Page 146 of Modern Romance September 2025 5-8
She swallowed, looked down at the nested pastry set before her, layered with flavours and texture and complexity.
The staff left them alone.
‘Shall we begin?’ he asked.
Aurora looked at the pastry. Picked up her spoon and splatted it open. The layers merged and spread over the plate.
That was what she wanted. To merge with him. To get inside his mind and explore his complexities. His layers.
But he wouldn’t let her in.
She dropped her spoon into the mess she’d created.
‘I’ve lost my appetite.’ She stood, pushed back the chair with her thighs.
‘Aurora…’
And there it was. Every time he said her name, she felt her whole body tighten with the need to feel his breath on her, speaking her name against her skin.
‘You must eat,’ he said. ‘For the baby.’
She scowled, met his gaze, and thrust out her chin. ‘The baby is fine.’
‘But you’re not?’ he asked.
Her scowl fell. Did he care? Did he just not know how to do this? Them? Or was he humouring her?
She felt petulant. Impatient. She felt young and restless. And for once she wanted to allow herself to be all those things. To fight against Sebastian’s calm exterior. He made her want to be all the things she had never been allowed to be.
She wanted everything, and she wanted it now.
Meeting him, making love to him, carrying their baby inside her, it had all changed her.
He’d changed her. Made her understand, recognise all the moments she’d let go when she could have reached out and claimed them. Made herself heard. Made it meaningful.
For Michael.
For herself.
‘I’m fine,’ she lied, because regardless of what she wanted, of how she wanted to act in this moment, he needed her to take things slower.
He needed time.
She advanced a step toward him and dipped her head to his ear. His hair whispered across her forehead. And she did what she longed to do. She touched the chestnut silk and pushed the hair behind his ear.
‘Good night,’ she husked and dipped her head further. Pressed her lips to his bristled cheek and kissed him.
A low moan vibrated in his chest.
She lifted her lips from his cheek, just enough to claim his face and turn it to her. And the long bristles of his beard pricked at her fingers. Made her skin tingle from her fingertips to her gold-sheathed toes.
Their eyes clashed and locked.
His eyes were an amber blaze, and they mirrored the hum in her body demanding she get closer. Taste his lips. His mouth.
She leaned in—
‘What are you doing?’ he said quietly, but so dangerously it hit her straight in the chest.
