Page 206 of Modern Romance March 2025 (5-8)

SHE DIDN’T GOhome with him. She took him home withher.

She said, in between those soft gasps that came on the tail end of every breath while he was kissing her, that she had to be close to Hind in case anyone called her during the night. But she didn’t use that as an excuse to stop this madness, like a sensible, responsible woman would. No. She was as swept away as he.

Shetookhimhome, instead—or what served as home on this particular trip to London. Her own room at The Ritz was some distance from the presidential suite where Hind was staying with her father. Once she’d made sure that Hind was tucked safely in her bed and the security team was notified that she was in for the night, she returned to her room where Desmond was waiting.

He barely registered a small, impeccably clean hotel room much humbler than the suites he was accustomed to—if one could call any room at The Ritz humble—before his eyes fell on the large bed in the center of the room. She squeaked when his hands descended to the fullness of that magnificent bottom of hers and squeezed. Val distanced herself from his arms and reached over his shoulder for the light.

Desmond shook his head. “Leave it on,” he said, and the words came out hoarse with desire. He wanted to see every single inch of her, and wanted it vivid in his memory. He’d wanted many women in his past, and had won them, but never with this type of urgency. Thisimpulsiveness. He leaned forward and kissed the melting sweetness of her mouth again; the texture of it was addictive.

He forced himself to keep it soft. Slow. He wanted her squirming for him to go faster, to demand it before he did. What was it she’d said?Kisses are bad for me.

He barely knew her, but he was determined that his would never be.

“You’re a very good kisser,” he rasped, and she smiled in a way that made him wonder if she were thinking of other things. She reached up and threaded her fingers through his hair.

“I’m being kissed at The Ritz by a billionaire,” she said, almost to herself.

Desmond laughed. “On your birthday.”

“On my—” Those lovely eyes widened. “I’d forgotten about that.”

“I’ll sing the song for you later.”

After he kissed her some more. And got her naked—or maybe he’d leave the stockings on? Whatever made her feel sexy.

“It’s been a while…” She sighed, but her face was taut with desire—desire that was overcoming reticence, prudence, common sense and professionalism. He’d had many beautiful women in his day but he’d never seen one with such naked passion vibrating through her body.

Her pupils were large, dilated. Her makeup was smudged in a way that spoke of smoky desire. Something both wild and sensual had taken her, and his own body throbbed in response.

“Please.”

It was the soft entreaty through those full, wet lips that did it. It drove him wild when women asked for it so nakedly and unashamedly. Lust clouded his brain as he pulled her toward him by the wrists and kissed her—hard, this time, and she grunted approval. This, at least he knew how to do, and do well. Tenderness, though, was new. And he wasn’t going to risk thinking about that right now.

Val’s mouth had the sweetness of honey and the softness of velvet all at once; it was decadent, like the world’s richest dessert. Her body yielded to him and she punctuated the kisses with soft little exhales of pleasure that sparked a familiar ache low between his thighs. He shifted, gripping her hips. He didn’t want to hide what she was doing to him, and from the way she was squirming she didn’t mind at all.

His fingers found the zipper on the back of her dress; it came down easily, and his hands tightened even more on her, holding her steady as she stepped out of it, kicking it away. Beneath the dress, the rounded swell of her breasts was invitingly full, and moving rapidly with every breath, and he noted how the lacy stockings hugged the butter-soft skin of her thighs. The scent of her was suddenly there too, a sweet feminine musk that was perfume and soap and hairspray andher. If he was hard before, it was nearly unbearable now.

“Desmond…” she whispered.

“Off,” he said, with a voice he was finding increasingly hard to control. For goodness’ sake, why was the woman wearing so many layers? He knew it was to hide the lushness of her body in the context of her work for the conservative sheikh, but he was very much enjoying having her gradually bared to his gaze now. His fingers raced down to the small of her back to reveal skin so soft and fragrant that the experience didn’t quite seem real.

He bit back a groan. Her breasts were absolutely beautiful—full and heavy and lush—and her rapid breaths made them move in a way that made him harder still. Her nipples were large and swollen, and he couldn’t resist cupping her breasts.

“I had no idea, Miss Montgomery.”

“Don’t call me that!”

“Under this tight little dress… All these layers… They’ve been rubbing against your nipples all evening, haven’t they?” He used the pads of his thumbs to circle the unbelievably soft skin, bending to kiss the hollow between her breasts. “You smell so unbelievably good.”

“Desmond,” she said, and the second set of syllables of his name broke. “Please…”

“What?”

“Please…”

His mouth was watering, but he was going to draw this out as long as he could. He passed his thumb dangerously close to the pouting nub, and she buckled against him, then managed to draw herself up with that proud tilt of her head that he was growing to find so damned attractive. The movement exposed the gentle pulse in her throat and he shifted his mouth to that spot and spoke against it. “Tell me.”

Her tongue darted out and she licked her lips, making them glossy under the soft light of the room.

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