Forbidden Until Midnight

Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR

New Year’s Eve six years ago, Berlin

‘A ND THAT ’ S WHEN I took his entire company with an ace high,’ Allencourt guffawed, as if swindling someone out of their company with the lowest hand of cards was something to be proud of.

Santo rolled his shoulders, trying to shake loose the tension that had taken up residence earlier that day.

‘He never forgave you,’ Aksel Rassmussen said, shaking his head.

‘My conscience is clear,’ Allencourt replied, and Santo nearly choked on his drink.

‘More champagne, sir?’ a waiter asked.

Santo shook his head. ‘But I’ll give you fifty euros for a glass of whisky.’

‘It’s a free bar,’ whispered the waiter, leaning in.

‘I know,’ Santo whispered back drily, the poor kid not knowing what to say. Santo laughed, more at himself than the waiter, and waved the boy off.

There was something about humour that no amount of language lessons could teach. And that, he realised, was just another thing that set him apart from the people here. Or most of the people here, he thought as he caught sight of Mads making his way across the sprawling nave in the most beautiful church in Berlin’s Kreuzberg district.

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 should not be 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 a woman . And she’d so desperately wanted to feel that way tonight. Not a na?ve, 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. Command his attention.

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.

Eleanor smiled at Mads as he joined them, but was distracted once again by the feeling of someone watching her. She told herself she was being fanciful, but she knew it was Santo. She knew it in a way that felt... fated .

‘Don’t you think so, Elle?’

Kat looked at her expectantly, and Eleanor nodded quickly.

‘Absolutely,’ she hedged, hoping it was the right thing to say, breathing out a sigh of relief when Kat smiled.

Mads looked at them both in mock horror. ‘No, not me. I’d never do something like that,’ he affirmed, and Kat playfully slapped him on the arm with a little too much strength.

Eleanor bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing. Kat would never be as subtle as she thought she was being, but it felt nice. Nice to be talking about unimportant things and enjoying someone else’s happiness after the last two years’ tumult.

‘Ah, there you are, Santo, stop skulking and come and join us,’ Mads called over Eleanor’s shoulder.

Her breath caught and the ripples across her skin turned to shivers.

Santo came to stand beside her and she smiled and looked away, not quite prepared for the stark impact of him yet. There was a sense that they were both battling to maintain a distance that had already been thoroughly destroyed, but it was almost part of the unconscious game they seemed to be playing.

‘Have you two met?’ Ekaterina asked, blissfully ignorant of the currents passing back and forth between them.

Eleanor panicked. What was she supposed to say? Nerves made words dry in her throat.

‘Once, I believe,’ Santo said for her.

‘Yes,’ she said, finally turning to him with a smile. ‘It’s nice to see you again.’

Santo tipped his head in acknowledgement, but the glint in his eye—the one just for her—teased and taunted in a way that thrilled her.

‘Likewise,’ he said.

Oh, God , he looked incredible.

All year she’d been thinking about him. Her starved imagination had forced her to search him online, although ‘search’ was a polite term for what many others would call stalking. But the sheer impact of his presence was something else entirely. She almost didn’t know where to look first.

Dark hair, lazily curling, was shorter this year than it had been. The hollows of his cheeks were ever so slightly more pronounced, made so by a close-cropped beard punctuated by the slight cleft in his chin. But there was something in his eyes—so light they were nearly aquamarine—that meant she could hardly bear to hold his gaze. It was as if they refracted all that she was feeling and threw it back at her in glittering fragments, making her unsure what he felt or thought at all.

‘Oh, I love this song,’ Ekaterina cried, and Eleanor looked down at the ground with a smile of affection at the transparency of her friend’s motives.

Santo glanced between Mads and Kat and raised an eyebrow.

‘Would you...?’ Mads started to ask.

‘Oh, yes—yes, please. Let’s dance,’ Kat said, before practically dragging the poor man off to where a few of the others had begun to dance.

Eleanor looked back to Santo’s carefully blank expression and smiled.

‘What?’ he asked, without looking her way.

Eleanor bit back her smile, enjoying her observation of him. ‘I don’t think you’re as indifferent as you pretend to be.’

‘I assure you I am,’ he insisted as if offended, and this time she couldn’t help it. She let the smile break out because their interactions made her feel as if she saw something that few people did. As if he gave her something of himself that no one else saw.

A waiter paused beside her and she took a glass, turning to Santo to make a toast.

‘To the New Year,’ she said.

‘To the New Year,’ he repeated, the clink punctuating their toast before they each took a sip.

‘I hear congratulations are in order,’ Eleanor offered.

‘For me?’ he asked as if surprised.

She huffed out a gentle laugh. ‘Yes, for you. The Sabatini Group’s turnover was nothing short of miraculous this year. And I heard you managed to rid yourself of one of your investors. That is no mean feat,’ she added conspiratorially.

He frowned at her as if confused by her knowledge of his business. She frowned back exaggeratedly, receiving a begrudging smile in response—just as she’d hoped.

‘Business degree, remember?’ she reminded him.

