One Night In Collection

by Various Authors

  Perhaps it had happened later, when he’d opened her heart and mind to the possibility of trust, of desire without shame, need without fear.

  Perhaps it had happened just now, when he’d undone her— known her—completely.

  She just knew it was true.

  She loved him—loved his tenderness, his teasing smile, his ability to give himself so completely. Loved him despite the darkness, the despair that he hid, the secrets she knew he kept, the pain she knew he would cause her.

  She loved him.

  And it was the last thing Alessandro wanted.

  Alessandro listened as Meghan’s breathing slowed, her breath feathering his chest. She was asleep.

  He relaxed his arm around her, shifting to get more comfortable.

  Except nothing could make him comfortable. Nothing could ease the guilt that ate at him, worse than any disease.

  She doesn’t know what kind of man I am.

  He’d never realised how much she’d been through. Endured. His hand curled into a fist as he thought of what Meghan had been through, of the man who had abused her precious trust, her beautiful body.

  He looked forward to going back to that hypocritical little town and wiping that man’s face in the dirt.

  Yet what help was that? He was the hypocrite; he was surely only going to cause her more suffering. He wouldn’t be able to help it.

  When she discovered his past …

  When she learned who he really was …

  What he was capable of. What he had done.

  Then she would hate him. Affection would turn to disgust, love to hatred.

  For he knew she would fall in love with him some time. It was in her nature, warm and generous.

  No, he didn’t want her to love him. Couldn’t let it happen. He knew he wouldn’t be able to bear it when it stopped.

  And it would stop. Because he couldn’t change. He couldn’t be that man.

  He couldn’t be saved.

  If only it were as simple as it had been for Meghan. Banishing the shadows and accepting forgiveness, love.

  There was no such easy answer for him. People loved until you disappointed them. He’d seen it, lived it before. The moment you showed you were weak, needy, in pain or trouble, they left.

  They fobbed you off on someone else. They turned away. They pretended they didn’t know you.

  And who could blame them?

  He couldn’t stand for that to happen to Meghan. Better for her not to love him at all.

  The only way to keep her from falling in love with him, Alessandro knew, was to show her glimpses of the man he truly was.

  Not enough to make her leave, but enough to make her wary.

  He only prayed that he wouldn’t hurt her too much … and that she would stay. It would be a fine line.

  Because he didn’t know what he would do if she left.

  His arm tightened around her again instinctively, and she stirred in her sleep.

  Glimpses, he reminded himself, his lips twisting in a savage smile. Glimpses would be enough.

  CHAPTER TEN

  MEGHAN awoke to an empty bed. For a moment she felt the familiar lurch of fear, then she forced herself to shrug it off.

  There were no more shadows. For her.

  Alessandro came into the room, showered, dressed, and bearing a tray with coffee and rolls.

  ‘I thought you might be hungry.’

  ‘Starving.’

  His smile was knowing, seductive, and Meghan found herself grinning. She bit lustily into a roll as Alessandro took a cup of coffee and stretched out beside her.

  ‘I thought today we could look for a place to live.’

  ‘What about your flat?’

  ‘It is a small place, sterile—a bachelor’s pad, as they say. You would hate it.’

  ‘I wouldn’t,’ Meghan protested. ‘We could buy some flowers, some pictures—’

  ‘No, no.’ He was firm in his dismissal. ‘It needs much more than that. It is simply not suitable. We can look for a place together—a home to start our new lives in?’

  ‘If that’s what you want,’ Meghan said, a bit unsteadily. It sounded idyllic. Perfect. And far too good to be true. Like a dream they were weaving, something set apart. Unreal.

  ‘That’s what I want,’ Alessandro replied. ‘I need to make a few phone calls. I’ll leave you to get dressed.’

  He left the bedroom and Meghan leaned back against the pillows, her mind buzzing happily with new thoughts, new dreams.

  Half an hour later they were in Alessandro’s car, cruising the streets of Milan.

  Meghan gazed in wonder at the ancient buildings coupled with the modern glamour. This was Alessandro’s city, she thought, as he navigated the traffic with expert and uncomplicated ease.

