Читать книгу One Night In… - Кейт Хьюит, Оливия Гейтс - Страница 23

MEGHAN hurried through the darkening streets of Spoleto towards the Via Campelo and the hostel she’d been calling home.

Not a very pleasant home at that, with its tiny dark bedrooms, dripping ceilings and grimy sheets. She’d seen worse on her travels, but Paulo, the proprietor, was a particularly unpleasant landlord.

Meghan had seen him for what he was right away. First it had just been leering grins and wandering eyes, soon followed by coarser remarks and wandering hands.

She’d bought a padlock for her door, and more than once she’d woken up to hear the stealthy, futile turning of the door handle, weak with relief that she was at least that safe.

Now she tried to avoid him altogether. Still, it was another reason to leave Spoleto. With the money earned from waitressing for di Agnio she could buy a train ticket to her next destination … wherever that was.

‘Ciao, bellissima.‘ Paulo leaned over the front desk as Meghan slipped in the door. His white undershirt sported large patches of dried sweat, and his mouth curled in a knowing grin, revealing tobacco-stained teeth.

Meghan didn’t bother to answer. She slipped by before he could reach one hand out to squeeze or pat, and hurried to her room, fastening the padlock.

There was no time for a shower, so she just splashed water on her face and arms from the tiny cracked sink in the corner of the room.

She threw her dirty clothes in the corner and pulled on a fresh white shirt and simple black skirt—her waitressing uniform. She hadn’t brought much with her when she’d left home. It had all been so quick in the end.

Dressed and ready, she sank onto the bed, the broken springs creaking in protest. Her momentary burst of energy spent, she felt weak. Limp. Unreal.

The conversation with Alessandro di Agnio played in her mind, forever on pause and rewind.

Why had she agreed? she asked herself again, and couldn’t come up with a satisfactory answer. At least not one she was willing to face.

In the last six months of travelling through Europe, she’d become a professional at deflecting comments, invitations, innuendoes. A woman on her own was considered fair game, easy prey by many, and Meghan already knew of her own damning allure.

So why hadn’t she just said no to Alessandro di Agnio? It would have been easy. It would have been safer to have just walked away.

Because he’s different.

The thought was ludicrous, laughable. Stupid.

He’d summed her up quickly enough—easy American, slutty waitress. He wasn’t going to change his mind.

She was the one who would prove she was different. This time.

‘I won’t see him again after tonight,’ Meghan muttered, and it was both thanksgiving and supplication.

He certainly wasn’t expecting to see her again, she reflected with a wry bitterness. One night only, limited engagement.

She pulled her hair back into a sleek ponytail, her only concession to vanity a bit of face powder and lipgloss. The last thing she wanted was for di Agnio to think she was tarting herself up.

She locked her room and went in search of Paulo.

‘I’ll have my deposit back, please. I’m leaving tomorrow.’

Paulo looked at her with calculating lasciviousness. ‘I don’t remember you putting down a deposit. I said you didn’t have to, because you were so pretty.’

Meghan gritted her teeth. ‘Nice try, Paulo. I have the receipt. Two weeks’ stay in this hovel. That will cover last week’s rent, and the rest I want back. Now.’

His expression hardened. ‘Don’t talk mean to me, principessa. I know what you are.’

‘I’m a waitress,’ Meghan snapped, her already frayed temper now reaching breaking point. She might have been unnerved by Alessandro di Agnio, but she certainly wouldn’t be so shaken by this piece of wheedling slime.

‘You need the money?’ His eyebrows rose. ‘You’re in trouble, perhaps?’

‘No, and no,’ Meghan retorted. ‘But that doesn’t stop me from wanting what’s mine.’

‘Maybe I want what’s mine.’ There was a thread of dangerous need in Paulo’s voice, and Meghan’s scalp prickled in alarm. She took a step away, but not fast enough.

Paulo grabbed her arm and pulled her to him. Meghan slammed against his soft belly with a suppressed grunt, his hands tight on her wrists, pinning her against him.

‘One kiss.’

She could smell his stale smoky breath, his old sweat. She could smell his lust, and everything in her recoiled.

‘Get off me—’ Meghan tried to push herself away, but Paulo only held her tighter.

‘One kiss, bella, that’s all. And then you can have your money.’

