One Night In Collection Read online

  She didn’t. He certainly didn’t.

  ‘It’s the Arbus Hostel on the west side of town,’ she informed him coolly. ‘On the Via Campelo.’

  His mouth tightened in disapproval. ‘I don’t know it.’

  ‘You wouldn’t.’

  ‘My driver will be there at seven.’ He paused, his gaze flicking the length of her, taking in, no doubt, her mussed hair and stained shirt.

  ‘You have something to wear?’

  Her eyebrows lifted in challenge. ‘I’m waitressing, remember? I think I have something suitable.’

  ‘This isn’t the trattoria,’ Alessandro warned her. ‘I expect you to dress … and behave … appropriately.’

  The warning stung. ‘It’s a little late now for second thoughts, isn’t it?’ Meghan said, her smile cautious. ‘You’ve already hired me.’ Her voice turned ragged as she added, ‘I’m not going to show up in nothing but high heels and a frilly apron, even if that’s what you actually want—’

  ‘Stop it.’ Alessandro’s voice cut across her. ‘I’ve told you what this position entails—waitressing and nothing more. Do you not trust me?’

  Meghan dared herself to meet his eyes, to feel the force of their magnetic onslaught. Trust? What a joke. She barely knew him, and even if she did, the only trust she had was in herself, in her ability to protect herself. ‘Is there any reason,’ she asked quietly, ‘why I should trust you?’

  Alessandro gazed at her in silent consideration. He shrugged and looked away. ‘No,’ he said after a moment, his voice flat and expressionless, ‘there isn’t.’

  Meghan sagged slightly. Of course there wasn’t. She was walking into the lion’s den, and she wasn’t even armed. All she had was her dignity and her determination to prove herself, and right now they didn’t count for much.

  ‘I’ll see you, then,’ she said after a moment, thankful her voice was steady. She began to turn away, only to have Alessandro reach out. He put his hand on her arm, his fingers wrapping around her wrist, pulling her towards him.

  Meghan stiffened with shock and a little fear. Shock at his touching her, the simple, possessive way he drew her to him. Thoughtlessly, and yet with care. As if already he expected something from her, deserved something from her.

  The fear was at her own reaction. She didn’t resist. She let him pull her, her legs moved woodenly, helplessly, closer. Her pulse kicked into high gear with the simple touch of those fingers on her wrist, holding her. Gently.

  He kept holding onto her, a slight smile playing about his mouth, his eyes raking in her appearance, their gaze a caress … and an assessment.

  ‘I don’t even know your name.’

  Her lips opened soundlessly as her mind spun. ‘Meghan.’

  He nodded. He let go of her wrist, smiling as she pulled her arm protectively inwards. ‘I’ll see you at seven.’

  Meghan’s legs trembled as she watched him walk away. She shook her head, resisting the urge to wrap her arms more tightly around herself. Had she really agreed to waitress? Why? It should have been so easy to walk away.

  Yet it wasn’t, and she hadn’t.

  She couldn’t escape her past, she reflected bleakly. The exchange with Alessandro di Agnio reminded her of that. If anything happened tonight it would be nothing more than she deserved.

  CHAPTER TWO

  MEGHAN hurried through the darkening streets of Spoleto towards the Via Campelo and the hostel she’d been calling home.

  Not a very pleasant home at that, with its tiny dark bedrooms, dripping ceilings and grimy sheets. She’d seen worse on her travels, but Paulo, the proprietor, was a particularly unpleasant landlord.

  Meghan had seen him for what he was right away. First it had just been leering grins and wandering eyes, soon followed by coarser remarks and wandering hands.

  She’d bought a padlock for her door, and more than once she’d woken up to hear the stealthy, futile turning of the door handle, weak with relief that she was at least that safe.

  Now she tried to avoid him altogether. Still, it was another reason to leave Spoleto. With the money earned from waitressing for di Agnio she could buy a train ticket to her next destination … wherever that was.

  ‘Ciao, bellissima.‘ Paulo leaned over the front desk as Meghan slipped in the door. His white undershirt sported large patches of dried sweat, and his mouth curled in a knowing grin, revealing tobacco-stained teeth.

  Meghan didn’t bother to answer. She slipped by before he could reach one hand out to squeeze or pat, and hurried to her room, fastening the padlock.

  There was no time for a shower, so she just splashed water on her face and arms from the tiny cracked sink in the corner of the room.

  She threw her dirty clothes in the corner and pulled on a fresh white shirt and simple black skirt—her waitressing uniform. She hadn’t brought much with her when she’d left home. It had all been so quick in the end.

  Dressed and ready, she sank onto the bed, the broken springs creaking in protest. Her momentary burst of energy spent, she felt weak. Limp. Unreal.

  The conversation with Alessandro di Agnio played in her mind, forever on pause and rewind.

  Why had she agreed? she asked herself again, and couldn’t come up with a satisfactory answer. At least not one she was willing to face.

  In the last six months of travelling through Europe, she’d become a professional at deflecting comments, invitations, innuendoes. A woman on her own was considered fair game, easy prey by many, and Meghan already knew of her own damning allure.

