Page 219 of Modern Romance Collection December 2024 Books 5-8

They had been dancing round that kiss in the kitchen like jittery teenagers. Which was not the image he had of himself ordinarily. There was something about this woman that made him feel younger and less complicated than he had in a long time.

‘Excuse me.’ She reached past him to pick up her panties, which had somehow ended up on the floor. Now that she was standing up, he could see the stone windowsill and it looked uncomfortably hard and their coupling had all been so frantic, so urgent.

‘You’re bleeding.’

He frowned. ‘What?’

‘Your hand.’ The softness in her eyes made the dust spirals quiver in the air and he felt suddenly and intensely vulnerable.

‘It’s nothing.’ His voice was harsh, too harsh in that tiny room, but it was an instinctive reaction to feeling anything. Feelings, caring, bonding on anything but a purely physical basis were dangerous. He shrugged. ‘I just—’

Just what? His pulse jerked as he remembered the moment when he’d had to push his knuckles into the wall to stop himself from climaxing too soon.

‘I caught it on the wall. It’s just a scrape. What about you? Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?’

Shaking her head, she smoothed down the skirt of her dress and it was far too easy for him to imagine those slim fingers smoothing other things. As she straightened up, her eyes found his. ‘That probably shouldn’t have happened.’

‘It’s a little late to worry about that,’ he said softly.

Which was true.

But he didn’t have any regrets. That simmering tension between them had been chafing at him and clouding things for sure. No wonder they’d had that stupid bust-up about what she should wear. Now they had got it out of their systems, everything would go more smoothly.

As if their thoughts were running on parallel lines, she said stiffly, ‘I don’t regret it, but it shouldn’t happen again. It was just one of those things.’

He nodded. ‘I agree.’

At this point in his life, one-night stands or their daytime equivalent were a little too rogue. He might not be as instantly recognisable as a movie star or pop singer, but having a name like Tiger meant people were more likely to put a value to his face and that made for complications that he didn’t need in his life. And this was no different.

Okay, it was different in some ways, he conceded, remembering that hunger that was so unlike any that he’d felt before. It had consumed him and his orgasm was more than just release or relief or ecstasy. It was all those things but it was also a kind of oblivion, and an acknowledgement, a feeling that he was being seen and known completely.

He felt a muscle in his jaw knot. Which was nonsense, of course. Nobody got to know him, he made sure of that.

But this whole arrangement with Sydney was hardly a normal set-up. It was unsurprising, therefore, that he was struggling to make sense of it or that his mind was coming up with left-field explanations.

But really, was it that complicated?

With hindsight, being cooped up with Sydney was obviously going to trip some switches because it was several weeks since he had broken up with Alexandra and sex was a primal need. And while he might have a near mythical status in the business world, he was still just a man.

But this hook-up had scratched the itch, which meant that now he could concentrate on the week ahead. And afterwards, when she had served her purpose, he would despatch her back to New York on the first flight out of Venice.

Because this didn’t change anything, he told himself, feeling calmer than he had for days. It had simply tidied up a few loose ends.

Walking into the bedroom, Sydney shut the door and leaned back against the cool wood, letting it chill her overheated skin.

The beautiful dresses were still hanging from the rail. The window was still slightly open just as she had left it. The curtains were still fluttering in the light, warm sea breeze coming from the lagoon.

Everything looked exactly as it had when she’d stormed out of the room just over an hour ago. Only how could that be?

It should look different. Changed. There should be some external evidence to reflect the transformation inside her because that was what it was. A transformation.

She scowled, suddenly furious. No, it was just sex, she told herself, pushing away from the door and walking across the room to the rail of clothes. Only describing what she and Tiger had just done in the fisherman’s hut as just sex was like calling the Sistine Chapeljusta ceiling.

There had been a moment when she had looked up from that graffiti to find him watching her and she had known that it was a choice. She could choose to walk away if she wanted to.

But everything she’d wanted had been in that room.

And he had wanted her, she thought, her hand closing around the rail. Not to own her or stifle her or simply to prove that he could. He had wanted to kiss and touch and caress and lick—

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