Page 168 of Modern Romance Collection December 2024 Books 5-8

His pulse accelerated.

Lust coiled in his gut, giving life to what always lived beneath his skin. His readiness for her. To possess her.

He caught her wrist—pulled her fingers away and brought her knuckles to his mouth, brushed them against his lips.

He could be tender, couldn’t he? Considerate? He was not—

He swallowed down whatever was in his throat, because he didn’t want to taste it. His voice uneven, he finally spoke.

‘I want to take you somewhere.’

CHAPTER TEN

INTHEBACKof the luxury car with cream leather and silver accents, they sat side by side. And together, they watched out of black windows as the car travelled through Japan’s city of twinkling lights and soaring skyscrapers, until it swept through softly lit sleeping streets.

Dante swept his gaze over the profile of her. The way her fringe covered her forehead, the flick of her golden lashes, the slope of her elegant nose and the pink pout of her mouth.

Her eyes were latched on to the floating scenery, but he watched her. Watched the blue depth of her gaze that said so much, too much, when her mouth spoke words. Told him things he hadn’t asked to hear and asked questions that compelled him to answer, leading to more questions.

Dante pressed his lips into a thin line and locked his jaw. He did not want to speak. He did not want to hear. He wanted to be still.Alone.

While Dante had travelled the world alone, he’d never taken her with him. He’d lived his life, and she’d lived hers. An arrangement that had suited them both.

Until it didn’t.

Until he’d travelled across half the globe to return to their house to find her in the bed they shared, only to find that she wasn’t there.

But she was here now.

The warm beige coat with a flicked-up collar hiding the bruises his mouth had created on her throat. Marking her.

He wanted to see it. His brand on her flesh.

He swallowed, drew his gaze down the loose white shirt, the thighs of her jean-clad legs, and down to the flesh-coloured heels on her feet.

His lust was hot and constant. It remained even when he didn’t summon it. Even when he tried to bury it.

Throughout their marriage, he’d given her everything he’d thought she’d wanted. Exclusivity to him and his world. His billions to do with as she pleased. His body. But never his thoughts. Never his...trauma.

And he hadn’t wanted access to hers either.

He’d never wanted her explanations of why she spent so much time in the garden. Why she was happy for their marriage to be governed by a contract.

But now he knew, and he could not unknow these stories she’d told him of her need to find a place of security and safety. To retreat from the world outside.

She’d called him her garden, and his instincts had told him to slam down his defences and guard against her confession. But hewasher garden, wasn’t he? Not in a romanticised way. But he was her security. He was her safety. In his arms, she was safe.

And understanding why she needed that from him, needed it from their marriage, weighed heavily on him. It was precious the trust she had placed in him. Fragile. To tell him this when she didn’t remember the last few years of her life, didn’t remember him.

He didn’t know how to hold space for such a delicate thing. How not to drop it. How not to break it, to break her. He did not want to break her.

The car halted beneath a blinking street light.

Dante scanned the street and realised they had arrived. It was an ordinary-looking place. With ordinary people walking past it towards their destination. Others stood still, talking under artificial light, and laughing. Some in groups. Some in pairs. Some holding hands.

Soft warmth infiltrated his fingers. He turned to look at the source and saw Emma’s hand covering his own lying on the seat between them.

And he saw the gold ring he’d given her. That marked her as his for the world to see. At least until one of them decided they no longer wanted to be married.

---