Page 147 of Modern Romance Collection February 2025, 5-8

Their ‘normal’ had definitely altered.

Their eyes met and she knew he recognised it too.

‘What’s normal?’ she asked, and the seething frustration and spiralling out-of-control confusion she felt spilled out in words. ‘How can anything be normal after I...?’

‘Told me you were a virgin?’

Her eyes slid from his. ‘I thought we were engaged—I thought there was awewhen I told you that!’

‘I’m glad you did. It would have come as something of a shock.’

Her eyes flew upwards, eyelashes fluttering as her breath quickened. ‘You seem to be taking a hell of a lot for granted.’

‘You’re not going to have another panic attack, are you?’

‘Is that what you ask every woman you make love to? Because if so I can imagine it being a bit of a turn-off. I am not having a panic attack!’

‘Is that what you think I’m doing? Making love to you?’

She studied his perfect face. His expression seemed still and almost remote—until she connected with his molten dark stare.

‘I don’t know...’ She hated the quavering note of appeal in her voice.

One corner of his mouth lifted in a smile that was both tender and fierce. ‘Do you want me to?’

Her stomach muscles clenched as his words shocked and excited her.

He arched a brow as the silence stretched.

‘All right,’ she conceded huskily. ‘Yes, I do. But I feel...’

She closed her mouth. They knew each other so well, but this was not the Joaquin she knew.

Hell, she didn’t know herself.

His dark head dipped, his hands sliding to her shoulders to drag her in closer.

‘Tell me how you feel,’ he rasped, his breath wafting over her cheek, his glittering eyes snaring her wide green stare.

‘I can’t,’ she breathed, suddenly hit by a wave of inadequacy as images of the women he’d dated flickered through her head.

He wanted her to be sexy and provocative and... And she was sure she’d just sound lame and stupid. If he laughed at her she might never recover.

‘It’s scary.’

‘You’re scared of me?’ He drew back slightly, not sounding as if he liked the idea.

She lifted a hand to his stubble-roughened cheek and gave him a long, level look. ‘Not of you—not ever.’

The total confidence in her voice smoothed the frown lines in his forehead.

‘The way you make me feel is scary, though,’ she admitted.

‘How do I make you feel?’ he asked, and his soft voice was sinfully suggestive as he placed his hand over hers to keep it there against his cheek for a moment.

When his hand fell away, she missed the warmth.

‘You are fighting it,’ he told her.

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