Page 165 of Modern Romance Collection February 2025, 1-4

Siena turned her head, clutched at the lifeline.

‘Oh...er...um, have you got tea instead?’ she asked. ‘A mint tea?’

Did she sound breathless? She must, surely. She fought for composure, to beat down the flaring of heat inside her.

‘Of course.’ The waitress smiled. Then turned her attention to Vincenzo. ‘Coffee for you, sir?’ she enquired.

‘Thank you,’ he answered.

His voice was mechanical, Siena could tell. But his gaze—his disastrous, dissolving gaze—had been switched off. She realised her heart was beating in an agitated manner, and sought to subdue it, to subdue the colour flushing in and out of her cheeks.

The waitress poured coffee into Vincenzo’s cup, offered milk, which was refused, then promised Siena she would return with her mint tea. She moved off to the next table.

Urgently, Siena cast about for a safe thing to say, to take them away from the moment that had been so dangerous...

No, don’t think it—don’t allow it in—don’t even think about thinking it. Just go... Before it’s too late...

She felt herself get to her feet. ‘I think I’ll pass on the mint tea after all,’ she said. ‘It’s been a long day. I’ll head up to bed. Enjoy the rest of your apple brandy. Thank you for dinner.’

Her voice was staccato, and she knew it, but it was the best she could do.

With a smile that took more effort than she’d thought she was capable of she turned away, heading towards the dining room doors, walking rapidly, wanting only to get away...

Because she must.

Because anything else was too dangerous...

Far, far too dangerous.

But even as she fled, footsteps came after her.

Vincenzo had knocked back the last of his apple brandy and got to his feet, and now he strode after her. She’d paused by the lift, and his eyes went to her. She was running from him—and he did not want her to.

Silhouetted against the metallic doors of the lift, she was more beautiful than ever, with her long hair curving over her shoulders, the lacy fall of her wrap, the soft drape of her summer dress, her slender calves, bared arms...

So beautiful...

He felt the breath tighten in his lungs as he came up to her. She started at his approach, her head turning swiftly to him, eyes flaring.

‘Let me see you to your room,’ he said.

He could hear a husk in his voice...knew why. She looked up at him. Her eyes were wide, and in them was apprehension—and something else entirely.

‘No...no, it’s fine...really...’

He ignored her. The lift doors were opening and she stepped inside. He followed her. He could feel his heart thudding in his chest. He stabbed the button for their floor. His room was at the far end of the corridor, but hers was closer to where the lift disgorged them, and as she walked to her door, her gait quickening, fumbling for the key in her handbag, he closed in on her.

He did not speak. Then, as she turned the old-fashioned key in the lock, he said her name, his voice more husky yet.

She turned, lifting her face to him. Her eyes were wide. Pupils dilated.

‘Vincenzo...’ Her voice was faint, so faint. ‘No—we can’t...we mustn’t...’

He took no notice. And as her hand pushed open the door, he reached out his hand to her...

She had no breath in her body—none. His hand was curving around the nape of her neck. He said her name. Low and husked. She saw his eyelids dip down over his eyes, watched him lowering his mouth to hers.

It was velvet on her lips...soft, infinitely seductive...and as his mouth moved on hers he pulled her to him, drawing her inside her room. A thousand sensations blinded her as he shut the door behind them. A low, helpless moan came from her, and she felt her limbs dissolving as the velvet of his mouth weakened everything about her. Her hands went around him, to hold and support her, for she had no strength at all. The hard wall of his chest pressed against her breasts, and she felt, with a dim sense of helpless fatality, how they engorged and flowered...

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