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my bride, Mamma. No matter what conclusions you have jumped to about her or me.’

      Good heavens, did Gabriella think she was pregnant? Meghan’s cheeks burned hotter.

      ‘I am very happy for both of you, then,’ Gabriella said after a tiny pause.

      There could be no mistaking that she was not pleased with this news. And what mother would be? Her son had brought home a stranger—one from another country, another world—and announced he was marrying her within a week.

      Was this what Alessandro called appropriate?

      ‘I’d appreciate it,’ he said now, ‘if you could take Meghan out to buy some suitable clothes. She has very little with her, and of course there is no one with better taste than you, Mamma.’ Somehow he turned it into an insult. ‘I will be quite busy for the next few days, managing some business from America.’

      ‘I would be delighted.’ Gabriella turned to Meghan with a smile that bordered on genuine. ‘It will give me a chance to know my future daughter-in-law a bit better.’

      Better than what? Meghan thought. A complete stranger? She pressed her napkin to her lips, suppressing the bubble of hysterical laughter that threatened to escape.

      This was so, so crazy.

      So wrong.

      Yet when she’d been with Alessandro it had felt so right.

      The man he’d been with her, alone in Umbria, was so different from this angry, haunted stranger.

       Who was he?

      Had she made the most enormous mistake of her life in agreeing to this?

      And could she get out of it?

      Somehow she thought that would prove difficult to do.

      She glanced up, saw Alessandro take a sip of wine. He was gazing at his mother with a disappointed, almost sad look on his face, before the mask of masculine authority slipped back into place.

       I’m not making a mistake.

      Meghan clung to that hope, thin as it was.

      Right now it felt as if it was all she had.

      After lunch Alessandro excused himself to go to the office, announcing that he would be back for dinner. Gabriella showed Meghan to her room, tactfully suggesting she might appreciate a rest.

      Meghan was grateful. Not only was she exhausted, but she couldn’t endure an afternoon of strained conversation with Gabriella—and she had a feeling the older woman felt the same.

      She drew the heavy brocade drapes, kicked off her shoes, and crawled under the soft duvet, closing her eyes against the oppressive environment of the house around her, the tensions unspoken, unrecognised, and yet so very evident.

      Sleep came with blessed speed.

      When she awoke the room was in shadow, late afternoon sunlight filtering through the crack in the curtains. She stretched, luxuriating in the warm, comfortable bed, knowing the memories and fears would rush back soon enough.

      Then she realised someone was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching her.

      It was Alessandro.

      She gave a soft little gasp of surprise and tried to sit up. He stayed her with one hand on her leg, his touch burning even through the heavy material of the duvet.

      ‘Don’t. You looked so relaxed, so at peace. I’ve never seen you sleep before.’

      His voice was soft, his face cloaked in shadow. Gently he stroked the length of her leg, and Meghan felt the stirrings of the desire that he so easily evoked in her.

      ‘I was tired.’

      ‘I know.’ There was a smile in his voice, she knew, even though she couldn’t see it. She heard it—heard the tenderness. ‘It hasn’t been easy for you. I’m sorry. My mother …’

      ‘Why doesn’t she like you?’ Meghan asked, glad for the darkness that cloaked her question. ‘And why don’t you like her? You could have given me a little warning, Alessandro.’ She didn’t mean to sound reproachful, and she tensed for the anger, the withdrawal she was sure would come.

      Instead he sighed with an aching weariness. ‘You agreed to marry me, didn’t you? Just me. Not my mother. Not anyone else.’

      ‘Yes, but other people affect us. They matter.’

      His hand moved up her leg to the joining of her thighs, fingers deftly, knowingly moving, stirring delicious feelings inside her. She found herself parting her legs, gasping as he teased her through the covers.

      ‘Alessandro …’

      ‘No one needs to matter,’ he murmured, his voice a caress, a promise. ‘No one needs to matter but us.’

      He moved his hand treacherously upwards, creating flames of need everywhere he brushed his fingers. Across her navel, over her breasts, and then her face. He cupped her cheek, leaning forward so he was almost on top of her. She arched upwards, wanting the contact, the closeness. The touch.

      ‘I look forward to mattering to you very much.’

      He stretched out on top of her, and everywhere his body touched hers it burned. Ached.

      Meghan moved as a matter of instinct, pressing against him, desiring more, wanting more.

      Wanton.

      ‘I think,’ Alessandro whispered, ‘it will take a long time. A lot of … experience.’

      His hand left her face, slid under the duvet with practised ease to caress her breast, teasing her nipple to an aching peak through the soft fabric of her jumper.

      Meghan moaned slightly, pushing herself against his hand. She saw Alessandro watching her, his eyes dark, intense, taking pleasure in her pleasure, in the response he so easily evoked in her. His own breathing was ragged, and she could feel the evidence of his desire.

      ‘Alessandro …’

      ‘I want you.’ He moved his hands to cup her face once more. ‘I want you so much.’

      She reached up with her arms, running her fingers through the crisp softness of his hair, pulling his face down to hers.

      ‘Meghan …’ he groaned, then captured her mouth with his own. The kiss was deep, demanding, endless.

      Needy.

      Meghan revelled in the feel of him, the taste of him, in the knowledge that he wanted her as much as she wanted him.

      He ended it first, pulling away with a ragged gasp.

      ‘Gattina, I can’t stand much more of this.’

      There was a deep, restless ache of longing within her. A hunger demanding to be satisfied, a thirst to be quenched. Meghan closed her eyes, her own breathing uneven.

      ‘Neither can I.’

      ‘We will be married as soon as it can be arranged.’

      Meghan pulled at him, wanting him closer. Wanting him. The pulsing ache in her needed to be eased. ‘Alessandro …’

      He covered her seeking lips with his fingers. ‘We will wait till we are wed. Difficult as it is … and, da tutti i san, it is difficult for me.’

      She gave a little groan. ‘Who made that rule?’

      Alessandro chuckled. ‘I suppose that is up for debate. But I’m making it now. When we make love there will be no shame. No shadows.’

      Meghan wanted to argue. The need, the desire was so strong. She wanted to tell him there were no shadows. But she knew she would be lying.

      She needed to tell him something else first.

      ‘All right,’

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