Page 203 of Modern Romance March 2025 (5-8)

She found herself chattering away in a manner that probably would have appalled her had she been in her right mind. Any protests about the fine wine, the food, any of it were met with a laconic “It’s your birthday, after all,” and one of the slow vulpine smiles that made her stomach flop to her feet. And then he’dlookat her.

He wasn’t even trying to hide it, she thought with an internal shiver. Every time his eyes flickered over her face or body, she pressed her thighs together against the heat kindling there. She was no untried virgin and nor was she frigid; the fact that she found it so easy to be swept away was why she’d kept her defenses so rigidly in place all these years. Being with a man she’d wanted wildly had ended in nothing but disaster and a feeling of emptiness that had lingered through till this very night.

And yet…

She cleared her throat in a bid to clear her head. It didn’t work, but she forged on anyway. “I’ve talked so much that I think I need to resort to clichés at this point.” He smiled noncommittally and she felt a stab of nervousness. “Do you come here often? Is it quite fashionable? I’d heard of Ronnie Scott’s but not this place.”

“I come here once in a while, when a client who fancies himself a music aficionado wants a must-see spot.” Desmond was toying with the remains of his own dinner, eyes fixed lazily on her face. “Do you like it?”

“At the risk of sounding pretentious, it’s extraordinary.”

“Good.” Were his eyes drifting down her body now? And if she was not mistaken, that was desire in his eyes… She was disturbed to find herself tilting toward him, her body arching under his gaze. “I intend for you to enjoyeverything we do this evening.”

Val choked, then placed her whiskey glass down, chasing the mouthful with ice water. In an effort to calm herself, she closed her eyes.

“Do you like the music?”

“It’s amazing.” At this point, keeping her eyes closed seemed safer. Now that Desmond was shut out, the music became more than a backdrop; she could make out melody, cadence, rhythm. While Val wasn’t a music aficionado by any means, jazz had always been a part of her life. She licked her lips, lowered her shoulders and bid tension in her body to leave through exhaled breath. And to her surprise, it did.

She eased back into the seat, but it was no longer buttery soft leather; Desmond’s arm was there. It was rigid and soft all at once, and it pulsed with warmth. He’d clearly taken the opportunity to move even closer. She was…well, she was practically in his arms. And it made her fizz inside.

“My father played as part of a jazz combo when I was a child,” she said. The smell of him was dizzying.

“Where was that, again?” His voice was low and rich and she could feel it tightening at the tender points of her body; her breasts, the soft secret place between her thighs.

“New Orleans,” she said after a moment. “He passed away when I was a child. That’s why I was so embarrassed about…before. I shouldn’t make such tactless comments.”

Desmond made a noise of acknowledgement deep in his throat, and Val felt the sound resonate down to her toes, leaving a very pleasant tingle. Those beautiful eyes were masked, completely and she didn’t know whether to be disappointed or to be relieved.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said after a beat, and his voice was gentle.

“Oh, you don’t have to be. I was young. My mum married again, and my stepfather was just fine—” And now she was babbling like a nervous teenager. She stopped and took a deep, steadying breath, then closed her eyes. Desmond’s body was a warm mass at her side, pulsing with something she dared not name.

“He played an upright bass, my father,” she continued. “In a restaurant. It was an unapologetic tourist trap that served nothing but frozen hurricanes—”

“Hurricanes?”

“It’s a drink that’ll have you on your back in a half hour. And they had the best lobster and shrimp pot pies. I can taste them even now…”

“Val,” he said with an amused tone. “Your eyes are still shut.”

She bit her lower lip hard and nodded.

“Are you afraid to look at me?”

Yes, she was. Because he was too attractive, and because this was inappropriate—and most of all because the fire raging inside her at this very moment was much too reminiscent of the young woman she’d been, a woman too easily swept away by passion into dangerous currents. She’d almost been lost—no, shehadbeen lost, for a very long time. And now she was here, in the arms of possibly the most attractive man in all of England, while technically working. And he was telling her toopen her eyes.

“I am,” she said, and she wondered how the hell her voice had gone so soft and smoky. She hadn’t sounded like that, not since—

The sound he made in response lived halfway between a laugh and a sigh. “Well, at least I know you feel it, too.”

Val’s eyes flicked open, and she knew right away it’d been a mistake. Desmond had shifted his body and was peering intently into her face, with those dark eyes and their honey-tinged irises glowing in the dimness of the lounge, like a cat’s. Want sliced razor-sharp through her, and he thumbed her chin, his touch whisper-soft. She swallowed. And the words that came out of her mouth next shocked the hell out of her.

“You might as well just do it,” she said a little acidly, sounding like herself for the first time since they’d sat down, and his lips twitched.

“Am I that obvious?”

“Weren’t you trying to be?”

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