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PROLOGUE

EMILIA VALENTINO WAS STILL coming down from the euphoric high of one of the best orgasms of her life—scratch that, the all-time best—when the regrets kicked in. The mad, all-consuming certainty that she’d just had ill-thought out sex with the last man on earth she wanted to be in bed with—metaphorically or actually.

While Salvatore Santoro might have been hotter than the sun’s corona and was evidently God’s gift to women in the sack, he was also a Santoro. AKA: a member of the family that was her family’s nemesis.

“That shouldnothave happened.” It felt like the last word in understatement, but at the same time, someone had to acknowledge the elephant in the room, and she wanted to be the first one to proclaim this to be an almighty mistake.

Salvatore pushed up onto his palms, so he could see her better, his obsidian eyes sweeping her face, his features giving nothing away. “You do realise I’m still inside you.”

Her temperature spiked a little at that. It was such a basic, yet somehow hot, observation that it felt like a fever had overcome her.

“Your point being?”

In response to that, he moved his hips, eyes lancing hers, the movement designed to provoke—and stir to a fever pitch. It took all of Emilia’s willpower not to react, save for a swift quirk of one brow.

“It’s probably better etiquette to wait until we’re out of bed to start the whole ‘never again’ talk.”

“It sounds like you’re more of an expert than I am when it comes to sleeping with people who immediately regret it.”

If she’d been aiming to wound, she’d have been bitterly disappointed by the lifting of one corner of his lips in an undeniable smirk. “I didn’t hear any complaints.”

Warmth flushed her cheeks.

“In fact, I didn’t hear anything except for, ‘yes, Salvatore, yes, right there, don’t stop, please for the love of God, don’t stop’.” He mimicked her higher-pitched voice in a way that might have made her laugh if she hadn’t been so incensed.

She put her hands on his chest, intending to push him away. But for some reason, when it came to it, she found she couldn’t bring herself to do the actual pushing. So her palms pressed to his chest, fingers spread wide, and she found her eyes boring through his.

There was no point disputing his recollection. She had been wild with need for him, her screams probably echoing through the hallways of this ancient palace, in Moricosia, where the two rival families had been drawn together, each tasked with pitching for a major infrastructure development in the city centre.

“It will never happen again,” she said, ignoring the slight pang of regret in her belly. “And if you ever tell anyone about this, I’ll deny it.”

“You think I want to scream it from the rooftops that I had sex with a Valentino? Albeit the most beautiful of the Valentinos.”

She rolled her eyes, because she was one of three Valentinos within the ballpark of Salvatore’s age—and the other two were her brothers, both of whom were happily married.

“Who knows? You’re a Santoro, after all. I wouldn’t put it past you to decide to ruin my life just for the fun of it.”

“Telling anyone I’d had sex with you wouldn’t exactly do me any favours, believe me.”

“Good,” she murmured. “Then we’re in agreement.”

“Not quite,” he said, moving his hips once more, so her pulse spiked.

“But you just said?—,”

“Oh, I won’t tell anyone about what just happened,” he promised, dipping his head lower incrementally. “But as for it not happening again…” And he kissed her, in a way that made passion spark in the fibres of her DNA, in a way that set every part of her alight.

In the back of her mind, she suspected she should fight this. Push him away, as she’d originally intended. But this was their last night in Moricosia, their last night thrown together by circumstance. Having already committed the cardinal sin of tumbling into bed with a Santoro, was there so much wrong with throwing caution to the wind and making the most of their unexpected chemistry? Just once more. After that, never again.

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Six months later

Global Alliance Childhood Literacy Foundation Fundraiser, New York.

EMILIA 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.