Olivia Gates - One Night In…

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.