Page 68 of Modern Romance Collection December 2024 Books 1-4

He had places to go, people to see. This strange fascination with her had already cost him a few hours of his evening and he didn’t want it to cost any more.

Yet as she sat there in the hospital bed, he found his gaze returning yet again to her delicious curves. Full breasts, the perfect dip of her waist, rounded hips to grip and grip tight. That glorious mane of thick auburn hair, long enough to wind around his wrist to tug her mouth close. And her mouth... Yes, there were so many things he could do with that beautiful, full mouth...

Her eyes went wide and she tore her gaze away, her skin flushing the most beautiful shade of pink.

She’d seen what was in his eyes. She’d seen the hunger there. He’d betrayed himself, which was unconscionable, and yet still a part of him had noted the blush in her cheeks, the racing pulse at the base of her throat.

He wasn’t the only one who’d betrayed themselves.

You should go. Now.

He gave a soundless growl. Yes, he should. If she didn’t want him there, that was fine. He wouldn’t insist. He had Angelina to quench the curious flare of desire that had sprung to life inside him, and she was always appreciative of his attention. He wanted more from his partners than just sex anyway. Sex was easy and cheap and he disdained easy and cheap. Sex could be had from anyone. Time was precious, so why would he spend it satisfying only his body, when he could also satisfy his mind?

He would have his night with Angelina and he would forget about Miss Nell Underwood.

‘Very well,’ he said coldly. ‘If that’s what you prefer. Give me your address and I will have my doctor escort you home.’

She did and then he forced himself to leave her bedside and wait for his doctor away from her.

Things moved with their usual smoothness after that.

His doctor arrived, leaving Aristophanes to finally go to the penthouse apartment he owned, where Angelina was waiting for him, and once there, he should have forgotten about Miss Nell Underwood completely.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

His normal plan for an evening with a lover was an excellent meal, a very good glass of wine, an interesting conversation and then some mutually satisfying sex.

However, when he got to the apartment, the meal his favourite chef had prepared was lukewarm, the wine subpar, and Angelina irritated at being made to wait. Then, to make matters even worse, he couldn’t stop thinking about the woman he’d left back in the hospital ER. His brain kept reminding him of the shape of her body underneath that clinging dress, and the way her gorgeous auburn hair had curled in the rain. How soft her mouth had looked. How she’d gripped his hand so tightly, as if she couldn’t bear to let go of him. How, after she’d fallen, her beautiful deep brown eyes had opened and he’d looked into them and felt something deep and profound shift inside him.

He was furious. His evening plans had been blown to smithereens and it was all her fault.

Angelina, sensing his distraction, tried her best to engage him. He’d been neglecting his sexual needs for a couple of months because he’d been fine-tuning an update to his algorithm and when business called, he was consumed by it. So his body should have been primed and ready for sex from the moment he’d walked into his apartment. But when Angelina kissed him and he prepared for the usual rush of lust, there was nothing. And when she ran a hand down the front of his trousers, caressing him through the fabric, he didn’t get hard. Even when he kissed her back and slid his palm down her spine, touching her skin...

He felt nothing.

His body wanted sex, but not with Angelina. His body wanted the Burne-Jones angel he’d left in the ER, and it didn’t care what his mind wanted.

Aristophanes had never been turned inside out by physical desire. He was always in complete control of himself physically and emotionally, because only then could he set his mind free. The body and its needs were an inconvenience that he tolerated and managed accordingly, but this... He could not tolerate this and most especially not when he didn’t even understand why she’d got so completely and thoroughly under his skin.

Which meant that there was only one thing he could do.

The answer to his problem didn’t lie with Angelina.

It lay with Miss Nell Underwood.

And fortunately, he had her address.

Mr Katsaros’ doctor was nice and a complete professional, much to Nell’s annoyance, since she didn’t want to like anything associated with the disturbing, kind of rude, yet also mesmerising man who’d left her in the ER.

The doctor gave her a thorough examination, before dealing with the hospital paperwork. Then a car arrived for them, delivering them back at Nell’s small but cosy flat in Brunswick.

Nell, going automatically into hostess mode, tried to make the doctor some tea, but was then told in no uncertain terms that the correct behaviour after a knock to the head was rest.

That was annoying too, because she wasn’t good with rest. She liked to be doing something, so, instead of going into her bedroom and lying down, she went to have a hot shower. She was cold, her head ached, and she wanted to get out of her damp dress.

She also felt oddly...abandoned.

Aristophanes Katsaros had left her in the ER. After first arguing with her, then staring at her as if he wanted to eat her alive, he’d agreed to her wishes without another protest before turning around and leaving.

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