‘Alessandro! What on earth are you doing here?’
‘Have both of you learnt your lines from the same script? I’m getting soaked.’
‘Do you know what time it is?’
Alessandro made a cynical pretence of consulting his watch. His head was beginning to throb.
‘Just open the damned door, Megan! Please.’
It was the please that did it. Alessandro had never made a habit of doing please, and to hear it dragged out of him now warned her that something was very wrong. She elbowed Charlotte aside, like a master nudging back a very loyal dog determined to keep all visitors at bay.
‘Shall I stay, Megan?’ Charlotte’s arms were folded, and she was looking at Alessandro’s dripping figure with narrow-eyed suspicion.
‘No, no. It’s okay. I’ll just hear what he wants and he’ll be on his way.’
‘Well, if you’re sure…’ Her voice implied that one false move would have her bounding down the stairs pronto, but she grudgingly left—though not before giving Alessandro an evil look out of the corner of her eye.
Her departure didn’t mean that he was warmly welcomed in. In fact, Megan had now adopted her friend’s pose, arms folded, her big blue eyes narrowed, her mouth drawn into a tight, suspicious line.
‘I need to get out of these clothes.’
‘You need to tell me what you’re doing here.’
‘I thought we’d agreed to a ceasefire, Megan.’
‘We have. But that doesn’t mean that you can stroll in here at close to midnight. We might have called a ceasefire, Alessandro, but we haven’t suddenly become best friends.’ She was remembering the way he had looked straight through her two days before—as if she had ceased to exist.
Alessandro didn’t answer. Instead he began removing his drenched trenchcoat, which he slung over the banister. Megan immediately removed it, holding it up between her fingers as if wary that it might be contaminated.
‘The coat hooks are behind you.’
‘I need to get out of these things.’
‘Why are you so wet?’
‘Have you had a look through your window? It’s pouring. And,’ he added grudgingly, ‘I went for a walk before coming here to see you. If I stay in these clothes, I’m probably going to end up in hospital. Would your conscience be able to deal with that?’
He had played successfully on her greatest weak spot, and Megan hesitated. ‘All right. If you wait in the sitting room, I’ll go and fetch you…Look, just wait, and I’ll be down in a minute.’
‘Is there a fire in there?’
‘No, Alessandro. No roaring open fire. But you can stand very close to the radiator and hope for the best.’
Her nerves were jangling as she took the stairs two at a time, briefly popping in to satisfy Charlotte’s avid curiosity. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to provide by way of clothing for him, but after a few hesitant seconds she pulled out a box from under her bed and removed a pair of his sweats, seven years old, and a rugby shirt, also seven years old. Relics of a time past which she had hung on to.
With both items of clothing in her hand, and a clean towel fetched from the airing cupboard, she flew back down the stairs to find him in the sitting room—where he had stripped down to his boxers.
‘Wh-what are you doing…?’ she stammered, screeching to a halt in the doorway. It was seven years since she had last seen him like this, and his physique had barely changed at all. She stared, mesmerised, looked away, and then covertly looked back at his magnificent body. Wide shoulders tapered to lean hips and long, muscular legs. He was bronzed from head to toe, and without benefit of clothes every sinewy muscle was evident.
‘Taking off my wet clothes.’
Megan cleared her throat and dragged her eyes away from his body to the relative safety of his face. Then she tossed the clothes and towel in his general direction.
‘I don’t bite, Megan.’ Alessandro stooped to pick up the sweats and rugby jumper, which he held up and stared at with open curiosity. ‘Bloody hell.’
Megan reddened and stood her ground.
‘Are these mine?’ Alessandro looked past them to her, and for the first time in nearly two days he felt good—really good. Stupidly good.
‘They were at my apartment when we broke up. I couldn’t face bringing them back to you, and I figured you wouldn’t miss them anyway.’ She laughed shortly, remembering how she had pressed her face against the fabric, hoping to hold the scent of him. ‘I guess I hung on to them for sentimental reasons.’
‘What else did you keep?’
‘That’s all there is, Alessandro. You’d better get dressed.’ She turned away and leaned against the doorframe, her profile sideways to him. ‘I don’t feel comfortable about this…having you here in my house…getting changed…it’s not right. I know you’ve said that Victoria isn’t possessive, but I like her and it’s not fair on her…’