Chapter 1
1
Six months later
Global Alliance Childhood Literacy Foundation Fundraiser, New York.
E MILIA HAD ONLY BEEN AT the ball for ten minutes before she saw him. And even though it had been six months, her skin lifted in a covering of goosebumps, and her breath turned into a fog of heat, as she remembered.
Everything.
Every detail of his touch, his kiss, his reverent worship of her body—totally at odds with the fact they hated each other, and each other’s families. Totally at odds with the fact they’d both do whatever they could to bring the other one down, outside of the bedroom.
He was across the other side of the room, on a large table, that happened to include several of his family members. She did a quick stocktake of the Santoros who were in attendance—Dante and his wife, Georgia. Marco and Portia, Francesco. Without realising it, her lips twisted into a sneer as she regarded them with utter distaste.
“Yes, it’s less than ideal to spend a night having to breathe their air, isn’t it?” Her brother Max’s voice cut through her ruminations—or perhaps perfectly captured them. She slid her gaze sideways, and saw the same enmity in his features that she felt on her own.
Beside him, Max’s wife Andie grimaced. Their marriage had been born out of this feud. Andie had used the generations’ old war between their families to leverage Max into pretending to be her fiancé, in exchange for which she was able to negotiate a more favourable sale of her family’s business. But Emilia had always sensed that Andie felt a hint of compunction for what she’d done to the Santoros. She’d even heard Andie say, on one occasion, that she’d found Dante to be a very pleasant, decent guy to deal with.
A sentiment Emilia was incapable of sharing.
“Have you seen Leo yet?” Andie asked, clunkily trying to draw their focus away from the Santoros.
Emilia’s last thought, as she gave her sister-in-law the full force of her attention, was one of gratitude, as she ran a hand over her silky dress. It was one of her favourites, always giving her a boost of confidence, and now that she saw who was in attendance, she was glad she’d chosen it. If she were going to be face to face with Salvatore Santoro, or any of them, for that matter, she’d prefer it to be when dressed like this: to kill.
“No, I only flew back in this afternoon,” Emilia explained. Though she couldn’t wait to catch up with Leo and his fiancé Skye, as well as their daughter—whom Leo had recently adopted. “I’m going to their place for brunch tomorrow. You guys should come.”
“We wouldn’t want to impose,” Andie demurred, in that lovely way she had, of always thinking of others.
“Don’t be silly. I’m imposing—I totally invited myself. I’ll message Leo now,” she said, pulling out her phone with the intention of typing a message, only to find a text was already showing on her Home Screen.
From Salvatore Santoro.
Her heart leaped into her throat and without her realising it, her eyes flew across the crowded ballroom, to the Santoro table, only to find him casually reclined in his chair, eyes locked to her, expression laced with unmistakable mockery. When their eyes connected, his brows raised infinitesimally, and she felt the heat in her veins turn to rampant lava.
She glanced down again quickly, mouth dry, holding her phone at an angle to make it impossible for her brother to catch an unwitting glimpse of the screen.
Nice dress.
She frowned a little at the banality of the message, contemplated sending something back, then quickly shoved her phone into her bag.
“Did you message?” Andie asked, smiling with curiosity.
“Oh, yes,” Emilia lied, making a mental note to do so later. “I’ll let you know when I hear back, but I’m sure it will be fine. I’m bringing pastries and fruit.”
“Great,” Andie nodded, putting a hand on Max’s knee. “Brunch tomorrow?”
A glance at her brother showed that he was still staring at the Santoros, with that same look of pure hatred.
Something flickered in Emilia’s belly. Guilt. Shame. Because she should never have let things get out of hand with Salvatore. She should never have let their chemistry explode into actually having sex. What a mistake.
Even worse was the fact she hadn’t been with anyone since Salvatore. It didn’t help matters that she felt like a tinderbox, ready to go up in flames at the slightest provocation. And seeing Salvatore again was definitely that.
“I’m going to go get a drink,” she mumbled, eschewing the sweet white wine provided on the tables.
“Want company?” Andie asked.
Emilia shook her head quickly. God, no. She needed a second to get a hold of her thoughts. “I won’t be long. Need anything?”
Max threw his sister a glance, as though finally realising she was there. “Brunch tomorrow sounds good.”