  He belonged here, among the rich and powerful. And now she was part of that too. Yet somehow the prospect of power had lost its allure.

  Wealth, security—even safety—they all seemed useless without love.

  Meghan’s mouth twisted grimly. Too bad, she thought. That was how it was. For now.

  ‘Do you have a destination in mind?’ she asked, and Alessandro gave her a fleeting smile.

  ‘Wait and see…’

  He turned the car into a narrow street which opened onto a square, not as impressive as at his mother’s residence, but filled with sunlight.

  Children played on the green, and the town houses that fronted it looked well cared for. Loved.

  ‘This looks nice,’ Meghan offered cautiously, for it wasn’t the sort of place she’d imagined Alessandro in. It looked like a place for families—a place where happiness and joy were shared, simple pleasures enjoyed.

  No glamour.

  No power.

  ‘Yes, it does,’ he agreed. ‘The agent gave me the key this morning.’

  He led her up to one of the houses—a narrow stone building, with bright shutters and begonias spilling from the wrought-iron balconies.

  Alessandro unlocked the door and ushered her inside.

  Meghan walked slowly through the rooms. They were generously proportioned without being ostentatious, the wide windows thrown open to the spring sunshine.

  She stood in the middle of the gleaming kitchen, the large pine table in its centre testifying to the fact that this was a family’s house.

  ‘It’s semi-furnished,’ Alessandro told her, reading the details from a brochure. ‘We can pick up more bits and pieces as you like. Four bedrooms upstairs, another on the third floor if we want live-in help. The kitchen, lounge, and dining room on this floor. There is a small garden at the back, and of course the square out in front.’ He looked up at her, eyes glinting. ‘Do you like it?’

  ‘It’s perfect,’ Meghan said simply. ‘Perfect.’

  He strode towards her, snatched her up and kissed her soundly. Meghan laughed in surprise.

  ‘We’ll have our children here. I’ll teach our sons to play football in the square. It will be so good for us.’

  His voice rang with certainty, and yet Meghan heard the desperation underneath, the ragged edges.

  They were both trying so hard to believe. To make it real.

  Yet it still smacked of a fairytale, a story that had to end— and perhaps not with a happily-ever-after.

  They moved in the very next day. Alessandro had linens and towels brought from one of Milan’s exclusive stores, and Meghan had fun shopping for food at the local negozio.

  Alessandro came in from work as she made dinner, his gaze sweeping over the simple scene—from the food on the table to Meghan at the stove, a dishtowel tied around her waist.

  ‘We forgot to buy an apron,’ she said with a little smile, and he pulled her into a long, breathless kiss.

  ‘I’d just want to take it off you anyway.’ His hands roamed over her, leaving flames of need in their wake.

  ‘Alessandro, the dinner …’ Her protestation was so weak as to be laughable.

  ‘We haven’t christened this house,’ Al
essandro murmured against her mouth. ‘I’d like to try every room—but we’ll start with the bedroom. I like a soft bed …’

  He pulled her upstairs, closing the bedroom door with a soft click, and laid her gently on the bed. Meghan lay there, happy, gazing up at him.

  The look in his eyes—as if he were examining a priceless treasure—made her mouth dry. She held out her arms.

  ‘Come to me.’

  Pain slashed across his features so briefly she almost didn’t notice it, but he shrugged off his clothes and fell upon her, and the moment of uncertainty was lost in passion, lost to the exquisite feeling of being touched, treasured.

  ‘We’ve been invited to a party tomorrow,’ Alessandro told her later, as they ate the reheated pasta, his voice suddenly turning alarmingly neutral. ‘It’s bound to happen as people hear about our wedding. They want to meet you.’

  ‘A party could be fun,’ Meghan said. She glanced at him uncertainly. ‘You sound like you don’t want me to meet them.’

  ‘But of course not. I want to keep you all to myself. Any man would.’

  ‘We can’t hide for ever,’ Meghan said teasingly, and knew immediately it had been the wrong thing to say.

