turned the corner, came to the bedroom door. And saw him.
Alessandro sat on the bed, his head bowed, his hands fisted in his hair. Meghan’s heart contracted, ached with a desperate longing that nearly made her stagger.
She recognised that stance, the bleak despair in every agonised line of his body. She’d felt it herself.
It was the look of a person who believed his own soul was damned because everyone had told him it was, even when his heart had cried out for belief, for love.
For salvation.
She’d felt it when one man had condemned her; Alessandro had suffered the judgement of an entire country.
This is the man I love.
This was the man. No matter what he’d thought, what he’d felt, what he’d done.
She loved Alessandro.
And she knew, had to believe, that he was the man she thought he was, knew he was.
The man he meant to be.
She must have made some sound, for he looked up, his face hardening into a mask once more.
‘I’ll be out of here in a few minutes,’ he said coldly. ‘Can’t you wait?’
‘No, I can’t,’ Meghan said. Her voice was a scratchy breath of sound but she forced it to come out stronger. ‘And you won’t.’
‘I won’t?’ he repeated in a mocking tone. ‘You should know by now there’s little I won’t do, gattina.’ He stood up, grabbed the half-filled bag at his feet and slung it over one shoulder.
Meghan stood in the doorway, her arms flung out, blocking him. Alessandro walked towards her, one eyebrow raised in incredulous disdain.
‘Get out of my way, Meghan.’ He spoke softly, quietly, yet she still knew it was a threat.
‘No.’
He paused, his eyes sweeping, assessing her, burning her, just as they had when he’d looked at her that first time in the restaurant.
Even then her body, her heart, had known this was the man— the man she needed.
And she wasn’t going to let him walk away now.
‘Haven’t you had enough, Meghan? Or did you lose all of your self-respect when that man abused you?’ He shook his head. ‘Save us the shame of such a scene and let me walk out of here with head held high.’
‘I don’t think anyone’s head is high right now,’ Meghan replied in a low voice. ‘Yours wasn’t a moment ago, and mine isn’t now. I’m ashamed—’ her breath hitched ‘—that I didn’t answer you downstairs. That I didn’t tell you I believed.’
‘But you did believe. You believed the truth. Now, enough of this!'His hand slashed through the air. ‘Leave me alone. Let me go.’
Meghan’s throat ached with unshed tears. She held them back, forced herself to be strong, if only for a moment. Trembling, she put one hand flat on Alessandro’s chest, felt his sucked-in breath at the contact. The caress. ‘But I can’t let you go, Alessandro. I love you.’
He shrugged, determinedly unmoved. ‘You love the man I pretended to be to make you marry me.’
‘Why would you do that? You didn’t have to marry me. I told you that myself. It could have been an affair.’
‘You hold yourself rather cheaply,’ he said coldly, his mouth twisting.
Meghan’s eyes blazed for a second. She might be dying inside—her dreams, her hopes, her heart, all on their last breath, their last chance—but she was still going to fight. Fight for her own shattered hopes, for Alessandro’s.
‘You hold yourself cheaply, it seems,’ she responded levelly. ‘I don’t know your secrets, Alessandro. I don’t know all the things you did. I don’t want to. But I know—I know—that you’ve been trying to overcome your past. To not be the man the tabloids painted you—the man you and everyone else believed you to be. I’ve seen you struggle with it. I’ve seen you lose, and I’ve seen you win. It’s not an act.’ Her voice broke into fragments of pain and sorrow, of hope too painful to bear, too precious to lose. ‘I believe in you. I love you.’
Alessandro was silent, still. She could feel the energy thrumming through him, a raw, angry pulse.
‘It doesn’t matter. It’s not real.’
‘It is real,’ Meghan flashed. ‘You can’t keep denying what I know! I don’t care what you do, how many times you try to push me away. I know who you are and I love you!’
‘No, you don’t!’ His voice came out in a savage roar, ripped from his body, his lungs, and Meghan jerked back, startled. His face twisted into a grimacing sneer as he dropped his bag on the floor, grabbed her arms. ‘What do you want from me? What do I have to do to show you I’m not the man you think I am?’ His fingers dug into her arms and Meghan forced herself to submit, to stare into his face, a beautiful face no longer blank, but tormented by pain and misery.
He felt. The mask had dropped, and she was glad.
‘There’s nothing you can do,’ she said quietly. Her voice shook only a little. ‘You’ve already shown me, Alessandro. You’ve shown me with compassion, love and tenderness what kind of man you are. The man I love.’
He let out a low, rasping sound; Meghan thought it was a laugh. Then he pulled her to him, her breasts flattening against his chest, and kissed her with a hard desperation that felt like a bruise.
Meghan’s hands crept up his chest, wound around his neck. She pulled him closer and gentled the kiss, turning it into something loving and warm.
He refused, breaking it off, coming up for air with a choked laugh of disbelief. ‘Have you no self-respect?’ he demanded, and though pain was slicing cleanly through her, Meghan answered steadily.
‘I didn’t. But you gave it back to me. You can’t take it away again.’
‘Can’t I?’ he jeered, and, pulling on her wrists, led her to the bed, tossing her carelessly down on it. Meghan lay there, her heart pounding so loudly it seemed to fill the room with its desperate beat. She was on her back, splayed, helpless.
She thought of the first time he’d touched her, what he’d said. I’m not going to touch you. I’m not that kind of man.
No, he wasn’t. She still believed. Even now, when he was determined to show her differently, to prove her love was worthless.
Especially now.
The final test.
He looked down at her, his hands on his hips, his expression coldly mocking. ‘Scared, Meghan?’
‘No.’ Her voice wavered, but she kept looking at him. Forced herself to meet the icy steel of his eyes.
‘You should be.’
‘What are you going to do, Alessandro? Try to make me stop loving you? Is that what this is about?’
‘What this is about?’ he mused, his smile a taunt. He dropped his hand down to her ankle, ran it slowly, temptingly up her bare leg—a deliberate, calculated caress. Meghan didn’t move even when his hand travelled further upwards, under her skirt, teased her at the joining of her thighs, his eyes still on hers, still cold.
Even now she felt the flickerings of desire, unbearably sweet, piercing the anger.
‘Do you want me,’ he said in disbelief, ‘even now?’
Unashamed, Meghan raised her head, looked at him. Offered herself to him. ‘Yes. I love you.’
He jerked back his hand, scalded by her honesty. ‘This isn’t about love!’
‘Yes,