Page 120 of Modern Romance January 2025 1-4

‘And? You’ve been my husband for five months and with the exception of our wedding day, we’ve never come close to kissing. Try again.’

He laughed. A short bark that made her skin flush with goosebumps.

‘And because I want to.’

Her heart slammed into her ribs. It was an answer she hadn’t expected. ‘You do?’

‘Sure.’

She bit down into her lower lip, eyes locked to his. ‘Why?’

‘Why not?’

And damn it, Rosie couldn’t think of a single reasonnotto kiss him. A kiss was just a kiss. Not sex. Not a baby. It was just a kiss, a brushing of lips, just as it had been on their wedding day. Brief contact then over and done with. True, she’d been surprised by the spark that had spiralled through her even then, but she’d controlled her response to him, just as she would now. He had laid down the gauntlet, and Rosie wasn’t going to be the one to back away, if only because she wanted to prove to them both how much a non-issue physical desire was between them.

‘Fine,’ she said, with a tone of feigned nonchalance. ‘Let’s kiss. Whatever. Maybe then you’ll see that you’re not my type, and I’m not yours.’

CHAPTER THREE

HISRESPONSEWASa quick flicker of that mocking smile and then his head lowered. Slowly. Painfully slowly.

So slowly that she theoretically had plenty of time to rediscover her sanity. To push him away and tell him wild horses couldn’t make her want this. But she didn’t. Instead, she held her breath, impatience flaring in the pit of her stomach, her fingers tingling with adrenaline and need, until finally, his lips pressed to hers.

Not brushed. Pressed. With actual pressure. It was a kiss that showed, in that moment, his anger, and she felt it too. A spark, a whip, a burst of flame. But then, there was something else. He moved. Not just his mouth, but his body, closing the distance between them, and one hand came around to the back of her head, his fingers tangling in the neat bun she wore, while his other hand pressed to the desk just behind her, forming a sort of cage with his big, broad frame. His powerful legs were on either side of her body and her bottom connected with the edge of his desk; she hadn’t even realised how close it was.

Of their own volition, her hands lifted, her fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt, holding him, as he deepened the kiss, his mouth moving now in a way that was enquiring, as if he was asking her questions and her lips were responding in a way so much more meaningful than speech.

All controlled.

All bearable.

Until it wasn’t. Until something sparked in Sebastian, or perhaps in Rosie. Maybe in them both, simultaneously. It was signalled by a small groan, low in Rosie’s throat, as something he did with his tongue sent her nerves into a palpitation and she couldn’t help but say his name, pushing the three syllables into his mouth. He paused, his body stiff and straight, and then he kissed her hard. Much harder than he had at first. This was a kiss that was the culmination of every ounce of his strength and need; it was a kiss that shook Rosie to her core, because she’d never known one like it. There was nothing chaste nor civilised about this—it spoke of all the raw animalism she’d felt in her husband from the first moment they’d met. He kissed her as though she was something he wanted to taste, every single inch of. He kissed her as though it was the only way to save his life, or hers, or perhaps even the universe.

The weight of his body pushed hers backwards onto the desk. She felt things beneath her—pens, a notebook—she didn’t care. She just wanted to freeze time and hold on to this one single moment. It had nothing to do with Sebastian, and everything to do with Rosie, who hadn’t conceptualised pleasure could be so complete and all-consuming.

She moaned again, pulling at his shirt, holding him right where he was, but Sebastian had other ideas. He broke the kiss and she almost cried out, but it was not to pull away. Instead, he dragged his mouth lower, over her chin, towards her decolletage, and as if he’d been hardwired into her most private fantasies, his big, strong hands gripped the silk of her shirt and pulled at it, so the buttons flew across the room with an overly loud tinkling sound as each hit a surface. He grinned. Not sarcastic. It was the first time she’d seen something like a real smile, and it took her breath away for how beautiful it was.

‘May I?’ he asked, voice husky as his finger traced a line around the edge of her breast.

She wasn’t even sure what he was asking but she nodded, delirious and over-hot now. She writhed when he pushed the silk of her bra down. Not removing it, but rather liberating her breasts from the cups with that same rough need that had seen him destroy her shirt. She didn’t have time to feel self-conscious. Having consented to his touch, she submitted completely, as his hands roamed her flesh, pulling, feeling, tweaking, tormenting, and then his mouth followed suit, his tongue lashing her, his warm, wet mouth sucking at her nipples until she was incandescent with a need that fired her blood like a volcano might. She swore—unusual for Rosie—the curse tumbling from her mouth, as she lifted one leg onto the edge of the desk, the skirt she wore ripping at the seam. A hand moved from one of her breasts to the thigh that had been exposed by the split, only her stockings were a regrettable barrier. His fingers crept higher, to the elasticised waistband, and he glanced up at her, another smile, this one only just very barely mocking.

‘Why am I not surprised?’

She heard the hint of teasing and flushed to the roots of her hair, finding it hard to hold his eyes. She glanced away from him, her eyes landing on an ancient mirror across the room. The sight of them terrified her. She looked so wanton, so alive. So awoken by desire. Her skin was flushed, her breasts creamy white and her nipples taut, pale pink. Her stomach was bare, exposed to his touch, and yet he looked exactly the same, in his suit and shirt, unchanged by what was happening to them. To her. It was everything she’d promised herself she’d never be! Oh, heavens...

‘Sebastian...’ She said his name with uncertainty now. Everything felt strange, different. The world was tilting weirdly beneath her, with all her usual suppositions nowhere to be found. She wouldn’t let this happen to her! She was not like the women her father had destroyed.

He pulled up a little, eyes fixing to hers with an expression she couldn’t understand.

‘Not so prim after all,’ he said, with a hint of approval. She wanted to deny that, but how could she?

‘I’m as surprised as you,’ she admitted after a beat, her hands still curled in his shirt, as though she couldn’t allow this to be over yet despite her deepest fears. Her body thrummed with need, heat building between her legs. But Sebastian was as canny as he was skilled. He pulled away regardless of her obvious desire, looking down at her now with cool composure. Oh, how she envied him! Only the slight colour in his cheekbones conveyed any hint that he might also have been a little undone by their passionate encounter. Where was her control now?

‘Do you still think IVF is how we should conceive our child, Rosalind? Or have you had a change of heart?’

Her voice shuddered a little as she fought to find a thread of common sense. ‘We both know our hearts have nothing to do with what just happened.’

‘True,’ he agreed with something like approval.

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