Читать книгу One Night In… - Кейт Хьюит, Оливия Гейтс - Страница 25

MEGHAN felt as if she were in a daze. Dazed by food, by wine, by pleasure. Drugged by her own senses and the novelty of letting herself feel … everything.

After their initial charged confrontation, Meghan found herself relaxing and enjoying the simple pleasure of conversation. She told Alessandro how she’d learnt Italian, and about some of her travels; he shared his experiences in the same places.

Meghan had to smile at the differences. She’d been slumming it with hostels and third-class train fares, while Alessandro travelled around Europe in a company jet, staying in five-star accommodation with a fresh magnum of champagne in every room.

And yet … they’d both found Notre Dame ostentatious, and fallen in love with the history of Père Lachaise, the famous Parisian cemetery. They’d both bypassed Brussels for Bruges, loving the historic city, with its church spires and cobbled streets.

Some things, Meghan thought, rose above money and status.

She found herself sneaking looks at him while he ate, watching the long, clean column of his throat as he sipped his wine, noticing the way his faded jeans moulded to his body as he sat, relaxed and half sprawled, in his chair. Watching his moods chase the colours in his eyes from navy to steel to indigo, a rainbow of blues.

Every movement, every look, every softly spoken word or dry chuckle, created a yearning in her soul—almost made her lean towards him, craving contact. Touch.

She wanted him.

Despite what he’d thought, despite what he still expected.

Despite the danger.

The realisation of her own need stunned her. She’d never expected to feel the flooding, weakening sensation of desire again. Never expected to want a man, to want to take pleasure as well as to give it.

Her mind spun as she considered this, the novelty of reawakening sensation, need. It was intoxicating. It was scary.

It was desire.

The shame that followed on its heels like a mocking shadow, the fear she tasted in her mouth, were more familiar.

Meghan took a sip of wine, but it could have been water. A pulse beat in her throat, and despite the liquid her mouth was dry. She put the glass down carefully. ‘I think I’ve had enough.’

Alessandro raised his eyebrows, waiting, sensing the double entendre.

‘It’s late,’ she continued stiltedly. ‘I should go.’

‘Go where?’

‘You could drive me back to Spoleto.’ Even as she said it, Meghan knew it wasn’t going to happen. Didn’t want it to happen.

Alessandro smiled. ‘I could.’

They were both silent. Meghan stared at her plate, at the remains of one of the most delicious meals she’d ever had. Silence thrummed between them—heavy, oppressive, expectant.

She looked up, her eyes wide, luminous. ‘What happens now?’ she asked, her voice little more than a whisper.

Alessandro regarded her steadily. ‘What do you want to happen now?’

‘I …’ She licked her dry lips, resisting the urge to gulp down the rest of her wine. ‘I … I don’t know.’ The enormity of this admission caused a humiliating flush to steal across her cheeks. She was as good as saying she wanted him.

And she did want him. Perhaps she even wanted him to know. She stared at him now, openly, hungrily, wondering how hard and broad his chest would feel against her own womanly softness, how his mouth would feel on hers, covering it, possessing it, how his hands would stroke and touch her body.

Wondering how sensual, how tender he would be.

Wondering how she would respond.

She wanted to know, and she was terrified.

Alessandro reached across the table to cover her hand with his own. ‘Meghan, you may sleep in the spare bedroom. There need be nothing between us tonight.’

She was far too conscious of the heavy warmth of his hand on hers, the way it made tiny shocks ripple all the way up her arm. The strength of it, the security, the desire.

Tonight, she thought. The meaning was obvious. There would be another night, and perhaps another, and, if she were lucky, a few more.

And what then?

Could she really sell herself so cheaply simply for desire’s sake?

Shame scorched her face, her soul.

‘Tomorrow I leave,’ she reminded him, although her words sounded hollow. ‘Unless you plan to keep me here until … until …’ She trailed off, courage deserting her.

Humour glinted in Alessandro’s eyes. ‘Maybe I do.’

‘What if I say no?’ Meghan demanded shakily. ‘Are you going to force me?’

Alessandro swore softly. ‘Do you think that is the kind of man I am? To force a woman? What has happened to you to think such things?’ His eyes narrowed, though his voice was soft. ‘Who was the man who hurt you, Meghan?’

The question echoed numbly through her, through the empty, scarred places inside. The man who hurt you. She stared down at her plate, the colours blurring into a sorrowful rainbow, her thoughts hopelessly scattered.

‘You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,’ Alessandro said quietly. ‘But I think that it would help me to understand.’

Meghan forced herself to look up, blinking through a haze of devastated emotion and memory. ‘What is there to understand?’

‘Why you’re so suspicious. Afraid. Ashamed.’

‘I’m not!’

Alessandro simply inclined his head.

‘Let’s just say I’m coming out of a bad relationship,’ she finally managed. Meghan bit her lip, took in a shuddering breath. She felt cold, empty, even though the waves of emotion Alessandro had caused to crash through her still lapped at her nerves, her senses. ‘Look, I’m suspicious, and I don’t know what kind of man you are. You tricked me into coming here, after all.’

