Page 209 of Modern Romance Collection February 2025, 5-8

They walked hand in hand along the shore. She’d let him take her hand and he wondered at her easy acceptance of his hand hold. No bristling, No fighting.

And he relished the companionable peace between them.

People were packing up and heading home, the beach becoming more and more deserted, the lamps on the walkway flickering into life as the night drew in. Mari thought the coming night would have erased the beauty of the bay, but somehow the lights only seemed to accentuate it. The whole city seemed to light up, glowing gold in the darkening sky, golden light reflecting in the shallows of the bay. She heard music coming from somewhere, a beguiling sound, violin over accordion and drums, a sound that tugged at her. She knew enough to recognise that she was hearing some kind of tango, but she’d always associated tango music with drama and passion and speed, whereas this music was more purposeful, with a poignant depth, rich with emotion.

And there on a terrace overlooking the sea she found the source, a small group of musicians making music that could have been a homage to the sunset, because both were equally beautiful.

She stopped to listen as the violin rose to even sweeter heights.

‘Dance with me, Marianne.’

The words were so unexpected she turned her head, expecting to see him smiling as if he were joking. But he wasn’t smiling. Instead, his dark eyes held an intensity that caused Mari’s breath to hitch.

‘But—’

‘It would be a sin to waste such beautiful music, don’t you agree?’

‘I don’t know how.’

‘Then let me show you.’ He was still holding her hand, but now he was moving, his feet gliding across the sand, coaxing her to follow. Then he lifted their hands and spun her around, stepping towards her as she came back to him so that they were chest to chest. ‘You see?’ he said. ‘You do know how.’

Before she could form a reply, he’d whirled her away again, except this time Mari felt the music, rather than just heard it. Felt the music in her limbs, in their movements, felt the music deep in her veins. The violin wrung emotional intensity from the air, and Dom harnessed the sound and used it to mould her to his every step, his every move. And it was intoxicating, moving with a rhythm that felt timeless, and yet also only theirs.

They’d always moved well together.

But here, dancing on the sand to a tune that stirred her soul, this was something different. This was a whole new experience.

This was magical.

The strains of the violin faded away, the notes evaporating on the night sky as Dom reeled her in one last time so her back rested against his chest, his arms wrapped around her waist.

Her entire body was tingling. On fire.

And she was breathless, not from the effort but from the fairy dust that someone must have sprinkled over her. Because here she was dancing on La Concha beach at sunset with the most handsome man in the world—and being paid for the privilege.

Forget all the baggage of the past. Forget all the reasons she shouldn’t be dancing with this man. She just wanted this moment to pretend that all was right with the world. A moment to savour. A memory to take home with her and take out whenever the world sucked.

He kissed the top of her head, his hips gently swaying, rocking her with him.

‘I want you,’ he murmured in her ear.

And all the reasons she shouldn’t want him vanished. All the reasons, like they’d had their time and this was nothing more than a blip. A chance encounter that had let memories bubble back to the surface. Bubbles that could well pop in the harsh light of day.

And yet, would it be so bad to admit she wanted him too? Would it be so bad to make love? What was she protecting herself from? From being afraid that he would once again discard her after rediscovering how wonderful he was in bed?

He’d come back for her.

Rosaria’s news had shaken Mari to her core. He hadn’t forgotten her all those years ago. He’d come back for her. Not when she’d been so anxious for him to return and share her news Not when she’d been in the depths of despair at both the loss of their twins and the loss of the man she loved. He’d come looking for her, only to learn she was married to someone else. And one of the pillars upon which she’d built her hatred for him shattered and crumbled into dust.

Why had she insisted that this marriage would not be consummated? Why else, if not to punish Dom for the sins of the past—for abandoning her in her moment of greatest need and turning his back on her love?

But he had come back for her and found her married and suddenly she found herself on shaky territory. Was it any wonder he’d relegated their affair to a meaningless summer fling when clearly—it had seemed to him—it had meant so little to her?

Why was she still holding out?

Because she wasn’t just punishing Dom.

She was punishing herself.

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