Olivia Gates - One Night In…

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.