Alessandro’s face was harsh in its sincerity. ‘I promise you, I won’t hurt you.’

‘You might not mean to,’ Meghan muttered.

His face blanked for a second, and he inclined his head in silent, brutal acknowledgement. Meghan looked down.

Alessandro leaned forward, rested a hand on her arm. His fingers were gentle, caressing, yet they burned. Made her ache, made her want to know how they would feel on her skin. All over her skin.

Meghan stared at his hand, the clean strength of it on her own pale fingers, as he murmured, ‘Stay, Meghan. Spend the night— alone—and we can have the day tomorrow. To enjoy. Be tourists, if you like.’

‘And see what happens?’

‘Why must you think of the future? Let us just enjoy each other’s company. It brings me pleasure to be with you, to look at you. Do you not feel the same?’

His voice was a caress, and Meghan found herself nodding, helpless. ‘Yes …’

‘Then let us enjoy it,’ Alessandro said simply. ‘Enjoy each other. And leave it at that.’ He removed his hand, and Meghan felt bereft. Stupid to want his touch. Foolish to crave it when she knew it could only lead to hurt. Pain and shame.

‘And then I leave,’ she stipulated.

Alessandro shrugged. ‘If that is your desire.’

‘It is.’

‘Very well.’ He gazed at her, one hand curled around the stem of his wine glass, his eyes glittering.

‘I’ll sleep in the spare bedroom,’ she said after a moment. He smiled and nodded.

‘You know where it is? I can show you, if you like.’

‘N-no,’ she stammered. ‘That’s not necessary.’

He chuckled, enjoying her discomfiture. ‘As you wish.’

Meghan lifted her chin. ‘And I’ll lock the door,’ she added with her last mustered spirit, and for a moment Alessandro looked almost hurt.

‘I’ll take your word for it,’ he said quietly.

The lights had been dimmed in her bedroom, the covers turned back. Meghan saw that a hot water bottle had been thoughtfully placed between the smooth cotton sheets and a nightgown—also cotton, and surprisingly modest—had been laid out on a chair.

She felt like a treasured guest. A captive guest. Yet she had chosen these bonds. She couldn’t blame Alessandro any more.

This was her choice.

This was her desire.

Her hand hovered over the lock. She knew Alessandro would not try to come in; even to suggest it had been an insult. She was in control now.

Yet the fear she’d lived with for six long months was too deeply ingrained into her soul, her spirit. Biting her lip, Meghan turned the key, heard the audible click, and somehow knew Alessandro had heard it as well.

Too tired to think any more, to wonder what Alessandro intended to do or how she might respond, she changed and slipped into bed. Sleep blessedly came within a few minutes.

When she woke, sunlight was filtering through the linen curtains and casting shifting patterns on the floor.

Her eyes reminded him of sunlight.

Gilded words, or the truth? Meghan sighed and leaned back against the pillows. Her experience with Stephen had caused her to question everything that came out of a man’s mouth, to think the worst of every admiring look he might give.

To doubt and to fear.

When would it stop? Meghan wondered. When would she stop? Yesterday morning she couldn’t have imagined ever wanting a man again. She certainly couldn’t have imagined the desire she would feel, as potent as a drug, as heady as new wine.

Desire.

Meghan closed her eyes. That was all it was. Desire. Sex.

Not love.

Never love.

She could not, absolutely could not, fall in love with Alessandro di Agnio.

Love was dangerous. Love made you a fool and a victim.

Meghan was never going to fall in love again.

So, she thought with a rueful smile, all she needed to do was enjoy this day and make sure not to fall in love with Alessandro. Tonight she would leave Spoleto, and his life, for ever.

The thought made her wince. She wasn’t ready to leave. How ridiculous, when only twelve hours ago she’d shrilly demanded her release.

Impatient with the thoughts chasing circles in her head, she threw off the covers. She would enjoy the day. Then she would say goodbye.

That was simply how it had to be.

A light knock sounded at the door, and Meghan whirled in surprise. ‘Who is it?’ she asked carefully, in Italian.

‘Ana, signorina. I’ve brought you some clothes.’

‘Just a moment …’ Meghan hurried to the door and turned the key. ‘Come in.’

The housekeeper bustled in, her expression ominously neutral as she placed a bundle of clothes on top of the bureau. ‘Signor di Agnio thought you might wish for a change of clothes.’

‘That was thoughtful of him.’

Ana inclined her head in what could have been a nod or a shrug. Her expression remained bland as she waited for Meghan’s dismissal.

‘Where did they come from?’ Meghan asked, her curiosity piqued.

‘The clothes?’ Ana’s mouth thinned in disapproval. ‘They belong to Signor di Agnio’s wife.’

‘What?’ Meghan stared at the housekeeper, her eyes wide with shock. Alessandro was married? ‘His wife?’ she repeated.

Ana inclined her head. ‘Paula di Agnio. She lives in Rome.’

Married. Somehow Alessandro had forgotten to mention that little detail. Did he think it wasn’t important? That she wouldn’t care?

Meghan closed her eyes. Liar. She’d begun to believe Alessandro was different, that even if he only wanted sex at least he was honest about it.

