Paulo grabbed her arm and pulled her to him. Meghan slammed against his soft belly with a suppressed grunt, his hands tight on her wrists, pinning her against him.
‘One kiss.’
She could smell his stale smoky breath, his old sweat. She could smell his lust, and everything in her recoiled.
‘Get off me—’ Meghan tried to push herself away, but Paulo only held her tighter.
‘One kiss, bella, that’s all. And then you can have your money.’
‘Go to hell!’ Meghan spat raggedly. ‘I won’t give you anything—’
‘You’ve been wanting it.’ Paulo’s face had turned angry even as his eyes were bright with desire. Meghan wanted to retch. ‘I’ve seen you—the looks you give me—’
She closed her eyes, swallowed bile. ‘You’re fooling yourself, Paulo, and I can call the police—’
‘But you haven’t, have you?’ he said with soft menace. His lips, moist and slimy, were inches from hers. ‘I’ve wondered about you, bella. What are you trying to hide? Why don’t you leave? You could, you know. There are other hostels in Spoleto.’ He shook his head slowly. ‘But you never did leave…so that must mean you want it.’
‘You’re wrong.’ Meghan’s voice shook. Her body shook. She felt weak and helpless, and the realisation angered her. She would not be a victim again. She would not allow someone as pathetic and disgusting as Paulo to control her.
Except she couldn’t prevent him.
He was too strong, and every time she struggled the hands grasping both her wrists, forcing her to press up against him, tightened.
‘Let me go,’ she cried desperately, and Paulo’s eyes glittered.
‘I want to hear you beg.’
‘You will be the one begging. To the police.’ The voice from the doorway was like the crack of a pistol. Paulo’s grip slackened, and Meghan stumbled away, a trembling sob escaping from her before she could prevent it.
Alessandro stood in the doorway, his face white with rage. His whole body was tensed, coiled, ready to spring. He stared at Paulo with glittering eyes.
‘I’m calling the police.’
‘You can’t prove anything,’ Paulo said sullenly, but he looked nervous.
‘You’ll find,’ Alessandro said, in a voice that was deadly in its quiet calm, ‘that I can prove whatever I want. When the carabiniere arrive they will only need my word to see you rot in jail.’
‘She wanted it—’ Paulo began, but Alessandro cut him off with one sharply raised hand. Every movement was efficient, precise. Taut with suppressed emotion.
‘Do not tell me what any woman wants. You should not presume to know.’ He dropped his hand. ‘Do you know who I am?’
Paulo’s eyes shifted nervously, speculatively, to Meghan. ‘No …’
‘I am Alessandro di Agnio. This hostel will be shut down by morning.’
Paulo’s face paled and his mouth dropped open. ‘Di Agnio … but you can’t do that! There are people staying here—I own it—’
Alessandro’s face was implacable. ‘It will be shut.’ He snapped open his mobile phone. ‘Now I am calling the police.’
‘Signor di Agnio—’ Meghan’s voice came out in a choked whisper. She was still reeling from shock, her senses struggling to catch up. She dragged a breath into her lungs, ran a hand through her mussed hair. ‘Please don’t involve the police.’
Alessandro turned to look at her sharply. ‘What? Are you in trouble with the police?’
Meghan almost laughed at his assumption. ‘No, I’m not. I just don’t want them involved—the time and hassle it will cause. There will be a report to give, no matter what your word means in Spoleto.’
He searched her face, as if looking for an answer to an unspoken question. Meghan said nothing.
‘Please, let’s just go.’
The silence was taut as Alessandro gazed at her. Paulo watched them from behind his desk, his expression one of a trapped mouse, scenting both freedom and danger.
Alessandro snapped his mobile shut. He didn’t even glance at Paulo as he said, ‘The hostel will close tonight. For good. I do not want to see you in Spoleto again.’
He walked out, and Meghan had no choice but to follow.
Outside his car idled at the kerb. It was not, as Meghan had half-expected, a sleek sports car, the embodiment of most Italian males’ fantasies. It was instead a luxury executive model. Alessandro opened the door and stood aside for her to get into the front passenger seat. Every movement spoke of barely curbed impatience.
Meghan stared at him with wide eyes, suddenly realising the enormity of his presence. ‘I thought you were going to send a driver.’
‘I decided to come myself instead.’
Somehow this didn’t surprise her. Alessandro di Agnio was a man who was in control. Always. Wordlessly she slipped inside.
The car was cool and the leather seat soft and inviting. Meghan leaned her head against the seat and closed her eyes. She didn’t want to talk, and to her surprise and relief Alessandro remained silent as he got in and pulled away from the kerb, navigating Spoleto’s evening traffic with superb confidence.
Meghan opened her eyes and stared blindly at the traffic— cars and mopeds weaving around each other on the narrow cobbled streets. As they broke free from the city and its traffic the Umbrian hills, cloaked in purple twilight, spread out before them, and the sounds of urban life were replaced by the quietness of meadow and field.
She snuck a peek at Alessandro’s profile. The sharp, clean line of his tensed jaw, his powerful shoulders still encased in the charcoal-grey suit, his hands easily gripping the steering wheel— all radiated power. Confidence. Control.
Over her.
No. She couldn’t let that happen.
Yet she felt as if the whole situation had started slipping away from her from the moment Alessandro had walked into the hostel.
No, she realised with a sigh, from the moment he’d asked her to waitress.
If she’d ever thought she was in control of this situation, of him, she’d been massively deluded.
She wasn’t in control of anything—least of all her own spinning emotions.
Alessandro slotted her a sideways look out of steel-blue eyes, his lips tightening as his gaze swept over her.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked, and Meghan jerked back in surprise.
‘What?’
Alessandro gestured to her wrist. A purple bruise was already starting to blossom on the tender skin. Meghan glanced at it and shrugged.
‘I’m fine. I should have known Paulo would try something. I suppose I thought he was too much of a coward to live up to his filthy talk—’
‘Why do you stay there?’ Alessandro asked abruptly. ‘There are plenty of hostels in Spoleto. Inexpensive hotels. You don’t need to endure his filth.’
Meghan shrugged again. ‘It was cheap and convenient,’ she said, staring out of the window.
‘Cheap I can believe. I’m surprised the building wasn’t condemned. Convenient? No. What is convenient about being molested? Raped?’
‘I