Page 35 of Forbidden Fruit

"Let her go," I say quietly.

"Or what? You'll hit me again?" His voice is a sneer, but there's fear behind it.

"No. I think you've embarrassed yourself enough for one night."

Kay tugs at Jack's arm. "Come on, darling. We'll sort this out tomorrow."

"There's nothing to sort out," I tell them both. "This charade is over."

Jack shakes off his mother's hand and leans in close to me, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "You think you've won? You think she'll ever look at an old man like you? She's with me because I'm her age, because I understand her world."

I maintain eye contact, refusing to be baited. "If you understood anything about her, you wouldn't have lost her tonight."

Jack scoffs, but there's uncertainty in his eyes now. The adrenaline is wearing off, replaced by the sobering reality of what he's lost. "This isn't over," he mutters, but the fight has gone out of him.

Kay pulls Jack away, shooting me a look of pure venom. "You haven't changed a bit, Clive. Still thinking you're better than everyone else."

"No," I say, suddenly tired. "Just better than this."

They finally retreat, Kay steering Jack toward their wing of the villa, his bloodied handkerchief leaving crimson droplets on the marble floor. When they're gone, I exhale a breath I didn't realize I was holding and slump against the bar. My hand throbs, and I flex my fingers, wincing at the stiffness already setting in.

What have I done?

Outside, the ocean continues to dance against the shore, indifferent to the drama that just unfolded. I pour myself two fingers of scotch, down it in one burning swallow, then head to the kitchen for ice. As I wrap a kitchen towel around a handful of cubes, I hear soft footsteps behind me.

"Let me help you with that."

Becca stands in the doorway, her face pale but composed. She's pulled her hair back into a messy bun, exposing the elegant line of her neck. I fight the urge to look away, suddenly self-conscious.

"It's nothing," I mutter, but she crosses the room and takes the makeshift ice pack from my hands.

"Your knuckles are already swelling." Her voice is soft as she gently presses the ice against my hand. "You shouldn't have done that."

"Probably not," I agree, trying to ignore the warmth of her fingers against mine. "But I'm not sorry."

She looks up at me, her brown eyes searching mine. "Did you mean what you said? About me deserving better?"

"Every word."

She nods slowly, still holding the ice to my hand. "No one's ever fought for me before. Literally or figuratively."

"That's a shame," I say quietly. "Because you're worth fighting for."

A smile touches her lips, then fades. "Was Jack right? About... how you look at me?"

The question hangs between us, dangerous and electric. I could lie, brush it off as Jack's drunken ramblings. The safer choice.

"Yes," I say instead, honesty winning out. "But that's not why I intervened. I would have done the same for anyone being treated the way he treats you."

She releases my hand, and I immediately miss her touch. "I should be more upset about this," she says, almost to herself. "About Jack, about tonight. But all I feel is... relief."

"Relief can be more telling than sadness sometimes."

She nods, wrapping her arms around herself. "I've known for a while that it wasn't right. I just... I wanted it to work so badly."

"Because it was expected?" I ask gently.

"Because I thought it was what I wanted. The perfect relationship to match my perfect life." She laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Except nothing's perfect, is it?"

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