Page 78 of Modern Romance Collection December 2024 Books 1-4

Almost in one movement, he turned, hit the stop button on the elevator, then turned back to her, tearing open his trousers and freeing himself. Then he gripped her hips and pushed hard and deep inside her, making her groan at the delicious burn and stretch of him.

It was too good. Too perfect. He made all her jet lag and cold and exhaustion just disappear and she didn’t know how, but she didn’t question it. She felt better than she had for months and she wanted more.

He’d paused, deep inside her, and she didn’t look away as he stared at her, letting him know how good he was making her feel without words. Then she lifted her hand and touched his face, her fingers trembling, mesmerised by the feel of his skin. Warm and smooth, and yet some parts of it rough with whiskers.

He’d been beautiful back in Melbourne and he was still beautiful now.

He began to move, a slow rhythm that made her twist and arch against him, the fever beginning to build inside her until she had no idea where she was or even who she was. She only knew the pleasure growing wider, deeper, vaster than space.

‘You,’ she whispered to him, falling headlong into the melted silver of his eyes. ‘What are you doing to me?’

‘Only what you’re doing to me.’ He took her mouth again in a raw, demanding kiss that sent every last remaining thought from her head.

There was nothing after that. Nothing except the bonfire of pleasure they built between them, the flames leaping high. Then a final blaze into the sky with a wild rush of sparks before falling back, leaving both of them nothing but glowing embers.

She rested her forehead against his shoulder, panting as her heartbeat began to slow, the aftershocks still rocking her. He didn’t move, a warm wall of hard muscle for her to rest against, and so she did.

She didn’t want to think about what would happen next.

She didn’t want to think at all.

She’d just had sex with the father of her child within minutes of meeting him for the second time. And she had no idea at all what she was going to do with that.

CHAPTER FIVE

ARISTOPHANESSTAREDATthe slightly reflective steel wall at Nell’s back, thanking God he couldn’t see his own reflection. Because he was pretty sure he’d find himself looking into the eyes of a complete fool.

A fool who’d thrown both his intellect and self-control straight out of the window in favour of parts located below his belt.

He was appalled at himself. Again.

What magic did this woman possess that she made him lose his head every time he saw her? The smallness of the elevator hadn’t helped, it was true, making it impossible to put distance between them. And all he’d been conscious of was the scent of her, so sweet and feminine, and that yet again she was wearing a dress that outlined every luscious curve of her body, including the little bump of her stomach where his child lay.

A heated, raw feeling had flooded through him then, primitive and possessive, that had made him want to back her against the wall and claim her, make her his in every way.

He’d fought the urge, battled it hard, yet he hadn’t been able to drag his gaze from hers. Her dark eyes had been velvet soft and he’d seen them heat in response to him, getting even hotter the longer they stared at each other. Then the tension had pulled tighter and tighter until he’d known he had to take some kind of action, otherwise he’d go mad.

He shouldn’t have backed her up against the wall, but he had. And then she’d reached for him, drawing his mouth down on hers and...he’d lost himself. Lost himself as completely and utterly as he had that night with her three months earlier.

Perhaps he should have done what he’d intended to do tonight, sent Nell away and gone to see Claire. But...he couldn’t even remember Claire’s face or the sound of her voice, not with Nell slumped against him, her forehead resting against his shoulder, her face pressed to the cotton of her shirt, the warmth of her breath soaking through the fabric and into him...

She’s pregnant with your child. If you claim her, you could have her close whenever you needed her. You wouldn’t have to do all that matching schedules nonsense...

Aristophanes went very still as the thought struck him and echoed.

What if he could have her—have this—any time he wanted? He’d still have to schedule time with her, but it would be much more efficient to schedule it with a woman he knew he wanted and who would satisfy his bodily needs.

As for his child, he already knew that he wouldn’t abandon it. He’d never do to his own son or daughter what his mother had done to him. He was a better man than that.

Of course, he had no idea how to be a father, but surely it couldn’t be too hard. Cesare had managed it and his little girl seemed to be a happy, normal child despite having him for a father. That might have been down to Lark, Cesare’s wife, but that was why a child had two parents. He’d only ever had one since he’d never known who his father was and he felt no urge to find out. Any man who abandoned his child was as bad as his mother, in Aristophanes’ opinion.

He wasn’t sure if Nell was here for child support or something else but, given their physical chemistry, he’d already decided what he was going to do. She might not be open to it, but he was confident he could convince her. He could be persuasive when he wanted to be.

Time was passing, the minutes ticking by, and now was not the time to be standing here. They needed to talk. Also, he needed to tell the secretaries who managed his diary to arrange an appropriate apology gift for Claire, since he wouldn’t be meeting her after all. It was also likely that they were going to have to rearrange his schedule to accommodate...other things. A child, for one. Possibly a woman for another.

Now, though, Nell had to be dealt with, so he eased himself away from her, obtaining yet more satisfaction from the slight sound of protest she made at his retreat.

‘We need to talk,’ he murmured as he helped her down from the rail so she was standing, unable to resist tracing the curve of her stomach where his child lay, a fleeting, possessive touch before he rearranged her clothes and dealt with his own. ‘I have made some decisions.’ He turned to the elevator doors, hitting the button once again.

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