Page 138 of Modern Romance Collection March 2025 (1-4)

Wow, Mel, when you mess up you never do it by halves, do you?

The good news was she had just had a period, she reasoned frantically, so the chances of a pregnancy were slim… She would just have to hope for the best and take a test when she got back to the White Palace.No biggie.

She tried to gauge the intensity of the snowstorm outside, still battering their refuge. Was it morning yet? Surely it had to be… How long had they slept?

She eased herself out from under the throw, her skin warmed by the heated air in the room even though the fire was out. She slipped off the torn lace panties, which he’d ripped from her during their lovemaking session…

Not lovemaking, she told herself staunchly as she hunted for her clothes. More like no-holds-barred, dirty, sweaty, life-affirming and insanely dumb sex.

Which is, let’s face it, what we have always specialised in.

She found her yoga pants and slipped them on.

The first time she’d had sex with Rene she had been high on vintage Napoleon brandy and the full glare of his undivided attention for an entire evening after their chance encounter in a London nightclub. This time she had been high on the erotic dreams which had never left her since that night, and the impact of waking up to discover she was wonderfully, gloriously alive, and he wanted her again.

Neither time had had any emotional significance. And that was what she needed to focus on now.

She found one of her discarded jumpers, which had dried by the fire, and tugged it on.

She needed a shower. But before leaving the room she risked a glance at Rene.

She let out a relieved sigh. He was still deeply asleep, his face flushed. Not all that surprising, seeing as he’d done the lion’s share of the work to get them out of the storm—and during their late-night dumb-sex session.

Perhaps he wouldn’t remember what had happened between them… All she could do was hope. And if he did, she’d just have to ensure he realised it was a one-off, never to be repeated.

Whatever happened, she needed to re-establish her boundaries now, and shore up her defences.

But as she continued to stare at him she frowned, noticing the reddened skin around the makeshift bandage on his arm. Then the harsh sound of his breathing registered too, above the noise from outside.

She knelt beside him to brush his hair away from his forehead, strangely drawn to the scar she remembered. But when her fingertips touched him, she gasped.

He’s burning up.

She tugged the throw down to press her palm to his chest and felt his galloping heartbeat—as well as the shocking heat.

Rene was on fire. No wonder he’d seemed so deeply asleep. Was he even conscious?

She shook his shoulder as gently as she could. ‘Rene, Rene, wake up.’

He let out a low groan. ‘Stop. Arm…’ he murmured, the words tortured.

She tugged off the makeshift bandage she’d applied when they’d arrived. But he flinched when she inspected the sore flesh around the jagged cut.

His lids snapped open, his dark chocolate eyes glassy with fever. ‘Ouch!’

‘Rene, I think your arm is infected,’ she said, becoming frantic when his lids closed again.

Guilt assailed her. She had been panicking about their night-time encounter, while he had developed a raging fever in the hours since…

Shivers began to rack his body. ‘Cold,’ he said, then reached for the throw she’d stripped off him.

‘No, we need to get your temperature down,’ she managed, wrestling with him for control of the blanket.

This time she won, far too easily. He sank back onto the rug, giving up.

Hastily, she stripped the throw off completely. A blush fired over her cheeks as she dragged his boxers up, to preserve what was left of his modesty, and hers, guilt consuming her now, as well as a rush of shame—and awareness.

‘Don’t move,’ she said somewhat redundantly, as he seemed to have sunk into unconsciousness. ‘I’m going to see if I can find water and some medicine,’ she added to no one in particular.

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