She could jack in her job and look for another one, but that thought lasted all of one second. There was no way she was going to alter her life because she couldn’t handle seeing him.
‘And that’s why you dragged me over here? So that you could try and iron out creases?’
‘Stop fighting me!’
‘Is that an order? Have you become so accustomed to obedience, Alessandro, that you can’t stand the thought of anyone refusing to bow, and scrape, and do exactly as you say?’
‘You never obeyed me, Megan.’ He gave her a crooked smile, remembering the way she had been able to tease him out of studying, had laughed when he had frowned at some of her micro-mini skirts, and coaxed him into going to gigs with her even though he had hated most of the bands.
Megan wanted to ask him whether that was why he had seen no future in their relationship—because he hadn’t imagined her in the role of obedient wife. But then she thought that there had probably been a hundred reasons why he had seen no future in their relationship, and asking for a breakdown of them would just be taking yet another stupid step into a past that was best left behind.
In the end he was right when he said that she was fighting him. What he didn’t realise was that she was also fighting herself, for still having misplaced feelings towards him.
Right now, for instance, even though he had dragged her from the comfort of her own house at his bidding, she still felt achingly aware of the stark dynamism of his personality, the sexy, lean magnetism of his hard-boned face and muscular body. He was wearing a pair of black running pants and a black tee shirt. It had always been his uniform for relaxation, and he looked as much at ease wearing them now, in the expensive splendour of his Chelsea home, as he had in the squalor of his one-bedroom rented studio flat.
She wondered how long it would take him to realise that her prickly reaction to him was as much to do with her as it was to do with him. He had almost hit the bullseye when he had told her, mockingly, that maybe the memory of him had prevented her from finding a replacement, but he hadn’t pursued that line of thought.
She shuddered to think how he would react if he ever realised how close he’d been to the truth.
‘You’re right.’ She gave him a wry smile—an olive-branch smile. ‘I think the word you used to use was stubborn.’
‘Like a mule,’ Alessandro agreed.
‘Not one of life’s most attractive animals.’
Alessandro couldn’t recall having had a problem with finding her as sexy as hell, whatever stubborn traits she had had. In fact, he still found her as sexy as hell. In a purely objective way, he told himself. The red had been washed out of her hair, which was now back to pure pale blonde, and was doing what it had always done: refusing to buckle under the control of clips and a hair tie.
‘Stay for coffee?’
‘Maybe a quick one. You have a fabulous house, Alessandro. How…um…how long have you lived here?’
He couldn’t resist teasing her. ‘Um…four years….’
‘I was just being polite!’ She told herself not to bristle, but when he looked around at her, he was grinning. When he chose to bring it out, he had a smile that could knock anyone sideways. He was bringing it out now. ‘How was your Christmas Day?’ she asked, retreating to the least offensive topic she could think of.
‘Well…’ Alessandro’s kitchen was a marvel of black granite and chrome. He reached into a cupboard for a couple of mugs and began making them a pot of coffee. ‘I went to a very good drinks party in the morning….’
‘Oh, really? And what would you describe as very good?’ There were three stools tucked under one of the kitchen counters and Megan perched on one, swivelling it around so that she could look at him as he poured boiling water into mugs. Even the kettle looked like something out of a spaceship. Very high-tech. ‘Do you mean that there was caviar and champagne? Smoked salmon on brown bread? Stuff like that?’
‘I can tell you don’t move in wealthy circles, Megan.’ He handed her a mug and pulled out the stool next to hers. ‘And before you jump down my throat, all I’m saying is that smoked salmon and caviar are a bit old hat now.’
‘I’m disappointed. I’ve always wanted to chance my luck with a bit of caviar. Guess I missed the boat. So, what was this fabulous drinks party like, then?’
‘Very…energetic. The hostess, unfortunately, didn’t appreciate my presence.’ He took a sip of coffee and looked at her over the rim of his mug. ‘Or if she did, she wasn’t showing it.’