Читать книгу One Night In… - Кейт Хьюит, Оливия Гейтс - Страница 26

‘WELL, well, well.’ Richard Harrison pushed himself away from the convertible and strolled towards Alessandro’s car. ‘You sly dog. Keeping her all to yourself.’

Alessandro flicked a cool, contemptuous gaze towards Richard. ‘I don’t recall inviting you here,’ he replied, in a voice of dangerous silkiness.

‘I was bored, and I do believe it’s your job to entertain me.’

‘You’re not a child, Richard, as much as you behave like one.’

Richard’s watery blue eyes blazed for a second. His mouth turned down sulkily. ‘You need my business, di Agnio.’

Alessandro chuckled dryly, although his expression remained diamond-hard. ‘You should realise by now, Richard, that there are very few things I need. You and your string of second-rate department stores is not one of them.’

Richard’s face suffused with colour, turning puce. He clenched his fists, half raised one. ‘You’ll regret that.’

‘I don’t think so.’

Meghan’s hand was slippery on the door handle as she grasped it. She heard the men trading insults, but it sounded like no more than dogs snarling at one another. She couldn’t take it in. The one salient detail that had made its way into her numb mind was Richard’s careless sentence.

Keeping her all to yourself.

They’d discussed her. Talked about her.

Richard’s gaze roved over Meghan with crude, insulting boldness, his eyes lingering on her breasts and thighs, sweeping over her as if he owned her, as if she could be bought. His thin lips turned up in a revolting smirk, and his watery eyes gleamed with lust. ‘She’s just as pretty as I said.’

‘I think you should leave, Richard.’ Alessandro’s voice was calm and dispassionate, but a muscle ticked in his jaw and his eyes were like black ice.

Richard raised his eyebrows. ‘What was it you said? There are better amusements in Spoleto than a two-bit part-time whore? It seems there aren’t, my friend, and I think it’s time you started to share.’ He moved towards her, pale eyes glittering, and Meghan couldn’t move. Couldn’t think except to hear the sickening echo of his words.

Alessandro’s words.

Two-bit part-time whore.

Just as she’d suspected and Alessandro had denied.

Just as she’d known.

She watched, transfixed, trapped, as Richard reached for her, his wet lips parted, his eyes glittering with lecherous intent.

He never managed to touch her. Alessandro moved with swift, calm certainty.

She heard rather than saw the crunch of Alessandro’s fist into Richard’s jaw. He staggered and fell onto the pavement by her feet.

She stared down silently. She still hadn’t moved.

‘I could sue you!’ Richard choked. He clutched at his bleeding mouth, his face contorted with humiliated fury.

Alessandro massaged his knuckles. There was a fierce, primal light of satisfaction burning in his eyes as he gazed down at Richard. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said calmly. ‘Now, you’d better get off my premises before I do something worse to that pathetic baby face of yours.’

Richard glared. ‘You’ve just lost a hell of a lot of business, di Agnio. I know what this deal meant to Di Agnio Enterprises!’

Alessandro’s smile was sardonic. ‘I’ll live.’ He turned his back on Richard in dismissal, and put his arm around Meghan’s shoulders. ‘Are you all right?’

‘I’m fine.’ Her voice came out as brittle and sharp as shattered glass. She felt as if she were nothing more than a handful of shattered glass, a fistful of jagged splinters. Shaking off Alessandro’s arm, she moved towards the villa. ‘I’ll just get my things.’

She walked on numb legs to her room, the villa streaming by her blind eyes in a blur of colour.

Almost dispassionately she saw that her haversack had been placed at the foot of her bed. Who had fetched it? she wondered. How many minions worked for Alessandro, in a life she didn’t even understand, with a power she could not begin to fathom? A power abused.

She stuffed her crumpled white shirt and black skirt into the bag. She could return the clothes she was wearing to Alessandro later. There was no time to change.

She was zipping up her bag when Alessandro strode into the room.

‘What the hell are you doing?’

In the distance she heard the roar of the convertible heading down the drive. She spoke through stiff lips. ‘Leaving.’

‘Just like that?’

‘Just like that.’ Meghan tugged at the zipper of her bag, refusing to meet Alessandro’s eyes. She couldn’t do that and get out of here. She knew she couldn’t.

‘You can’t.’

‘Yes, I can.’ Barely. The zipper had finally closed, and she swung the haversack onto her shoulder. She still hadn’t looked at him.

