Page 120 of Modern Romance Collection February 2025, 5-8

He knew himself. He knew that he would never settle for one woman, that sex was nothing more to him than a physical outlet, and he knew—he hadalwaysknown—that Clemmie would never understand.

The idea of hurting her was anathema to him, but there were parts of playing her fiancé he knew he would enjoy.

‘I remember looking at your mouth...’ Her eyes drifted in that direction as she spoke, lingering there. ‘And wanting to kiss you... That’s a good start, isn’t it?’

His words were strangled in his throat as he looked into her eyes. He was helpless to control the fresh rush of arousal.

Clemmie couldn’t imagine why she hadn’t kissed him—unless they had fought, or she was the sort of woman who waited for a man to make the first move?

She really hoped she wasn’t that sort of woman.

She wouldn’t be that sort of woman.

A smile curving her mouth, she reached across, entwining her fingers behind his head as she dragged herself upwards and fitted her mouth to his.

The effort it cost him not to respond to those soft lips tapped into a better self he hadn’t even been sure existed. Was this pain the cosmic payback for years of self-indulgence? He asked himself.

Hurt and confusion and embarrassment jostled for supremacy as inside Clemmie as she pulled back, looking at him with big, confused eyes. Presumably they had already shared wild, head-banging sex, but all she remembered was trying to kiss him and getting rejected—twice now.

‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.

She looked so hurt, but he knew she would be more hurt if he followed his baser instincts; this was a lesser hurt.

‘You are just out of hospital,’ he pointed out, with a lightness he was far from feeling. ‘And the general consensus is that you should still be there. I don’t think making out in the back seat of a car would be medically approved.’

‘It’s not the back seat... But I suppose you might be right,’ she conceded. ‘Are you being noble because I don’t remember?’

Noble?He stifled a bitter laugh. ‘Memory loss or not, you know me better than that, Clemmie.’

‘You did save my life. I watched the video.’

‘Did they get my good side?’

She sighed. ‘You don’t have a bad side. You’re a very beautiful man—though I’ve tried not to think of you that way.’ She shook her head. ‘I wish I knew what changed between us.’

He was sweating, and as for his control—he could almost see the single frayed thread that was holding it in place.

‘I can’t intimidate you...that much hasn’t changed. If I could you’d still be in hospital.’

‘I couldn’t stay there.’

‘I get that.’

‘Have we spoken about having a family? I’d have to have a home birth—you do realise that?’

Out of nowhere, an image of Clemmie holding a baby to her breast flashed into his head, and he had to remind himself that childbirth and babies were not sexy.

Her breasts were, though.

He swore low, under his breath.

She heard and mistook the cause of his frustration. ‘I do want to remember!’

‘I know, but for God’s sake cut yourself some slack,’ he cried, wrenching the rear-view mirror around. ‘Look!’

She did, and winced. ‘I don’t look very kissable, do I?’

‘You look...’ His throat worked as he swallowed. ‘You are bruised and hurting. What you need is rest. Tomorrow you have your MOT.’

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