Olivia Gates - One Night In…

He was that man. That wouldn’t change. He could pose, he could pretend, but underneath ultimately he knew who he was. Everyone knew who he was.

Everyone but Meghan.

He wasn’t like her—judged, condemned falsely by one twisted man. He’d been condemned by the truth.

The truth of who he was.

And yet … he wanted her. Wanted her with a desire that shook him, paralysed him with its blinding need, its power. Even made him a little bit afraid.

He wanted a saviour.

The realisation made him hurl his whisky tumbler onto the paving stones, where it shattered. Some things couldn’t be fixed.

Not the tumbler. Not him.

He was past redemption, past saving. He knew that; he’d been told it many times. He saw it in his own soul and he accepted the truth, as everyone who knew him had accepted it.

No matter how hard he tried, how far he ran, it wouldn’t change.

He couldn’t change.

She could change me.

It was a joke; it wasn’t fair. He couldn’t expect Meghan to save him, love him. Didn’t want it.

Didn’t want to need it.

He didn’t want— shouldn’t want—some pathetic, needy smalltown girl trying to fix him. Trying to love him. No matter what she said, he knew she would start to love him. He saw it in her eyes—the hope and the fear.

I won’t love … or be loved.

Except she had eyes like sunlight, and when she smiled he felt … hope.

But there was no hope, could be no hope. Not for him.

He was damned.

If he married Meghan he would be dragging her down with him.

Taking her with him to hell.

But he still wanted her. And he would have her. No matter what it took. No matter what it cost.

Because, Alessandro acknowledged with a bitter, mocking toast to himself, that was the kind of man he was. He was a selfish bastard who took his pleasures where he could, how he could, no matter who he hurt.

And he would hurt Meghan. He might try not to for a while, but the truth would out.

His own nature would out.

No matter what he’d tried to prove in the last two years, the reality was his own blackened soul … and what it would do to Meghan.

Hating himself, Alessandro turned back inside.

MEGHAN awoke to sunlight washing the room in shades of yellow and cream, a slight breeze from the open window ruffling the curtains.

She leaned her head against the pillow, willing herself to enjoy the simple sensual pleasure of the moment before the thoughts, the memories, the doubts came rushing back in.

And so they came, hurtling through her mind with stunning force, leaving her breathless when she hadn’t even moved.

She’d almost made love with Alessandro.

He’d stripped her bare, taken away her pretences, her pride.

He’d asked her to marry him.

Meghan pressed her fists to her eyes, wanting to cry, needing the release, but she’d already shed all her tears.

Her eyes were dry and gritty. It had been a long, sleepless night. Yet now, despite the agony of remembering, of allowing herself to process all that had happened, she realised she felt calm.

She felt strong.

She sat up in bed, pushing her hair away from her face. Today was a new day. Today was the beginning of a new life.

Last night, somewhere between midnight and dawn, she’d decided to marry Alessandro.

It had been a long night of doubt, of uncertainty, and yet also of hope. Her mind told her to run far, far away from Villa Tre Querce, from the hold Alessandro had on her.

And yet she also knew she would never be able to run far enough. In the space of a few days he’d already marked her heart, her mind, her soul.

Even her body.

Just the thought of his hands on her, his fingers lightly skimming her skin, made her shiver in remembered pleasure.

I want you to touch me.

She drew her knees up, resting her chin on top. The breeze blowing from the window was warm, a sign of oncoming summer.

A new life.

What would life be like with Alessandro? The question sent a delicious shiver of anticipation through her, yet chasing it was the sharp bite of fear.

It could all go so horribly, horribly wrong.

Meghan closed her eyes as doubt assailed her once more.

Why was she doing this? It would be easier, safer to run away. Find a new place since she couldn’t return home.

Home. Just the word—the concept—brought pain slicing through her as a grim smile twisted her features.

You knew. You wanted it. You deserved it.

The voices of the past, still haunting her. The shadows, she realised, still there.

Would they ever go away?

You haven’t told him the truth.

The treacherous whisper of her conscience made her shudder. She could not tell Alessandro the truth. She could not share with him the extent of her shame. Admittedly it was hard for him to believe that she would think so little of herself simply because she hadn’t known Stephen was married.

If he knew how low she’d been brought … how ashamed she’d been …

The shadows flickered about the room, the echoes of Stephen’s taunts and leers like whispers in the corners.

And now? Wasn’t she just opening herself to the possibility of even more pain, more humiliation than ever before?

Yes, Meghan thought. She was.

Except now the power would be on her side. She would never be helpless again, never a pawn in someone else’s filthy desire, disgusting needs. She would never again be a victim.

Unless she was Alessandro’s.

The thought chilled her. If she fell in love with him, if she let him inside her heart even just a tiny bit, it could hurt.

It could hurt so much.

But that was a risk she was going to have to take.

When she’d run out of Stanton Springs she’d also run out of choices. She couldn’t go home. She couldn’t keep running. Not for ever.

Alessandro had been right when he’d asked, ‘Does it really matter if I don’t love you?’

Even though the question had caused her pain, she recognised the truth. It didn’t matter. It couldn’t.

She didn’t want to love him; he wouldn’t love her.

They could still be happy. And she would have power. Control. At last.

Why wouldn’t he love anyone? What was his secret? The truth behind the need?

That is the man I am. The man I mean to be.

If it were within her power she would help him become that man. She would make it happen.

Maybe one day he would tell her. And maybe, Meghan thought grimly, she would tell him. The truth. The whole truth.

Maybe.

Her stomach churning with nerves, but also with a new, fiery determination, she sprang out of bed. She dressed in her own clothes—faded jeans and a butter-yellow jumper. She pinned her hair back carelessly on top of her head and scanned her reflection in the mirror. She was pale, too pale, and her eyes looked huge, but there were freckles on her nose from the sun yesterday, and she couldn’t quite contain the smile lurking underneath her fear.

Dragging a shaky breath into her lungs, she headed downstairs. The house was silent, waiting, as Meghan descended the sweeping staircase, one hand on the wrought-iron railing.

Was Ana back? How would the taciturn housekeeper respond to the news that her employer was marrying? That he was marrying Meghan?

Meghan took another breath. She needed air.

She found Alessandro in the kitchen, drinking coffee and reading the newspaper as if he hadn’t a care in the world. His head was bent and his hair fell boyishly over his forehead. He raked it back with one careless hand, absorbed in the paper.

Meghan’s heart felt as if it had been squeezed, as if Alessandro had reached right inside and tugged even when he’d barely moved. Even when he hadn’t seen her.