He was a liar, like all the rest.

Like Stephen.

And she’d fallen for it, begun to believe his tender little act, because her heart and body still cried out for understanding, compassion.

Love.

No. Not that. Not that any more. Ever.

‘Is there anything else you need, signorina?’ Ana asked diffidently. ‘There are toiletries in the bathroom. A toothbrush, deodorant—whatever you require.’

Meghan opened her eyes, blinking the room back into focus from behind the thick haze of tears that had come unbidden. ‘Thank you.’ Her voice came out rusty, and she cleared her throat. ‘I’ll be down shortly. Thank you for everything.’

Ana nodded, her expression still diffident, and left the room.

Meghan stared at the bundle of clothes. His wife’s clothes. Did he actually think she would wear them? Could he judge her any lower?

Her mind still reeling from the housekeeper’s unexpected news, Meghan dressed in her outfit from the previous night with numb, blunt fingers.

In the luxuriously appointed bathroom she found all the necessary toiletries, and was glad to wash her face and brush her teeth. As she stepped into the hallway she felt protected again, hardened enough to do battle.

To find out just what Alessandro had been keeping from her.

Her resolve wavered slightly when she stepped into the lounge and saw him waiting there. He turned when he saw her, and the spontaneous smile of affection and admiration made Meghan’s heart stumble. Then his expression darkened.

‘Why are you wearing your clothes from last night? Your … uniform?’

‘Ana told me where the other clothes came from,’ Meghan replied, her voice choked.

‘Oh?’ Alessandro’s expression became guarded, a shutter closing over his eyes, turning them almost black, and Meghan’s heart sank.

‘Why didn’t you tell me you were married?’

‘What?’ He stared at her incredulously, before suddenly laughing aloud, the sound pure and clean, filling the room. ‘She told you that?’

‘She said the clothes belonged to Signor di Agnio’s wife.’

‘Ah.’ He nodded slowly, the laughter gone, not even an echo. ‘Well, they do—but to a different Signor di Agnio’s wife.’

Meghan stared at him in confusion. ‘Who? Your father’s?’

‘My father is dead.’ He bit out the words. ‘The Signor di Agnio Ana was referring to is my brother. He was married to my sister-in-law, Paula.’

‘Was?’ she repeated uncertainly. ‘Are they divorced?’

‘No, my brother is also dead.’ He paused, his eyes like iron as Meghan stared at him, unsure how to respond. ‘This was his villa,’ Alessandro continued. ‘I use it for business purposes now.’

‘Oh.’ Meghan felt a blush crawl up her throat. ‘I thought …’

‘I know what you thought, gattina.’ Amusement glittered in his cool eyes. ‘You can sheath your little claws, because now you know Ana was just making trouble.’

‘Why would she—?’

He cut her off swiftly, with a chuckle and a shake of his head. ‘Da tutti i san—you insist on thinking the worst of me at every turn! Married! What next?’

‘I couldn’t help it,’ Meghan mumbled. ‘Maybe I misunderstood the Italian …’

‘Oh, really?’ The look he gave her was far too perceptive. ‘Tell me, this relationship you were in? Was the man married?’

Meghan’s mouth was dry, her lips numb. ‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ she finally managed.

He shrugged. ‘Whoever he was, he has a lot to answer for. Now, I’m starving, and there is a full day before us. One without arguments, I hope. Why don’t you get changed into the clothes that do not belong to my wife—a woman who does not yet exist—and meet me in the kitchen?’

The humour lighting his eyes made Meghan smile ruefully. Somehow Alessandro had dispelled the tension that had thrummed between them. She felt light, almost happy.

‘All right,’ she agreed, and hurried upstairs.

Back in the bedroom, Meghan tugged on a pair of designer jeans, a bit loose in the waist, but otherwise fitting her well, and a black cashmere turtleneck sweater. A leather belt fitted snugly around her hips, and she pulled her hair back with a clip.

She glanced in the mirror and was surprised to see her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkling.

She looked like a woman on the brink of adventure. A woman desired.

Instead of the usual plunging fear in her belly at this thought, Meghan felt a warm tingling. A glow.

Smiling to herself, she headed down to the kitchen.

Thankfully Ana had disappeared, leaving them alone at the round pine table set in a comfortable nook overlooking the pool, still covered, and the terrace set with loungers and pots of flowers.

‘It must be beautiful here in the summer,’ Meghan said a bit wistfully, and Alessandro slotted her a thoughtful glance.

‘It is. Now, eat.’

The food set before them was a feast. Meghan hadn’t been overly fond of the Italian breakfasts she’d encountered so far, but set before her now was an array of mouthwatering dishes.

One eyebrow raised, Alessandro handed her a steaming bowl of eggs scrambled with mozzarella and basil. ‘I prefer the full English breakfasts I had at school—done the Italian way, of course.’

‘Of course.’ Meghan helped herself to eggs, fresh orange juice, and toast with apricot preserve. ‘Ana is a good cook,’ she said, after the first few delicious mouthfuls.