‘I do,’ he confirmed, and those words meant more to her than he would ever imagine. It was like a present she’d been hoping for all year long.

Eleanor took a deep breath. It continued to be a bone of contention between her and her father. It was as if everything she did to please him took her further and further away from what she had meant to him before. Before she’d broken her engagement, before she’d ever started to attend these things.

Instinctively, she sought out her father in the crowd and noticed that he was looking their way. And suddenly she didn’t want to be caught by her father with Santo, she didn’t want to be out here where people could see them. She noticed more and more people looking their way.

‘What’s wrong?’ Santo asked, feeling the change in her demeanour like a cloud passing over the sun. The smile that pulled up the corners of her lips became tighter.

‘People are staring.’

She was right, of course. For himself, Santo had got quite used to the feeling, but it clearly upset her.

‘Want to see something spectacular?’ Santo whispered in her ear. She looked up at him, the gratitude in her eyes louder than a cry as she nodded, taking what he was offering with both hands.

Santo drew Eleanor away from the crowds and up the staircase at the back of the nave to a second floor. A narrow walkway took them beyond the pews that looked down onto the altar, to behind the focal point of the church.

He was aware of her with every step he took. It was madness to be alone with her, especially as he wrestled with the effect she was having on him, but the unwanted attention she was receiving had taken away that sense of confidence that had lit Eleanor from deep within and that was unacceptable.

He held his hand out to her as he guided her up the last few steps towards his destination. And when she placed her hand in his he tried to ignore the sparks that fizzled and hissed between their touch.

If he’d expected Eleanor to ask where they were going, he’d been mistaken. She appeared utterly at ease with wherever he was taking her. Perhaps she hadn’t learned enough from the past few years then. She should be on her guard. Especially around him.

He headed for the large ornately designed window with slashes of stained glass segmented by thick dark metal bleeding into the night, making it appear almost magical. Next to the series of crossing steps, the entire area reminded him of an Escher painting, making him wonder how different things could have been for him. For her. For them .

Just as they reached the window a firework scattering yellow and pink bursts into the night sky exploded and Santo heard a soft gasp of surprise fall from Eleanor’s lips. And with just that Santo battled with a surprisingly fierce wave of arousal that shivered through his body.

He barely dared look at her. Up close, he could see that Eleanor’s dress was made of a thick black velvet, studded with absolutely minuscule studs of gold that made it look as if she shimmered like the night sky on the other side of the window. The paleness of her skin, rather than seeming diminished, glowed within the material. And he was struck that the regality that she wore like a cloak across her shoulders had turned a princess into a queen. Something that made her feel so very far beyond his reach.

Another firework exploded and he watched the flares glitter in her eyes, the slight flush of pleasure on her cheeks, and indignation that he hadn’t put it there himself was enough of a warning for him to step back. Only he couldn’t seem to bring himself to do it.

But he really should. He was there to protect her, for Pietro, and that most certainly included protecting her from himself. The things he’d seen, the things he knew...they were too much for an innocent like Eleanor.

She closed her eyes and lost the sparkle of the night, as if somehow intuiting his attempt to withdraw from her.

‘Your mother isn’t here?’ Eleanor observed without looking at him.

He was surprised, the turn in conversation yanking him out of his thoughts, and forced himself to answer the question. He supposed it was understandable, though. For a gathering supposedly of families, his was noticeably absent, even considering Gallo’s death.

‘ I represent the family,’ he stated grimly, finding it uncomfortable that perhaps he couldn’t read her thoughts as much as he’d believed.

‘Does she not like all this?’

‘No. She never did,’ he said, wishing that they had more than these silly glasses of champagne. He took a mouthful of the bubbly alcohol anyway, the taste of nothing but regret on his tongue. He looked down, knowing that he could change the topic of conversation. Knowing that she would accept it if he did, but for the first time he found himself wanting her to know. About him. About his childhood.

‘She was an only child and her father was old when she was born. He was desperate to marry her off, and my father was desperate enough to take her name.’

Santo thought about how cruelly his mother had been used by the men in her life, how awful it must have been not to have anyone on her side. He wondered if that was why he was drawn to Eleanor, to the similarities between them as much as the differences.

‘I didn’t realise. I thought your connection here was through your father,’ Eleanor said.

‘He was happy to make it seem like that, and after the money he made for many of the families here they were happy to go along with it.’

He looked at Eleanor, staring up at him with those wide eyes. He could see her hovering on the edge of innocence. Yes, she’d had her fingers burnt by Tony, by Edward Carson’s response to her broken engagement, but it was just the tip of an iceberg he wasn’t sure that she would ever be ready to face.

‘I’m sorry. This is a heavy conversation to have when everyone around us is celebrating,’ Eleanor said, recognising that Santo was close to shutting down, when all she wanted to do was open him up. She’d thought so much of him over the last twelve months, but knew almost nothing about him—other than what was mentioned in the business pages. But perhaps there was a different way, a lighter way?

‘Would you like to play a game?’ she asked, forcing a playfulness into her tone.

For a moment, she wondered whether he’d take her up on her offer.

