.

Meghan shifted uneasily. She had an enemy there, and she didn’t even know why.

‘Alessandro?’

He turned quickly, smiling easily, although Meghan could see the shadows in his eyes. Something was troubling him, and she wasn’t sure if it was her.

‘Buongiorno. Did you sleep well?’

Meghan laughed dryly. ‘Not really.’

‘No?’ Alessandro shrugged, spreading his hands. ‘You had a lot to think about, I suppose.’

‘Maybe I’d already made my decision,’ Meghan retorted, nettled a bit by his arrogance.