‘Who said Ana made it?’ Alessandro challenged, and Meghan stared in surprise.

‘You didn’t…?’

‘No, unfortunately you’re right. I can’t cook—more’s the pity.’ The smile tugging at Alessandro’s mouth turned into a fully-fledged grin that made Meghan’s answering smile die on her lips. Her throat was dry, her heart hammering.

She could not resist this man. Not when he smiled like that, his eyes warm, full of laughter, yet with heat just below the surface, simmering. Ready to blaze.

Meghan swallowed a mouthful of eggs and took a sip of orange juice, grateful to avoid Alessandro’s gaze. He continued eating, and the rest of their breakfast passed with blessed uneventfulness.

‘So,’ Alessandro said a short while later, as he poured her a second cup of coffee, ‘today I want to show you Umbria.’

‘Which part?’ Meghan asked, picking up the thick ceramic mug. The coffee was strong and smelled like heaven. She took a sip. ‘I’ve seen Spoleto, of course, and Assisi.’

‘We can take a driving tour. There are many beautiful sights in Umbria. Villages, mountains. Spoleto is lovely, but there are other hidden treasures. Treasures I want to show you.’

Meghan’s hands tightened around her cup. She couldn’t resist imagining a day out with him, basking in the spring sunshine, revelling in the mountain breeze. Holding hands, laughing over silly jokes. A proper date. Something normal people did. People who liked each other, who fell in love.

‘It sounds lovely.’ She hesitated, the escape clause she’d provided herself with still looming, a hopeless distraction. ‘I still need to get my things.’ Just thinking of Paulo, the hostel, even her haversack, seemed unreal. A different lifetime.

‘I’ve sent for your things,’ Alessandro replied with a dismissive shrug. ‘They’ll be in your room by this afternoon.’

Meghan put down her coffee cup with a clatter. ‘You had no right—’

‘Why must it be about rights? I did what was most convenient.’

‘Convenient for you!’

Alessandro’s eyes glittered. ‘Are you going to fight me on every point? Or shall we enjoy the day together?’

Meghan sagged. He was right. She couldn’t seem to get out of the battle stance—ready to doubt, to question, to attack. ‘I’m sorry. That was … thoughtful of you.’

‘Wasn’t it?’ He beamed at her. ‘You’re learning.’

Meghan gritted her teeth. ‘Don’t push it.’

Alessandro chuckled. ‘I won’t. I know well enough I need to take my time with you.’

It was a beautiful morning—perfect for driving through sun-touched hills—the sky a deep, pure blue, studded with fleecy clouds. The wind was chilly but the sun was warm, and Alessandro rolled down the windows so the breeze ruffled their hair as he drove down the steep, winding road away from Villa Tre Querce.

‘I thought you’d be the kind of man to have a convertible,’ Meghan admitted as they drove.

He glanced at her, his expression unreadable. ‘I’m not quite sure what that says about your opinion of me. But I did have a convertible once.’

‘What happened?’ Meghan teased. ‘You crashed it?’

‘As a matter of fact, I did,’ he replied flatly, staring straight ahead. Meghan opened her mouth to mumble some kind of apology, but the set of Alessandro’s jaw made her close it again.

The day was too beautiful to dwell on anything unpleasant, and Meghan revelled in the sensual pleasure of wind and sun.

They drove for nearly an hour on twisting, narrow roads, up hills and through valleys, villages huddled on the distant mountains, the spire of a church’s tower silhouetted against an azure sky.

At the base of a particularly steep hill Alessandro pulled the car over and killed the engine.

‘Now we walk.’

‘Walk?’ Meghan held one hand over her eyes to shade them from the sun as she squinted up at road ahead of them, twisting steeply upwards into nowhere. ‘What’s up there?’

‘You’ll see.’

She took his hand, warm, dry, strong, liking the way his hand encased hers.

‘Close your eyes.’

‘What?’ She jerked in surprise, withdrawing her hand by instinct, but Alessandro held onto it. His thumb caressed her palm, and Meghan suppressed a shiver, affected by the simple touch. ‘Why should I close my eyes?’ she asked.

‘Just do it.’ Alessandro paused, his eyes dark, intent. ‘Please. Trust me.’

Trust him? Every instinct in her rebelled. She didn’t do trust. Except something deep within her heart, her soul, wanted her to trust this man.

And that was the most frightening thing of all.

Meghan glanced up at the road, at Alessandro’s steady gaze, then finally shrugged and laughed.

‘Why not?’ she said lightly, and, closing her eyes, let him lead her as if she were a child.

The road was steep, and with her eyes closed Meghan felt as if she could tumble backwards into an abyss at any moment. Alessandro tugged gently on her hand, leading her onwards, upwards.

‘Keep them closed,’ he ordered sternly, and a bubble of laughter escaped her.

‘I’m trying.’ She stopped for a moment, chest heaving. ‘I’m also out of breath. I’m not used to this kind of hiking.’

‘I thought you’d been travelling around Europe.’

‘My general mode of transportation has been train or bus,’ Meghan returned tartly, ‘and I stick to the cities. I haven’t been wandering out in the hills like some Umbrian nomad!’

