Page 189 of Modern Romance June 2025 5-8

‘Isabella doesn’t know him the way I know him. She’s his blood child. I am not. He will do anything for her, but he has made my life difficult from day one.’ His mouth tightened and he continued, ‘I was sent to boarding school because he didn’t want me in the house. He didn’t like sharing me with my mother. When I did come home for rare visits, he made my life a living hell. Not in front of my mother or sister. He was too clever, too devious for that.’

She hugged her arms around her body, feeling cold all of a sudden even though it was summer. Before The Incident, she had considered herself a good judge of character, but since that night, she always doubted her ability to read a person’s motives. She had liked Vic’s stepfather on the three occasions she met him. He had been charming and friendly without being creepy. And Isabella had been so warm and adoring towards him, which to be honest, had made her feel a bit jealous. She couldn’t remember the last time she even saw her father, much less got a hug from him. ‘Oh, Vic, I’m so sorry, I never realised. Marcus only said you didn’t get on with your stepfather. He didn’t go into any details. Does Isabella know how difficult things were between you and her father?’

He moved away from the bench and went to the window to watch the sun come up over the horizon. ‘She’s nine years younger than me. There’s a lot she was too young to remember. I didn’t want to destroy her relationship with him. Anyway, she’s got Marcus now.’

‘And you have no one.’ She said the words without thinking but in a way, they described her as well as him.

He turned to look at her with an unreadable expression. He reminded her of a fortress with the drawbridge pulled up. ‘I don’t need anyone.’

‘Is that something you’ve taught yourself over the years? Not to need anyone?’

Vic’s gaze held hers like he was waiting for her to break the lock first. She fought hard not to look away, but it took a mammoth effort. ‘Don’t feel sorry for me, Addie.’ His tone was as cautionary as his keep-away-from-me expression.

‘I—I don’t feel sorry for you. I can relate to you, that’s all.’

Something in his expression softened—the drawbridge lowering a fraction. ‘Because of your mother?’

She gave him a grim look. ‘You’ve met her. You don’t need me to tell you all the gory details of our relationship.’

‘But I’d like to hear all the same.’

Should she tell him some of the things she hated most about being her mother’s daughter? It wasn’t something she talked about. To anyone. Not even her brother. But Vic had opened up to her about his difficult stepfather. She could tell that wasn’t easy for him, so surely, she could be courageous enough to share a little bit about herself. She picked up her teacup, closing her fingers around the fine bone china, but she didn’t bring it to her mouth. ‘I hated and still hate being compared to her. I’m not beautiful. I’m not vivacious and charming. I’m not a party girl who loves being the centre of attention. I’m a huge disappointment to my mother for not measuring up to her.’ She hadn’t realised how firmly she was holding her teacup until Vic gently removed it from her clenched fingers and put it back on the saucer on the island bench with a soft little clink. She hadn’t even realised he’d moved closer—she was too fixated on listing her shortcomings. She looked up and met his gaze and something with soft wings fluttered in one of the ventricles of her heart.

Vic lifted a hand to her face and brushed a strand of hair away from her cheek, his touch as light as the brush of a feather. ‘But you are beautiful.’ His voice had a gravel and honey combination that sent a shiver racing over her flesh. He was standing almost toe to toe with her, and it made every cell of her body tighten with awareness. And a tingle of anxiety. She wasn’t used to being the focus of someone’s attention. She wasn’t used to intimacy of any kind. It was a battle inside her, a war between two wants—one to get away and the other to come close. But she hardly knew Vic. He was a playboy, a man about town, and she was a homespun, boring, and bland and shy woman who had zero experience. Even though a part of her loved hearing Vic’s compliments, she didn’t for a moment believe them. How could she? They were just words. And she had heard them before on the night of The Incident. She was told by her boyfriend a whole heap of compliments and she had basked in them like someone who had never experienced the warmth of sunshine on their body. But there was the kicker—once he saw her naked body, he began comparing it to her mother’s and the truth came out. He only wanted to sleep with her to crow about it to his mates.

She licked her dry lips and tried to disguise a swallow. ‘Your jet lag must be far worse than I thought if you think I’m beautiful.’ She injected a note of self-deprecating humour in her tone.

He gently tipped up her chin and her heart did a jerky somersault. She had always secretly dreamed of someone doing that to her—touching her so softly, so tenderly, their gaze focussed on her as if she was the most captivating person in the world. But how could she be sure Vic was really captivated by her? She was nothing like his casual lovers. They were flamingos like her mother. She was a barnyard fowl.

‘Everything about you is beautiful, not just your looks. You have a sweet and kind nature too.’

‘But you hardly know me. How can you tell what my nature is like?’

Vic was still holding her chin between his thumb and index finger. The warmth of his touch surprised her, delighted her, excited her. But a flicker of fear still lurked in the back of her mind. She wanted to be wanted forher. Heat seeped from his skin into hers, stirring her flesh into a deep longing for more of his touch. She stared at his mouth, the sculptured contours mesmerising to her. She wanted him to kiss her. Sheneededhim to kiss her. She wanted to taste him, to feel those sensual lips moving against her own. But she had not been kissed in years. She had forgotten the moves, the cues, and she didn’t have the confidence to ask outright. And what if he kissed her and it was a disaster? What if she pulled away out of fear and anxiety?

‘I don’t have to know someone for long to know what sort of person they are.’ His hand released her chin, but his index finger moved in a slow stroke across her cheek.

‘Making a quick character assessment must be part of the skill set of a playboy,’ she said, trying to keep things light.

A frown appeared on his forehead, his mouth tightened a fraction and his hand fell away from her face. ‘I’m not trying to get it on with you, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

Her eyes opened wide. ‘I—I wasn’t thinking any such thing. Mostly because no one like you could ever be interested in someone like me.’

There was a pulsing silence. All she could hear was the sound of her breathing and the soft humming of the French door fridge.

Vic’s eyes moved back and forth between each of hers, searchingly, searingly. ‘Why do you say that?’

‘I’m too ordinary. Plain, boring, conservative.’ She swallowed and added in a lower, barely audible tone, ‘Inexperienced.’

A flicker of shock passed through his gaze and his frown deepened. ‘How inexperienced?’ His voice was so low and deep it sounded like the bass chord of a pipe organ.

She turned to pick up her cup, mainly for something to do with her hands and her mouth before they got any further out of control. There was only a sip left in the cup and it was lukewarm, but she drank it anyway. Yuck, and it had tea leaves in it. Maybe she should have read them instead of swallowed them.

Vic’s hand came down on her right shoulder, gently turning her to face him again. ‘Are you telling me you’re a virgin?’ His expression was so incredulous it made her feel even more of a gauche fool.

Her mouth twisted. ‘Isn’t it funny that one hundred years ago, I would’ve been considered the ideal, the norm. Now I am a pariah. A misfit.’

Vic’s hand released her shoulder, but he didn’t step back from her. He stood looking down at her with a grave expression on his face. ‘Is your inexperience by choice or circumstance?’

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