  A muscle bunched in his jaw and he set his wine glass down carefully. ‘No,’ he agreed flatly. ‘We can’t.’

  What are you hiding? Meghan wanted to ask. Demand. What secrets are you keeping?

  But of course she would demand nothing. Because Alessandro didn’t want a wife who made demands.

  A wife who loved him.

  Too bad that was exactly what he had.

  The next evening Meghan got dressed for the cocktail party with a mixture of anticipation and foreboding.

  No matter what she’d said, she wanted to hide here with Alessandro for ever. Playing house and forgetting the world outside, the people who waited to meet them, to judge them.

  Judge him.

  ‘I have something for you.’ Alessandro came in the bedroom, his black tuxedo setting off his ebony hair and navy eyes with stunning simplicity. He held a black velvet box in his hand.

  Meghan turned, and he took in her evening gown—the amber silk she’d worn the other night, its tear discreetly mended—with an appreciative breath.

  ‘My sunbeam,’ he said softly. He handed her the box. ‘This will match your gown and make your eyes sparkle.’

  Intrigued, Meghan opened it. Nestled on the velvet was a necklace made up of pure topaz, the elegantly cut gems rimmed in gold, each piece daringly designed as if to fit a puzzle, sharp and brilliant.

  ‘Alessandro, it’s … amazing. Truly beautiful. Is it a Di Agnio piece?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, yes. When I saw it I thought of you. May I?’ She nodded, and he lifted the necklace from the box, slipping it around her throat.

  It lay heavily against her collar-bone, each piece flat, shining. She touched it reverently. She’d never worn something so exquisite, so expensive.

  Alessandro’s appreciative smile hardened briefly. ‘Now we must go. The party—and people—await.’

  The cocktail party was in one of Milan’s high-rises—a glittering needle of light that pierced the evening sky.

  Meghan’s nerves jangled as she thought of the people circulating above them, waiting for their arrival.

  ‘We don’t need to stay long,’ Alessandro said, and she didn’t know if he was reassuring her or himself. ‘We’re newlyweds, after all. People will understand.’

  She nodded mutely, and a valet came to park the car.

  Upstairs, guests mingled in a sumptuous penthouse apartment, the room filled with the murmur of voices and the clink of crystal.

  Meghan searched the crowd for a familiar face and found none. She felt Alessandro tense beside her, though his urbane smile remained unchanged.

  His whole body radiated tension. She wanted to reach out, to hold his hand, to tell him he could do this, they could do this, because she was at his side.

  The idea was laughable. He would be furious that she saw his weakness, humiliated by her display. And she was too scared to do it anyway.

  ‘Alessandro … and your lovely bride!’ A man in his late forties, trim, with grey hair slicked back from a high forehead, came forward with a hard, bright smile. ‘Who would ever have thought a man such as you would get married? It must be true love, eh?’

  Alessandro inclined his head in cool acknowledgement. A muscle bunched in his jaw.

  The man turned his crocodile smile on Meghan. She forced herself not to recoil from the way his gaze swept up and down her length. ‘What is the trick, bellissima? To capture a man with such a—notorious—reputation with women?’

  ‘I don’thave any tricks,’ Meghan replied with dignity. ‘Perhaps that’s why I have been successful where so many have not.’

  ‘Ah, such a fair rose.’ His smile verged on a sneer. ‘Alessandro and I go way back, you know. We’ve shared many … experiences.’ His voice caressed the last word with obvious lascivious intent.

  ‘Experiences best forgotten,’ Alessandro interjected lightly, although his eyes were like flint.

  ‘I remember when you could have a woman on each arm and one in your lap, and be finished with all of them by midnight,’ the man reminisced slyly. ‘Good times, eh, Alessandro?’

  ‘Things have changed.’

  He raised one mocking eyebrow. ‘Have they?’

  Alessandro bunched his fist, flattened it. ‘There are other people for us to greet, Bernardo.’

  He turned his back on the man without another word.

  ‘One of your friends?’ Meghan asked in a low voice. She could feel the revulsion on her face, crawling along her skin, and she knew Alessandro could see it too.