He chuckled softly. ‘Now’s your chance.’

With her eyes closed she was all the more conscious of the sun warm on her face, the dry scent of pine and cypress mixed with the heady fragrance of wild lavender and rosemary.

She was also exquisitely, achingly conscious of Alessandro’s hand encasing hers, the way his fingers held hers lightly yet with such certainty, such possession. The way the simple touch seemed to reach inside and touch her where she was most vulnerable, most needy.

Her heart. Her mind. Her soul.

‘Are we almost there yet?’ she asked, her voice coming out in a rusty croak. She tried instinctively to pull her hand away, but Alessandro’s grip only tightened.

‘Don’t be frightened.’

‘Who said I was scared?’

‘I can tell. We’re almost there.’

Wherever ‘there’ was. Since they’d been walking she hadn’t heard another person or even a car in the distance. The only sound was the wind in the trees and the faint tinkling of a far-off goat’s bell.

‘Can you hear it?’ Alessandro asked softly.

Meghan strained to listen, and realised she could now hear in the distance what sounded like rushing wind. The light breeze caressing her face could hardly cause such a sound, and she shook her head in confusion. ‘Yes, but what is it?’ She started to open her eyes again, only to have Alessandro cover them with his hand.

‘Don’t spoil it,’ he murmured. ‘A little bit longer.’

The feel of his hand on her face, his thumb reaching down to caress her cheek, her lips, made Meghan stumble. Gently Alessandro tugged on her hand until she came forward, and he wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her against him, her back against his chest, his other hand still covering her eyes.

‘Let me go,’ Meghan said breathlessly, even as desire—forbidden, treacherous, molten—coursed through her veins.

‘I don’t want to.’

‘What about what I want?’

‘But I don’t think you want me to, either.’ She could sense rather than see his smile. His hand still covered her eyes, his fingers brushing over her cheeks, her chin, her lips, as if he were memorising the touch of her. The feel of her.

She sagged against him. She couldn’t help it. His chest was hard, unyielding, and yet she still seemed to mould herself to his contours. She felt the betraying hardness of his own desire against her back, and it only made her want to press closer.

Her insides were turning to liquid; a pulse deep inside was thrumming to life. Her breath hitched and his thumb traced her half-open lips, ran along her teeth.

His own breath feathered her hair, and he tilted her head upwards, still covering her eyes, and brushed her lips in the soft kiss of an angel.

Meghan’s lips parted soundlessly, helplessly, and he deepened the kiss, turned it into something achingly sweet, wonderfully gentle.

Desire was flickering, licking through her, weakening both her limbs and her resolve. She reached up with her fingers, tugged at the hand that covered her eyes.

She wanted to look at him, and yet the feel of his lips plundering hers was so exquisite she didn’t want it to stop.

‘Alessandro …’ It came out as a whisper, a plea.

He chuckled.

She jerked back slightly, still caught in his embrace, his hand still covering her eyes. ‘You think this is funny?’

‘A bit,’ Alessandro replied, unperturbed. ‘But enough. I want you to see me when I make love to you. I want you to look into my eyes and see how I want you.’

He paused, his thumb outlining the fullness of her mouth again. Meghan’s lips parted in silent invitation. She couldn’t help it.

‘And I want to see in your eyes how you want me.’

He removed his hand from her waist and led her onwards once more. ‘Keep them closed,’ he warned, and dropped his hand from her face.

Meghan longed to open her eyes—if just to see the expression on Alessandro’s face. Smug because he’d made her want him so easily? Would there be the residual flicker of desire in own brilliant eyes?

Somehow she kept them closed. It had become a matter of pride. Of trust.

He tugged her along the stony path and she followed, her limbs still weak, flooded with sensation. With need.

Alessandro had recovered from their kiss more quickly than she had, she thought ruefully.

He held her hand gently, helping her over rocks and twisted roots. Meghan clung to him, moving carefully over the unfamiliar ground.

The rushing sound had become increasingly louder with every step, and when Alessandro finally brought her to a stop it was a roaring in her ears. She could feel the spray of water on her face.

‘Now open them.’

Meghan obeyed, and found herself staring at a magnificent waterfall, a pure cascade of rushing whiteness that dropped over a hundred metres into a restless surging river below.

She clapped her hands in delighted surprise. ‘A waterfall! I’d no idea!’

‘Cascata delle Marmore. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ Alessandro leaned against the balustrade of the viewing balcony he’d brought her to. The waterfall was like a huge sheet of streaming glass, surrounded by dense green foliage and trees. Meghan felt as if she were on a tropical island, despite the cool breeze teasing her hair into her eyes.

She stared at the water, rushing blue-green turning to pure white foam. It was both beautiful and frightening in its sheer power. ‘I didn’t realise there were natural waterfalls in this part of Italy,’ she marvelled.

‘It’s not actually natural,’ Alessandro told her. ‘The Romans built it nearly two thousand years ago. They created viaducts to drain off the swampy land around the River Velino and pour the excess water off the Marmore Cliff into the Nera. Now it’s only turned on for a few hours a day. The rest of the time it’s little more than a trickle.’

