Alessandro.
Meghan turned, saw him watching her, a possessive smile quirking his lips.
He moved towards her, lithe and loose-limbed, an elegant stalking that she surrendered to completely.
‘It is time to go.’
‘Already?’
‘The bride and groom must leave first. It is tradition.’ His arm snaked around her waist and he pulled her to his side. ‘And I can wait no longer. You look beautiful in that dress, cara.’
‘It’s your mother’s. She was very generous to offer it.’
‘Yes, I can see how she wants to make amends.’ He brushed her hair with his lips. ‘But I do not want to talk of her. There is a suite upstairs, waiting for us.’
Meghan’s stomach plunged with nerves. She wanted this, she reminded herself. She wanted this so very much.
It didn’t stop her from being scared.
‘All right. Do we say goodbye?’
‘Not unless you want lots of bawdy jokes and knowing looks.’
Meghan shuddered. ‘I couldn’t stand that.’
‘Then we slip out now, quietly, when no one is looking.’
‘What will people think?’
‘That we can’t wait to be alone with each other. And it’s true … isn’t it?’
She nodded shakily. ‘Yes, it’s true.’
Even if I’m terrified.
They were silent as they slipped from the reception, silent as they rode in the elevator to the top floor. Silent as Alessandro swiped the electronic key card and ushered her into a sumptuous suite of rooms.
Silent—yet the tension, the expectation, the desire, thrummed to life between them, more potent than any words or looks. It was a physical presence, a separate entity, and it filled the space with silent, urgent demand.
Meghan glanced around at the elegant chairs and sofas, the double doors that led into the bedroom. Her mind was blank and buzzing. ‘This is very nice.’
‘Do you want a bath? I’ve had your clothes brought from the town house.’
Meghan nodded numbly. ‘Yes, fine.’
He walked over to her, skimmed his hands lightly over her bare shoulders. ‘Don’t be afraid, Meghan. There are no shadows here.’
But there were, she realised. There always would be. Because he didn’t know. Didn’t understand.
She couldn’t make him tell her his secrets, but she could at least tell him her own. Banish her own shadows.
‘I think,’ she said jerkily, ‘I’ll have that bath.’
‘Buon. I’ll be waiting.’
Meghan sifted through her suitcase, found her toiletry bag, full of the new cosmetics, tubes and sprays and gels Gabriella had picked out for her, and the nightgown also selected by her mother-in-law—a sheath of ivory silk, held up with two tiny straps and scalloped with lace. She bunched the garment in her fist and, avoiding Alessandro’s gaze, retreated into the bathroom.
The room was larger than her bedroom back at the hostel, a lifetime ago. Meghan turned the taps, added luxurious scented bath foam, carefully stripped off her wedding gown and slipped it on a hanger.
She stayed in the bath for half an hour, searching for her courage, clinging to what little she found.
Finally, reluctantly, her pulse thrumming—not just from the heat of the bath water—she rose from the tub and dried herself off, slipping on the bridal nightgown.
There was a thick terrycloth robe hanging on the door, provided by the hotel. Meghan slipped that on too.
Alessandro was stretched out on the bed, relaxed, his jacket and tie off, the top two buttons of his shirt undone. Just the sight of that little bit of clean, tanned skin caused Meghan’s pulse to skitter higher.
He sat up when he saw her, taking in her bulky bathrobe with an ironic knowing look.
‘You won’t be needing that, will you?’
‘No, but I want to talk to you first.’
A guarded expression came into his eyes, but he shrugged and patted the bed next to him. ‘Of course. What about?’
‘Me.’ Meghan swallowed nervously and sat down. Her fingers fiddled with the sash of the robe. She couldn’t look at him. ‘Alessandro, I haven’t told you everything about my past. About Stephen. I was too ashamed.’
‘You want to tell me now?’ His voice was carefully neutral.
‘Yes. Because I don’t want there to be secrets between us. My secrets.’ Meghan forced herself to look up, meet his eyes. ‘My shadows. And I want you to understand why I am … the way I am.’
He was quiet for a moment, his face blank. A mask. ‘All right.’
Meghan took a deep, shuddering breath. This was so hard. Yet she knew she needed to do this.