  He shrugged in reply. ‘I told you—you don’t know me.’

  ‘I think I do know you,’ Meghan replied. ‘Even if I don’t know who you were.’

  He glanced at her sharply, the hunger in his eyes flaring quickly before dying out. ‘No, Meghan,’ he said softly. ‘Don’t make that mistake. I haven’t changed. The man I was is the man I am. No matter what you think, what I do. No matter.’ He squeezed her arm warningly. ‘Let’s enjoy what we have … and no more.’

  Meghan was saved from a reply by another guest crossing to greet them, and the next hour passed in a blur of conversation— some in Italian, some in English—with Meghan desperately trying to remember the faces and names.

  She wouldn’t forget the innuendoes.

  They laced every sly word, drenched every speculative look.

  Hints about his past, his wild days, his many women. She heard the censure, the disapproval, sometimes the reluctant rakish admiration.

  Everyone knew who Alessandro had been. Who he was.

  Everyone but her.

  After an hour she could take no more. She excused herself to the ladies’ room, weaving among the guests in search of an escape, no matter how temporary.

  ‘Buona sera, Signora di Agnio.’

  Stefano Lucrezi lounged in a quiet corner, his wine glass cupped in one palm. He took in her bunched fists and desperate look with one sardonic sweep of his eyes. ‘Are you trying to run away?’

  ‘Yes,’ Meghan replied, stung to honesty at last. ‘These people are piranhas.’

  ‘They scent an easy kill.’

  She stopped, stared uncertainly. ‘What do you mean?’

  Stefano shrugged. ‘No one ever expected Alessandro di Agnio to get married.’

  ‘I’ve gathered that,’ she replied, a bit tartly. ‘I also understand he’s had plenty of women, plenty of parties, and that he’s probably been the most notorious playboy Milan—and Italy— have ever seen!’

  She’d meant to be sarcastic, but Stefano just nodded slowly. ‘Then you are starting to understand.’

  Meghan was more shocked by Stefano’s admission than she cared to admit, but she rallied her courage and spread her hands wide. ‘So what? Lots of men—Italian men—have similar pasts. He’s CEO of an important compan
y. He’s married now. What matters is now.’ She so desperately wanted to believe that was true.

  ‘Yes,’ Stefano agreed quietly. ‘But people don’t want to forget. They can’t. Alessandro least of all.’

  Meghan shook her head, though she’d suspected as much. ‘Then what can I do? I don’t want the past to destroy us.’

  ‘Has he told you about his brother?’

  ‘He died. That’s all I know.’

  ‘Roberto was CEO of the company after their father died. He’d been groomed for the role since infancy, but he was hopeless at it. He was an artist, and he could not make good business decisions. When he died Alessandro took over, but there was not much to work with. People …’ Stefano paused, his expression momentarily guarded. ‘They doubted he could do it, but he has. He has brought the company back from the brink of ruin. He has proved many, many people wrong, signora. I hope he is proved right in you.’

  ‘So do I,’ Meghan whispered.

  He nodded towards her necklace. ‘One of his designs.’

  ‘What?’ Meghan touched the necklace, shocked. ‘Alessandro designed this?’

  ‘Yes—a hobby of his.’ Stefano’s face was shadowed for a moment. ‘He doesn’t like people to know … it’s merely a pastime.’

  Alessandro was quiet on the way home. Meghan watched him from under her lashes, saw the implacable lines of his face and knew he would not want to talk. He would certainly not want to answer questions.

  Yet she had so many.

  He needs love.

  Did he? Meghan wondered achingly. She so wanted to be able to give it to him … if only he would accept her gift. If only he would dispel his own shadows … or let her help him do it.

  ‘Did you have a good time tonight?’ she finally asked, breaking the silence that hung like a pall of gloom over the car.

  ‘No, but I didn’t expect to,’ Alessandro replied shortly. His eyes slid to Meghan, roamed over her. ‘But I did enjoy seeing you in that dress, and picturing what you look like underneath.’

  Meghan swallowed, smiled. Sex. That was what he was going to reduce it to now—what he wanted it to be.