‘Go to hell!’ Meghan spat raggedly. ‘I won’t give you anything—’

‘You’ve been wanting it.’ Paulo’s face had turned angry even as his eyes were bright with desire. Meghan wanted to retch. ‘I’ve seen you—the looks you give me—’

She closed her eyes, swallowed bile. ‘You’re fooling yourself, Paulo, and I can call the police—’

‘But you haven’t, have you?’ he said with soft menace. His lips, moist and slimy, were inches from hers. ‘I’ve wondered about you, bella. What are you trying to hide? Why don’t you leave? You could, you know. There are other hostels in Spoleto.’ He shook his head slowly. ‘But you never did leave…so that must mean you want it.’

‘You’re wrong.’ Meghan’s voice shook. Her body shook. She felt weak and helpless, and the realisation angered her. She would not be a victim again. She would not allow someone as pathetic and disgusting as Paulo to control her.

Except she couldn’t prevent him.

He was too strong, and every time she struggled the hands grasping both her wrists, forcing her to press up against him, tightened.

‘Let me go,’ she cried desperately, and Paulo’s eyes glittered.

‘I want to hear you beg.’

‘You will be the one begging. To the police.’ The voice from the doorway was like the crack of a pistol. Paulo’s grip slackened, and Meghan stumbled away, a trembling sob escaping from her before she could prevent it.

Alessandro stood in the doorway, his face white with rage. His whole body was tensed, coiled, ready to spring. He stared at Paulo with glittering eyes.

‘I’m calling the police.’

‘You can’t prove anything,’ Paulo said sullenly, but he looked nervous.

‘You’ll find,’ Alessandro said, in a voice that was deadly in its quiet calm, ‘that I can prove whatever I want. When the carabiniere arrive they will only need my word to see you rot in jail.’

‘She wanted it—’ Paulo began, but Alessandro cut him off with one sharply raised hand. Every movement was efficient, precise. Taut with suppressed emotion.

‘Do not tell me what any woman wants. You should not presume to know.’ He dropped his hand. ‘Do you know who I am?’

Paulo’s eyes shifted nervously, speculatively, to Meghan. ‘No …’

‘I am Alessandro di Agnio. This hostel will be shut down by morning.’

Paulo’s face paled and his mouth dropped open. ‘Di Agnio … but you can’t do that! There are people staying here—I own it—’

Alessandro’s face was implacable. ‘It will be shut.’ He snapped open his mobile phone. ‘Now I am calling the police.’

‘Signor di Agnio—’ Meghan’s voice came out in a choked whisper. She was still reeling from shock, her senses struggling to catch up. She dragged a breath into her lungs, ran a hand through her mussed hair. ‘Please don’t involve the police.’

Alessandro turned to look at her sharply. ‘What? Are you in trouble with the police?’

Meghan almost laughed at his assumption. ‘No, I’m not. I just don’t want them involved—the time and hassle it will cause. There will be a report to give, no matter what your word means in Spoleto.’

He searched her face, as if looking for an answer to an unspoken question. Meghan said nothing.

‘Please, let’s just go.’

The silence was taut as Alessandro gazed at her. Paulo watched them from behind his desk, his expression one of a trapped mouse, scenting both freedom and danger.

Alessandro snapped his mobile shut. He didn’t even glance at Paulo as he said, ‘The hostel will close tonight. For good. I do not want to see you in Spoleto again.’

He walked out, and Meghan had no choice but to follow.

Outside his car idled at the kerb. It was not, as Meghan had half-expected, a sleek sports car, the embodiment of most Italian males’ fantasies. It was instead a luxury executive model. Alessandro opened the door and stood aside for her to get into the front passenger seat. Every movement spoke of barely curbed impatience.

Meghan stared at him with wide eyes, suddenly realising the enormity of his presence. ‘I thought you were going to send a driver.’

‘I decided to come myself instead.’

Somehow this didn’t surprise her. Alessandro di Agnio was a man who was in control. Always. Wordlessly she slipped inside.

The car was cool and the leather seat soft and inviting. Meghan leaned her head against the seat and closed her eyes. She didn’t want to talk, and to her surprise and relief Alessandro remained silent as he got in and pulled away from the kerb, navigating Spoleto’s evening traffic with superb confidence.

Meghan opened her eyes and stared blindly at the traffic— cars and mopeds weaving around each other on the narrow cobbled streets. As they broke free from the city and its traffic the Umbrian hills, cloaked in purple twilight, spread out before them, and the sounds of urban life were replaced by the quietness of meadow and field.

She snuck a peek at Alessandro’s profile. The sharp, clean line of his tensed jaw, his powerful shoulders still encased in the charcoal-grey suit, his hands easily gripping the steering wheel— all radiated power. Confidence. Control.

Over her.

No. She couldn’t let that happen.

Yet she felt as if the whole situation had started slipping away from her from the moment Alessandro had walked into the hostel.

