Page 39 of Modern Romance July 2025 #4-8

Access to his child. A marriage that provided all the stability he’d certainly never had. She needed some…convincing, and Theo thought there was no better place than here.

And that was that.

“You’ve made it impossible for me to leave,” Rebecca said, though no hysterics tinged her tone.

“I have made it so we both are together with no distractions until we have decided how to best proceed, for ourselves and our child. This is not the atrocity you are trying to make it out to be.”

“You could have said, Rebecca, I have this lovely private island I’d like to take you to so we may discuss our future without distraction . Instead, you tricked me.”

He didn’t care for this conversation at all. “Show me the trick. I don’t recall lying, tricking. I simply said we’d take a drive so I could show you something. You did not ask any questions. You got in the car.”

He could tell that she did not have any quick-witted response for this fact. And since this was the first time since they’d docked that she seemed to show a weakening, he moved from the car toward her.

“Come, Rebecca.” He stood in front of her, reached out and gently wrapped his hands around her upper arms and gave her a little tug. “Let us move forward.”

Her scent wound around him. An odd mix of floral and mint, tinged with the surrounding sea. Her blue eyes were wary but looked bluer out here amid the water and sky. He thought of the first time he’d seen her back in Ireland. The light had been in shadows, but still that blue had penetrated.

Hit its mark. He could not fathom why . What made this upended reaction whirl around inside him when she was near. She was just a beautiful woman. There were so very many of those.

And yet none had ever had the effect on him she did. Which was concerning, but at least he could see she felt the same. The wariness had not gone out of her eyes, but something else had entered her expression.

Longing.

“You have two days,” she announced loftily. “I will stay for two days. Then I am going back to Ireland.”

He didn’t verbally agree. Saw no point in lying to her.

She would not go anywhere until he was satisfied.

But he gave a slight little nod if only to get her to move toward the car.

When she did, he tucked her into the front seat this time, and then finally , only a little behind his preferred schedule, drove off the ferry, onto the island and toward home .

He’d had major renovations done to the stone buildings on the island when he’d first purchased it in his early twenties. He’d wanted a place to escape his father, escape the world . Somewhere quiet and just his—no pretense, no… drama .

But he’d modernized much of what had been old. He’d kept the historical charm as best he could. As suited him. The buildings, including his sprawling house, were still made of whitewashed stone and glistened prettily in the sun. The shutters were painted dark, Greek blue every year.

He felt himself settle as he drove up the winding drive. Yes, this was the best place to make decisions that would change the course of his entire life. There would be no demands here. Just him and Rebecca.

He tried to ignore the twirl of carnal want that tried to take hold of him. Privacy did not mean they would give in to the chemistry between them.

What would be the harm?

A dangerous line of thought. But he was a man who sometimes walked the line of danger, as long as he always had one finger in control. He’d lost that one finger back in Ireland for a night, but he could not afford to lose it again.

Except, she’s already pregnant.

Frustrated with himself, worried these were the kinds of thoughts that prompted his father to act without thinking, Theo came to a stop in front of the house.

He handed off his keys to the staff member waiting, murmured instructions of what to do with their things in Greek, and then opened the passenger door for Rebecca.

She’d found her shoes in her bag and put them on her feet. She clutched the sad little duffel to her chest. Theo tried to take it, but she held firm.

He wanted to argue with her, or jerk it out of her grasp, but he had more control than that.

He put his hand on her back to guide her, but the little intake of breath held more punch than he’d like it to.

Just touching her brought images of their night together to his mind, in blaring color and sound.

He let a slow breath out as he led her inside.

The tile was colorful and unique. He’d taken some of the decoration upon himself.

Antiques that appealed to him. Art that interested him.

Color schemes he liked. Furniture that was comfortable, window views that were enjoyable—not just impressive.

Plus, there was the potted garden outside he liked to tend while he was here.

He had never brought anyone here and wondered what they might think of it. It was him, and he was confident in himself and what he liked, what he wanted. But he found himself turning to look at Rebecca, to see her reaction.

“It’s so different from your other place. So…interesting.” Her mouth curved, ever so slightly, her finger reaching out to run along the frame of a painting of his home—before he’d modernized it. “ This is a home,” she said, with something that sounded like awe in her voice.

He found himself struggling to find words, both because of the heavy band around his lungs, but also because…

He did not know what to say. It was a home.

His home. He’d chosen much of the decorating himself—where his properties in Athens and London and New York were meant for business, for holding the reins of his father’s ever-splintering attention, and reflected that with a kind of austere simplicity.

Even his library was different here, focused on what he enjoyed reading over what he felt it necessary to read to be a good businessman.

It was a strange thing for her to recognize it so easily and for that recognition to…mean something.

They were strangers. Strangers with an electric physical connection. That was all.

Well, that and a baby.

