Page 39 of Modern Romance September 2025 1-4

CHAPTER EIGHT

Katla

I stare into Ulysses’s molten gaze, studying him.

Is he telling me the truth or is he lying?

Yes, he’s been honest about his desires and about what he wants from me, but I’m unsure about his honesty now.

He said he wasn’t playing games, but his promise seemed casual and offhand, as if he thought it unimportant.

Yet now he’s leaning forward, his gaze pinned to mine, telling me nothing sexual will happen between us unless I ask for it.

Which do I believe—his manner, his words or his actions?

Mr Tanaka and I investigated him when he first started making moves against Tanaka Solar, but the information we found was only about his business practices.

‘Ruthless’ was the word many people used.

‘Brilliant’ was another. ‘Merciless’, a third.

That tells me nothing about what he’s like as a man and I’m curious now; I can’t help it.

I want to know why he’s so ruthless. Why he seems so honest, yet as if he’s playing games at the same time.

Why his actions are both aggressive and protective, his manner almost… playful.

Being curious is probably to my detriment, but I want to believe him.

I want to tell him the truth. He’s asked me about my feelings for him a few times now, point blank, and I haven’t answered, which seems hypocritical of me.

I also don’t like the thought that I’ve been drawn into his games, that I’m using his desire for me as a way to gain back some power. It feels dishonest.

‘I might not ask,’ I tell him after a moment.

‘You might not,’ he agrees, his gaze piercing.

‘I still don’t trust you,’ I warn, just so he knows.

He doesn’t seem offended. ‘I understand.’

Silence falls and I know I have to answer him. I have to give him the same honesty he’s giving me, no matter that I dislike him. No matter that he’s arrogant and demanding. No matter about his threats to Tanaka Solar.

‘Very well,’ I say at last, reluctantly. ‘You’re right. I am…attracted to you.’

One side of his mouth curves and there’s satisfaction in it. But oddly the satisfaction doesn’t annoy me. It pleases me that he’s pleased.

‘You liked the kiss,’ he says.

‘Is that a question or a statement?’

‘A statement.’ He leans back in his seat again, picks up his Scotch from the small table beside his elbow and sips it. His long legs are stretched out in front of him, his powerful body at rest, and there’s something about him lounging like this, lazy as a panther, that makes my mouth go dry.

‘Yes,’ I say, because I told myself I’d tell him the truth. ‘I did like it. It also took approximately thirty seconds,’ I add, which is being unnecessarily pedantic but I want him know. ‘You can deduct that time from my six months.’

This time his whole mouth curves and his eyes gleam. It doesn’t feel like night in the jet any more, but as if daylight has come and is streaming through the windows. My stomach tightens and my breath catches. He is so very beautiful.

‘Were you counting?’ he asks, heat in the look he gives me.

‘No,’ I say candidly, because I wasn’t in any position to count when he kissed me. ‘It’s an estimate. Kisses are usually ten seconds, but in the car it was longer.’

‘I see,’ he murmurs. ‘Who the hell have you been kissing that it only takes ten seconds?’

‘John,’ I say, then add for completeness’s sake, ‘Sex takes ten minutes.’

Ulysses blinks and a little arrow of pleasure pierces me that once again I’ve managed to surprise him.

‘Ten minutes,’ he says blankly, as if the words have no meaning.

‘Sometimes less.’ I relax in my seat at last because, as it turns out, I do trust his word. He promised nothing would happen unless I asked and I believe him.

‘Less,’ he echoes in the same tone.

His reaction is puzzling. He looks almost…shocked. Perhaps I’m wrong; perhaps sex doesn’t take that long. Or perhaps it takes longer for other people. I just know how long John takes and ten minutes is quite enough for me. I can’t imagine wanting longer.

You wanted that kiss to be longer.

Heat curls through me at the reminder and abruptly I’m back in the car, his hand gripping my jaw, his mouth on mine, his tongue exploring me, tasting me… It occurs to me that, if I liked that kiss, I might tolerate sex with Ulysses. I might even like it.

