Page 130 of Modern Romance Collection December 2024 Books 5-8

Something tore inside her.

She looked down at the plain gold band on her finger. It was nothing ostentatious. It didn’t scream wealth. Because it didn’t need to scream anything, did it?

It was a symbol. The oxblood-red leather sofa seat groaned beside her as Dante sat. And the foot of distance between them evaporated in a millisecond when his hand reached for hers. His fingers slid between her own, entwining them together.

‘Emma...’ His thumb stroked the soft flesh between her thumb and forefinger. ‘Are you okay?’

She pushed her bare toes into the thick carpet, halting the ridiculous urge to push her thighs together. He was touching her hand, for God’s sake. Not anywhere intimate.

But itwasintimate, wasn’t it? His fingers entwined in hers meant she was allowing him to get close.Too close.And she wasn’t sure she was ready for that.

She dragged her gaze up to his face and looked at him looking at her as if it were the most natural thing to do to comfort her.Wasshe comforted?

It didn’t feel like reassurance. Her body was awake in parts she hadn’t known were sleeping. Heavy and sluggish, but zinging as if she’d had too much coffee, as if she was overstimulated. Too sensitised.Too awake.

She tugged her bottom lip between her teeth. Comfort was something she provided for herself with extralong baths, or a trip to a shop to look at the pretty things that gave her pleasure she couldn’t afford.

How had he convinced her to enter a relationship where holding hands was meant to provide comfort?

Emma didnothold hands.

‘No.’ Slowly, she withdrew her hand. ‘I’m not okay.’

She eased her fingers out of his hold, resisted the pull to return it and stood.

She walked towards the back wall, which was covered from ceiling to floor with shelves of books.

This whole place was like a doll’s house. It was the blueprint of every little girl’s dream house.

‘Youwillbe okay, Emma,’ he guaranteed too confidently.

She rounded on him. ‘You can’t know that.’

‘But I can,’ he contradicted her smoothly, ‘because you are here.’ He stood effortlessly. Moved towards her across some priceless rug. His every stride bringing him closer to her. ‘With me.’

It took everything she had not to move backward. And what would be the point? There was a wall of books behind her. A dead end. She could move in another direction, but she didn’t know this house. Didn’t know the layout. All she knew was what was coming towards her.

She wasn’t naive to the real reason heat pulsed in her abdomen.

It wasn’t fear.

It waswant.

She’d hadencounterswith men before. Fleeting and purely physical. She’d always found it easy to form a physical connection. To close her eyes and feel. Demand her body respond. Delight in momentary connections where she could take what she needed and walk away, emotionally untouched.

This time she hadn’t demanded anything of this man.

And yet it was there. Stirring inside her. Making itself known. Something frantic. Somethingconsuming.

‘Do you always take charge so arrogantly?’ she said, and she’d wanted it to come across as an insult dripping in sarcasm, but her words were breathless.

‘Is it arrogance to give you what you need, Emma?’ He looked so at home, he belonged against the backdrop of this house that most people would need to win the lottery to afford.

‘Is it wrong to provide for you, my wife?’ he continued silkily. ‘To keep you safe? To make sure you never fall, that the load you carry is too heavy?’

Her heart snagged. Hadn’t her load always been too heavy? She had been her mother’s protector and her emotional support when she was far too young to be either.

That was why Emma had long ago made the safe choice never to become her mother. Never to be alone and waiting for a man, waiting for love. Never to get close enough to care, let aloneneedanyone. So, it was jarring to feel how soothing were his words that she didn’t have to worry about those things. She felt a warmth spread through her.

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