‘That depends on the game,’ he said, something glinting in his eyes that pulled at her body.

‘Truth or dare,’ she replied.

He frowned, those dark brows closing down over the incredible aquamarine of his gaze.

‘Have you not played truth or dare before?’ she asked with a laugh.

‘I have heard of it, but never played it.’

Reading between the lines, his childhood sounded dark, hard and painful, and she suddenly wondered just how much Santo had been able to play as a young boy. She was about to retract the offer when he asked, ‘Who goes first?’

‘I will,’ she said before he could change his mind. ‘Truth or dare?’

He huffed out a cautious laugh. ‘Do I not get to know the question first?’

She shook her head slowly, a smile curving her lips.

He nodded once, and seemed to lean closer in, their bodies speaking their own language to each other.

‘Truth,’ he said then.

‘Okay, but it’s a hard one, so think carefully,’ she warned. ‘What is...your favourite food?’

Santo barked out a laugh and it warmed her then. She’d seen him cynical, bitter, hard, disdainful, but this was something she only occasionally saw when it was just the two of them alone and that made her feel...thrilled. Excited. As if perhaps there could be something here between them. Something more than just a passing fancy.

‘It is a cliché but tiramisu. I could eat a whole bowlful every day,’ he admitted, leaning against the wall beside the large, beautiful round window. ‘Your turn,’ he announced.

‘Truth,’ she said, answering his unspoken question.

His inhale and narrowed eyes were playful, but still she found herself unaccountably nervous, until his gaze raked her body from top to toe, making her feel something else entirely.

‘Where are you ticklish?’ he demanded.

She blinked. ‘What makes you think I’m ticklish?’

‘You’re avoiding the answer,’ he teased.

Eleanor huffed, trying hard not to let a smile escape onto her lips. ‘My feet,’ she replied mock resentfully.

He nodded to himself as if he’d thought as much.

‘Truth or dare,’ she challenged.

‘Truth.’

‘Who was your first kiss?’ she asked, pressing her lips together the moment the words were out of her mouth, the fizzle and crackle no longer outside in the night sky but hurtling through her veins beneath her skin.

A gleam of surprise flashed in his gaze just as another round of fireworks exploded over the Brandenburg Gate.

‘Sofia Barone,’ he replied with a slow smile as if remembering. ‘We were fourteen years old, and were supposed to be playing hide and seek with her brother. He didn’t find us,’ he replied, clearly proud of his achievement.

She doubted he knew it, but his entire expression had changed. His face had relaxed, for once losing some of the intensity that marked him as different to almost everyone else here. And it was as if the shadows that haunted his gaze had lifted for a moment. Before he shook his head, his eyes clearing from the memory and focusing on her.

She could see it. The temptation to ask her the same question, the debate, the war in him.

‘Truth or dare?’ he asked slowly.

‘Truth.’

She wanted him to ask her about her first kiss. She wanted him to open the door, even just a little, to where she wanted to go. To what she wanted to do. The sensual pull she’d denied the year before had become insistent as she skated the edges of whatever this was between them. She wanted it to be something more. She needed it to be tangible.

‘Did you sleep with Fairchild?’

Instantly her cheeks flushed. The raw gravel tone of his voice scratched over every sensitive part of her body. She should have been surprised by the question, but she wasn’t. It had been there, simmering between them. She’d wanted it, Santo just had the confidence to dig that deep. Her heart thundered in one powerful pump, rushing blood through her body and making her skin tingle so much that she felt the echoes of it reverberating around her heart while she held her breath. She bit her lip, knowing that this was a line she couldn’t come back from. That the door she had opened a little was about to be pushed further.

‘No,’ she said, holding his intent gaze. She wanted him to see the truth. To know it. ‘Truth or dare?’ she asked before she could chicken out.

‘Dare,’ he replied, sending sparks down into her core.

She closed the step between them, her heart in her throat, her pulse beating at a furious rate.

‘I dare you to kiss—’

‘Eleanor?’

Shocked, Eleanor spun round to come face to face with her father.

Edward Carson glared between her and Santo, and she took a step back just as Santo took a step forward, drawing her father’s attention. Whether consciously or unconsciously, he had put himself between her and her father.

‘Sabatini.’

‘Carson,’ Santo replied likewise.

Eleanor could feel the hostility between the two men, which seemed excessive for the context of the situation. She had never asked whether her father had investments in the Sabatini Group, or whether Santo had investments in her father’s businesses, but it was clear, whatever the case was, there was contention between the two.

‘Come. We’re leaving,’ Edward announced, not even holding out his hand for her as he might once have done.

‘I—’

‘Do not try me, Eleanor,’ her father warned.

Everything that had just been within her reach was slipping through her fingers like sand. She bowed her head, giving up the fight, and followed in her father’s footsteps. Just before the last step took her away from Santo she looked up to find something like regret in his gaze, before it was quickly blinked away.

It gave her hope. It made her think that perhaps next year things might be different.

And Eleanor was right. Things would be different next year, but not in a way that she’d ever imagine.