Page 95 of Modern Romance June 2025 5-8

Goosebumps broke out across her skin as he came alive against her, turning her foray into a mutual caress, deep and slow.

It felt as easy as if they’d done this a million times before. As inevitable as the sun rising over the Alps.

But more exciting than anything she knew.

Annalena stretched high, revelling in his solidity against her yearning body, the strength of long arms encircling her, pulling her close.

There was a muffled sound, a low hum, almost a growl, that she tasted in the back of her throat, and easy familiarity turned urgent. He led her deeper, into places she hadn’t gone and she followed eagerly, utterly entranced.

She clung, grasping for purchase as her knees loosened and only his embrace kept her upright. Her blood effervesced like champagne and her toes curled as ribbons of delight danced through her.

Benedikt supported the back of her head in one hand as he bent low, taking her mouth with devastating thoroughness. Making her nipples pucker and her brain atrophy.

Deep within she felt a hungry twist of need. A hollow throb that began in her pelvis but resonated everywhere. Moisture dampened her new silk undies as arousal stirred.

The truth slammed into her brain. This kiss had nothing to do with hurt pride or proving a point, but everything to do with her response to Benedikt.

Annalena’s hands tightened on his skull as she tried to climb his body, curving her spine to align her pelvis with his.

She tasted another low, masculine growl that sent her libido into overdrive.

Then, abruptly, nothing.

She heard breathing, harsh and uneven, gulped lungfuls of cold air and felt strong hands at her elbows. They held her as she wobbled on high heels, legs like overcooked spaghetti. Her hands clenched and opened, empty.

Stunned, she lifted impossibly heavy eyelids.

Benedikt loomed over her, dishevelled, lipstick-smeared and distant. His jaw was set, the mouth that had kissed her so voraciously a flat line.

Annalena blinked, barely taking in his rumpled hair and bow tie hanging loose, trying to read his searing gaze. She saw heat but was it from arousal or something else?

His gaze roved her face and her lips throbbed and parted. A second later he withdrew totally, stepping back and putting a world of space between them.

Well, that went well. You came undone while he…

She didn’t want to think about how he felt. She had a horrible feeling that passionate kiss had been an experiment on his part, the passion all hers.

Annalena watched him roll his shoulders and straighten to his full height. He wasn’t even out of breath whereas her heart hammered as she struggled to draw in oxygen, making her breasts rise and fall quickly.

That’s the least of your worries. Never show weakness to an enemy, remember?

Except he hadn’t felt like an enemy.

‘Was that enthusiastic enough?’ she murmured, hiding a wince at her husky, broken voice. ‘Not that we’ll have to go that far to convince our guests.’

His eyes narrowed and she’d swear she saw annoyance flicker across his set features.

‘You’re saying that was an act?’

Benedikt’s tone was clipped. She hated the contrast, hated herself for what she’d done. How could she let him affect her that way?

She shrugged and walked past him, grateful for the sheer determination that kept her steady on high heels despite feeling as if her bones had melted. ‘It wasn’t…unpleasant and I wanted to be thorough. Isn’t that how exposure therapy works?’

She didn’t want to see his reaction to her lie. But she’d tramp over hot coals rather than admit she’d lost her senses as soon as he’d kissed her back.

A shiver ran through her. Their upcoming marriage was more daunting now than ever. She’d just proved she wanted her husband-to-be. But he’d pulled back from her. He might simulate passion but that was all it was, a sham.

Hurt welled. An echo of the ancient self-pity she’d thought she’d conquered years ago. At never wholly fitting in. At always being different. The orphan brought up by an old lady regarded locally with mixed awe, reverence and trepidation. The girl from the castle, privileged but hemmed in by duty and expectation.

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