‘Love,’ Georgina whispered.
Santos rounded on her. ‘Love is for fools. It destroys lives.’
‘How can you say that?’ Her frustration matched his fury and she glared at him, daring him to answer. ‘You must have loved once.’
An echo of a previous conversation filled her mind.
He closed the distance between them in long strides, dominating the room with his volatile mood. ‘Your father walked out on you, no?’ His accent was stronger than ever as he battled with his emotions.
Her breath caught in her throat as he brought up her past, made the memories of that night—already too fresh after the storm—rush back. ‘My father has nothing to do with it.’
‘If he’d loved you he wouldn’t have left. That’s what you think, no?’
His eyes locked with hers, holding her prisoner, forcing her to face things she didn’t want to face.
Before she could answer his harsh words came at her again, as if he no longer cared what he was saying. ‘It’s the same for me. Love will never be a part of how I think of my mother, or she of me.’ He whirled around and marched back outside, as if needing more space to vent his anger.
Cautiously she followed him outside. ‘What happened with your mother?’ Her words were a whisper as she watched him drag in a deep breath.
He turned to look at her once more, his face set in firm lines.
‘I was a mistake.’ He swallowed as if the words tasted bitter and her heart tugged for him. ‘A mistake that forced her to marry my father. A mistake she always made me pay for.’
‘But your father loved her, didn’t he?’ She scanned her mind for the little snippets of his life he’d told her about, trying to piece things together.
‘And that love was rewarded with my being ignored as a young boy.’ Pain resounded in his voice and he sighed and turned to look out to sea.
He was turning his back not only on her but on the conversation. It was what he always did, she realised. Right from that first time in his office when he’d looked out over London. It seemed a lifetime ago instead of less than a week.
‘But your father moved on and you have a brother now.’
She heard him inhale deeply, saw his shoulders lift and then fall. She’d said the wrong thing again.
‘Half-brother.’ The words were grated out, and still he kept his back resolutely turned. ‘One who has just proved how little he thinks of me. Just as always, he’s got what he wants.’
Georgina thought again of all Emma had told her about Carlo. ‘I’m sure it’s not like that. In fact I’d go as far as to say he doesn’t want to inherit the business. He wants to do his own thing, make his own way in life.’
Santos turned round to face her, questions in his dark eyes. ‘You’re wrong. How could any man not want to inherit his father’s business?’
‘Not everyone is as motivated by power as you are, Santos. Carlo and Emma just want to make a life together—a normal life.’ Without thinking she reached out and touched his arm, her fingers heating as they felt the firmness of his muscles.
‘What is that, Georgina?’ He sounded drained and tired.
‘They want to be together. They’re in love, Santos. Is that so hard to accept?’ She moved closer to him, trying to quash the surge of love she felt for him as he opened up and let her see his pain.
He looked down into her eyes, his darkening. She thought he might kiss her as he moved closer, with his head dropping lower. But then he stopped, the abruptness of it sending a chill through her.
‘No, Georgina, no.’ He moved away from her and for the first time ever he looked at a loss for what to say.
This powerful all-controlling man that she’d fallen in love with couldn’t and wouldn’t accept that love even existed. If that didn’t staunch the love that was rapidly growing for him, then nothing would.
‘No to what, Santos? Can’t you just accept that they love one another and there aren’t any ulterior motives at work?’
He changed as he stepped away, as if the distance was enabling him to regain his power, his authority. ‘You engineered this whole thing—encouraged them to fly off to Vegas, kept me busy in the way only a woman of your reputation can, and secured a big financial settlement for yourself along the way.’
Hurt raced through her, stinging like a thousand bees. ‘You can keep your money, tear up the agreement—anything.’ She rounded on him, angry at herself for feeling for him, for wanting to reach out to him, for wanting to love him. ‘I don’t even know why you haven’t just bought Carlo out. It would have been much less complicated than getting married.’
‘Don’t insult my business management. You know nothing about it—about the way Carlo has refused my generous offer, not once but twice, holding out for the ultimate prize.’
His voice was fierce but she didn’t pay any heed to it at all. Her emotions were running so high she no longer cared what happened.
‘No, I don’t know anything about it. All I know is that I should never have got involved.’ She hissed the words at him as his dark eyes accused her. ‘I should have just helped them get married.’
‘You did.’
‘No!’ Exasperation made her voice sharp.
He really believed she’d done this for money, for her own gain as well as Emma’s. Enraged beyond comprehension, she marched to his study. Her thoughts were beyond rational as she barged into the room, and when she saw the file holding their agreement on his desk she picked it up.
Santos entered the study just as she took hold of the agreement they’d both signed such a short time ago, his face as dark as the thunderclouds had been earlier. She looked at him, smiled sarcastically. Challenging him. Then she tore up the agreement into as many tiny pieces as her shaking hands could manage.
‘You can do what you like, mi esposa, but you will still be my wife.’
‘I’m leaving, Santos, as your wife or not. I don’t care, but I’m going back to London.’
She pushed past him and almost ran to her room. Without pausing she grabbed her handbag, checked for her passport and spun on her heel, not wanting anything from him.
She’d get a taxi to the airport and sit there all night if she had to, but one thing was for sure: she’d be on the next flight back to London. With that plan of action in mind she headed for the front door of the villa, glad Santos was nowhere to be seen.
Anger and frustration still raced in her veins as she pulled open the heavy ornate door—but Santos stood there, hands folded across his powerful body.
‘I HAVE TO GO, SANTOS,’ she fired at him, her heart thudding so loudly she thought he might hear it. ‘We should never have married. I was stupid to think it could work.’
‘Stupid to try and deceive me—that’s what you mean, is it not, querida?’ His words were slow and very deliberate.
The setting sun cast an orange glow around him as he stood firm and resolute before her. Despite the pain in her heart, her body responded to the image of him—the man she loved. The man she must never think of again once she’d got back to London. Perhaps she’d move away, get a small place in the country, live simply and quietly. Anything not to have to see him