It was the only way she could keep the desperate shards of self-respect and sanity together.

For surely if she stayed one moment longer than necessary—if she let Alessandro talk to her, touch her—they would be scattered.

Stolen.

‘If you won’t drive me, I’ll walk.’

‘It’s over five kilometres to Spoleto,’ Alessandro warned. His mouth was a thin line of anger, his eyes black, his body tense and ready to spring, although there was a loose-limbed grace to his movements even in his fury.

Meghan shook her head wearily. ‘You can’t keep me prisoner here, Alessandro.’

‘Were you prisoner at the falls? At lunch? With me all day? When you begged me to let you stay? Don’t throw that one at me this time, Meghan. It won’t work.’

‘I enjoyed today,’ Meghan said, with a dispassionate calm she was far from feeling. ‘But I didn’t beg.’ She felt sick, and she prayed she wouldn’t throw up. Prayed she wouldn’t cry. ‘Now I want to leave.’

‘No.’

‘I’ll walk—’

‘No.’ He took her gently by the shoulders, his touch like a promise. Meghan closed her eyes. She didn’t need this. Couldn’t need it.

When he spoke his voice was a caress. ‘Look at me, Meghan.’

Damn him. Unwillingly, despite every good intention she’d ever had, she met his eyes.

‘Why are you doing this? Is it because of Richard? He’s a pig—porca—’

‘Two-bit, part-time whore.’ The words came out in a sorry little whisper.

Alessandro stared at her, his eyes blazing, filled with an urgency that almost undid her.

‘You believe what he said?’ he finally demanded hoarsely.

Meghan spoke through numb lips, her voice a rusty whisper. ‘Tell me it isn’t true. Tell me you didn’t say it.’

Alessandro was silent, his gaze hard and unyielding. Then he released her, running a hand through his hair, and Meghan sagged against the bed. Her haversack fell to the floor.

‘I did say it.’

Tears pricked her lids. She’d begun to think perhaps it wasn’t true. Only now did she realise how much that brief flicker of hope had cost her. Damn him. Damn him for making her feel.

Feel so very much.

‘But I didn’t know you then,’ Alessandro continued in a voice of determined calm.

Meghan tossed her head, blinking back tears. ‘It was yesterday, Alessandro.’

‘A day is a long time.’

‘Not long enough.’ And yet far too long.

One day wasn’t supposed to be dangerous.

And yet it was. It was.

Wearily, every limb leaden, she stooped to pick up her haversack.

‘What do you want from me?’ Alessandro demanded. ‘Complete trust—faith in you before I even know you?’

She shook her head. ‘Don’t you see? You judged me then, in the restaurant.’

‘Fine. I admit it. So?’ He stared at her, head tilted with casual instinctive arrogance, eyes blazing blue fire. ‘Harrison liked the look of you. He wanted to invite you here to serve us and see what happened.’

Meghan swallowed painfully. ‘And that’s just what you did.’

‘It is not! I rejected his offer—coldly, in disgust. Yes, I called you a two-bit part-time whore. I admit it, and I will not apologise. I didn’t know you then—hadn’t spoken to you, hadn’t looked into your eyes.’ His own eyes burned now into hers. ‘And when I did I wanted you. I wanted you for myself. Not as a waitress. Not as a whore. As a woman.’

‘Yet when you first invited me here you did think that of me … didn’t you? It wasn’t until later—’

‘What does it matter when it was?’ Alessandro exclaimed. ‘We are arguing about details!’

‘No,’ Meghan said, her voice stronger now. ‘We’re not. All that lovely nonsense about a pretty girl and wanting to get to know her, needing a pretence because of your prestige and wealth—it was just that. Nonsense. Lies. You didn’t mean any of it.’

‘I did.’

‘Don’t lie to me!’ Meghan’s voice rose in frustrated anger. She wanted truth—at least now. She deserved that much. ‘I thought you were honest. I was beginning to believe— But you’re as low and slimy as every other man I’ve known, thinking I’m a slut without even knowing my name! Lying to me to get what you want!’

‘Don’t compare me to that filth who used you,’ Alessandro warned in a dangerous voice. ‘I’ve been very patient with you, Meghan.’

She laughed incredulously, and the sound turned into a sneer. ‘Patient? Waiting twenty-four hours before you demand to be serviced? I don’t think so.’

Alessandro’s face was white with anger. ‘Have I demanded anything from you?’ he asked, in a low voice that still managed to thrum with power.