“Follow me,” he said abruptly, because the things rattling around inside him were foreign and strange and he did not know what to do with them except push them—and her—away, until he could have some quiet to sort it out.

He led her up the stairs and through the hall to one of the guest rooms he’d had his staff prepare. He opened the door, gestured her inside. “This will be your room. Should you want to change anything, add anything, you need only ask me or my staff.”

She hesitated a moment but ended up moving inside the room without voicing whatever concern she had. She still clutched the bag to her, but—as he’d hoped—she immediately relaxed and moved for the wall-to-wall window, the curtains opened so the entire view of the beach below spread out.

She let out an awed breath. “My God,” she murmured.

The sun was setting now, a pretty, demure slash of pastels in pink, lavender and orange. Still the sea glittered a beautiful blue against the white beach.

“I take it you approve of the room.”

She made a sound, almost like an awed laugh. “I suppose.” She moved to drape her bag across the cozy chair in the corner, her eyes never leaving the sunset outside her windows. “That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have asked.”

“Noted.”

She managed to tear her gaze away from the window to him, her mouth curved in a smile of that same awe in her voice and a kind of amusement. Now she was backlit by the painting of a scene behind her, and it caught around his lungs, a barbed wire lasso.

Painful, too searing to take a breath. The amusement, the awe in her expression changed. Faded, then sharpened.

She felt this, too. This insatiable thing that he didn’t have the words for. Perhaps if she didn’t, he’d have the tools to fight it. He moved closer when he shouldn’t. She didn’t back away when she should.

Fight it. “You’ve had much travel.” His voice sounded and felt like gravel. “I will have someone draw you a bath.”

They were so close, a kiss so… possible . He knew she was angry at him. Frustrated at herself for finally giving in and agreeing to come inside.

But he also knew she felt this . This wild, untamed thing he hadn’t figured out how to control.

Control, control, control.

“That would be fine,” she said, her voice rough, her eyes wide and on his, even as her breath came in soft little pants.

The moment wound through him as erotic as any strip tease. Just standing here staring at each other, a shade too close. Knowing that she no doubt had the same memories running through her mind.

She would taste as fresh and vibrant as an Irish meadow. She would feel as soft as silk under his hands.

He could think of nothing else to do except lower his mouth to hers. He drew out the moment, wondering if sense would reign for either of them.

It didn’t. Her mouth met his, a soft, sensual brush. But that softness lasted all of a second before they were grabbing each other, hurtling the kiss into that heat they both knew existed when their bodies came together.

It was the antithesis to the sunset behind her. That was gentle. This was rough. A band snapped. The lashing pain of holding back this whole damn day. She was heat and wonder and the kiss a million chances to find bliss.

He tangled his hands in her hair, angled her head back to deepen the kiss, to have her just the way he’d been wanting to. Not just since she arrived, but since she’d slipped away that early morning.

She’d left some kind of hook in him. Engaging in this behavior hardly ripped it out, but by God he would have what he wanted before he caused himself that kind of pain.

Her, her, her. He wanted her .

When he came up for some kind of air, she made a sad little attempt to push him back before her hands fisted in his shirt, keeping him right there.

“We can do this, Theo.” She panted it, her eyes meeting his, wide and blue, pupils big. “It changes nothing.” She said this firmly, even through her gasping breaths.

She was right, of course.

So why not have what they wanted first? It changed absolutely nothing, risked absolutely nothing, so it was not a loss of control. It was simply getting what he wanted.

And he wanted . A clawing need he was having trouble thinking around, through. So he crashed his mouth to hers again, took and took and took. Her body pressed to his. The taste of her invading him once again. He’d never forgotten it. Might never.

He led her to the large bed that dominated the center of the room without ever taking his mouth from hers. His hands streaked under her shirt and he pulled it off her, using the momentary break in the kiss to note how every moment from before broke free from the little box he’d try to put it in.

Her skin felt the same. Her sighs in his ear, the same pounding, unsettling need for something. More than release. More than usual . She was just…more.

He laid her out on the bed, a conquering hero over his prize. And she was a prize. So beautiful. So perfect. He peeled off the soft pants she wore, bared her beautiful body to him. All creamy perfection. In his home.

For a moment, he realized this was what he’d really brought here for. Not to minimize distractions, but because he wanted to see her in the fading island light in the only place that had ever felt like his .

His hands moved down over her breasts, fuller than they had been, beautiful and mesmerizing. Over her ribcage, and the slight rise of her stomach. There was a difference there, a roundness, but not yet like there would be. Eventually she would be ripe with his child.

And she would be his .

He gripped her hips and entered her on that thought, felt her shatter around him with just that. On a cry, that beautiful sound that had haunted him through months. The light playing around them a golden haze, making her seem otherworldly.

A ghost. A goddess. A curse. A promise.