She laughed, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You’re about five minutes too late. But sure.”
As she walked away, she pulled her phone out once more, resolutely ignoring the top message on her screen, from Salvatore, she managed to indicate the change of plans to Leo and Skye, before reaching the bar and placing her elbows on it.
“Emilia Valentino?”
A man approached from her left. She vaguely recognised him, though she couldn’t say from where.
“Jock Jones. We met at that Homeless sleepout event last year.”
She smiled, nodding, as the memory came back to her of meeting him. “Of course. Nice to see you again.”
“Can I buy you a drink?”
“It’s an open bar,” she pointed out. “Besides which, I always buy my own drinks.”
“In that case, you can get me one,” he suggested. “I don’t have your scruples.”
His grin was wide, and a dimple dug into one stubbled cheek. Objectively speaking, he was quite handsome. Tall, with broad shoulders and a strong physique, he wore a suit that looked custom, and an expensive watch. That was par for the course at this sort of event. The ticket alone was six figures, and the fundraising auctions always raised a huge sum. They were also incredible networking opportunities, meaning they drew the top of the business community.
“What’ll it be?” The bartender arrived, saving her from a reply.
“A French martini,” she answered. “Jock?”
“I’ll have the same.”
She arched a single brow before turning back to the bartender and flashing him a megawatt smile. “Thanks.”
“So,” Jock began, in that time honoured conversation starter. “The literacy foundation, huh?”
Emilia’s gaze slid to his. “That’s right.”
“Special cause for you?”
“Childhood literacy is an important foundation of overall education,” she pointed out. “And also, a good indicator of lifelong success. Raising literacy levels globally is a worthwhile endeavour.”
“Seriously?”
She blinked, a frown pulling at her lips. “You don’t agree?”
“I mean, I guess. I hadn’t really given it much thought.”
She couldn’t keep the disapproval from her features. “Seems like a very expensive way to spend the evening, if you don’t care about the cause.”
“Yeah, but you can’t miss it,” he shrugged.
Emilia’s gaze narrowed. “Why not?”
“Because anyone who’s anyone is here. As evidenced by the fact your family has shown up despite the fact the Santoros are one of the key sponsors.”
She blinked, careful not to reveal a hint of surprise at that. She hadn’t known, though, and she doubted Max had, either, or he would never have wanted to be there. There were plenty of ways to support a charity—another donation for the raffle, like the one they’d already made, of a luxury stay at one of their hotels, for example.
“Unlike you, the cause is dear to my heart,” she said, grateful then that Jock had ordered the same cocktail as her, because it meant the bartender placed them both on the bar at the same time. She curled her fingers around one.
“Why is that?”
“Oh, it’s a long, boring story, and I have to be getting back to my family now,” she murmured. “It was nice to see you again.”
“I’d love to talk some more later. I’ll swing by your table.”
She kept her expression neutral, as she tucked her clutch under one arm. “Bye, Jock.”
She was aware of the way his gaze drifted lower as she turned to leave, taking in the plunging neckline of her emerald green dress. The cut of the dress left very little to the imagination, and the spaghetti straps exposed her golden tan. The design made it impossible to wear a bra—not that she needed one. Emilia’s figure was athletic, and the breasts she’d always desperately wanted—generous and full—had decided not to oblige. Unlike her mother, who had the figure of a goddess, Emilia had always been slender. Scrawny as a child, lanky as a teen, and now that she was old enough to understand how to dress for her figure, she could pull off most outfits. But there were still times she found herself desperately wishing for soft curves.
Height was another area in which she’d struggled. She was under five and a half feet tall, but she could compensate for that with sky high heels—she rarely didn’t wear a pair, and tonight was no exception. She turned to leave the bar and head back to her table, only for her eyes to land on a very familiar gaze from a little way across the room.
Salvatore stood with his hip nonchalantly against the wall, a hand in his pocket, and his eyes on her as though he couldn’t look away. The charge of heat was unmistakable. It started at the base of her spine and exploded through her body like the first firework at a festival. Bright and glorious, she couldn’t fail to feel it.
She stopped walking. Or, rather, her feet stopped cooperating, stranding her in the middle of the crowded bar area. Slowly—achingly slowly—his eyes began to drop, as Jock’s had a moment earlier. But where Jock’s inspection had left her cold—and a little pissed off at his presumptuousness—the opposite could be said, now.