‘You mean it’s not real?’ She felt a twinge of disappointment that this powerful beauty hadn’t been here since time began. Wasn’t even meant to be here.

Alessandro turned to her, one eyebrow raised. ‘What’s real?’ He gestured to the falls, raising his voice over the sound of rushing water to be heard. ‘That looks rather real to me.’

‘I suppose you’re right,’ Meghan said slowly. ‘I certainly wouldn’t want to go over it in a barrel!’ she joked, then shook her head. ‘I don’t know—somehow it would be more impressive if it hadn’t been manufactured by man.’

‘Isn’t that what makes it so amazing?’ Alessandro countered. ‘It was a swamp, a stagnant river—useless, dangerous, even— and they made it into something beautiful.’

‘And still dangerous,’ Meghan couldn’t resist saying.

‘Yes. Still dangerous.’

What were they really talking about? The falls, or something deeper? An even stronger current that threatened to pull her under, drowning her self-respect, her independence, and leaving only need.

A current that, like the falls, had been manufactured, created by an impossible and unreal situation.

Currents like that couldn’t last. What was once a torrent would become a trickle, turned off at the source, by the source.

Alessandro. This was his game, she knew, and he was calling all the shots. He was in control.

Just one day, she reminded herself. One day couldn’t be dangerous.

Except perhaps it could, with Alessandro.

‘Come on.’ Alessandro put an arm around her shoulders easily, as naturally as if he’d done it many times before. ‘We can have lunch in Montefranco.’

Back in the car, he gave her a knowing glance. ‘Still disappointed the falls aren’t real?’

She shrugged. ‘I can’t deny they were beautiful.’

‘Do you know the story behind them? Nera was a wood nymph who fell in love with a shepherd boy. The goddess Juno was jealous, so she turned Nera into a river.’

‘The River Nera,’ Meghan surmised. ‘Bad luck for her, falling in love with the wrong man.’

‘Perhaps,’ Alessandro conceded with a wry smile. ‘But do you know what her shepherd Velino did?’

‘Found a shepherdess?’

He chuckled softly. ‘No, he was so anguished at the loss of his love, he threw himself off the Marmore Cliff. His tears became the waterfall, and so they are joined for ever, the Rivers Velino and Nera. Their love lasting into eternity.’

Meghan smiled tightly. ‘A sweet story.’

‘You don’t believe in lasting love?’ There was a cynical edge to his voice that was impossible to miss.

‘No, I don’t,’ Meghan said baldly. ‘Do you?’

Something flickered in his eyes—disappointment? Relief? Who knew? Meghan looked out of the window, refusing to be drawn in. It didn’t matter what Alessandro thought about everlasting love, because there was nothing lasting about their situation.

‘No,’ he said after a moment. ‘No, Meghan. In that respect I’m like you.’

And, strangely, Meghan suddenly felt sad for them both.

Two people together, bound by desire and disillusion.

Montefranco was one of Umbria’s classic hillside towns, its houses and churches perched on the green slopes as if they’d sprung up from the soil. Alessandro led her to a little trattoria tucked away on a narrow cobbled street, and the proprietor, a jolly man in an apron-covered suit, greeted him like a friend. After speaking briefly in his usual rapid-fire Italian, Alessandro slowed down to introduce Meghan.

‘Antonio—my friend from America—Meghan Selby.’

He made her sound like a pen-pal. Smiling, Meghan shook the older man’s hand. Yet how else could he possibly explain her presence?

It didn’t make sense. This entire day didn’t make sense. It was something out of a story, a fantasy, and it would end tonight.

Meghan’s mouth turned dry. Tonight … when she walked away with a wave and a smile. If she could.

And if she couldn’t…?

‘You know what they say,’ Antonio said, ‘a friend of Alessandro di Agnio’s is a friend of mine.’ He turned to Alessandro, still speaking slowly for Meghan’s benefit. ‘So good to see you! It’s been too long.’

‘I’ve been busy, Antonio,’ Alessandro said as he clapped the older man on the shoulder.

‘I know! I know! All this work in the city—no time for rest, for play. I never thought I would say that to you, of course …’ His chuckle faltered at Alessandro’s wintry look.

‘You along with many others.’ He smiled, but it was as if a light had gone out in his eyes, turning them from blue to lifeless black.

‘The poached cod is delicious,’ Alessandro told her after they’d both silently perused the menus. ‘If you care for fish.’

Meghan grimaced. ‘Sorry, I’m a smalltown girl from the Midwest. I’m not much of a one for seafood.’

He chuckled. ‘How about the strascinati with black truffle sauce? The truffles are famed in this region. It’s a long- guarded secret where you can find them.’

‘Do you know?’ she asked, and Alessandro gave an eloquent, arrogant shrug that forced an unwilling laugh from her lips.

‘Of course. You must try the vino santigrano as well. It’s made locally, from some of the best vineyards in all of Italy.’

‘Sounds like you know the menu,’ Meghan commented. ‘Do you come here often?’

‘Do you mean, do I bring all my women here?’ Alessandro said, his eyes alight with rueful humour.

