Page 79 of Modern Romance March 2025 (5-8)

Did I think I could keep my emotional distance? Because if just a smile makes me feel this breathless as it sparks a heavy, tingling sensation between my thighs, I can only imagine what actual sex might do to me.

“Applying business principles to sex is actually an excellent idea.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it.”

His chuckle rolls through me, a deep sound that reverberates through my body and settles in my core. My breath catches as he crouches down in front of me.

“Think about it, Tessa. If I were to simply kiss you here,” he says as he leans forward and lays a finger on my mouth for a second, the warmth of his skin pressing against my lips, “as I did on our wedding day, it might give you a moment of passing pleasure.

“But,” he continues as he moves his finger from my mouth and traces a slow, teasing path down the side of my neck, “if I kiss you here, taking my time, paying attention to every gasp, every little movement you make, it will be far more pleasurable for both of us.”

I sway toward him even as panic slivers into the desire pumping through me. When I had this mad thought less than a day ago, I knew I was attracted to Rafe. He’s the only man I’ve ever had a sexual fantasy about. It’s not like there were many candidates to choose from. It’s hard to fantasize about men who barely glance at you, and Gavriil has always been a friend, the brother I never had.

Yet even in my daydreams, there was the safety of inexperience. Of innocence sugarcoating what I imagined sex would be like.

Reality check: it’s nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to the flames slowly burning inside me.

“How do we proceed?”

Is that my voice? Breathless, almost sultry?

“There’s eight months left until our anniversary.”

The spell he wove is broken as he slips back into the Rafe I know, his voice level, his face smooth. It doesn’t matter. Now that I know what truly lurks beneath the surface, I’ll never be able to look at him the same way again.

“I’m aware.”

“I have numerous demands on my time. Given the nature of our agreement,” he says with the hint of a smile on that last word, “I think it best if you accompany me to Corfu for the next few weeks.”

Desire flees, replaced by a tightness that threatens to strangle me. My breathing quickens as I fight to stay composed.

“Tessa?”

“I’m fine,” I lie. “I’m just very busy myself. I’m doing professional renderings for Juliette’s house, and one of the new clients I’m working with wants to move fast on the programming phase.”

He cocks his head to one side. “I’m unfamiliar with interior design. You could tell me about the phases you work through on our flight to Greece.”

Warmth blooms in my chest at the fact that he has even a cursory interest in my work. My father never bothered to ask, and my mother only looked at my work long enough to say “That’s beautiful, dear,” before turning the conversation to something else.

But going back to Greece… I swore I wouldn’t step foot there for at least a year, if not longer. Greece holds nothing for me right now except painful memories.

“In the interest of efficiency, we could just go back to my apartment,” I half joke.

His eyes heat as his expression intensifies.

“Efficiency is important. But it’s not my primary focus when it comes to this arrangement.”

God help me.

His eyes sharpen as he watches me. “Is there a reason you don’t want to go back to Greece?”

I look away. “Paris has become home to me. I can’t imagine waking up and not seeing all of this.”

What I don’t say is that Greece represents everything I want to leave behind me. And the man in front of me is a huge part of that.

Doubt creeps in. Should I just tell him I’ll wait eight months? That he can go back to Greece without me and I won’t pursue the divorce until after our anniversary?

No. I asked for this, and by some miracle, Rafe is agreeing. He wants me to go with him to Corfu, not Santorini. I won’t be running into my parents there. With the stages I’m in for my two primary projects, I can work almost anywhere. I’ll miss my cozy studio with its postage stamp of a balcony. But it’ll be waiting for me when I come back. As will the rest of Paris.

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