‘Should I be thankful?’ Meghan snarled back, too hurt to care how she sounded, how her words might hurt. She wanted them to hurt. She wanted, savagely, to bring Alessandro as low as he’d brought her, though she doubted it was possible. He didn’t care what she thought. He didn’t care what she felt. ‘I won’t be your night-time entertainment,’ she declared.

‘As I recall, you haven’t been providing any such entertainment,’ Alessandro retorted, his voice a predatory hiss. ‘Perhaps that’s the problem.’ He moved towards her with slow, purposeful strides, and the sudden intent look in his eyes, the harsh lines of his face softening with deliberate languor, made Meghan step backwards and stumble against the bed.

‘Don’t touch me!’

Alessandro prowled closer, an elegant stalking beast. Meghan pressed further against the bedframe, her heart thudding so hard she could feel the blood rushing in her ears.

She fell backwards onto the mattress, throwing one hand out to keep herself from becoming entirely helpless before him.

‘I’m not going to touch you,’ Alessandro informed her silkily. He stood above her, hands on hips, his whole body radiating lithe power, raw hunger.

His eyes glittered with intent and Meghan lay there, helpless, trapped by her own damning need.

‘I’m not that kind of man. But I am going to tell you how I would touch you if you let me. If you wanted me to.’

Meghan opened her mouth soundlessly, her eyes wide.

‘Do you know how I would touch you, Meghan? No, of course you don’t. I don’t think you’ve ever been touched that way. I imagine the man who took your innocence—because he did, didn’t he?—I imagine he used you for his own pleasure. He didn’t think about your needs—your desires—at all. Am I right?’

She wanted to speak. She would speak. She would tell him to go to hell, and then she would get up and walk away.

Except she didn’t.

‘When I touch you, Meghan,’ Alessandro continued, his voice a caressing whisper, ‘you’ll want me to. You’ll want me to because you’ll know that I want you, and you can want me, and that it can be good. Nothing shameful, nothing sordid.’

‘No …’ It came out as a plea, although whether to stop or continue Meghan didn’t even know. She was mesmerised by his words, by the unabashed hunger in his eyes, the desire he was not afraid to show.

The desire he was not afraid to feel.

‘First I’ll touch your lips. I’ve touched them already … just a taste. I want more now. I want more of you.’ He paused thoughtfully, his eyes glittering. ‘I think I’ll love touching your lips. They’re soft, and they’ll taste of walnut and raisins. Like the attorta we shared. Do you remember? Nutty and moist and so very, very sweet.’ His eyes moved from her mouth to her throat, and Meghan felt the damning blush staining her skin. Giving him evidence.

‘I’ll touch your throat there, where I can see your pulse. It’s beating quite wildly now.’ He smiled, and Meghan saw the desire in his eyes—pure, blazing. Elemental. ‘Then I’ll move lower. I’ll touch your breasts. I wonder what they look like? As golden as the rest of you? I want to feel them in my hands.’ He raised his hands, palms upwards, cupped, and Meghan moved slightly, leaning towards him, craving the thought of his touch.

‘I’ll touch you everywhere,’ Alessandro continued, his voice ragged now. ‘Stroking and kissing and bringing you to heights you’ve never climbed, places you’ve never been. Shattering you into a thousand pieces and then putting you back together again. And then you’ll touch me.’

Meghan shuddered. She couldn’t help it.

‘You’ll touch me, and I’ll want you to touch me. It will be like a gift.’ He closed his eyes briefly, his expression straining, pained. ‘I want that very much, Meghan. I want you to touch me.’

He stood very still, his head thrown back, the column of his throat brown and exposed and clean. Then he lowered his head and opened his eyes. Meghan saw the naked vulnerability there. He’d bared himself to her, she realized.

No other man had given her so much while seeming to promise so little.

He’d given her control. It felt precious.

Slowly, her legs trembling, she stood up. She was so close to him she could feel his breath on her cheek. Still he did not move.

Her hand shook as she lifted it, placed it deliberately on his chest. She could feel his heartbeat race under her palm, the muscles jerk in response, and a little smile stole over her features.

‘You see what you do to me?’ Alessandro’s voice was choked.

Meghan looked up. There was so much in his eyes—so much need, so much pain, so much desire. It stunned her, left her breathless.

And yet he didn’t move. His whole body was taut, straining, still.