No, you won’t. You’ll love it.

‘That should be illegal,’ Ulysses mutters, his voice soft and deep in the humming quiet of the jet’s cabin.

My head is full of hot images all of a sudden—of being in bed with Ulysses. Instead of being naked with John, I’m naked with him. His body is on mine, his hands on me, his mouth on my skin. He’s inside me…

Need throbs between my legs, the hungry, desperate ache that rose up when he kissed me and that seems to wake whenever he gets close to me.

I’ve never thought about sex before. I’ve never thought about it or even wanted it before.

Oh, I know what attraction is, what physical passion is, but I didn’t think it was something I could experience because I’d never met anyone who made me feel it.

But things have changed. I’ve met someone I want and things such as lust and desire, things I’ve only ever heard people talk about, are things I now feel myself for the first time.

And I feel them for the man sitting across from me.

I swallow, my mouth dry. ‘What should be illegal?’

‘Ten minutes for sex—maybe less,’ he says, and then focuses on me in that intent way he has that leaves me breathless. ‘You should brace yourself, my ice queen. With me, it’s all night.’

All night? That sounds exhausting. ‘I don’t think I’d want that,’ I say, frowning.

There is a sensual kind of amusement in his eyes now and I’m getting that tight, hot feeling again. ‘Well, if you ever want to find out, you know who to come to, hmm?’

I think about it for a moment. All night in Ulysses’s bed… Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad. I’m certainly curious; I can’t deny that. John is the only man I’ve ever been with, and that put me off, but maybe it would be different with someone else…someone I actually wanted?

‘That’s still too long,’ I say carefully. ‘An hour seems like ample time.’

The amusement disappears from Ulysses’s face and he frowns as he studies me. ‘Tell me, is John the only man you’ve been with?’

‘That’s a very intrusive question,’ I say.

‘You were the one who brought up the subject,’ he points out quite correctly, which is annoying. ‘Also, it’s absolutely in context with your concerns about sex, not to mention being quite relevant to me as your prospective partner.’

Again, he’s right. He’s no doubt used to women who’re much more sexually experienced than I am, and probably women who enjoy it more too. It’s only fair that he knows this about me if I want to take our connection further.

‘Okay,’ I say. ‘That’s fair. Yes, John is the only man I’ve ever been with.’

Ulysses’s golden gaze rests on me ‘So—if this isn’t too intrusive a question—do you actually like sex?’

It’s a strange thing to sit here on a plane talking about sex with Ulysses Zakynthos, but he’s got a point about the context. If I’m going to spend time with him, possibly time in the bedroom, he should know my experience or otherwise.

‘No,’ I say frankly. ‘Not really.’

He says nothing for a long moment, only stares at me, and I don’t know what he’s thinking this time.

Have I shocked him, surprised him? Does he think me strange or abnormal somehow?

I’m not exactly normal, I know that much, and I also know that not everyone likes sex.

But most people do, which makes me the odd one out.

Perhaps he finds that unattractive in some way.

It wouldn’t be the first time my honesty hasn’t been appreciated, and my heart feels tight at that last thought.

Maybe I shouldn’t have been so frank. I didn’t think that I wanted to be in his bed but, now that he’s been brought face to face with my quirks, I’m tense and concerned that he’ll change his mind and not want me after all.

‘If you don’t want me any more, that’s fine,’ I tell him straight out and quickly, before I can second-guess myself, because I’d rather know. ‘You can change your mind.’

His gaze narrows to sharp golden points. ‘Why would you think I’d change my mind?’

‘Because I don’t like sex,’ I explain. ‘That’s not what you signed up for, I know, and—’

‘Katla,’ he interrupts, not without a little roughness. ‘No, I haven’t changed my mind. I’m just over here being quietly appalled at your husband.’