No, she realised with a sigh, from the moment he’d asked her to waitress.

If she’d ever thought she was in control of this situation, of him, she’d been massively deluded.

She wasn’t in control of anything—least of all her own spinning emotions.

Alessandro slotted her a sideways look out of steel-blue eyes, his lips tightening as his gaze swept over her.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked, and Meghan jerked back in surprise.

‘What?’

Alessandro gestured to her wrist. A purple bruise was already starting to blossom on the tender skin. Meghan glanced at it and shrugged.

‘I’m fine. I should have known Paulo would try something. I suppose I thought he was too much of a coward to live up to his filthy talk—’

‘Why do you stay there?’ Alessandro asked abruptly. ‘There are plenty of hostels in Spoleto. Inexpensive hotels. You don’t need to endure his filth.’

Meghan shrugged again. ‘It was cheap and convenient,’ she said, staring out of the window.

‘Cheap I can believe. I’m surprised the building wasn’t condemned. Convenient? No. What is convenient about being molested? Raped?’

‘I wasn’t raped.’

‘You could’ve been.’

‘Oh, am I supposed to thank you now?’ Meghan asked, her voice sharp with sarcasm. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t do the whole damsel in distress routine.’

‘I’ve realised that.’ The wry humour edging his voice took the wind straight out of her sails. Meghan sagged back against the seat.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘I’m not. I’m glad I was there in time.’

Meghan touched a finger to the bruise on her wrist. ‘So am I,’ she admitted quietly.

Alessandro watched her, his expression forbiddingly grim. ‘At least no other women will suffer Paulo in this city,’ he murmured, almost to himself, and Meghan lurched upright.

‘Do you mean you were serious when you said you were shutting down the hostel?’

Alessandro looked affronted. ‘Of course I was. Did you think I was bluffing?’

Definitely not, she conceded silently. ‘But you can’t just do that, can you? He said he owned the building.’

‘He was lying. It’s owned by a local businessman. I checked on it before I arrived.’

Of course, Meghan thought. In control. Again. ‘If you don’t own it, how can you make him close it down?’ she pressed and Alessandro shrugged impatiently.

‘Since you’re American, you don’t realise what the di Agnio name means in Italy—especially in Umbria.’

‘You’re powerful,’ Meghan surmised, and he chuckled dryly.

‘Most women find that attractive.’

‘I don’t.’ She looked away. ‘At least not when I’m on the wrong side of it.’

He glanced at her, curious. ‘Do you think you are now?’

Was she? It was a question Meghan didn’t want to ask herself. Certainly didn’t want to answer. ‘The thing about power,’ she said after a moment, her voice brittle, ‘is that it can easily be abused.’

‘Agreed.’ Alessandro’s voice was terse. ‘As in the case with Paulo, don’t you think?’ he continued after a moment. ‘At least you don’t have to endure his attentions any more.’

‘Then where am I supposed to sleep?’

‘I can find you another hotel. Or you could sleep at my villa.’

Meghan reared back at his blatant offer. ‘Thanks for the offer, but no thanks,’ she replied sharply. ‘I’d rather stay with Paulo.’

‘Don’t be absurd!’

‘Don’t think you can control me,’ she fired back, fury starting to boil. Anger felt good. Clean.

‘Control? Is that what you think this is about? I was protecting you back there!’

‘I don’t need protecting.’

He raised one eyebrow in scathing contempt. ‘Really? It didn’t look like it from where I was standing.’

Meghan gritted her teeth. ‘I can handle Paulo.’

‘You were obviously handling him when I came in,’ Alessandro slung back at her. He shook his head in incredulous derision. ‘Do you honestly think you could have controlled him?’

‘I …’ Meghan trailed off. More than I can control you.

The frightening thing was, she realised, she couldn’t have controlled Paulo. She could have been—perhaps would have been—raped.

She bent over, suddenly feeling nauseous, the events of the evening catching up to her consciousness with sickening speed. ‘I think I’m going to throw up.’

In one fluid movement Alessandro pulled the car over onto a stretch of grass and flung open his door. He went around to Meghan’s door and yanked it open, ushering her out with one arm around her shoulders.

Meghan pushed away from him and stumbled into the grass where she retched helplessly. She’d never felt so low, so utterly humiliated, and that was saying something.

That was saying quite a lot.

She stood up, wiping her mouth, her hair falling about her face, while Alessandro watched impassively. He handed her a starched white linen handkerchief, and Meghan dabbed at her lips uselessly. She didn’t want to sully it.

