One Night In…. Оливия Гейтс

      ‘I’m fine.’ Her voice came out as brittle and sharp as shattered glass. She felt as if she were nothing more than a handful of shattered glass, a fistful of jagged splinters. Shaking off Alessandro’s arm, she moved towards the villa. ‘I’ll just get my things.’

      She walked on numb legs to her room, the villa streaming by her blind eyes in a blur of colour.

      Almost dispassionately she saw that her haversack had been placed at the foot of her bed. Who had fetched it? she wondered. How many minions worked for Alessandro, in a life she didn’t even understand, with a power she could not begin to fathom? A power abused.

      She stuffed her crumpled white shirt and black skirt into the bag. She could return the clothes she was wearing to Alessandro later. There was no time to change.

      She was zipping up her bag when Alessandro strode into the room.

      ‘What the hell are you doing?’

      In the distance she heard the roar of the convertible heading down the drive. She spoke through stiff lips. ‘Leaving.’

      ‘Just like that?’

      ‘Just like that.’ Meghan tugged at the zipper of her bag, refusing to meet Alessandro’s eyes. She couldn’t do that and get out of here. She knew she couldn’t.

      ‘You can’t.’

      ‘Yes, I can.’ Barely. The zipper had finally closed, and she swung the haversack onto her shoulder. She still hadn’t looked at him.

      It was the only way she could keep the desperate shards of self-respect and sanity together.

      For surely if she stayed one moment longer than necessary—if she let Alessandro talk to her, touch her—they would be scattered.

      Stolen.

      ‘If you won’t drive me, I’ll walk.’

      ‘It’s over five kilometres to Spoleto,’ Alessandro warned. His mouth was a thin line of anger, his eyes black, his body tense and ready to spring, although there was a loose-limbed grace to his movements even in his fury.

      Meghan shook her head wearily. ‘You can’t keep me prisoner here, Alessandro.’

      ‘Were you prisoner at the falls? At lunch? With me all day? When you begged me to let you stay? Don’t throw that one at me this time, Meghan. It won’t work.’

      ‘I enjoyed today,’ Meghan said, with a dispassionate calm she was far from feeling. ‘But I didn’t beg.’ She felt sick, and she prayed she wouldn’t throw up. Prayed she wouldn’t cry. ‘Now I want to leave.’

      ‘No.’

      ‘I’ll walk—’

      ‘No.’ He took her gently by the shoulders, his touch like a promise. Meghan closed her eyes. She didn’t need this. Couldn’t need it.

      When he spoke his voice was a caress. ‘Look at me, Meghan.’

      Damn him. Unwillingly, despite every good intention she’d ever had, she met his eyes.

      ‘Why are you doing this? Is it because of Richard? He’s a pig—porca—’

      ‘Two-bit, part-time whore.’ The words came out in a sorry little whisper.

      Alessandro stared at her, his eyes blazing, filled with an urgency that almost undid her.

      ‘You believe what he said?’ he finally demanded hoarsely.

      Meghan spoke through numb lips, her voice a rusty whisper. ‘Tell me it isn’t true. Tell me you didn’t say it.’

      Alessandro was silent, his gaze hard and unyielding. Then he released her, running a hand through his hair, and Meghan sagged against the bed. Her haversack fell to the floor.

      ‘I did say it.’

      Tears pricked her lids. She’d begun to think perhaps it wasn’t true. Only now did she realise how much that brief flicker of hope had cost her. Damn him. Damn him for making her feel.

      Feel so very much.

      ‘But I didn’t know you then,’ Alessandro continued in a voice of determined calm.

      Meghan tossed her head, blinking back tears. ‘It was yesterday, Alessandro.’

      ‘A day is a long time.’

      ‘Not long enough.’ And yet far too long.

      One day wasn’t supposed to be dangerous.

      And yet it was. It was.

      Wearily, every limb leaden, she stooped to pick up her haversack.

      ‘What do you want from me?’ Alessandro demanded. ‘Complete trust—faith in you before I even know you?’

      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