Meghan shrugged. Let him see where she lived. It was dire, she knew that, but who cared?
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