Confession. Absolution.
‘There was more to it than him just being married.’
Alessandro waited, silent. Meghan forced herself to continue. ‘Stephen had always been handsome, charming. I knew he was a little racy, a little wild. I accepted it as part of him, and I loved him anyway. Or so I told myself. It’s amazing the things you can convince yourself of when you’re blind. In love.’
‘Or naïve,’ Alessandro added quietly.
Meghan nodded. ‘I was all three. I accepted the sneaking around. I thought it was because he was a prominent businessman—a lawyer—and he didn’t want to publicise his romantic relationships. I never thought that he thought … that he would …’ She trailed off, staring down at her fingers still fiddling with the sash, her vision blurring.
‘What did he think?’ Alessandro asked, his voice soft, and yet with an underlying hardness that Meghan knew was not directed at her. ‘What did he do?’
‘The thing is,’ she continued, her voice falsely bright, determined, ‘I should have known. I’m a modern, educated woman. Women like me don’t get into situations where …’
Alessandro covered her hand with his own, stilling her nervous fidgeting. ‘Where what?’
She squeezed his fingers, clutched them like a lifeline. ‘Where you’re controlled,’ she explained quietly. ‘First it was just how I was with him. I wanted to please him, to make him happy. He liked … certain things. Then it was what I wore, who I saw, what I said. He was jealous—horribly jealous, coldly jealous—and I thought it was love.’
Alessandro was silent for a moment, taking this in. ‘He did abuse you,’ he finally said flatly, still holding, stroking her fingers.
Meghan shook her head, denying the truth she’d suppressed for so long … the truth about Stephen, the truth about herself. ‘But I let him. I should have known better. Everyone wondered what was happening to me—why I was so different, so distant. He didn’t like my friends, my family, didn’t like my life. I stopped going out … I lost my job because of it.’ She closed her eyes briefly, recalling the pain, the shame. The obsession. The delusion. ‘I told you Stanton Springs is a small town. Everybody watches out for everybody else. People care. They cared about me, and I just drove them all away. All that mattered to me was Stephen. I didn’t know sometimes whether it was because of love or fear, but I couldn’t leave him. I couldn’t. How could I have been so blind? So stupid?’
‘Our hearts are blind,’ Alessandro said after a long moment. ‘You thought he loved you.’
‘If I’d had any self-respect—’ Her voice caught jaggedly on a sob, then she choked it back. ‘I would’ve walked out before it came to … before it brought me so low.’
Alessandro’s eyes were gentle, but knowing. So knowing. ‘What did he do to you?’
Meghan shook her head. She couldn’t look at him. Didn’t want to see disgust in his eyes, the disgust she’d felt herself, at herself. ‘Nothing more than what he’d been doing before. Controlling me, humiliating me. He liked to see me under his thumb, catering to his whims, accepting his insults. Brought low. It gave him pleasure. I see that now, even though at the time I thought that was what you did when you loved someone. You just took it. You thought they’d stop. Change. I thought it was because I wasn’t good enough, perfect en
ough. And then one night I’d had enough. I was so dispirited, so broken. I felt like I was dying inside—like all the good parts of me were gone. Used up. And I told him I’d had enough.’
‘Did he let you go?’ Alessandro asked quietly. Knowingly.
Meghan’s hands clenched on the sash once more as memories assaulted her, battered her brain and heart. ‘No. I should’ve realised he wouldn’t. I told him I was sorry, that I loved him, and then …’ She looked up now, met his gaze, faced the truth. ‘He hit me. Across the face. I was so stunned I just lay there. I couldn’t believe it. I was being hit by a man. The man I loved.’
‘If I could get my hands on him …’ Alessandro whispered savagely under his breath.
‘He kept hitting me. I just took it. I was so surprised, so amazed it was happening. That I’d let it happen. It was my fault.’
‘Meghan, it wasn’t—’
She continued, determined to finish it to the end. ‘He told me he was married then—said I must’ve known. He laughed about it. He said if I wondered why he treated me like a whore it was because I was one, and everyone knew it.’ She closed her eyes briefly, shaking her head against the onslaught of memory. ‘Of course, I knew he was lying. At least, my mind knew. My heart didn’t. My heart believed every word he said.’ She whispered the last, the confession echoing through her soul. She’d believed.
