Page 121 of Modern Romance January 2025 1-4

He brought his body back over hers, his hands braced on either side of the desk, his eyes boring into her own. ‘Email me a list of your projects, and the funding you require, as well as any other terms. Once we’ve come to an arrangement regarding your requirements, we can decide the...how did you put it? Mechanics of conception.’ He leaned closer to her, then dropped his mouth to her breast. ‘My vote is for the old-fashioned way, but you’re welcome to convince me otherwise.’

Why had he stopped? he thought, as the ice-cold water of his shower pummelled his still rock-hard body. His state of arousal wasn’t helped by the images of Rosalind that kept flashing into his mind despite his attempts to keep her firmly in a box. No matter how much he tried to impose his usual sense of discipline, he couldn’t help imagining her in here with him, her back to the wall as the shower rained down on her.

He remembered the way she’d tried so hard to resume her prim exterior, turning away from him as she’d pulled her clothes back on. He’d felt a rush of adrenalin at the sight of her shirt, at the way she’d fashioned a knot to hold it together then demurely buttoned her blazer in place, concealing, to anyone other than him, the state of her outfit. When she’d left, hair neatened back into that bun, she’d looked so much like his prim, perfect wife once more that he’d wanted to grab her wrist and drag her back against his body and kiss her all over again. He’d liked the way she sounded when she moaned into his mouth, the way her body had trembled against his. He’d liked it, even when he’d been surprised enough to acknowledge he hadn’t expected it.

Sex was about chemistry for Sebastian.

Rosie had been right, when she’d accused him of indulging in wild and untamed sexual encounters. That’s how it should be. If he was attracted to a woman and she was attracted to him, and they shared the necessary chemistry and had no expectations of a deeper commitment, then he was all for no-holds-barred sex. Two consenting adults who felt the same way could have a lot of fun in the bedroom, or wherever they came together. At least, that’s how it had been in America, before he’d returned to this life, and his role as king. Before he’d spent six months without anything other than his own hand for relief.

What a pleasant surprise it was to discover that his wife was someone he actually did share chemistry with after all.

That she wasn’t untouchable and cold.

That she might even be a perfect match for him in bed.

What did it matter that they didn’t like each other? Since when had personality compatibility been a factor in choosing his lovers? He’d had sex with women he’d just met before, women he never intended to see again. All he cared about was that they were sober, single and consenting.

Rosalind had been consenting.

Sober.

And while she wasn’t single, she was his wife...

She wasn’t naive enough to pretend her dreams had nothing to do with her decision. Being tormented for two nights in a row with memories of her husband’s touch, the weight of his body pressing down on hers, the feeling of his mouth on her breasts, had stirred Princess Rosie’s blood to a fever pitch, and seen her waking each morning with pink cheeks and an almost unbearable sense of disappointment to find herself alone in bed. She’d never craved someone in her life; she’d always avoided that. But just a taste of the fire Sebastian could stir in her belly, and she found herself wanting more. Much, much more...

It suddenly seemed incredibly silly to even contemplate using IVF to conceive their baby.

They were married, for goodness’ sake, and they were two adults, well able to decide who they slept with and why. For Rosie, desiring someone as she did Sebastian was just about as good a reason as she needed, but the only way she’d allow herself to give in to that desire was if she remained committed to her determination not to lose herself to him.

Rosie had seen firsthand how destructive unrequited love could be. Watching her father seduce woman after woman after woman, looking for someone to fill a whole in his bed whilst never relinquishing the grip Rosie’s comatose mother still had on his heart. She’d seen these women fall hard for her father’s charms and be badly burned in the process. As a teenager, Rosie had started to realise just how one-sided these affairs were, with some disastrous, devastating consequences. For some reason, her father had managed to hold all the cards, with each and every woman, and when the relationship no longer suited him, he’d abruptly ended it, somehow forgetting everything about his one-time lover, even her name.

For Rosie, it hadn’t been so simple.

She’d met the women too. She’d gotten to know them. When their hearts had broken, hers couldn’t help but be touched, softening with sympathy and pity. Sometimes, she’d even tried to warn them away from him, but they’d never believed her—he was too charming.

Rosie had watched their hearts break and sworn to herself that she would never put herself in such a foolish position. If she got married, it would be a totally rational arrangement. A friendship, or a business partnership. No children, just a satisfying arrangement where neither herself, nor her husband, could be injured.

She frowned, reflecting on the engagement she’d entered into, before notions of marrying Sebastian had been on the cards. She’d liked Robert, had even thought she loved him, but not enough to meet his demands that she give up her career to support him in his. What an arrogant pig! Or perhaps he wasn’t. Perhaps what he wanted was his version of a partnership, but it had terrified Rosie. There were two things that mattered more to Rosie than anything else: her career, and her independence. Robert had wanted to take away both.

She’d run a mile.

Straight into the arms, metaphorically at least, of Prince Sebastian, who’d barely given her a second glance since their wedding, except on the handful of public occasions when it had been necessary to pose as a happy couple.

Had they touched? She found herself pondering, as her hand idled down her flat stomach, towards her sex, hunger building in the pit of her belly. Theymusthave touched at some point. A brushing of hands, shoulders, bodies. But try as she might, she couldn’t imagine any physical contact beyond their wedding day, and other feelings had overwhelmed her then, making it impossible for her to recognise the desire that must have been wrapping around her and squeezing tight.

Perhaps it had been squeezing her this whole time, and she’d instinctively been running from it, out of fear of being just like one of her father’s mistresses?

Nothing could have prepared her for their encounter at his home.

She hadn’t expected his touch nor kiss, nor anything else, but she wasn’t sorry it had happened.

Maybe Rosie and Sebastian had simply found a way to have their cake and eat it too...

‘Laurena, would you please get a message to my husband?’

‘Of course, Your Highness. What would you like me to say?’

‘Ask him to join me for dinner this evening.’

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