Olivia Gates - One Night In…

‘I drove you to confession,’ Alessandro corrected quietly. ‘Absolution.’

‘Oh, is that what that was?’ Meghan slapped her forehead in a parody of understanding. ‘Sorry. Silly me. Because it sure didn’t feel that way. It felt like you were condemning me for every single thing I thought you didn’t believe!’

‘I don’t,’ Alessandro said calmly. ‘Not now. But I knew you did, and I had to show you that. Only then would you be able to move on. Stop blaming, stop being the victim.’

‘Thanks for the psychotherapy.’ Meghan turned away in disgust—disgust at herself for falling into his trap, and for the damn thing working.

He knew her better than she knew herself, and it didn’t make sense. It wasn’t fair. She didn’t like feeling so vulnerable, so exposed, so raw.

And yet, she realised with sudden, sweet surprise, it was a relief.

It was a relief to be known and not judged. To be accepted, not condemned. To not carry the burden of her secrets, her shame, alone.

‘Marry me, Meghan.’

It was tempting. Far, far too tempting. To marry a man she barely knew, a man she shouldn’t trust.

Except she did trust him. More, she knew, than she’d ever trusted anyone else.

‘Alessandro, it’s crazy.’ She tried to laugh; it came out as a wobble. ‘We barely know each other.’

‘Actually, I think I know you rather well.’

That much was true. How had he slipped beneath her defences, her skin? When had it happened? How had she not seen, felt, realised until now, when she was exposed and empty and he was tempting her with promises, with hope?

With a second chance.

‘I don’t know you,’ Meghan pointed out. That was true, too. She didn’t understand him at all—couldn’t fathom how such tenderness could be coupled with a refusal to love, how his smiles hid a seething darkness, a vulnerable need so at odds with the strength and control he radiated.

‘You know you can trust me, at least. Don’t you?’

‘Yes …’ She just didn’t know where that trust would lead her.

‘So why not?’

‘ Why? Why not an affair? A few days at your villa and then a sweet parting? Isn’t that what you had in mind all along?’ Her chin lifted in challenge even as the words rent her soul.

Alessandro raised his eyebrows. ‘Is that all you think you’re worth? An affair? Not marriage?’

‘I thought you thought that was all I was worth,’ Meghan responded quietly.

He inclined his head in cool acknowledgement. ‘Now you know that’s not true.’

Meghan tried to laugh, to pierce the unreality of the situation. ‘You haven’t fallen in love with me, have you?’ She’d meant it as a joke, but it fell horribly flat. It came out as a plea, a prayer.

‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘But then you haven’t fallen in love with me either. We don’t believe in love, remember? Or was that a lie?’ His expression turned hard for a moment.

She looked away, out of the window. Twilight was descending on the hills with a purple softness, a peace was cloaking the world that felt so removed from the shattered atmosphere of this room.

‘No, it wasn’t a lie.’ She’d loved Stephen, and he’d used it to his advantage, to control her, time and time again. She’d accepted the snubs, the sneaking around, the hasty moments and couplings, because she’d thought that was what you did when you loved someone. You accepted whatever they gave. You gave whatever they were willing to take.

No matter how much it hurt. No matter how much it cost.

‘Good.’

She looked at him curiously. How could such a gentle and tender man be so hard, so unforgiving? ‘Have you ever been in love?’

‘No.’

‘Never? And you never want to be?’

‘No. Love is a cheap emotion, used to manipulate and blame. I’m not interested in love.’

‘You’ve loved someone, surely?’

Alessandro’s mouth twisted in a bitter smile. ‘My heart’s not broken, if that’s what you mean.’

Meghan shook her head. ‘There must be some reason why you don’t want to love … be loved. It’s a natural human desire. You know my reason. What’s yours?’

His eyes narrowed, blackened. ‘Don’t analyse me, Meghan. Don’t try. Just understand this. I won’t love you. Ever. And I won’t be loved.’ His voice tightened ominously. ‘And, Meghan, if you think you can make me change my mind, you can’t. I don’t love. Anybody. Not even my mother, my father. Not you. You should know that from the start. I thought, in fact, that such a … condition might appeal to you. No danger—isn’t that right?’ He smiled mockingly. ‘Our hearts don’t need to be involved. Won’t be involved.’

She would have had to have been deaf not to hear the warning. ‘But why should I marry you?’ she protested, hating how weak her voice sounded.

His smile was lethal, predatory, possessing. ‘You desire me. It is a good basis for marriage.’

‘Physical desire?’ Meghan didn’t bother keeping the disbelief from her voice. ‘Sex?’

He shrugged, unperturbed. ‘Why not? If we were married there would be no shame in that.’ His gaze roamed over her again.

Meghan felt a blush stain the tender skin between her breasts, crawl up her throat. She watched Alessandro watch that humiliating, revealing stain, a smile playing about his lips. He stared at her, his expression smouldering, daring her to respond, to deny what pulsated between them.

‘A high price for you to pay to sleep with me,’ Meghan couldn’t help but jibe, and Alessandro slashed his hand through the air.

‘Do not debase yourself to me. Ever.’ He paused, his words becoming a caress, a temptation. ‘You would have security, Meghan. No more waitressing, no more grotty hostels. No more running.’

‘I don’t need you for that,’ she whispered.

‘No, but it would help, wouldn’t it? What about when you go back home?’

‘I’m not going back home!’

‘Not now,’ Alessandro agreed, his tone far too placid, too convincing. ‘But never? Can you honestly say you will never see your family again?’

Meghan swallowed. ‘I don’t know.’

‘If you are married to me you can go home with your head held high, a husband at your side. A rather powerful husband. I could buy out all the poky little shops in that town if you wanted me to.’

Meghan managed a shaky laugh. ‘I’m not interested in revenge.’

‘I’m not talking about revenge. I’m talking about power. Power that won’t be abused. Power that you will have at your disposal. The power not to be ashamed. Afraid.’

Colour scorched her cheeks once more. Alessandro caught her hand in his, stroked the tender skin of her palm.

‘Can you tell me you don’t want that?’ he asked softly. ‘Can you tell me that isn’t tempting to you?’

Meghan looked down. His finger stroked her palm, her wrist, her heart. How did he know? How could he possibly guess the thoughts racing through her mind so easily?

Power. The thought called to her with a siren song, lured her forward to a treacherous future. She could be secure. She could live without fear. Safe from the past, the knowing looks, the scorching shame.

She couldn’t wander her way through Europe for ever; it was a half-life at best. She’d put off thinking of the future because she was afraid to face it.

She knew she could start over in another town, begin another life, but the prospect held no appeal. The shame would still be there—the fear that someone would believe what Stephen had, would act as Stephen had.

With Alessandro as her husband she would never need to be afraid again. She would be in control … with him. She could hold her head high.