‘What happened then?’ Alessandro asked quietly, after a long moment when the only sound in the still room had been their breathing, ragged and uneven.
‘I ran. He tried to grab me. I don’t know what he would have done if— But I got away. And I kept on running. I ran right out of that town, that life, and I can’t go back.’
‘There are people there who would support you,’ Alessandro said in a low voice. ‘They would understand, Meghan.’
‘But I’m so ashamed,’ she confessed in a wretched whisper. ‘It’s my fault. I should have known. I should have known what kind of man he was. I should have stopped it.’ Her voice broke, and Alessandro pulled her towards him, wrapped her in an embrace that was both tender and savage.
‘No. How could you know? How could you expect…?’
He was silent, his arms around her, his chin resting on her head. Meghan tried to control her shuddering breaths, her pounding pulse.
‘Did you press charges?’ Alessandro asked after a long, ragged moment.
‘No.’ She was horrified at the thought. ‘The last thing I wanted was people knowing what had happened, what I’d done. I told you—I ran. I didn’t even explain where I was going. I sent a postcard. I know everyone is confused, hurt, even, but I couldn’t live in that town knowing he was there. He wouldn’t let me. And I couldn’t bear people knowing.’ She looked up at him, her eyes wide. ‘I was afraid they would condemn me if they knew. I couldn’t bear the shame.’
He stroked her face—light, feathering movements. ‘No,’ he said quietly, ‘I don’t suppose anyone could.’
He continued stroking her hair, her shoulders. Meghan never wanted him to let her go. She never wanted to feel alone, ashamed again.
‘And for this you blame yourself?’ he finally asked. ‘You told me you thought you might have known deep down that he was married. I forced you to that confession.’ Regret laced his words and roughened his tone. ‘But this? Meghan, you could never blame yourself for this. That man—that Stephen—he was a monster. This was not your fault. None of it. You are not responsible for another’s actions.’
‘It’s hard,’ Meghan said after a moment, her voice no more than a thread of sound, ‘not to blame yourself when someone else does. Someone you thought you loved. I stopped believing in myself, in who I was. I’m not sure if I even know any more.’
Alessandro was silent. Meghan heard their breathing, the ticking of a clock, the muted roar of traffic from Milan’s busy streets below.
‘Yes,’ he agreed finally, softly. ‘It is hard. Lord knows, it is very hard. But I am the man with you now, Meghan, gattina. I am the man who married you, and I believe in you.’ He tilted her face up to meet his, wiped the traces of her tears with his thumbs. ‘I know who you are, and I believe you.’
Meghan closed her eyes, felt the old shame slipping away. He knew. He knew, and he believed. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘That’s why I wanted to tell you.’
‘I’m glad you did.’ He cupped her face, slid his hand through the heavy mass of hair at the nape of her neck. ‘Your trust in me is precious.’ His voice was stilted, as if he was testing out new words, new emotions. ‘I am humbled by it.’
Tears sparkled in her eyes. Trust me. She wanted to say it, to plead, but she knew now was not the time. She’d been ready to share, to confess.
Alessandro wasn’t. Yet.
He gazed at her gently. ‘And now? Are there shadows?’
Meghan smiled tremulously, glanced around the darkened room. ‘No. There are no shadows for me.’
‘Good.’ He kissed her softly, the gesture a plea, a prayer. Not a demand. He would demand nothing of her tonight, Meghan knew.
Nothing that she didn’t want.
She kissed him back, her hands sliding up the silkiness of his shirt, bunching the cloth between her restless seeking fingers.
He broke the kiss and glanced down at her with a faint frown between his brows. ‘You are certain?’
‘I am.’ She felt drained, yet relieved. Empty, yet waiting to be filled.
‘Good.’ He kissed her again, this time his mouth sure and seeking, soft and warm.
Meghan felt him untie the bathrobe, felt it slip from her shoulders. She heard his indrawn breath as his gaze roamed over her, taking in the simplicity of the nightgown.
