‘You came here…because you wanted to see me?’ She could feel the slow, treacherous thud of her heart. ‘Oh, I’m getting it. You came because you weren’t finished preaching to me about how I should live my life. Hence the crack about me being a scarlet woman?’
Relieved to have been let off the hook, Alessandro crumpled the paper cup in one hand and tossed it into a black bin bag which had been thoughtfully hooked over two handles of one of the kitchen doors and was already getting full.
‘Well, as a matter of fact, Robbie was only kissing me because he whipped out a piece of mistletoe from his pocket…’ She smiled. ‘He can’t resist being the centre of attention.’
‘So I gathered. And he seems to be fine tuning the talent with my fiancée.’
So he was still a jealous sort of guy—maybe just better at hiding it now that he was older. The realisation was a let-down.
‘Do you mind?’
‘Victoria can take care of herself. You…I’m not too sure.’
‘Me? What does this have to do with me, and what gives you the right to gatecrash our party and then start preaching to me about my life choices?’ Here, in the small-cluttered kitchen, she could feel his presence crowding her.
‘First of all, I did not gatecrash your party.’ He needed another drink. There was a bottle of white wine on the counter and he helped himself to another cup. ‘Secondly, I recognise that we parted seven years ago on a fairly hostile note—’
‘Fairly hostile? You tossed me aside like an old shoe that you’d grown sick of. Did you think I was going to smile and be sunshine and light as I conveniently vanished over the horizon? Did you think that I would meet up with you after seven years and welcome you with open arms?’ Megan took a deep breath, counted to ten and remembered that this was supposed to be a jolly, relaxing, stress-free day. ‘I think we should get back to the party now. There’s no point arguing and going over old ground. What happened, happened. We’ve both moved on with our lives and…’
Alessandro moved towards her, dark, powerful and intimidating without even trying, and Megan watched him jumpily—the way she might have watched a predator circling her, waiting for an opportune moment to pounce.
Which, she berated herself, was a stupid thought, because he happened to be in her house, which gave her the right to chuck him out any time she felt like it.
‘Have you, though?’ he asked in a silky, lazy drawl. ‘Really?’ He looked at her carefully, aware that this was hardly the right place for a private conversation. At any given moment someone would be sure to barge into the kitchen, on a quest for more drink or food, or just lost because they all seemed to be pretty far gone. ‘Because…and here’s the thing…I always wondered how you were faring after we broke up….’
‘That was very thoughtful of you, Alessandro.’ Inside, she was thinking that that was pretty rich, considering she had practically begged to hang on to their relationship at the time.
‘Don’t you think so?’ As he’d expected, she bristled angrily at his glib agreement with her statement. ‘Now, having met you again, I worry that you haven’t actually moved on as much you keep telling me you have.’
Megan’s mouth dropped open at the sheer audacity of that remark, and she did the first thing that came to her head. She picked up a half-full cup of wine that was on the table next to her and flung its contents over his smug face.
He was upon her before she could blink, his hand curled mercilessly around her wrist, his breath warm on her face, sending shivers of apprehension and horrible, sickening, unwanted, forbidden excitement racing through her.
‘I’m not about to apologise,’ she said breathlessly, fixated by his mesmerising eyes.
‘Why should you?’ Alessandro grated. ‘You’re angry, and the reason that you’re angry is because you know that I speak the truth. You’re going out with a guy who’s no good for you. He’s a flirt, and who knows what he does behind your back?’
‘How dare you?’
‘I dare because once we were lovers.’
‘That’s no excuse for you to think you have the right to have an opinion on my life!’ Her body, she knew, with anger and frustration, was betraying every sensible protest she was making. Her breasts felt tender, her nipples aching and sensitive in the lacy low-cut bra she was wearing, and there was a heat inside her that was shameful. ‘And just because Robbie laughs easily and flirts it doesn’t mean that he’s running around behind my back, having affairs!’ Why was she still pretending that she and Robbie were an item? ‘He’s a great guy….’