‘It’s to be used,’ he said, his voice tart, and Meghan managed a weak smile.

‘Sorry.’

‘I’m the one who should be sorry. I should have remembered how shock can be delayed. Here.’ He handed her a bottle of water and Meghan opened it, drinking gratefully.

‘Thank you.’

‘Are you ready?’ he asked after a moment, and Meghan was suddenly aware of how dark it was. A car hadn’t passed them since he’d pulled over, and nothing but meadows and clusters of elm trees surrounded them, the hills no more than shadowed mounds in the distance.

She could hear the whisper of the wind through the grass and the bare branches of the trees. She could hear her own breathing. They were very much alone.

‘Yes, I’m ready.’

Alessandro opened the door for her, and Meghan slipped inside.

‘I’m sorry about that,’ she said again, once they were on the road, and Alessandro shrugged.

‘Don’t apologise.’

The car climbed higher into the Umbrian hills, and they spent the rest of the short drive in silence. Soon a high stone wall appeared, running parallel to the road.

Alessandro swung the car through an opened pair of ornate iron gates, and then up a long, twisting drive, the hills steep on either side.

Automated outdoor lights flashed on as the car approached the portico, and Meghan glimpsed a long, rambling villa of mellow stone and terracotta roof tiles. Several large pots lined the entrance, spilling a riot of begonias onto the tiled steps.

Alessandro stopped the engine and went around to open Meghan’s door. She stepped out with murmured thanks. She smelled the fresh tang of pine, and the air was sharper, colder. She wrapped her arms around herself.

The front door opened, and a stout woman with a shiny black bun of hair, a spotless apron and a forbidding expression stood there. Meghan quailed under her heavy-browed, frowning gaze.

‘Meghan, this is Ana,’ Alessandro said, ‘the housekeeper and guardian of Tre Querce.’

He spoke rapid Italian to Ana, too fast for Meghan’s basic grasp of the language, and the woman gave an obviously disgruntled response.

‘Ana will show you to a room,’ he continued in English. ‘You can freshen up and meet me in the lounge for dinner.’

Meghan turned to look at him in surprise. It almost sounded as if she were a guest rather than a waitress. ‘Shouldn’t I be in the kitchen?’ she suggested hesitantly, and Alessandro gave her a knowing look.

‘You are not the cook.’

‘I’m a waitress,’ she threw back at him, and his smile was far too understanding.

‘Yes. I know. So you’ve told me.’

With jerky, unnatural steps Meghan followed Ana through a cool tiled hallway and up a wide staircase, her hand clutching the smooth wrought-iron banister.

Silently Ana led her down the upstairs hall, passing a row of closed doors, before ushering her into a bedroom spare and clean in its elemental luxury.

A large double bed dominated the room, the duvet and pillows encased in pure white linen. An oak dresser with iron fixtures stood against the wall, a strip of mirror above.

Disapproval radiated from every stiff line of the older woman, from her thinly pressed lips to the tightly clasped hands at her ample waist. Meghan couldn’t blame her. What did she think she was? How had Alessandro explained her presence?

Why was she here?

Ana left without a word, and Meghan sank down on the bed, enjoying the softness, relieved to be alone even though her nerves felt as if they were jangling and jumping throughout her taut body.

Why was she here?

She looked in the mirror. Her hair had come undone, her face was pale and tense, her eyes as wide and frightened as a doe’s.

Why was she here?

It wasn’t for the money. She could have left Spoleto without it, Meghan acknowledged. Admittedly, it would come in handy, but still …

She didn’t need it. Didn’t even want it, perhaps.

She owed nothing to Alessandro di Agnio, nothing to anyone.

Yet she’d agreed. Willingly.

What did that make her? Meghan wondered. To agree to come to a strange man’s house, despite the desire in his eyes, the assessment of his gaze, the innuendo in his tone.

He knew what she was.

Everyone knows what you are.

The voices from her past clamoured inside her head—a knowing hiss, a contemptuous snarl.

Had she come here to prove Alessandro di Agnio wrong … or right?

Or to prove something to herself? And to Stephen.

She stood up, filled with a sudden restless energy, and moved to the French doors that looked out on the villa’s gardens. She saw a swimming pool set in resplendent grounds, closed now, and beyond that terraced gardens, shadowed and bare.

Meghan shivered. The night air in the mountains was cool, and her simple white shirt didn’t give her much warmth or protection. She took in a shaky breath and set about repairing herself.

A few minutes later, her hair neat and her face clean, she stepped outside. The villa was quiet. She couldn’t hear the murmur of voices or the clank of pans from the kitchen. Nothing.

