Page 129 of Modern Romance January 2025 1-4

She shook her head a little, but knew he’d seen through her response.

Sure enough, he grinned. ‘Are you sure?’ His hand moved towards her sex. She drew in a sharp breath as he ruched her skirt up and nudged aside the lace of her thong, so his fingers could glance across her most intimate flesh.

‘Sebastian,’ she cried out, the touch so welcome and so overwhelming at the same time. ‘You can’t—the pilots—’

But his body was shielding hers from sight, and besides, the windows were heavily tinted. She groaned then and told herself not to say another word. Not to say anything that might cause him to stop what he was doing.

‘God, Sebastian,’ she groaned, pressing back into the seat as he moved his finger faster, his body so close, he was invading every single one of her senses: filling her eyes, her nostrils, her soul. She cried out as pleasure built, so hard and fast, wrapping around her, making her nerve endings reverberate and dance with jubilant need until finally the banks of her pleasure burst, and she was saying his name over and over, her eyes filling with stars now, her whole body trembling.

He pulled away from her a little, removing his hand but leaving her skirt ruched at her thighs, so she saw her legs and felt a strange sense of being out of her own body at how unfamiliar and exposed she was.

‘I did not see this coming,’ he said darkly. ‘But it works. We work. And I’m glad about it. There should be some silver lining to this farce of a marriage, shouldn’t there?’ He leaned down and then pressed a hard, brief kiss to her mouth, a kiss that was also a promise of more to come. Her stomach twisted and her breath burned in her lungs.

A moment later, he was gone, out of her personal space, closing her car door and coming around to the driver’s side. He climbed in as though nothing had happened, but an errant glance in his direction showed the clear evidence of his desire for her, his beige trousers doing little to hide the force of his physical response. Heat flushed her cheeks, and she forced her gaze to the windscreen, and the forest beyond them.

The island was beautiful, but not in the ways Rosie might have expected. It was a tribute to the natural world. Everything had been preserved, and as they drove, and Rosie recovered from the orgasm she’d just delighted in, Sebastian enumerated the species that were home to the island. From the bird life to the monkeys to the seals that had a habitat on the western side of the island, in the ancient caves there, he spoke about the place with a passion that had Rosie finding it impossible to look away.

‘You come here often?’ she guessed, because he seemed to know everything about it.

‘I used to.’

‘Used to?’

‘Before returning to Cavalonia.’

She frowned. ‘Is it not part of Cavalonia?’

‘No. It’s in Italian jurisdiction, despite its proximity to Cavalonia.’

Before she could comment, the forest began to clear, and a house came into view. The most beautiful house Rosie had ever seen, and placed right on the edge of the beach, so the bottom steps were covered in a light film of sand.

‘Oh...’ She exhaled a small sigh.

The house was large and built in a traditional style of stone, which had been rendered a pale terracotta colour. The roof was red, the doors were a glossy white, and there were terraces on many windows. More greenery was here, though flowers formed a border around a grove of citrus trees, sitting beside what looked to be a potager.

‘It’s beautiful,’ she said.

Sebastian eyed the building and then looked beyond it, his eyes landing on the horizon. Rosie followed his gaze, to the land mass clearly visible, across the expanse of sea. ‘Cavalonia?’

He turned to face her, eyes hiding his feelings. ‘For a long time, I thought my mother would never be granted access to her home. And so I bought this place. If she couldn’t be there, at least she could see it.’

Rosie’s heart stammered at his thoughtfulness—at how kind he had been to the mother he clearly adored. She toyed with her necklace, sliding the pendant from side to side. ‘You must have wanted to come to Cavalonia very badly.’

‘Not really.’

She glanced at him, raising a brow.

‘I was very angry with my grandfather.’

‘You’re still angry with him,’ Rosie said gently.

He turned to face her. ‘Wouldn’t you be?’

It was a simple—but unnerving—question. Rosie had heard all about the estrangement, from King Renee. She knew that Maria al Morova had been married at a young age and in a lavish, fairytale ceremony that all of Europe had tuned in to watch. According to the king, Maria’s husband had been older but doted on her, and his ancient bloodline and experience in government meant their relationship was just what the country needed. But Maria had fallen in love with a visiting American diplomat, and their affair had been in all the scandal sheets across the country.

Renee had begged her to break it off—she had a son to consider—but Maria had been determined. A week later, she’d been exiled and on her way to America, the little boy then pictured clutching her hand now returned to Cavalonia as an angry prince.

‘I don’t know,’ she answered honestly. ‘Maybe.’

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