Page 98 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 1-4

Her eyes looked liquid in the light, her throat moving as she swallowed. ‘It’s because I love you that I’d leave. Because your happiness is important to me and I can’t bear you having to be responsible for my feelings. You, constantly trying and trying to be better. I’ve done that, Isandro. That’s how it was with me living with my grandparents, and I don’t want you having to suffer the same thing.’ A tear slid slowly down her cheek. ‘I want you to be happy, so maybe it’s better if I take myself out of your life.’

The denial was instant, and he’d closed the gap between them before he was even aware of doing so, his hands gripping her upper arms, pulling her close. ‘No,’ he growled. ‘No, you’re not doing that. I’m not done with you yet.’

She didn’t move, didn’t protest, just looked up at him, tears in her eyes.

Fail and fail and fail. That’s all you’ve been doing for the past five years and look at you, failing yet again.

He pushed the thought away, bending and taking her mouth in a hot, hard kiss, because that’s all he could do. That was the only weapon he had at his disposal, her hunger for him and the pleasure he could give her.

‘This is my happiness,’ he growled against her soft mouth. ‘You, naked, under me.’ Then he kissed her again, harder this time, pushing his tongue into her mouth as he pulled her against him, devouring her, the kiss turning savage at the sweet taste of her.

Because yes, this was where he’d found happiness, the only happiness he’d ever had. With her in his arms, kissing her, being inside her. He didn’t want to marry someone else. He didn’t want another woman. He wanted this one.

She was soft in his arms, and didn’t protest, taking his kiss and giving him back her sweetness in return. Her hand cupped his jaw, her palm soft against his skin.

‘It’s not your fault they didn’t care,’ she whispered against his mouth. ‘It’s not your fault, Isandro.’

The question echoed in his head, abruptly loud. Was she talking about his parents? About how they hadn’t cared? And if so, why? He already knew it wasn’t his fault, not that it mattered. He hadn’t let it matter for a very, very long time.

So long, you’ve almost convinced yourself.

The thought slid through his brain, but then Wren was kissing him, her thumb stroking his jaw, her lips soft against his. God help him, but the way she touched him made him catch his breath. Made him savage with hunger.

They’d done it her way last night. Now, it was his turn.

He walked her back until she was pressed against the glass of the case. Keeping his mouth on hers, he slid his hands beneath her sweatshirt, stroking the hard, round bump of her stomach, and then up further, to the soft curves of her breasts. She arched into him, moaning softly against his mouth as he stroked her.

Yes, this was the feeling he wanted her to remember. His hands on her, his mouth, the aching pleasure he could give her that no one else could.

He sank to his knees in front of her, tugging down her trousers and taking her knickers with them, and then he gripped her hips as he buried his face in the soft curls between her thighs.

‘Isandro,’ she gasped, her body stiffening as he spread her gently with his fingers, exploring her with his tongue. ‘We’re in a—’

‘Museum,’ he murmured against her wet flesh. ‘I know. We’re totally private, little bird. Don’t fret.’ Then he pushed his tongue inside her.

She groaned, her fingers threading into his hair and pulling. The slight pain made him even harder than he was already, because he loved it when she showed her passion. When she allowed it to sweep her away, taking her normal, practised calm away with it. It always satisfied him on some deep, primitive level that he could do that to her.

He wanted to look up into her face, to see the pleasure suffusing it, but he didn’t want to stop what he was doing, because she tasted delicious, and he’d been wanting to do this since for ever. So soft, and hot, and wet. She was honey on his tongue, sweet musk and a tartness that was like the bite of an apple.

God, he could do this all day.

She panted, twisting against the glass as he devoured her, and he had to grip her hips harder to hold her in place as she writhed. When the orgasm took her, she put her head back and cried out, trembling like a tree in a high wind.

He rose slowly then, unbuckling his belt and pulling down the zip. Then he took her leg behind the knee, drawing it up to his waist so she was open to him, and pushed inside her, one hand gripping her thigh, the other pressed flat to the glass beside her head. She panted, her face a deep rose, her eyes glowing like dark stars. She didn’t look away, and neither did he, moving deep and slow inside her, watching her pleasure begin to build again. This time he wanted to see her come, so he held onto his control in a tight grip as he thrust, pushing her against the glass with each movement of his hips.

‘Oh my God…’ she whispered, looking at him as if he was the only thing she could see. ‘Oh… Isandro…’

Yes, he thought savagely. This was how it should be. Their marriage was this, incredible pleasure and intense passion, and that was enough. It was enough for him, and he’d make sure it would be enough for her too. She wasn’t going to leave him. He wouldn’t let her.

She moved with him until the intensity of the pleasure became unbearable, and then he slipped a hand between her thighs, stroking her sensitive clit, and finally she cried out again as the climax took her. Then he let himself off the leash, thrusting harder, faster, until he fell out of rhythm, his own roar of release echoing with hers.

Afterwards, he lowered his head, pressing his forehead to hers, their breaths mingling. It was futile to wait until she was his wife before taking her to his bed. There was no reason for it other than to prove to himself that he was in control of his desires, but for what? Sex was good for both of them, and they’d denied themselves for too long. There was no reason to keep delaying the inevitable.

Isandro stood there a second more, then he dealt with their clothing. He was just smoothing her sweatshirt back down over her little bump when he felt something shift beneath his hand.

He stilled completely in shock, jerking his head up and meeting her gaze. Her eyes were wide, bright with shock and joy. And a pulse of something fierce went through him in response, an emotion that wouldn’t be denied.

He’d felt his child move. His child.