Page 126 of Modern Romance Collection March 2025 (1-4)

He ripped off his bowtie and wrestled open the top two buttons of his dress shirt, then thrust the tie into his pocket, glaring at her as ifshewere the guilty party. Controlled fury rolled off him in waves. The spark of antagonism arced between them, ready to ignite the bristling tension like an accelerant in a sea of petrol, while making her brutally aware of how isolated they were.

The intimacy was as terrifying as the emotions making her breathing clog in her lungs. This was the first time she had been alone with Rene since that night. She should walk away. But her feet were rooted to the carpet, her accelerated breathing, her thundering pulse—the fallout from their wrestling match—making her annoyingly light-headed.

‘What did you mean,’ he demanded, his voice still rough with anger, ‘about going home?’

Had she said that? Her dazed mind struggled to come up with an explanation, while also trying to understand why he cared.

‘It was a figure of speech,’ she managed. ‘I’m going to my room.’ At last, the strength returned to her legs and her feet began to cooperate.

But as she swung round his strong fingers grasped her upper arm and swung her back again.

‘Wait a damn minute…’ he said.

Sensation shot up her arm again. He hadn’t touched her since that night, for four years, and now he couldn’t seem to stop touching her. Her reaction was as volatile and all-consuming as it had been then—which would be humiliating if it weren’t so pathetic.

‘Don’t touch me,’ she said, but even so she was surprised when he released her. And lifted his hands, palms up.

‘Okay, but dammit…’ He thrust his fingers through his hair, raking the dark locks into haphazard rows, his frustration clear when he spoke again. ‘Don’t walk away from me again, Melody…’

The way he said her full name struck something deep inside her, that black hole of insecurity he had discovered once before and exploited so easily. She wrapped her arms around her waist to contain the panic threatening to overwhelm her.

But then he sighed and added, ‘We need to talk about that night because it’s…’

‘No, we don’t.’ She cut him off with as much determination as she could muster, while being wrenched back in time to the biggest mistake of her life.

She’d been such a fool that night—such a naïve, eager, innocent, romantic fool. Why on earth had she trusted her virginity to him when she’d always known what a shallow bastard he was, especially where women were concerned? That her body still didn’t seem to have learned that lesson only made her panic increase.

The only saving grace was that he would never know he had been her first…and her only lover. So far.

‘I’m exhausted. It’s past midnight and I want to go to bed,’ she said, trying to keep her voice even when she was shaking inside.

Why was he bringing that night up now? Was he trying to destroy what was left of her composure?

‘The last thing I need to talk about is ancient history,’ she added, stepping away from him cautiously, as if he were an unexploded bomb. Because that was what this whole hideous standoff suddenly felt like. Explosive and terrifying.

She’d hated how easily he had forgotten her in the days afterwards, when she had tried to contact him… But his carelessness then, and the easy dismissal, was her insurance now against her body’s idiotic reaction to him,still.

The fact that he had never referred to their night together had become a boon eventually instead of a cause for sadness and recriminations… It had given her a chance to repair the damage he’d done by discarding her so carelessly. And now he was trying to make her feel like nothing again… Well, no thanks.

‘So, if you’re finished with your caveman act…’ she said, but before she could get away he snagged her arm again.

‘You’re not going anywhere,’ he said.

‘Let me go,’ she demanded.

‘Only if you promise not to run until we’ve got a few things settled.’

‘Fine. I promise,’ she blurted out.

She needed him to stop touching her. Because the feel of his fingers, after all these years, was playing havoc with what was left of her equilibrium.

He released her and slung his hand into his pocket. His gaze seared her skin. But she forced herself to stand tall and to ignore the riot of sensations and emotions—which were screaming at her to run again. She’d tried that already and it hadn’t exactly worked in her favour.

‘So, you’re not planning on heading back to Androvia tonight?’ he asked, his penetrating gaze astute and surprisingly lucid.

Why wasn’t he drunk—when he had a reputation for overindulging at parties?

She struggled to contain the guilty flush—and thanked God for the low lighting. ‘Of course not. It’s pitch-dark, it’s probably snowing, I’m exhausted and it’s a five-hour drive in daylight.’

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