She slid her hand up, across the solid width of his chest, along his neck, letting her fingers coil in the crisp curls of hair at his nape.

He remained motionless, though his breathing was uneven, ragged.

She stood on her tiptoes, using her hands to pull his face down to hers. She brushed her lips against his, surprised at their softness, daring him, willing him to respond.

He moved.

His arms came around her, drawing her to his hard length with a gentleness that still gave witness to his urgency. His mouth turned the barest brush of a kiss into something far deeper and more demanding.

Meghan surrendered.

She didn’t know how they got to the bed, how they ended up lying in a tangle of limbs until she wasn’t sure where she ended and Alessandro began. His hands were on her, hot, sure, seeking. She felt him smile against her throat as he reached to cup the fullness of one breast.

‘You’re so beautiful.’

Meghan let her own hands roam along the smooth expanse of his back. When had he taken off his shirt? She didn’t know if she’d taken it off; everything was a softened haze of desire, of need.

Nothing mattered but this moment, this time of touch and taste and feel.

Oh, how she felt.

She felt his hands as they slid across her stomach, temptingly lower. She felt his lips as they traced a fiery path of ardent need, tender desire, down her throat, pausing where her pulse leapt and jerked. She felt him smile against her skin.

Then he moved to her breast, taking his time, teasing her with his tongue, laughing softly at her arching gasp when he took her nipple into his mouth, and the shock of feeling was without fear, desire without shame.

The need he was creating within her was a thrumming pulse in her core, a glorious ache begging to be satisfied. And she knew he felt the same. Felt the pressure of his desire against her middle, heard his ragged gasp as he moved lower with his hands and his mouth.

‘Alessandro …’ It came out as a supplication as she lay there, subject, slave, to his devotions.

She tried to take control. She let her own hands drift lower, reaching for the pulsing heat of him. She saw his eyes darken with desire, heard his breathing hitch.

‘Mia gattina … those claws are sharp!’ He chuckled softly, capturing her hand with a groan. ‘We have time … we have time …’

Meghan shook her head in protest. She didn’t want to slow down. She didn’t want to wait. She knew if she waited, if she let time and memory catch up to sensation, she would hesitate. She would start to doubt, to question, to fear.

To feel shame.

Now she just wanted to feel, feel this—his hands, his mouth, his body—with her senses and not her heart, to lose herself in the beauty and passion of being touched, caressed.

She wanted to feel … and to forget.

She knew that, and she pulled him to her to kiss him, hard, to banish the memories. The ghosts.

And then it stopped.

Alessandro pushed himself away from her, back onto his knees. His face was flushed, his breathing ragged. He pulled a hand through his hair and exhaled slowly.

‘We need to stop.’

Meghan stilled, stiffened in shock. Humiliation came—a fast, hot rush of feeling. She was suddenly conscious of how she must look, her hair in a tangle around her face, her lips swollen, cheeks flushed. Her shirt was hitched up around her neck, her bra clasp undone.

And Alessandro was looking at her with a quiet sorrow that made everything they’d just done seem dirty.

‘Why?’ She pulled her top down, and Alessandro stilled her hand.

‘Don’t. You’re lovely.’

‘You’re not looking at me as if you’re thinking that right now,’ Meghan said, her voice coming out far more tremulous than she’d meant it to. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing’s wrong.’ Alessandro stretched out beside her, tracing one finger along the tender skin of her navel. Meghan shuddered lightly.

‘I’m rushing things,’ he said after a moment. ‘When we make love, it won’t be like this.’

‘Like what?’

‘Rushed. Frenzied. Because we are angry.’

It took a great deal of her pride and courage to say, ‘If I was angry, it was at myself. For wanting you.’

He paused, sitting up on one elbow to regard her thoughtfully. His fingers drifted up to touch her chin, tilting her face so their eyes met. He traced the outline of her lips with a fingertip.

‘He hurt you very much, didn’t he?’

Meghan opened her mouth soundlessly. She hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t expected tenderness on the heels of such passion, understanding coupled with desire. She nodded, helpless to deny what he already knew. ‘Yes, he did.’

Undone by compassion where she’d expected condemnation, she felt tears sting her eyes. She forced them back. Lying next to him, her sorrow plain to see, Meghan felt far more exposed than when her clothes had been rucked up.

She tried to shrug away, but he stilled her with one gentle hand on her shoulder.

‘Don’t hide from me.’

