‘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 company. 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.
She forced herself to smile. Knew she couldn’t make him love her. The only power she had now was her love for him. It would have to be enough.
‘I’m yours to command.’
Alessandro’s eyes lit with a feral pleasure. ‘Good.’
He came to her when she was in the bedroom, wiping her make-up off with a tissue.
He stood silently behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders, his face dangerously blank.
‘Can you help me with the necklace?’ Meghan asked lightly, though she trembled inwardly at the now-familiar mask he wore. A mask she didn’t like. Didn’t understand.
He obeyed, undoing the intricate clasp. He laid the necklace on the table and then looked at her. Their gazes met in the mirror, his face was still blank except for a cold, predatory smile.
‘Take off your clothes.’ It came out as a command, blunt and base, and Meghan stiffened, startled, uncertain.
‘Take them off, Meghan,’ he said silkily. ‘I want to look at you.’
She hesitated, hating the cold smile he humiliated her with, yet seeing—wanting to see—desperation in his eyes. He was driven to this, and she didn’t understand why.
‘Scared?’ he mocked softly.
She lifted her chin, met his chilling gaze, and obeyed.
Turning around slowly to face him, she slipped off the dress and it fell in a pool of silk around her feet. She took off her bra and panties and stood there naked, proud, unashamed.
Trembling.
His gaze swept her, raked her, inspecting and assessing.
Why was he doing this? Meghan didn’t know. She wouldn’t let herself feel the humiliation, the hurt. She’d felt it before, and that life was gone now. For ever. She came to him in love, even if he didn’t know it. Even if he wouldn’t accept it.
‘Touch me.’ His bold gaze challenged her, and simply, silently, she moved forward.
She stood before him while he watched her unbutton his shirt. She willed her hands not to shake. Meghan felt his muscles flex under her fingers, knew he was not unaffected by her, even though his still, stony stance made her think otherwise.
Her hands moved lower, hovered at his belt buckle.
‘Touch me, Meghan. Touch