Page 14 of Forbidden Until Midnight

Santo felt rather dubious about celebrating the annual New Year’s Eve event in a church. He might not have been particularly religious himself, but it still skated close to the line that apparently didn’t worry the Müllers.

Gunter Pichler passed close by, glaring at him. Santo blanked the man completely, trying to keep the victorious smile he felt from escaping onto his features. Just that morning he’d received yet another begging email from Pichler, wanting to resume his investment in the Sabatini Group. Surprisingly, Santo had had a good year, better than some had expected—some, like the Pichlers, had chosen to cash in their shares and now bitterly regretted it. His lips curled into a bitter smile.Good riddance.

Unconsciously, he scanned the crowd, not quite sure what he was looking for. No matter the jewels displayed by the guests, it was the church’s magnificence that truly shone. The high domed ceilings were nothing short of an architectural feat, even though the gentle neon blue and purple lighting felt out of place and strangely inappropriate.

The drawn lines from last year were nowhere in sight. He spotted Carson laughing with Dilly’s grandfather, and Analise Carson talking to Archibold Fairchild. No matter how well Eleanor was doing, she couldn’t have been happy with such a painfully obvious ‘business as usual’ message being conveyed by the families.

And he ruefully wondered what ‘business as usual’ would look like for his family, and bitterly regretted the harsh words he’d exchanged with his mother last week. Santo had discovered that she had been visiting his father’s grave in Puglia, maintaining it and keeping it clean. It had been their worst argument yet. There was simply too much between them to be able to speak clearly on it. Too much hurt, too much guilt.

But their raised voices had skated too close to the past. His mother’s fearful retreat from him was too much to bear. Santo gritted his teeth against the wave of hot, sickly emotion that always came when he thought of such things. Guilt, hatred, fear.

He was distracted from his thoughts by the gentle probe of someone’s gaze. Curious, he looked deeper into the crowd, searching for someone his mind hadn’t quite caught up to. Because he recognised that feeling. The warmth, the heat that he tried to ignore. The spark that shouldn’t be there.

But he couldn’t ignore it because there she was.

Eleanor.

From across the room, she flashed him that little Mona Lisa smile that might just be for him alone, the thought touching him much deeper and stronger than he realised. She inclined her head, and he did the same in acknowledgement, and her smile kicked up just a little more.

She gave a slight frown, her gaze flickering between him and the company he was in—as if she were surprised—and he couldn’t help but roll his eyes, their silent conversation communicating his boredom and frustration with the men bragging about destroying each other’s businesses.

Whoever she was talking to called back her attention. Glimpses of her kaleidoscoped across his vision as other guests passed back and forth in between them, reminding him of the bits and pieces of information he’d picked up about her throughout the year.

She had proved a little more distracting this year, his curiosity such that he’d had to find a particularly unscrupulous individual working at the university offices where Eleanor studied to keep him updated on her progress, so as not to derail his working day. He’d been pleased, and not as surprised as he once might have been, to discover that she was excelling in her courses. The unique twist of something like pride overrode any concerns his conscience might have had—he was simply keeping his word to Pietro.

He was about to take a sip of his drink when the man obscuring his view of her moved and he was able to see her fully for the first time. His hand hovered in the air, paused, in the time it took to take her in. And while everything in him roared against the inappropriateness of noticing what he most definitely shouldnotbe noticing, he couldn’t help himself.

She was beautiful.

He’d always known that, in some distant part of his mind. In fact, if he was honest with himself, it was what had driven him from her company last year. An awareness of her that felt so wrong next to an innocence that practically screamed in warning.

But he had overestimated his confidence in her youth as a barrier to his increasing interest, as the person talking to the red-haired daughter of Artur Kivi was clearly no longer an innocent adolescent. And so it was that, with a shock of realisation, Santo now recognised Eleanor as a young woman of twenty-one, only five years his junior.

Her hair, artfully piled on top of her head in a messy bun, showed off the swanlike curve of her neck. The thick velvet sleeveless dress moulded to her torso and veed across her chest in straps that tied on top of her shoulders, leaving her toned arms and sternum completely bare. Skirts dropped in dramatic folds from her waist to hit her mid-calf, the shape of her legs turning into delicate ankles topped with indecently high heels.

Never before had anyone taken such a swift hold of his body and Eleanor Carson had done it effortlessly and unconsciously in the space of a heartbeat. Santo was about to turn away before he made a fool of himself in public, when she caught his eye once again and this time her smile was unrestrained.

And the slash of lightning that struck him stole his breath.

Eleanor tried to cover the word she’d stuttered over the moment she’d caught Santo Sabatini staring at her, and failed miserably. Because this time they weren’t exchanging subtle, easy interactions across a crowded room. No, this time, she’d felt heat. Interest. Want. The very things that severed her thought processes enough for her to forget her words.

‘I’m sorry, Kat, I completely forgot where I was for a moment,’ she admitted helplessly.

Ekaterina smiled. ‘That’s okay. We were talking about Capri.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Eleanor remembered vaguely, and shook her head, trying to dislodge the impact Santo had made. ‘How did you find it?’ she asked. But, no matter how hard Eleanor tried, she couldn’t quite focus on Kat’s answer.

She flicked her gaze to where Santo had been, but he was no longer there. Which was strange, because she could still feel the weight of his attention on her. She rolled her shoulders, enjoying the way that the thick black satin-lined velvet pressed against her skin.

Her father had barely spared her a glance, but Eleanor had loved the dress the moment she’d seen it. It made her feel like awoman. And she’d so desperately wanted to feel that way tonight. Not a naïve, foolish girl who’d become engaged too soon, or a silly young miss stumbling over thanks as she had been last year. She’d wanted to be someone who could command attention. Commandhisattention.

But the moment she’d felt it, it had almost completely overpowered her. That full force impact had stolen her breath and her chain of thought, so much so that she could still feel the ripples of it now in the goosebumps across her skin.

‘Oh, here he comes,’ Ekaterina squealed. ‘Please don’t say anything,’ she followed in a whisper.

Ekaterina’s crush on Mads Rassmussen had been all her friend could talk about all evening, and Eleanor felt only a moment’s jealousy. She knew that feeling, that sense of thrill as if glitter fizzed in one’s veins and invisible fingers traced down one’s spine.

Because it was how she felt about Santo—not that she’d ever dare say. There was something about their interactions that was private. Secret. And she wanted to keep it that way, especially after the painfully public fallout from her broken engagement.

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