Page 73 of Modern Romance Collection February 2025, 5-8

A large black car slid into place on the street ahead of them. The driver stepped out to let them in, but Aston didn’t wait. ‘To the apartment, please,’ he said, opening the door himself.

His hand was on the small of Ana’s back, guiding her in. She sat slowly and elegantly, swinging her legs into the vehicle and sliding across the seat as he followed. She tried to move over to the other side of the car, but that was too far, like a world away. He grabbed Ana’s hand, hauled her to him and cupped her face, her skin soft and smooth under his fingers.

His lips descended on hers as her hands roved over his chest, clutching the fabric of his shirt. Everything about them together was hot and hungry. Time lost meaning. The car could have been moving, or it might not have gone anywhere at all as Ana’s lips opened underneath him. Their tongues touched, sliding over each other. The connection was deep and immense, unfathomable.

The need for her hit him thick and sweet, like a syrupy dessert wine, the most addictive intoxicant. He could drink her in and still never get enough of her. Aston craved more, everything. To drag her onto his lap, strip her clothes and make love to her here in the back seat, with the world passing by them.

His hand reached to her breast, his thumb tracing over her nipple, a hard peak under the fabric of her impeccable suit. She arched into his hand and moaned, deep and low. Ana deserved more than this. She needed a bed with luxurious linens, not some fumble in the back seat of a car. Especially not for what he knew would be her first time. He tore his mouth away. His breath was heavy, her lips a deep plum, her eyes glassy.

‘Name a charity,’ Aston said, his voice unrecognisable to his own ears as the words ground out of him.

‘The Cygnet Centre.’ Her own voice was low, sensual, unlike how he’d heard her before. The sound of it shot like an arrow straight to the heart of him, then much, much lower.

Aston fired off a quick text to his assistant to arrange an immediate donation of twelve million euros to the charity in Ana’s name.

A sense of urgency gripped him then, as if he had no time to lose. They’d marry in the Hôtel de Ville near the Girard château and celebrate the reception in one of the vineyards. If a religious ceremony was important to her, there was a chapel on the grounds.

The plans shaped in his mind. Her walking down the aisle in a dress of white... Yet he hadn’t actually asked her to marry him, not officially. He’d slipped the ring on her finger in front of the staff of the auction house because it had been expected, yet the words hadn’t been there. Everything had been assumed.

The car pulled to a stop and the driver opened the door. Aston got out, held out his hand and Ana placed hers into it. He didn’t know how he managed to get to his apartment without stripping her bare. As it was, he pressed her into the back of the lift and kissed her mercilessly again. They tumbled out at his floor. He fumbled the lock on his apartment door as if he was some teenager on a drunken night out, and not a man of thirty-two in control of his faculties.

As they entered his apartment’s entrance hall, he swung Ana into his arms, kicking the door closed behind them. He strode through to his bedroom, his lips hungry on hers, their panting breaths mingling. When they reached the room, he placed her reverently on the bed, where she sat, so prim and perfect. He tore off his jacket and dropped it to the floor, yet as he looked down on her something in her expression changed. Her teeth worried her lower lip.

Uncertainty...No!

His brain shouted the word. Aston didn’t want to stop. He was harder than he’d ever been in his life. Every part of him felt as if it would crack, he was wired so tight. Yet, for him, desire had always been a two-way thing. It was vital for both people to want, enthusiastically and equally with no hesitation. He took a long, slow breath.

‘I want you,’ he said.

She looked at his groin, her pupils darkening, her lips parting. It was all he could do not to groan.

‘I guessed.’

He’d never considered English as his second language. He’d always thought of himself as having two. His first memories were speaking both French and English fluently. Now he could barely get out the words in any language.

‘Problem?’

Ana sat up, chewing on her lower lip. She wrapped her hands round her waist. Perhaps she wanted an official engagement before intimacy? He could ask the question, one that would seal their fate together, yet it didn’t seem the right time. There was a ring on her finger, and for now that was enough. He didn’t believe the absence of the words ‘will you marry me?’ was the impediment here. Aston still sensed the heat between them, raging like a wildfire. He was surprised the paint hadn’t blistered on the apartment’s walls.

She dropped her head and her heavy fringe fell over it.

Scars.It was daylight. Ana was afraid of what he might see. He walked to the bank of windows and gently drew each heavy curtain closed against the bright afternoon light. Everything seemed softer, muted.

‘Better?’ he asked.

‘Thank you.’

He didn’t think of himself as a tender man, but she needed some tenderness. Aston walked towards her and took her hands in his.

‘Will you let me see you now?’

She bit into her lower lip again. It must sting, the way her teeth cut into her pink flesh. He wanted to kiss all her pain away. She nodded.

‘Let’s start with what I already know.’

She tilted her head up to look at him. Aston reached out and gently brushed her hair out of the way. She closed her eyes as he looked at the scar threading into her hairline. He bent forward and kissed it, feather light, relishing her exhale as he did.

‘It doesn’t change the way I see you,ma belle.’

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