Page 140 of Modern Romance Collection December 2024 Books 5-8

‘Transcend?’ she offered.

‘Indeed,’ he said. ‘So my father adapted his methodology for travel, for individual needs, and at maximum profit.’

‘And your dad taught you?’ And she watched for the shadows. But nothing came.

He shrugged. ‘It is in my blood.’

She wanted to understand this nature of his, how it had tempted her into becoming someone unrecognisable.

‘But I’m no longer on the ground arranging expeditions,’ he continued, and she saw the pulse spike in his cheek. ‘UnlessIwant to.’

‘Unless you need the...rush?’ she asked, because she couldn’t imagine this choice of his, to live life how he wanted to.Dangerously. A life where the aim was nothing but to feel good. Not just good but...alive.

‘I need it,’ he confessed. ‘The adrenaline. The rush of excitement. It’s my job. A way of life. But I don’t need to be on top of a mountain to feel it.’ Her eyes flicked to his. ‘It’s possible to find it in...other areas.’

Her pulse surged.Painfully. She pictured the bed she’d spent two days in alone. But what of the other times she’d slept in it? With him?

‘Is that what our marriage was like? Adrenaline fuelled? Thrilling?A rush?’

‘It was,’ he said, his gaze obsidian. ‘And we needed more.Always. We were both powerless in the face of its ferocity.’

She didn’t drink alcohol. Hadn’t for a long time. But she remembered the effect it had on her body. The haze—the fog. And she was swimming in it now.

‘Sex,’ he said, and her heart stopped. The wordsexslipped from his tongue as if it were the most natural word to use to define them. ‘It was wonderful between us. It was the rush we both craved and the high we found in each other.’

‘You make us sound like adrenaline junkies,’ she said. ‘Or sex addicts!’

‘We were both,’ he confirmed. ‘And all it took was one passionate kiss and we were lost to each other.’ His brown eyes burned black. ‘Addicted.’

She’d never been addicted to anything. Never wanted anything more than once...

She’d had sex before. Butpassion?

Never.

Sex was sex. She enjoyed it.Sometimes. But all in all, it was a perfunctory physical release.

Her eyes dropped to his lips. And the urge was stronger than it had been two days ago. It was all she could think about—how his mouth would feel on hers.

She wanted to taste it.Test it.This rush he spoke of. This high.

Just once...

Months of self-denial heightened Dante’s senses. They blazed when they saw the pure intensity with which Emma was staring at his mouth. And she was moving.Slowly. A millimetre for every heartbeat. Every breath.

His every primal instinct demanded he draw her in to his chest. Crush those lips of hers to his.

He’d spent the last two nights thinking of those lips. Their softness. How he’d stood before her wondering if she would act on the impulse that they’d both shared. But she’d resisted then. She’d walked away. Gone to bed.Alone. He’d wanted to stalk her. Up the stairs. Into bed.Theirbed.

He knew he’d promised her that he would let her take the lead. But it didn’t ease the ache, didn’t ease the ferocity with which he wanted her.

Selfishly, he’d known if he stayed inthathouse with her, he would have waited for an opportunity to strike. To graze his mouth along the sensitive skin of her throat.

He wouldn’t have been able to stop himself touching her when he’d promised he wouldn’t. And Dante kept his promises. He’d promised he’d wait. But the waiting had already been too long. He ached with waiting.

But this wasn’t the Emma who tore the buttons off his shirt to feast her lips—her tongue—on his bruised nipple. This wasn’t the Emma who had needed nothing but his lips on hers. His body on her.Inside her. This was not the Emma who understood the unrestrained physical desire which had led them to the altar.

She was a different Emma. A woman who demanded to know his whereabouts.Theirdestination. When the only thinghisEmma had cared for was how long it would take them to get to bed.Anybed. The wall. The floor...

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