Page 139 of Modern Romance January 2025 1-4

‘Let’s see about that,’ he muttered, and a moment later, he’d scooped her up and lifted her over one shoulder, his legs moving with strong command to the bedroom they’d occupied earlier, and Rosie had never been so glad to see a bed in her life.

She was softer than silk, sweeter than molasses. He kissed her until he could hardly breathe, until his body and senses were filled with her. Knowing she was showering just down the hall, while he started dinner, and not joining her, not touching her, had required monumental discipline.

This trip was about convincing her that she could trust him, that having a baby together would work. He needed this pregnancy to ensure his place on the throne. Without it, he knew he was vulnerable to civil unrest, that his grandfather could pull the rug out from under him at any point, and pass the throne to a distant cousin, just as he’d threatened when Sebastian had questioned the need for marriage to Rosalind.

This trip was supposed to be about him seducing her, and instead, alone with his wife on this serene island, his need for her was robbing him of all common sense. All he could think about was her beautiful body, and how desperate he was to bury himself inside of her whenever he could.

And? You’ve been celibate almost six months. No wonder you’re as horny as a schoolboy, his brain pointed out, reassuring him when he needed it most.

Sebastian had been single a long time, but never really alone. His life in New York had been filled with beautiful, glamorous women, his bed never empty unless he chose that. This had been the longest stint of celibacy since he’d lost his virginity. He’d have probably wanted to sleep with whichever woman ended up alone with him, given the circumstances.

He reassured himself with that as he entered his wife, grabbing hold of the certainty that this was nothing special. She was nothing special to him. This was still just an inconveniently arranged marriage, and the baby he intended for them to conceive, if she agreed to it, had one purpose, and one purpose only: to cement his place on the throne.

But pleasure was wrapping around him, and every cry she uttered, every time she sighed his name, drove all other women from his mind, and made it hard for him to think of anyone he’d ever slept with before. It was as if they’d all just been rehearsals for this.

He groaned as he buried his head in the curve of her neck and thought only of the physical perfection of this, only of the act of two hungry bodies coming together once more. All the rest was immaterial: they’d made their deal, they knew the terms. They were both safe from any complications—because this was a marriage born of negotiation, not need, and when this week was over, he would go back to the comfortable distance he’d enjoyed from his wife, and these wild, overwhelming moments of desire would seem almost like a dream.

Rosie thought she was dreaming. Or flying. Or falling. She couldn’t tell. She was floating though, nowhere near earth, the rushing of her pulse echoed by the pounding of waves against the shore, beyond the open windows of Sebastian’s bedroom. Pleasure washed through her, all the way to her toes and fingertips.

She stretched languidly beneath him, feeling his body shift, and smiled to herself at the silver lining of their marriage. To think, she’d initially wanted to avoid sleeping with him altogether. What she would have missed out on, if she’d stuck to her guns! For Rosie had held no conception that sex could be like this; she’d simply had no idea.

The swirling contentment wrapping around her meant that at first, she didn’t hear it. It was Sebastian pulling away from her at speed, stepping off the bed, that had her sitting up and recognising the high-pitched wail of something.

A smoke alarm!

Dinner!

She grimaced as she reached for a sheet and wrapped it around herself toga style and walked as quickly as she could back to the kitchen, to see plumes of smoke emanating from the stovetop. Sebastian, naked and spectacular, stood with one frying pan tilted over the rubbish bin and coughed a little.

‘The good news is the steaks are fine.’ He glanced at her with a slightly sheepish expression then indicated the charred pan. ‘The bad news is, we’ll be eating them on their own.’

She waved a hand through the air. ‘Vegetables are overrated,’ she lied, thinking with remorse of the perfectly crispy golden potatoes he’d been frying. ‘Let’s have sandwiches instead.’

While he cleaned up the wasteland of pots and pans and opened all of the windows to let the smoky air escape, Rosie removed lettuce, tomato, onion, cheese and mayonnaise from the fridge and began to prepare two steak sandwiches on ciabatta.

‘Come on,’ he said, when she sliced through both sandwiches. ‘Let’s eat on the terrace. The house stinks.’

She grinned as she placed the sandwiches on two plates.

‘Something funny?’

‘I was just thinking, that yeah, it does stink. But it was kind of worth it.’

He arched a brow. ‘Just kind of?’

‘Okay, really worth it,’ she said on a laugh.

‘Better.’ And then, he surprised her by brushing his lips over her brow. ‘And I completely agree.’

CHAPTER EIGHT

THEREWEREMANYthings she loved about the island, but one in particular was impossible to ignore. It hit her between the eyes at every turn.

Here, she was free.

Truly free in a way she wasn’t sure she’d ever been, and especially not since marrying Sebastian.

She stopped walking and stood, arms outstretched, face tilted to the sunshine, a smile on her face as she felt every sense burst to life. The sun was warm, the breeze cool, the water beneath them pristine as it continued its predictable, reassuring roll towards the crystalline coastline. In the distance, their beloved Cavalonia was a familiar landmass with buildings huddled to the edge.

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