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 adv
enture. 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.
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