Page 27 of Forbidden Until Midnight

‘Why are you doing this?’ he demanded on a shaky inhale, his forehead pressed against hers, his eyes closed, half-hopeful and half-fearful of what he might see in the espresso rich depths of her eyes.

‘Because I have nothing left to lose,’ she whispered against his lips as if it were some great confession.

Santo hadn’t realised he’d been holding his breath until it whooshed, hot and hard and heavy—and devastated.

Her words had broken something inside him and he let her go from where he’d been holding her with numb fingers and turned, his back to her, while he gathered himself.

He shook his head. He should have known better. He should have realised. Oh, she probably hadn’t meant to be so cruel. But her words still cut him like a knife. She was only here, only asking that of him because she had reached the bottom of the barrel. She was only here because it was abouther.

Had she still been the darling daughter of Edward Carson there was no way she’d have been standing here, begging him to kiss her. She’d have got as close to the flame as she could before running back to her friends with a near-scandal she could titillate and delight them with, without ever once having got her hands dirty. Because that was what she saw him as—playing in the dirt. She could walk away from him and wash her hands clean.

Oh, he had sympathy with her plight. But only to an extent. Because whenhisworld had fallen apart he’d not had the luxury of buckling. He’d not had the opportunity to be self-indulgent and drink himself into a stupor, or act out like a child. No, he’d had to assume control of the Sabatini Group, and within months of his father’s death he was standing head-to-head with some of the men in this room who would have taken his company from him. Almost every day for nearly three years he’d had eyewatering, heart-stopping buyout packages. The kind that would have erased an entire country’s debt. And what was Eleanor doing? Dropping out of university and trying to lose herself in mindless hookups.

‘You don’t get it, do you?’ he sneered, returning to her words. Her self-pity, her self-absorption, burying the sharp sting of hurt beneath frustration and anger.

She looked back at him, wide-eyed and confused.

‘You’re such a child,’ he continued remorselessly. ‘Youalwayshave more to lose. If you have no care for yourself, then what about your mother? What about your brother? Or has it not even occurred to you that Edward could be using you againstthem?’

‘Y-you know?’ Eleanor reeled back in shock as if she’d been slapped.

But she hadn’t. She’d just been told the truth, Santo thought grimly as he followed her back into the room. Something that had clearly been denied her far too long. And it had done her absolutely no good whatsoever.

‘Yes, I know,’ he confessed. ‘You said as much last year before I returned you to your mother.’

‘You can’t tell anyone,’ she begged.

A single bitter laugh burst from him. ‘Do you not think I would have done so by now, were I going to? Oh, not for you. And not because Carson hasn’t been trying to tank my business for the last twelve months. Your mother deservesnoneof this.’

Eleanor shook her pretty head, as if to try and both deny and assimilate what he was saying at the same time. Santo bit back a curse at the way she had paled.

‘Sit down, before you fall down,’ he ordered, ushering her towards a chair, before walking over to a glass-fronted drinks cabinet.

He reached for the whisky and retrieved two glasses from the backlit glass shelf. This was clearly some kind of after-dinner retirement room and had everything one would need. The décor was rich forest greens and golds and burgundy reds, so dark and so different from his own taste. And suddenly he just wanted to be home in his villa in Puglia, nestled in the olive groves beneath the heat of the sun and the simplicity of the landscape around him.

He was damn tired of all the politics and manipulation, the bribery and secrets and retaliations for perceived or real slights. He wanted to be away from it all. Includingher.

He turned back to find Eleanor staring ahead as if in shock.

‘I hadn’t...’ She paused, cleared her throat and tried again. ‘I hadn’t thought of it like that,’ she confessed, as if ashamed.

He went to where she sat in the chair and passed her the glass, before going to stand by the window as far away from her as he could get.

‘Every single thing I thought I knew about my life was untrue,’ she said, as if putting her thoughts into words for the first time. ‘And I don’t know what that makes me,’ she said sadly. ‘I don’t know who I am.’

And wasn’t that the difference between them? Santo had never had the luxury of the lie—he had always known the terror and fear of his father, the false smiles of people who would never help his mother or him, but only profit from their silence. He had always known who he was: the son of a violent, selfish bastard. Santo had inherited his genes, his blood, and always had to be watchful for when those characteristics would appear, when that anger would finally take hold and he would break the things most precious to him. Like father, like son. And the only way to ensure that he didn’t inflict that kind of hurt on the people he loved was simple. Don’t love.

Eleanor’s fingers gripped the seat of the chair as her head spun. A distant part of her thought she should be used to this by now. But she wasn’t.

Santo’s kiss had been one thing—spectacular. A short-lived moment of ecstasy she could never have imagined. That rush of all that she had felt had thrust her to the very brink of what she’d thought she’d always wanted. Before she had dashed them both on the rocks with her thoughtless words.

She had realised her mistake almost the moment the words were out of her mouth. Guilt coloured her cheeks. She had asked him to use her, but she was the one using him. Tonight. Maybe last year and the year before that too. Shame coursed through her blood, thick, heavy and hot, and she deserved every minute of discomfort it brought her.

‘I’m sorry, you didn’t deserve—’

‘What I deserve or don’t deserve is nothing to do with you. You asked for a kiss. You got what you asked for.’

Eleanor paled beneath the realisation of the truth of his accusation. Shehadbeen behaving like a child, thinking only of how the situation had affected her.

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