me. I don’t know what he would have done if— But I got away. And I kept on running. I ran right out of that town, that life, and I can’t go back.’
‘There are people there who would support you,’ Alessandro said in a low voice. ‘They would understand, Meghan.’
‘But I’m so ashamed,’ she confessed in a wretched whisper. ‘It’s my fault. I should have known. I should have known what kind of man he was. I should have stopped it.’ Her voice broke, and Alessandro pulled her towards him, wrapped her in an embrace that was both tender and savage.
‘No. How could you know? How could you expect…?’
He was silent, his arms around her, his chin resting on her head. Meghan tried to control her shuddering breaths, her pounding pulse.
‘Did you press charges?’ Alessandro asked after a long, ragged moment.
‘No.’ She was horrified at the thought. ‘The last thing I wanted was people knowing what had happened, what I’d done. I told you—I ran. I didn’t even explain where I was going. I sent a postcard. I know everyone is confused, hurt, even, but I couldn’t live in that town knowing he was there. He wouldn’t let me. And I couldn’t bear people knowing.’ She looked up at him, her eyes wide. ‘I was afraid they would condemn me if they knew. I couldn’t bear the shame.’
He stroked her face—light, feathering movements. ‘No,’ he said quietly, ‘I don’t suppose anyone could.’
He continued stroking her hair, her shoulders. Meghan never wanted him to let her go. She never wanted to feel alone, ashamed again.
‘And for this you blame yourself?’ he finally asked. ‘You told me you thought you might have known deep down that he was married. I forced you to that confession.’ Regret laced his words and roughened his tone. ‘But this? Meghan, you could never blame yourself for this. That man—that Stephen—he was a monster. This was not your fault. None of it. You are not responsible for another’s actions.’
‘It’s hard,’ Meghan said after a moment, her voice no more than a thread of sound, ‘not to blame yourself when someone else does. Someone you thought you loved. I stopped believing in myself, in who I was. I’m not sure if I even know any more.’
Alessandro was silent. Meghan heard their breathing, the ticking of a clock, the muted roar of traffic from Milan’s busy streets below.
‘Yes,’ he agreed finally, softly. ‘It is hard. Lord knows, it is very hard. But I am the man with you now, Meghan, gattina. I am the man who married you, and I believe in you.’ He tilted her face up to meet his, wiped the traces of her tears with his thumbs. ‘I know who you are, and I believe you.’
Meghan closed her eyes, felt the old shame slipping away. He knew. He knew, and he believed. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘That’s why I wanted to tell you.’
‘I’m glad you did.’ He cupped her face, slid his hand through the heavy mass of hair at the nape of her neck. ‘Your trust in me is precious.’ His voice was stilted, as if he was testing out new words, new emotions. ‘I am humbled by it.’
Tears sparkled in her eyes. Trust me. She wanted to say it, to plead, but she knew now was not the time. She’d been ready to share, to confess.
Alessandro wasn’t. Yet.
He gazed at her gently. ‘And now? Are there shadows?’
Meghan smiled tremulously, glanced around the darkened room. ‘No. There are no shadows for me.’
‘Good.’ He kissed her softly, the gesture a plea, a prayer. Not a demand. He would demand nothing of her tonight, Meghan knew.
Nothing that she didn’t want.
She kissed him back, her hands sliding up the silkiness of his shirt, bunching the cloth between her restless seeking fingers.
He broke the kiss and glanced down at her with a faint frown between his brows. ‘You are certain?’
‘I am.’ She felt drained, yet relieved. Empty, yet waiting to be filled.
‘Good.’ He kissed her again, this time his mouth sure and seeking, soft and warm.
Meghan felt him untie the bathrobe, felt it slip from her shoulders. She heard his indrawn breath as his gaze roamed over her, taking in the simplicity of the nightgown.
‘You are so, so beautiful. Bella.’ He kissed her shoulders, one first, then the other, and slipped the straps down. The material slid to her waist in a puddle of silk.
Meghan closed her eyes. She’d expected to feel exposed. Ashamed.
She felt neither.
She felt Alessandro’s gaze on her—warm, admiring, gentle—and she smiled. He cupped her breasts in his hands, chuckling softly.
‘As golden as the rest of you. You are like a sunbeam.’
She gave a little laugh, raised her eyes to meet his own heated gaze. ‘I want to see you.’ Fumbling just a little bit, she unbuttoned his shirt. He shrugged it off impatiently and she ran a hand down his chest, the smooth expanse of skin, sighing in satisfaction. ‘I’ve wanted to do this.’
‘I’ve wanted you to.’ Alessandro’s voice trembled as he laid her on the bed, stretching out beside her. ‘This is how I’ve wanted it between us. Always.’
She nodded speechlessly, the feelings he was drawing from her filling her, spilling up to overflowing. She felt blessed.
He ran his hand over her breasts, across her navel, skimming over her hidden femininity.
Meghan moaned, arched helplessly. She wanted his touch. She craved it.
She lost herself to the exquisite feel of his hands on her, roaming, seeking, wanting. She was helpless, splayed beneath him, lost in sensation. Touch, taste, feel.
‘Meghan, look at me.’ There was amusement as well as tenderness in Alessandro’s voice. ‘Make love to me with your mind, not just your body. See the memory we’re making together. See how I want you.’
Meghan opened her eyes, saw him braced on his forearms above her, the need and desire open in his face, his eyes, his languorous smile.
His hand moved down, deeper, slipping inside her with a gentle, knowing touch, to the very core of her womanhood, her self, stroking her to helpless flames.
She gasped, her eyes widening, fastened on his, as he smiled, his own eyes darkened with desire.
‘Touch me.’
She touched his chest, let her hand slide down, her lips curving in an ancient, womanly smile of seductive power as she heard him gasp.
‘Touch me …’ His voice was ragged as he rolled on his back, taking her with him, giving her the power.
She straddled him, revelling in the feel of him underneath her, his hard thighs beneath hers, open, vulnerable to her, wanting her touch, her kiss, his entire body a supplication, a prayer.
She watched as his breathing hitched, his eyes glazed with desire. He never stopped looking at her, even as he clasped her hips and she lowered herself onto him.
She gasped in shocked delight as she felt him fill her, felt the satisfaction deep in her core even as the hunger grew, wilder and deeper, needing to be met.
‘You feel so good,’ he said raggedly, ‘so right.’
It did feel right, Meghan thought dizzily as she moved, rocking, adjusting to this new sensation, this wondrous flooding of feeling. Pleasure. Emotion. Joy. She threw her head back as they began to move in a beautiful dance, minds and bodies as one.
One.
One flesh.
She couldn’t think any more, could only feel, her hands bunching