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 your 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