‘Something like that.’ She smiled in admission, a tell-tale blush stealing across her cheeks.

‘I told you—I like food.’

It was, she realised, not an answer to her question. How many women had he had? He was a man who knew women, who understood them, who was made for lovers … if not for love.

Alessandro steered the conversation into calmer waters, regaling her with tales and antics of the Umbrian locals, peppered with the mythology of the region.

Antonio himself brought the food and poured the wine, and Meghan could feel herself relaxing, enjoying. Laughing. Flirting.

‘Try this.’ Antonio had laid a sumptuous-looking rolled pastry on the table between them, and now Alessandro lifted a forkful to Meghan’s lips.

Closing her eyes, she opened her mouth, and Alessandro slid a forkful of heaven inside.

The taste of chocolate, raisins and walnut melted onto Meghan’s tongue. It was delicious. It felt like a sin. ‘Mmm … what is this?’

‘Attorta … a speciality of Umbria.’

Meghan opened her eyes to find Alessandro smiling at her, his gaze heavy-lidded, languorous. Sensual.

The pastry turned tasteless in her mouth, her throat so dry she could barely swallow.

Desire pulsated between them, coiled around Meghan’s heart, her lungs, until she found she couldn’t breathe. When she finally managed to drag air in, her breath came out in a shudder.

Alessandro smiled. ‘Have another bite.’

Obediently, Meghan opened her mouth, and Alessandro slid in another forkful. She could feel a drip of chocolate on the corner of her mouth and, mesmerised, watched as Alessandro wiped it before licking it off his own finger.

‘Mmm.’

She closed her eyes briefly. ‘What’s going on here?’ she whispered.

‘We’re eating dessert.’

‘Alessandro, you know what I mean.’

He shrugged, though his eyes blazed into hers. ‘I want you. You want me.’

‘It’s not that simple.’

‘Isn’t it?’

Meghan shook her head. ‘I wish it were.’ She gazed down at the crumbled remnants of their shared feast, delicious while it lasted but gone so quickly. She’d travelled that route before.

She would not do it again.

She looked up, her eyes wide and bleak. ‘I won’t sleep with you.’

‘So you’ve said.’ Alessandro took a sip of wine, looking amused.

Meghan sighed wearily. ‘I know you think you’ll wear me down eventually, and in truth you might get close. You might even win.’

‘Is this a battle?’ he murmured.

‘You know it is. If I sleep with you I’ll lose my self-respect, my dignity. I’ll have given into desire, and I’ll hate myself for it.’

‘Why couch it in those terms? Why can’t we love each other as two responsible, mature adults?’

Meghan laughed without humour. ‘Because it’s not about love.’

‘You said you didn’t believe in love.’

There was no mistaking the look of surprise on Alessandro’s face, the heavy-lidded languor replaced with a wary tension.

‘I don’t. That doesn’t mean I’m going to give myself to every— any—man I’m attracted to. I don’t operate that way. Sorry.’

‘So. You don’t believe in love, but you won’t make love with someone out of simple desire. What are you going to do? Become a nun?’

Meghan gave a shaky laugh. ‘At times that prospect is appealing.’ She twirled her fork between her fingers. ‘I don’t know what is going to happen in the future.’ Her tone and face were bleak as she considered the prospect. The future was something she avoided thinking about. Sometimes it didn’t seem as if she had one at all. ‘I just can’t ever see myself falling in love again. If that means being alone, then I guess I’ll just have to get used to that.’

‘It’s not easy, being alone,’ Alessandro said after a moment.

Meghan glanced at him, surprised by the guarded note in his voice, the vulnerability in his eyes. ‘Sometimes it’s safer.’

He nodded thoughtfully. ‘Safety is important to you?’

‘Yes.’

‘This man you were with—you loved him? And he made you feel unsafe?’

‘Of course he did,’ Meghan replied shortly. ‘Stephen was married. I didn’t know it—’

‘Stephen?’ Alessandro’s eyes darkened. He reached across the table to pluck the fork from her hand. He took her fingers in his, stroking her wrist with soft, tender movements. ‘This Stephen— he was an ass. Even I can see that. But you can’t let one man— one experience—spoil the rest of us for ever.’

‘I’m sure,’ Meghan said with a little smile, struggling to hold onto her composure as the fluttery little movements on her wrist went straight to her heart, ‘you’d like to be the man to break the pattern.’

‘One man, one relationship, is not a pattern.’

‘Well, no.’ Meghan glanced down, her eyes suddenly blurred with tears as memories rushed to the surface—memories she had firmly stamped down when she’d fled Stephen’s apartment, fled the memories and the tears and kept running.

She still hadn’t stopped.

‘Meghan? Gattina?’ Alessandro lifted her chin with his fingertips. ‘What is wrong? What did I say?’

‘Nothing.’ Meghan blinked back the tears and smiled. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘No, I am sorry. We’ve wasted enough time indoors. We can walk through the town, up to the old fortress. There is a beautiful view from its walls.’

And as easily as that, he dispelled the tension, the sorrow. Meghan let herself be led, her hand in his, out into the Umbrian sunshine.