The tight feeling in my heart eases. ‘Why?’ I ask. ‘It’s not his fault.’ I don’t know why I’m defending John, especially after the incident earlier at the Christmas party, but my lack of interest was the issue, not his.

Ulysses blinks again, his gaze roaming over my face as if the expression on it is a language he can’t quite read. I shiver under the pressure of it, even as something in me basks in the attention.

‘So,’ he says quietly. ‘Do you think the fault is yours?’

I don’t know why he’s taking this so seriously. It’s just sex and it doesn’t matter. ‘Of course it is,’ I tell him. ‘I’ve just…never liked it. Even before I met John I never felt any kind of…desire for anyone.’ And it’s true, I didn’t.

‘Yet you do for me,’ he points out.

My cheeks heat. It’s hard admitting what I’m feeling, even though I swore I’d be honest. I don’t like the vulnerability of it.

Perhaps sex isn’t as unimportant as you think? But it is. At least, I’ve never needed it to function in my daily life. Numbers give me joy and pleasure and they’re always honest. They’re much more reliable than people, at least.

Then why are you so reluctant to tell him you want him? Maybe it’s a habit I’ve got into; I’m not sure. Yet honesty compels the truth out of me all the same. ‘Yes,’ I say, forcing out the word. ‘I do d-desire you.’

‘So, perhaps it’s not you.’ His voice is patient, calm. ‘Perhaps the problem is that you just weren’t attracted to your husband. And perhaps, if you have a different partner, things might be different.’

He does present an interesting if strangely distressing thought.

If the problem wasn’t me after all, but John, then I should have known better.

I was stupid to marry him. I accepted that I wasn’t a sexual person; I never questioned it.

I never talked to John about it, he never asked me, and I let that go on for… far too long.

God, everywhere I’ve turned these past few hours all I’ve done is find out things about myself and about my marriage that I didn’t know, and that only make me feel even more stupid than I already did.

My throat is tight and my eyes prickle. I never cry, never ever, and I’m not sure why I’m on the edge of tears now, but everything feels too much.

There have been too many shocks, too many surprises—and now I’m flying to Athens with a man I hardly know to spend Christmas with his sister and him, after being physically threatened by a man I hadn’t thought was dangerous.

How has this even happened? What did I do to get myself into this mess?

Across from me, Ulysses suddenly sits up and puts his Scotch down for the second time. ‘Come here, Katla,’ he says, my name sounding strangely sensual and exotic in his deep voice. ‘I can prove to you that the fault is not yours if you’ll let me.’

‘What do you mean?’ I ask warily.

‘You’re a volcano, don’t you know that?’ His tone is like velvet, soft yet a little rough. ‘That’s why I want you. Deep down, you’re molten. Deep down, you’re fire. And all you need is someone to melt your ice. I can do that for you. I can show you what you’re actually hungry for.’

My heartbeat is loud in my ears and the hot, tight feeling is intensifying.

I’m breathless and there is something needy and desperate in me.

My mother named me Katla for the volcano in my home country, but I’ve never thought of myself as one.

John once made a joke about my name, saying that I wasn’t dormant but extinct.

It hurt, though I brushed it off at the time.

But Ulysses doesn’t think that, he thinks there’s fire in me, and now I want to know why.

‘Show me,’ I say. ‘How?’

The flames in his eyes leap high. ‘I think you know how.’

I think I do too. I’m not sure if he led me to this point, or whether I walked myself into it, but I do know that if I go to him right now, if I let him show me how like a volcano I am, I won’t be the same woman afterwards.

His kiss changed things for me, it woke me up, and I think this will change me too.

But…maybe I want to be changed. Maybe I want to be a different woman from the one who nearly let herself get kidnapped by her ex-husband.

A different woman from the one who was constantly criticised and belittled by her own mother.

Be a woman more aware of herself and what she wants.

So this time I don’t second-guess, and I don’t think.

I push myself to my feet, take a step that brings me right in front of him and look down into his golden eyes. ‘Show me, then.’