Carefully she walked down the front stairs. A single light flickered in the foyer, and a pair of double doors had been left slightly open, leading to what looked like the lounge.

Meghan’s heart thudded in fresh anxiety and she wiped her palms along the sides of the skirt.

She supposed she should go in there, search out Alessandro and his weasely friend. Do what she was being paid to do. Pass out hors d’oeuvres. Make conversation, smile. Flirt.

Except, quite suddenly, she couldn’t. The thought made her ill; she was sickened by the very fact that Alessandro had asked and she’d agreed.

She couldn’t do this.

She was doing this.

She shook her head, biting her lips, and half slunk down the hallway in search of the kitchen.

Ana looked up in frowning surprise as Meghan entered the spacious room. Gleaming chrome appliances and granite worktops gave way to a breakfast nook and more French doors that led out to the terrace and swimming pool. Although it was in darkness, Meghan could imagine the stunning view of hills Tre Querce possessed.

‘I’m here to help,’ she began awkwardly in Italian. ‘I mean … to serve. You know?’

Ana stared at her. A pot bubbled on the stove, emitting a wonderful spicy scent. A green salad was in the process of being made on the worktop, next to fat red tomatoes and yellow peppers in a basket.

‘Signor di Agnio doesn’t want you here,’ Ana said after a moment, choosing her words with care. ‘He wants you in the lounge. Now.’

Meghan shook her head. Her nerves were taut as wire, threatening to snap. She couldn’t face it … them.

‘Perhaps,’ she finally said, speaking slowly as she searched for the right words. ‘But I came here to serve the food, and this is where the food is.’

‘No.’ Ana shook her head.

Meghan clenched her fists at her sides but kept her smile in place. ‘Why don’t I just put an apron on?’ she suggested, and, spying one hanging on a hook by the door, slipped it on before Ana could protest.

The housekeeper shrugged, and turned away with a grunt.

Meghan scanned the worktop, wishing she could make herself useful. She wondered about the men waiting for her. What did they really expect? Would Alessandro come and find her?

She shivered. It was stupid to have come here, to have thought she could exorcise her personal demons by seeing this little arrangement through. She didn’t have the strength, the power.

The control.

All she wanted to do now was run away. Hide. But where? She suddenly appreciated how isolated Villa Tre Querce was, how isolated she was.

How alone.

Vulnerable.

‘I thought you’d be hiding in here.’

She turned to see Alessandro standing in the kitchen doorway, one shoulder leaning against the frame. He’d changed out of his suit and now wore a casual white button-down shirt, open at the neck to expose the tanned column of his throat. He wore faded jeans with a leather belt, casual yet expensive, and fitting him far too wonderfully.

It was not, Meghan thought, an outfit a man wore to a business dinner. He looked too relaxed, too comfortable in his own skin for her liking. He looked ready to be entertained, amused, enjoyed.

She wanted business suits, papers and briefcases, laptops and mobiles. A business dinner, with both men too involved in their work to spare her a glance.

Except that was not how it was going to be … how Alessandro would let it be. She could tell that right now, in the way his lips curled upwards in a predatory smile, his eyes taking in her appearance, resting on her face with a flare of hunger, desire.

She was not making that up, she knew, nor the answering flicker in her own core.

She swallowed. ‘Where else would I be? And I’m not hiding.’

‘Of course not.’ Humour lurked in those steely eyes, in the twitching of his moulded lips. He took a step into the kitchen. ‘I thought I told you to meet me in the lounge.’

‘Is your dinner companion in there?’ She hated the fact that her voice wavered. ‘Has he arrived already?’

‘You’ll see.’ He twitched the apron from around her neck, balling it in his fist before tossing it aside. ‘You don’t need that.’

One more piece of her armour taken away. One more layer stripped bare.

‘I didn’t want to get my uniform dirty.’

He raised one eyebrow. ‘Uniform?’ he asked with obvious scepticism, before turning to leave the kitchen, clearly expecting her to follow. And, wordlessly, she did.

She followed him to the lounge, its double doors opening to a room scattered with comfortable sofas upholstered in varying shades of cream. The few pieces of artwork on the walls were vivid splashes of colour, still-lifes of flowers, scenes of Umbria in bold strokes, that made Meghan pause to admire their sheer vivacity.

Then she looked around. The room was empty.

‘Where is your guests?’ she began, but something in Alessandro’s satisfied look as he stood in the doorway made the question die on her lips. She had a bad feeling about this.

‘ You are my guest, Meghan,’ he said softly. ‘There is no one else.’