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with clients and friends alike.

      Two years ago, on a chilly spring evening much like this one, he’d put away the trappings of a different life, the sweet-talking lies that had smoothed the already slippery path to pleasure.

      He’d put them away for ever, even if some still wondered. Doubted.

      Even if he did.

      He lived for his work now, for seeing Di Agnio Enterprises rise in stature and earnings, for seeing his family name respected once more.

      He did not live for pleasure.

      He no longer cared about desire.

      So why had he lured—and he knew that truly was the word for it—Meghan to his villa?

      For seduction?

      The thought made him frown, and he saw Meghan’s gaze flicker uneasily over his countenance. She was as attuned to the variations of his mood as he was to hers.

      He smiled. ‘Have some pasta.’ Ana had brought in the pasta dish a few moments earlier, her lips pressed in a thin line of disapproval, although she’d restrained herself from saying anything.

      Alessandro had watched Meghan flush and look down at her plate, clearly embarrassed.

      It was his fault she felt humiliated. He’d never meant her to feel so shamed, yet he knew he’d assumed things of her … things that he still wasn’t sure were true or not.

      Had he brought her here simply for pleasure?

      For sex?

      Was that what he wanted? Was that the kind of man he was … still?

      He didn’t know. Didn’t know what to think of her, of himself. He took a sip of wine. When he’d seen her at Angelo’s she’d seemed like any other of the many women he knew. Women who were free and easy with their favours, their bodies. There was no shame in that these days, although Alessandro recognised in himself a deep-seated disapproval of the freedom in women which he himself had enjoyed.

      You didn’t marry women like that.

      He wouldn’t marry a woman like that.

      But was Meghan that kind of woman? He’d assumed it, and strangely she seemed to have assumed it.

      But was it true?

      And why had he brought her here?

      Frowning again, Alessandro realised he couldn’t answer those questions. Not yet. Which meant Meghan had to stay a bit longer. Until he discovered why he’d brought her here. Until he discovered why he needed her.

      CHAPTER FOUR

      MEGHAN felt as if she were in a daze. Dazed by food, by wine, by pleasure. Drugged by her own senses and the novelty of letting herself feel … everything.

      After their initial charged confrontation, Meghan found herself relaxing and enjoying the simple pleasure of conversation. She told Alessandro how she’d learnt Italian, and about some of her travels; he shared his experiences in the same places.

      Meghan had to smile at the differences. She’d been slumming it with hostels and third-class train fares, while Alessandro travelled around Europe in a company jet, staying in five-star accommodation with a fresh magnum of champagne in every room.

      And yet … they’d both found Notre Dame ostentatious, and fallen in love with the history of Père Lachaise, the famous Parisian cemetery. They’d both bypassed Brussels for Bruges, loving the historic city, with its church spires and cobbled streets.

      Some things, Meghan thought, rose above money and status.

      She found herself sneaking looks at him while he ate, watching the long, clean column of his throat as he sipped his wine, noticing the way his faded jeans moulded to his body as he sat, relaxed and half sprawled, in his chair. Watching his moods chase the colours in his eyes from navy to steel to indigo, a rainbow of blues.

      Every movement, every look, every softly spoken word or dry chuckle, created a yearning in her soul—almost made her lean towards him, craving contact. Touch.

      She wanted him.

      Despite what he’d thought, despite what he still expected.

      Despite the danger.

      The realisation of her own need stunned her. She’d never expected to feel the flooding, weakening sensation of desire again. Never expected to want a man, to want to take pleasure as well as to give it.

      Her mind spun as she considered this, the novelty of reawakening sensation, need. It was intoxicating. It was scary.

      It was desire.

      The shame that followed on its heels like a mocking shadow, the fear she tasted in her mouth, were more familiar.

      Meghan took a sip of wine, but it could have been water. A pulse beat in her throat, and despite the liquid her mouth was dry. She put the glass down carefully. ‘I think I’ve had enough.’

      Alessandro raised his eyebrows, waiting, sensing the double entendre.

      ‘It’s late,’ she continued stiltedly. ‘I should go.’

      ‘Go where?’

      ‘You could drive me back to Spoleto.’ Even as she said it, Meghan knew it wasn’t going to happen. Didn’t want it to happen.

      Alessandro smiled. ‘I could.’

      They were both silent. Meghan stared at her plate, at the remains of one of the most delicious meals she’d ever had. Silence thrummed between them—heavy, oppressive, expectant.

      She looked up, her eyes wide, luminous. ‘What happens now?’ she asked, her voice little more than a whisper.

      Alessandro regarded her steadily. ‘What do you want to happen now?’

      ‘I …’ She licked her dry lips, resisting the urge to gulp down the rest of her wine. ‘I … I don’t know.’ The enormity of this admission caused a humiliating flush to steal across her cheeks. She was as good as saying she wanted him.

      And she did want him. Perhaps she even wanted him to know. She stared at him now, openly, hungrily, wondering how hard and broad his chest would feel against her own womanly softness, how his mouth would feel on hers, covering it, possessing it, how his hands would stroke and touch her body.

      Wondering how sensual, how tender he would be.

      Wondering how she would respond.

      She wanted to know, and she was terrified.

      Alessandro reached across the table to cover her hand with his own. ‘Meghan, you may sleep in the spare bedroom. There need be nothing between us tonight.’

      She was far too conscious of the heavy warmth of his hand on hers, the way it made tiny shocks ripple all the way up her arm. The strength of it, the security, the desire.

      Tonight, she thought. The meaning was obvious. There would be another night, and perhaps another, and, if she were lucky, a few more.

      And what then?

      Could she really sell herself so cheaply simply for desire’s sake?

      Shame scorched her face, her soul.

      ‘Tomorrow I leave,’ she reminded him, although her words sounded hollow. ‘Unless you plan to keep me here until … until …’ She trailed off, courage deserting her.

      Humour glinted in Alessandro’s eyes. ‘Maybe I do.’

      ‘What if I say no?’ Meghan demanded shakily. ‘Are you going to force me?’

      Alessandro swore softly. ‘Do you think that is the kind of man I am? To force a woman? What has happened to you to think such things?’ His eyes narrowed, though his voice was soft. ‘Who was the man who hurt you, Meghan?’

      The

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