Salvatore’s gaze was white hot lava as it poured from her face to her throat, lingering there a moment before sweeping to her breasts, as though he could see through the fabric of her gown—as though they were the sort of breasts she’d always secretly envied, all rounded and full, the perfect size for a man’s palm, even when they weren’t. Lower, then, he scraped his gaze, over her flat stomach to the gentle swell of her hips, hovering there, before dropping to her feet. In reverse, he slowed down to admire the same parts he already had, but by the time his focus was back on her eyes, she was almost panting.
It took all of her willpower not to show how much his casually possessive gaze had burned through her.
His lips parted, and her eyes narrowed, as he mouthed the words, ‘Follow me,’ before jerking his head, once, away from the ballroom, then turned and strode through the crowd.
It was only a moment. Barely a minute, from when she’d left Jock and seen Salvatore, and yet she felt as though time and space had lost all meaning. She was somehow back in Moricosia, six months earlier, when they’d had to tour the construction site together, and share the same resources as they put together their competing bids, so locked gazes, brushed hands, shared air, had somehow turned into fire and flame.
But that had been then.
An anomaly of circumstance, borne of the fact that they were in a strange, almost mythical kingdom, full of beauty and history. Far from either of their homes and the generational hatred that had defined their families.
That was definitely not the case, now. They were here, in New York, where they each had family members living, and business interests, where they both spent a considerable amount of time and were well known. There was no escaping the reality of who they were and what their family’s connections meant.
So, following him would be really, really dumb. She took a sip of her drink, hoping it would bring sanity along with a hint of a buzz. Only, her damned feet still weren’t cooperating. Rather than doing the far more sensible thing and carrying her back towards her table and the safety of her brother and sister-in-law, they went in the opposite direction. Towards Salvatore Santoro: AKA the man she knew she should never speak to again…
The second he’d seen her in that dress, he’d known it was only a matter of time. Except, even if she’d been in a nun’s habit, he’d have probably felt the same, because unless she could somehow give him a very localised lobotomy and wipe his memories of that night, seeing Emilia Valentino again was always going to make him want more.
Even when they both knew it was wrong.
And stupid.
And disrespectful to their families, after all the time they’d put into hating each other.
Well, having sex with someone didn’t have to mean you didn’t hate them. In fact, it didn’t have to mean anything. Salvatore had spent a lifetime believing that, and despite the fact his siblings and cousins were all lining up to be pierced by Cupid’s bow, it did nothing to change his inclination.
Salvatore liked being a free agent. He liked playing the field. Sleeping with whomever he wanted, whenever he wanted. He liked women, sex, and walking away. Keeping things light and fun.
The one time he’d come close to getting serious with a woman had imploded in spectacular fashion, and he’d learned that lesson fast, and well. True, he’d only been nineteen, but the memory of the fallout from that experience had scored deep in his brain—he wasn’t likely to forget it anytime soon.
So what difference did it make if he was having meaningless sex with a Valentino? As long as they both knew the deal, and kept it private, who cared?
He pushed the emergency exit door without looking backwards, stepping into the fire escape of the six-star hotel and moving down the stairs to the platform between floors. He assumed the same position as before—a shoulder resting on the wall, one ankle crossed carelessly over the other, affecting a look of a casual unconcern. Even when his insides were buzzing with anticipation, and his cock was starting to strain against his pants in a way that was almost painful.
He didn’t have to wait long. Not even a full minute after he’d taken up his position, the door pushed inwards, and Emilia strode through, silky hair in a carefully shaped bun he couldn’t wait to undo. She’d lightened it since Moricosia. Then, it had been almost jet black. Now, it shimmered like amber and gold at the ends—he ached to tease them out and fan her hair across her shoulders, to see it properly.
“Well, Salvatore? Did you want something from me?”
The question lit a fire in his blood. “Why don’t you come down here and find out what I want for yourself?”
Her green eyes widened, the pupils flaring unmistakably. For a second, he thought she might not do it. After all, this was stupidly reckless, and they both knew that. But then, with one of her hands poised on the railing, she began to walk slowly down the steps toward him, so his gut rolled with anticipated pleasure and his blood began to thrum in his ears. He couldn’t wait to make her his again.