Page 202 of Modern Romance Collection February 2025, 5-8

‘And this,’ he said, flinging open a set of double doors, ‘is our suite.’

Mari stopped dead. Inside she could see a massive bed. From the doorway, that was all she could see. ‘Our suite?’

He smiled. ‘That’s up to you.’

She took a step back. ‘You are joking. I told you that sex isn’t part of this deal.’ She licked her lips ‘Maybe I could stay at your mother’s house.’

‘That would hardly come across as very newlywed, would it?’

‘Extraordinary times call for extraordinary measures. I’d just be seen as a caring daughter-in-law.’

‘You’d be seen as a runaway wife and the staff—and my mother—would wonder what you’re running away from.’ He moved closer, reaching for her hands. ‘I thought you might be softening by now. Don’t you remember how good we were together, Marianne?’

Her hands held captive by his, she closed her eyes. Against the feel of his long-fingered hands, against his heat, against the scent that was peculiarly his. The scent that now wrapped beguiling tendrils around her senses. Because of course she remembered how good they’d been together. She remembered all too clearly their lovemaking long into the night and then into the next morning. She remembered the feel of him entering her. Filling her. Completing her.

‘We’re both grown up, Marianne. Why can’t we enjoy each other while you’re here?’

Mari wavered. It would be so easy. Sex with Dom was so alluring. So tempting. That was if she only remembered the good times.

But then there were the bad times. The times of loneliness and despair when Dom, for all the talk of them being good together, hadn’t given her a second thought. When she’d gone through heartache and pain nobody should ever experience alone.

‘You make it sound like some kind of sport.’

‘It is, if you put it like that.’

She pulled her hands from his. ‘Then I’ll find a hotel. Thanks all the same.’

He wheeled away towards another door. ‘Come on, Marianne, surely you can’t blame a man for trying?’

‘Yes, I can.’

‘All right. If that’s what you want, I’ll show you toyourroom.’

He opened another doorway. ‘It’s through here.’

Mari regarded the room suspiciously—it looked fine, grand even, with its own bathroom with shower and bath—except… She pointed to another door. ‘Where does that go?’

‘It’s an adjoining door to my suite. But I won’t come in unless you ask me to.’

She glared at him. ‘Don’t hold your breath.’ She took a closer look. ‘Is it lockable from my side?’

Dom sighed. ‘You’ll be safe. I promise you.’ He turned. ‘I’ll leave you to freshen up. We’ll take lunch on the terrace before we head back to the villa.’

He left her then to talk to his housekeeper about lunch, growing increasingly frustrated with Mari’s obstinance. What was it with her insistence that they didn’t have sex? It wasn’t as if she was a virgin; he knew that for a fact. And he knew for a fact that she wasn’t immune to his touch. He’d felt her resistance crumbling when he’d kissed her. He’d felt her body start to yield to his. There was no way she couldn’t recognise it for what it was. Desire. Mutual desire. And he knew for a fact that she’d be more relaxed and convincing with him if she only gave into it. So why was she fighting it?

It was baffling.

Infuriating.

And the maddest thing was, it only made him want her more.

It was late afternoon when Dom received a call from his mother’s nurse that she was ready to see Marianne again. Dom ignored his exclusion from the invitation. Marianne might have made a good impression on her at their earlier visit, but he wasn’t about to trust her to talk to his mother on her own. Too much was at stake.

Once again, the car delivered them to his mother’s villa, and it was a relief to get there.

Marianne had changed since their visit this morning into a white slim-fitting dress with giant ink spots, the style accentuating the curves of her body. She wore her hair loose, tumbling over her shoulders. She looked cool and sophisticated and a million miles away from the buttoned-up mouse with an axe to grind who had turned up in his suite a matter of days ago.

She looked amazing, and that was hard enough to deal with when space separated them. But every time they were in close proximity the tension between them seemed to grow. In a private jet separated by several metres was one thing. The back seat of a car was entirely different. It wasn’t just his problem; it was clearly hers too. She had scooted as far away from him on the back seat as she could get. She was clearly affected by his presence. So why was she holding out on him?

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