The last thing she wanted to think about was Stephen, or the night she’d finally had the courage to walk away.

That was a memory she had locked deep into her soul. Something she never, never wanted to talk about. Certainly not to Alessandro. Not to anyone. Ever.

The fortress was built into the hill, overlooking the tumbled buildings of the town, and Meghan could imagine how it had once been formidable, impenetrable.

Now its walls were crumbling, mellow in the sunshine, and children played in the street below. Meghan let Alessandro lead her up the steps onto the top of the crenellated wall, the Umbrian countryside spread out before them in a peaceful patchwork of earthen colours.

A teasing wind blew her hair around her face and she breathed in the clean, pine-scented air, as pure and satisfying as a drink of water.

Alessandro and Meghan silently surveyed the panorama of tumbled hills and olives groves, taking in the majesty of an unchanged landscape.

‘Did you grow up here?’ Meghan asked after a long moment.

‘Yes and no. As I told you, I went to school in England. My parents’ main house of residence is in Milan. And yet …’ He smiled with wry honesty. ‘This was home.’

‘Your brother’s villa?’

‘Yes. It was my father’s before that.’

But not yours, Meghan realised silently, wondering what lay behind his careful choice of words.

‘Well, it’s beautiful,’ she said with a smile. ‘I happened on Spoleto by chance, but I’m glad I came.’

‘So am I,’ Alessandro murmured, and sudden expectant tension thrummed between them, heavy with meaning, with possibility.

Meghan stared out at the countryside, blind now to its charms.

‘I should take you back to Spoleto tonight,’ Alessandro said suddenly. His face looked hard.

Meghan’s stomach plunged icily. She realised she was disappointed. She had expected to stay. She’d expected Alessandro to want her to stay.

‘If that’s what you want,’ she said, only just managing to keep her voice steady.

Alessandro raked a hand through his hair. ‘You know it is not!’ He dropped his hand, tracing her cheek with his fingers. ‘But you are haunted, Meghan, by the past. This man—he is like a shadow. I can almost see him at your shoulder.’

Meghan touched his fingers briefly with her own, her fingers winding around his, clinging. Pleading. ‘I don’t want him there.’

Alessandro smiled sadly. ‘Neither do I.’

He cupped her cheek and she closed her eyes, revelling in the touch, the tenderness. She couldn’t go yet. She couldn’t leave this man—this hold he had on her senses, her soul. Perhaps even her heart. It wasn’t love. She knew that. It was desire; it was need.

‘Don’t take me back yet,’ she whispered.

His hand stilled. ‘Are you sure?’

Meghan opened her eyes, swallowed audibly. Panic was fast setting in. ‘I don’t mean … I’m not …’

Alessandro smiled. His thumb caressed her lips. ‘I know.’

He drew her naturally to him, in an embrace that was gentle rather than passionate. ‘Stay,’ he murmured against her hair. ‘God knows, I don’t want you to go.’

Meghan knew their time had been extended by only a day, perhaps two. Soon she would have to move on, and so would Alessandro. Their lives had never been meant to intertwine.

This was going to end. It was just a matter of when … and what happened beforehand.

The drive back to Tre Querce was quiet, both of them lost in their own thoughts. Meghan gazed out of the window at the fallow fields and bare vineyards, the sky above streaking lavender and gold.

She’d never reacted to any man the way she reacted to Alessandro—even Stephen hadn’t affected her so profoundly, so deeply … as if he were stroking not just her hand or her body, but her soul.

Her whole body—her whole self—yearned towards his touch, his understanding. The two, she realised, were intimately connected.

He didn’t love her.

He made no promises.

And yet … she wanted him.

She wanted him.

More than she’d ever wanted anything in her whole life.

More than your self-respect?

Meghan closed her eyes against the setting sun now blazing over the hills and fields.

I don’t know.

As Alessandro turned the car up the twisting drive, Meghan wondered what the night would hold. She turned to look at him, and he sensed her gaze and smiled, reaching over to twine her fingers with his.

‘Don’t be afraid, Meghan. There don’t have to be any shadows.’

Shadows. Meghan thought of Stephen. She could still see his face, hear his words.

I thought this was what you wanted.

How could he have thought that? How could he have twisted everything so horribly, so shamefully?

Alessandro was nothing like him, Meghan told herself. She knew that. He’d proved it to her again and again over this day. No matter how they’d started—what she’d thought—what he’d thought—it was different now.

Everything was different.

Could be different … if she let it.

If she let the shadows fade away.

Alessandro’s hand tightened briefly on her own. ‘Ana has the night off.’

So they would be alone. Meghan swallowed. ‘Alessandro, I want—’

Meghan broke off, her heart still hammering, as Alessandro braked sharply in front of Tre Querce and cursed in Italian under his breath.

There was another car parked in front of the villa, a racy red convertible, and the man leaning against its hood was one Meghan recognised.

It was Alessandro’s companion from lunch at Angelo’s. As the man’s eyes flashed to Meghan her own stomach lurched. There was no mistaking his knowing, lascivious grin or what it meant.