  So why hadn’t she just said no to Alessandro di Agnio? It would have been easy. It would have been safer to have just walked away.

  Because he’s different.

  The thought was ludicrous, laughable. Stupid.

  He’d summed her up quickly enough—easy American, slutty waitress. He wasn’t going to change his mind.

  She was the one who would prove she was different. This time.

  ‘I won’t see him again after tonight,’ Meghan muttered, and it was both thanksgiving and supplication.

  He certainly wasn’t expecting to see her again, she reflected with a wry bitterness. One night only, limited engagement.

  She pulled her hair back into a sleek ponytail, her only concession to vanity a bit of face powder and lipgloss. The last thing she wanted was for di Agnio to think she was tarting herself up.

  She locked her room and went in search of Paulo.

  ‘I’ll have my deposit back, please. I’m leaving tomorrow.’

  Paulo looked at her with calculating lasciviousness. ‘I don’t remember you putting down a deposit. I said you didn’t have to, because you were so pretty.’

  Meghan gritted her teeth. ‘Nice try, Paulo. I have the receipt. Two weeks’ stay in this hovel. That will cover last week’s rent, and the rest I want back. Now.’

  His expression hardened. ‘Don’t talk mean to me, principessa. I know what you are.’

  ‘I’m a waitress,’ Meghan snapped, her already frayed temper now reaching breaking point. She might have been unnerved by Alessandro di Agnio, but she certainly wouldn’t be so shaken by this piece of wheedling slime.

  ‘You need the money?’ His eyebrows rose. ‘You’re in trouble, perhaps?’

  ‘No, and no,’ Meghan retorted. ‘But that doesn’t stop me from wanting what’s mine.’

  ‘Maybe I want what’s mine.’ There was a thread of dangerous need in Paulo’s voice, and Meghan’s scalp prickled in alarm. She took a step away, but not fast enough.

  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 you
r 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 wasn’t raped.’

  ‘You could’ve been.’

  ‘Oh, am I supposed to thank you now?’ Meghan asked, her voice sharp with sarcasm. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t do the whole damsel in distress routine.’

  ‘I’ve realised that.’ The wry humour edging his voice took the wind straight out of her sails. Meghan sagged back against the seat.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I’m not. I’m glad I was there in time.’

  Meghan touched a finger to the bruise on her wrist. ‘So am I,’ she admitted quietly.

  Alessandro watched her, his expression forbiddingly grim. ‘At least no other women will suffer Paulo in this city,’ he murmured, almost to himself, and Meghan lurched upright.

  ‘Do you mean you were serious when you said you were shutting down the hostel?’

  Alessandro looked affronted. ‘Of course I was. Did you think I was bluffing?’

  Definitely not, she conceded silently. ‘But you can’t just do that, can you? He said he owned the building.’

  ‘He was lying. It’s owned by a local businessman. I checked on it before I arrived.’

  Of course, Meghan thought. In control. Again. ‘If you don’t own it, how can you make him close it down?’ she pressed and Alessandro shrugged impatiently.

  ‘Since you’re American, you don’t realise what the di Agnio name means in Italy—es
pecially in Umbria.’

  ‘You’re powerful,’ Meghan surmised, and he chuckled dryly.

  ‘Most women find that attractive.’

  ‘I don’t.’ She looked away. ‘At least not when I’m on the wrong side of it.’

  He glanced at her, curious. ‘Do you think you are now?’

  Was she? It was a question Meghan didn’t want to ask herself. Certainly didn’t want to answer. ‘The thing about power,’ she said after a moment, her voice brittle, ‘is that it can easily be abused.’

  ‘Agreed.’ Alessandro’s voice was terse. ‘As in the case with Paulo, don’t you think?’ he continued after a moment. ‘At least you don’t have to endure his attentions any more.’

  ‘Then where am I supposed to sleep?’

  ‘I can find you another hotel. Or you could sleep at my villa.’

  Meghan reared back at his blatant offer. ‘Thanks for the offer, but no thanks,’ she replied sharply. ‘I’d rather stay with Paulo.’

  ‘Don’t be absurd!’

  ‘Don’t think you can control me,’ she fired back, fury starting to boil. Anger felt good. Clean.

  ‘Control? Is that what you think this is about? I was protecting you back there!’

  ‘I don’t need protecting.’

  He raised one eyebrow in scathing contempt. ‘Really? It didn’t look like it from where I was standing.’

  Meghan gritted her teeth. ‘I can handle Paulo.’

  ‘You were obviously handling him when I came in,’ Alessandro slung back at her. He shook his head in incredulous derision. ‘Do you honestly think you could have controlled him?’

  ‘I …’ Meghan trailed off. More than I can control you.

  The frightening thing was, she realised, she couldn’t have controlled Paulo. She could have been—perhaps would have been—raped.

  She bent over, suddenly feeling nauseous, the events of the evening catching up to her consciousness with sickening speed. ‘I think I’m going to throw up.’

  In one fluid movement Alessandro pulled the car over onto a stretch of grass and flung open his door. He went around to Meghan’s door and yanked it open, ushering her out with one arm around her shoulders.