‘You are so, so beautiful. Bella.’ He kissed her shoulders, one first, then the other, and slipped the straps down. The material slid to her waist in a puddle of silk.
Meghan closed her eyes. She’d expected to feel exposed. Ashamed.
She felt neither.
She felt Alessandro’s gaze on her—warm, admiring, gentle—and she smiled. He cupped her breasts in his hands, chuckling softly.
‘As golden as the rest of you. You are like a sunbeam.’
She gave a little laugh, raised her eyes to meet his own heated gaze. ‘I want to see you.’ Fumbling just a little bit, she unbuttoned his shirt. He shrugged it off impatiently and she ran a hand down his chest, the smooth expanse of skin, sighing in satisfaction. ‘I’ve wanted to do this.’
‘I’ve wanted you to.’ Alessandro’s voice trembled as he laid her on the bed, stretching out beside her. ‘This is how I’ve wanted it between us. Always.’
She nodded speechlessly, the feelings he was drawing from her filling her, spilling up to overflowing. She felt blessed.
He ran his hand over her breasts, across her navel, skimming over her hidden femininity.
Meghan moaned, arched helplessly. She wanted his touch. She craved it.
She lost herself to the exquisite feel of his hands on her, roaming, seeking, wanting. She was helpless, splayed beneath him, lost in sensation. Touch, taste, feel.
‘Meghan, look at me.’ There was amusement as well as tenderness in Alessandro’s voice. ‘Make love to me with your mind, not just your body. See the memory we’re making together. See how I want you.’
Meghan opened her eyes, saw him braced on his forearms above her, the need and desire open in his face, his eyes, his languorous smile.
His hand moved down, deeper, slipping inside her with a gentle, knowing touch, to the very core of her womanhood, her self, stroking her to helpless flames.
She gasped, her eyes widening, fastened on his, as he smiled, his own eyes darkened with desire.
‘Touch me.’
She touched his chest, let her hand slide down, her lips curving in an ancient, womanly smile of seductive power as she heard him gasp.
‘Touch me …’ His voice was ragged as he rolled on his back, taking her with him, giving her the power.
She straddled him,
revelling in the feel of him underneath her, his hard thighs beneath hers, open, vulnerable to her, wanting her touch, her kiss, his entire body a supplication, a prayer.
She watched as his breathing hitched, his eyes glazed with desire. He never stopped looking at her, even as he clasped her hips and she lowered herself onto him.
She gasped in shocked delight as she felt him fill her, felt the satisfaction deep in her core even as the hunger grew, wilder and deeper, needing to be met.
‘You feel so good,’ he said raggedly, ‘so right.’
It did feel right, Meghan thought dizzily as she moved, rocking, adjusting to this new sensation, this wondrous flooding of feeling. Pleasure. Emotion. Joy. She threw her head back as they began to move in a beautiful dance, minds and bodies as one.
One.
One flesh.
She couldn’t think any more, could only feel, her hands bunching on his arms, her thighs pressed against him as he reached up to cup her breasts in his hands, possess her in every way possible.
‘Golden …’ he whispered, chuckling softly, and Meghan gasped as he moved, clasping her to him, her legs wrapping around him so they were joined, fused, from shoulder to thigh. She buried her head in his neck, overwhelmed. Overcome.
‘Look at me.’
I want you to see me when I make love to you. I want you to look in my eyes and see how I want you.
She saw it now as his eyes blazed into hers, filled with a desire that was elemental, consuming them both in its wondrous flames.
He never stopped looking at her, possessing with his eyes as well as his body, as the pressure and pleasure built to a glorious crescendo.
She cried out, and he captured her mouth with his own as she shattered, just as he had predicted she would, into a thousand sense-scattering pieces.
And then he put her back together again, cradling her as they lay there, still, sated, their breathing ragged.
I love you.
It came unbidden, helpless. Hopeless. Meghan closed her eyes, her cheek pressed against his chest, the tang of his sweat still on her lips.
I love you.
Why? When? How?
She didn’t know when it had happened. Perhaps when she had first looked into his eyes at the trattoria, and her soul had recognised someone who knew her. Knew her completely and understood. Believed.
One Night In Collection Page 31
