Page 144 of Modern Romance Collection March 2025 (1-4)

‘Touché. Again,’ he said, the amusement in his tone not helping with the rabbit punches of her pulse, or her now painfully engorged nipples. ‘Landing cheap shots is getting to be a bad habit, Melody.’

She took some satisfaction from the hit. And the thought that her provocative reply had set their relationship back on track. After all, their bickering had always been her safe space where Rene was concerned, a throwback to their childhood which she had clung to after that night to cover the hurt he’d caused. But the spurt of satisfaction was short-lived when his voice lowered even more—into a confidential rumble rich with innuendo—and his gaze drifted over her body with far too much entitlement.

‘Be warned though,’ he said, the intensity in his eyes as much of a surprise as the possessive tone, ‘I’m starting to feel a lot better already, and once I’m back to full strength you won’t find it as easy to best me.’

Gauntlet thrown down, he strolled from the room, the confident grace back in his stride. Her gaze drifted down to a muscular male backside displayed to perfection in too-tight sweats. And then jerked back up again.

For goodness’ sake, Mel, stop checking out his butt.

But as she turned back to the sink and began scrubbing the plates hard enough to erase the design on them, heady desire shot through her overwrought body at warp speed. And it occurred to her that her safe space was now history. Because bickering with Rene was now almost as much of a turn-on as the light of approval in his golden gaze. And that mocking, devastatingly sensual smile. Not to mention the far too vivid memory of their latest X-rated faux pas.Blast the man.

CHAPTER EIGHT

‘WHAT ARE YOU DOING?’

Rene turned from the stove—and the two ribeye steaks he was busy trying not to incinerate—to find Melody standing behind him, wearing a shocked expression. It was the first time he’d seen her since their shared meal the night before, so he guessed the shot of adrenaline at the sight of her in an outsize sweatshirt and the familiar yoga pants was to be expected. He’d never been a guy who preferred his own company, and he’d been stuck with himself for over twenty-four hours.

He’d slept like the dead again last night, after his shower. But when he’d woken this morning he’d found a plate of food left for him in the kitchen and a note on the counter which had been curt and to the point:

I’ll be in my room. Don’t disturb me unless rescuers arrive.

‘I’m making us a meal—what does it look like?’ he muttered, trying to ignore his frustration at her attitude, and the fierce joy at seeing her again, which seemed somewhat disproportionate, given the scowl on her face.

Apparently, she was not nearly as pleased to see him.

‘Seriously? You know how to cook?’ The blank shock was starting to get on his nerves.

‘Don’t look so surprised. I’m perfectly capable of cooking steak and potatoes.’ He hoped. ‘And I figured it was my turn.’

The truth was he’d been bored out of his skull. He had managed to use up some time since he’d woken that morning trying to figure out how to use a washing machine. Why did they make the controls so unnecessarily complicated? And after shrinking his sweater to a size no ten-year-old would be able to fit into, he’d managed to waste another couple of hours hooking the back door onto its hinge and cleaning up the broken glass.

But since then he’d had nothing to do.

The storm still hadn’t broken, so he had eventually had to abandon his plan to venture out and locate their stranded vehicle so he could retrieve a phone charger.

Bored and far too aware of Melody, upstairs, in the master bedroom, ignoring him, he’d spent the afternoon lying on his empty bed being tortured by a ton of erotic images he couldn’t seem to shake… Not unlike the dreams which had plagued him for years, which seemed to have morphed into brand-new phantom memories he couldn’t shake either, not since their first night here.

All of which meant he was a lot more on edge than usual.

‘Really?’ she said. ‘Now, I’m actually speechless,’ she added, her astonishment joined by the glitter of derision in her gaze.

He switched off the gas, propped his butt against the counter and folded his arms over his chest, while trying to look less pissed off than he felt.

He knew she enjoyed mocking him, but frankly he’d had enough of her bad opinion and her snarky attitude to last him a lifetime already. And now they seemed to have an endless amount of time together—and she had made it clear she wasn’t interested in entertaining themselves with mindless sex—he was more than ready to call out her attitude problem.

‘What exactly is so damn surprising about me being able to cook a simple meal?’ he snapped, aching for a fight. Because sparring with Melody was considerably more satisfying than spending hours alone with only phantom erotic dreams of her.

Go figure.

‘It’s not that,’ she shot back, because they had always known how to antagonise each other. ‘It’s that you’d deign to cook one forme… Or be prepared to take turns here. After all, you’re a prince, right, and I’m just staff—something you have always made abundantly clear to me.’

‘W-What?’ He was so surprised by the accusation, and the shadow of hurt in her eyes before she masked it, that he was actually speechless.

Okay, they’d always managed to touch each other’s rawest nerves, but he had never been that much of an arse, had he? He was always courteous to his staff. He made a point of not expecting more than he was entitled to demand for the very generous salaries he paid them…because he had never wanted anyone to confuse him with the previous ruler of Saltzaland, a cruel and capricious despot who had a reputation for bullying his employees.

‘When have I ever given you the impression I did not consider you—or anyone who works for myself or Isabelle, for that matter—my equal?’ he finally managed.

Her eyebrows lifted as if she was surprised he was defending himself, which only aggravated him more.

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