Page 13 of Modern Romance Collection February 2025, 1-4

This kiss was arevelation, and she understood why.

It was his mouth descending upon hers. It washim. He was the one holding her in that low, romantic swoon of a position. He was the one who traced the seam of her lips with his tongue, made that low sound in his throat, and then deepened the kiss.

He was the one who shifted her so he could pull her up against his body and then tilt her head so that he could kiss her at a better angle.

And then it was all deeper, better,wilder.

Dioni could think of nothing she wanted more in all the world than to kiss him back.

Forever. Then again.

As if there were infinite variations and he intended to explore each and every one of them. She could feel her belly pressed to him, and something about that was shockingly erotic. That the baby they’d made was so obviouslytherebetween them and still he kissed her with a sensual, carnal intent that taught her entirely new ways to find himthrilling.

On and on it went, with new angles to try and different ways to use their mouths, until they were both panting. And her hands were fists against his chest, ruining the perfect lines of his suit. And her hair had fallen down all around her, but not of its own volition this time.

Because his hands were deep in the mess of it, gripping her skull and guiding her head where he wanted it to go.

She understood that when he finally pulled away it was because it was that—or possibly expire on the spot.

“Oxygen,” she managed to pant out. “Oxygen is good.”

And for a moment, Alceu simply rested his forehead against hers. And they breathed together.

A fantasy she had not thought to have, and that would now haunt her, she was sure.

But before she was ready, he stepped away.

He held her there at arm’s length and gazed at her as if he was truly taking her in for the first time. Her mouth, wet from his. Her hair in a careless tangle that spilled over her shoulders. Her narrow shoulders and big, round belly.

Dioni could track the way his face changed as he looked.

How he grew more and more stern the longer he gazed down at her. Until he was frowning down at her—still holding her by the shoulders as if he thought that if he let go, even a little, she would run.

Or, maybe worse in his eyes, fling herself upon him.

And the more breaths she took, and the more she settled down, she had to acknowledge that his concern was not misplaced.

“You understand that marriage is the only option, do you not?” Alceu asked, and darkly, but he did not leave her any room to respond. Wise man. “It is not a matter ofpity, but of propriety—and this is nothing to celebrate. You would do well to pity yourself.”

He let go of her then and stepped back, and Dioni was not sure if she was bemused or insulted as he immediately began setting himself to rights. He smoothed down his shirt and his coat. He even ran a hand over his hair, as if anything could make it look out of place.

And he continued to frown at her as he crossed his arms, which on anyone else—meaning, on her—would wrinkle everything immediately.

But this, of course, was Alceu Vaccaro.

Sheer, ferocious male perfection.

So she licked the taste of him off her lips and endeavored not to smile when he scowled at her.

“The Vaccaros are well known in Sicily and for all the wrong reasons,” he told her in that same dark tone. “There is not a single ancestor in my family tree that I do not view without abhorrence. I come from a long line of monsters, each one more dedicated to proving themselves the worst. Most preferred not to ruin their own lives, but made certain they ruined the lives of others, cutting a wide swath across the island and well into Europe.” He looked something likepainedfor a moment. “Marrying you constitutes the breaking of a vow, and many will see this as yet one more example that despite everything, a Vaccaro always shows himself. A Vaccaro always proves that he cannot be trusted.”

Dioni found herself drifting, focusing on his mouth as it moved instead of the words he was saying. And he seemed to realize that because he made a low, growling sort of sound that had her gaze snapping to his.

But if he expected contrition, he would have to contend with his disappointment, because all she did was smile.

His scowl deepened. “The house that I grew up in is a monument to narcissism and greed. It was built to stave off enemies, and these were not imagined enemies. I find it embarrassing, but I’ve made it my life’s work to take that building and the property it sits on and make it over into something good. If you expect a life of ease, you will be greatly disappointed.”

And then he raised his brows as if he expected a response. Immediately.

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