Page 120 of Modern Romance Collection December 2024 Books 5-8

He’d flown through the night to reach her before the sun rose. Before the staff woke. Beforeshewoke.

He eyed the curling stairs, with intricate carved patterns adorning the white banister. He knew which step creaked and which whined, which could alert her to his presence. They were the final part of his journey back to her.

His body pulsed.

The slow ascent was agonising. But finding his wife soft and pliant would be worth it.

Bed soft, he liked to call it, when the body was torn between waking and dreams. Everything, every muscle, oversensitised. And she’d come awake, alive with him beside her. Touching her.

He toed off his shoes, shrugged off his suit jacket and let it fall to the floor. He removed his tie. Attacked the buttons of his crisp, white shirt with silent precision, letting it float the way of his suit jacket.

The thrill remained the same as ever. The excitement of making love to her ever present.

It moved inside him now, as strong as the night they’d met.

Need.

He unbuckled his belt and guided his trousers and boxers down his firm thighs.

Oh, God, he was hard.So hard.

Naked now, he ascended the stairs with stealthy speed.

Adrenaline pumped through him. He almost growled at the ferocity of the anticipation of surprising her with his unexpected homecoming. But he remained silent.

He wanted to wake her with a kiss. A kiss she’d reciprocate with a speed that always floored him. Excited him beyond measure. Her effortless enthusiasm. Her absolute adoration of him.

Slowly, oh, so slowly, he opened the bedroom door.

Darkness.

He moved towards the bed on silent feet. He couldn’t see a thing, but he knew this bedroom. This bed. His wife. Waiting for him. Curled into herself. Her blond hair would be strewn across the pillow, waiting for his fingers to grip it. He would draw her mouth to his.

He slipped between the sheets, reached for her. ‘Emma?’ he said, calling to her in the darkness. And he could taste it. The longing in every syllable of her name. The yearning to be in her arms and accept her welcome.

Her side of the bed was...cold.

It was a large bed. He moved closer. Stretched out his arms, his long legs, his feet—searching for her. The warmth of her tiny toes to stroke against his. Her soft body to pull into his.

Something on the bed—on her side—clattered to the floor.

He slammed on the lights.

Jewellery boxes. A dozen had toppled onto the floor. He picked up the only black velvet bag to remain on the bed, opened it and withdrew a necklace from within. It dangled between his fingers. A white gold chain tipped with the clearest diamond...

Where was she? It was barely four in the morning.

He dropped the necklace and bag onto the bed.

He pulled back the sheets and stepped out of the bed. His toes sunk into the carpet with every footfall as he opened her walk-in wardrobe. Nothing was out of place. Had she laid out all her jewellery to decide what to wear and forgotten to put them away? Had she gone out last night and had yet to return?

He frowned. Irritation crawled over his skin. Where would she have gone? With whom?

He didn’t keep tabs on his wife, and he didn’t give her a timetable of his whereabouts either. He didn’t tell her ifthiswork trip was any more dangerous than the last. His clients’ needs differed.

He froze.

A white paper edge stuck up at a sharp triangular angle between the headboard and the pillow.

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