‘What do you want from me?’ Meghan whispered. He wanted her body; she knew that. Understood it, even. Yet now he seemed to be asking for more. Her emotions, her desire, her soul.

Her heart.

Except he didn’t want that, did he? He couldn’t possibly want that.

Alessandro’s eyes darkened even as he continued to stroke her face with tender, absent movements, a gesture of unthinking intimacy. ‘I want you to want me,’ he said at last. There was a hidden vulnerability in his voice that made Meghan ache.

Want him? Of course she wanted him. He had to know it. It was in her every look, her every word.

Her every thought.

‘I do want you,’ she admitted with a little laugh. ‘I think that’s obvious.’

‘But you’re ashamed,’ Alessandro said quietly. ‘Ashamed to be with me.’ There was an ache in his voice, of need and pain, that Meghan couldn’t begin to understand. It almost sounded as if he thought she were ashamed of him … rather than herself.

‘I can’t help that. I … I have a lot to get over, I suppose. When you touch me I want to forget. I want to feel and not to think.’

‘That’s only half of the experience.’ He smiled down at her, his expression softened with tenderness, yet a shadow lingering in his eyes. ‘You can make love with your body and your mind.’

‘I suppose you’re the expert?’ Meghan said, and it came out halfway between a joke and a jibe.

‘Perhaps with the body.’ Alessandro’s mouth tightened briefly before he smiled and brushed the hair back from her forehead, tangling his fingers in the silken strands. ‘Like you, I’m waiting for my mind to catch up.’

Meghan’s mouth opened soundlessly at this admission. We ‘re so alike. Yet they were impossibly different. ‘Where do we go from here?’ she forced herself to ask, though at the moment she didn’t want to know. She didn’t want to leave. She didn’t want Alessandro to leave.

She didn’t know what she wanted.

‘We wait.’

‘For what?’

‘For you to come to me of your own free will, with no shame, no fear, no frenzy. For both of us to give … completely.’

Meghan struggled to sit up, pushing her hair away from her face. Alessandro dropped his hand, still smiling.

‘That’s asking quite a lot.’

‘I don’t mind.’

‘Maybe I do.’

He raised one eyebrow. ‘Do you want to leave me?’

Meghan let out a shaky breath. ‘No. But I should.’

‘Why? What is this should?’

‘Alessandro …’ She closed her eyes, felt his fingers drift along her face. ‘There’s no future for us, is there? I’m not …’

‘You’re not what?’

She bit her lip. How could she explain her doubts, her fears, without opening the Pandora’s box of her past? ‘You thought I was a whore.’ She hadn’t meant to say it, didn’t want to remind him, knew from the chilling silence that she shouldn’t have. Her old wounds were too fresh, the scars raw and red.

Alessandro stiffened, his hand dropping from her face. Meghan opened her eyes.

He rolled off the bed, standing there, his chest brown and bare and glorious, his expression like iron.

‘You still think I invited you here presuming you were a whore, that I hired you for a whore’s work.’ He shook his head, the movement sharp and contemptuous. ‘This is old ground, Meghan. And I’m getting bored with it.’

‘As you’re bored with me?’

His voice was level, almost a drawl. ‘Just about.’

Meghan swallowed painfully. He had the ability to hurt her so easily. ‘But you judged me,’ she whispered.

‘Yes, I did. But you’re the one judging me now.’ There was a moment of taut silence, then Alessandro’s hand slashed through the air. ‘I won’t have it, Meghan. I won’t be judged—condemned on old evidence. I’ve had enough of that!’ His voice was savage, yet as he turned away his head was bowed, as though under a burden too great to bear. ‘I won’t have you throwing one thing I said into my face time and time again,’ he continued in a low voice. ‘I can’t have it. Nothing I ever say or do will prove what I am. You damn me on one piece of flimsy evidence. I will not be damned. Not by you.’ His voice shook slightly. ‘Not by you.’

Meghan stared, stunned by the force of his emotion. Her mind spun.

He turned back to her, his voice now cool. Cold. ‘You must take responsibility for your own actions. Stop blaming me, or that other man, for your own desires. You may have been a victim before, but you are not one now. And I won’t let you act like one.’ He shook his head, his expression suddenly weary. ‘There are too many shadows, Meghan. Perhaps for both of us. I’ll drive you back to Spoleto, or wherever you want to go, tonight. It is better that way. It has to be.’ With that, he gazed at her one last time, smiling sadly, then turned on his heel and left.