Modern Romance Collection February 2025, #1-4

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER FIVE

W HEN P RIMO WOKE , he kept his eyes shut and savoured the feelings in his body. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so heavy. Replete. Images and sensations came back to him. Soft lips...sweet mouth. Firm breasts with spiky nipples...rolling them in his mouth and sucking...making her moan. Silky, heavy hair trailing through his fingers...wrapping that hair around his palm as he drove into the tightest, silkiest embrace...his body responding instantly, hardening...

Primo wanted her again. Now.

He squinted in the soft dawn light coming in through the curtains and put out a hand...but met nothing. His eyes opened fully and he came up on one arm. The bed was empty, but still faintly warm. She wasn’t long gone.

He sank back. He didn’t have to investigate further to know that she was already gone. His instinct had been right. Together, they’d been explosive. More than he’d even anticipated. He’d never felt such chemistry with a woman before.

His gamble to come to Venice to seduce her had paid off.

He hadn’t felt resentful or irritated that his new wife wouldn’t give him a wedding night. He appreciated that they hardly knew each other. And that this marriage was founded on the back of a business deal.

He’d known she was skittish around him. Clearly her first marriage had burned her. She’d said it hadn’t been good.

The lingering satisfaction in Primo’s body made his mouth curve up in a smile. Maybe now that she’d seen how good they were together she would relax a little more into her role as his wife.

Primo sprang from the bed and walked naked over to the French doors, pulling them open. He stepped out onto the balcony and looked down to see a water taxi moving away from the landing pier, a distinctive head of black hair, tumbled over shoulders, and the scarlet flash of a dress. The taxi sped away, taking his wife to her next destination.

Primo’s smile got wider.

He had no doubt that she was going to lead him a merry dance, but if last night was anything to go by he would enjoy every second of being married to Faye MacKenzie. And sooner or later, she would give up on those terms .

At that moment there was a sound of collective giggling, and Primo looked away from the taxi to see another taxi near the palazzo, full of tourists who were all looking up at him and pointing. He put his hands modestly over his groin area and, still grinning, bowed and went back inside.

Faye willed the boat taxi to go faster, so people wouldn’t be able to look inside and see her sitting there still dressed in her costume, hair undone, make-up melted off in the heat of passion.

She groaned silently when she recalled the previous night. Not even the fresh air of the spring morning could dilute those memories.

She was doing the walk of shame—albeit in a boat in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. That didn’t make it any less mortifying.

She’d never experienced sex like that. So...urgent. Raw. Powerful. After that first time, she was pretty sure she’d fallen into a deep sleep. And then at some point she’d woken in the night, to find Primo wrapped around her body. She’d tried to move, but his embrace had tightened, and then she’d felt his body, hardening against hers.

Within seconds they’d been entwined again, and this time it had been even more urgent. Mind-blowing. She’d never had a lover like him. He’d opened her eyes to a depth of sensuality inside her that she’d never known existed.

Her cheeks were still burning at the thought of how he’d react to find her gone. But she’d had to leave. The thought of sitting with him and doing something as banal as sharing breakfast had seemed—ridiculously—like an intimacy too far after what they’d shared.

And it wasn’t as if she wasn’t going to see him again. They were married! They were due to attend an annual charity gala ball in Manhattan later that week. A social staple. A chance, as Primo had put it, to introduce themselves to society as a married couple.

But right now Faye had no idea how she’d ever look him in the face again. She’d been so...wanton. Lustful. He’d turned her into some hungry, base creature. And yet as the sight of her hotel came into view, and the taxi started slowing down, she couldn’t help a tiny secret smile forming on her mouth. Because he’d unlocked something inside her and she couldn’t in all conscience be sorry. Her whole body was still tingling in the aftermath.

She was about as far removed from her usual pristinely put-together self as she could be, but the sense of languorous satisfaction in her blood drowned out any need to be concerned about it.

The boat landed at the pier. A hotel attendant stepped forward to help her out of the taxi. As she walked into the foyer she passed a couple whose eyes widened when they saw her. Faye swallowed back an urge to giggle. She felt like explaining to them that she wasn’t coming back from an illicit night of debauchery with a total stranger—that she had, in fact, just spent the night with her husband...

But that thought sobered her.

As she ascended to her room in the elevator she had to remind herself that Primo following her to Venice and seeking her out merely demonstrated his determination to get this marriage started. It hadn’t been a romantic gesture. It had been entirely practical. And she hadn’t even hesitated to acquiesce, too blinded by his spontaneity and sheer charisma.

She couldn’t afford to forget the terms she’d laid out for this marriage and the knowledge that it was short-term only. Because she was realising after last night that this man could destroy her in ways she’d never been destroyed before. There was too much at stake—her precious independence and her bone-deep need to protect herself from being hurt all over again.

The Griff Benefit, Manhattan

The annual benefit ball to raise funds for cancer research was one of New York’s biggest social events. It was held in one of Manhattan’s most iconic hotels. Invitations were sent out by a board made up of New York’s oldest names, and receiving an invitation—or not—could make or break someone’s reputation.

Faye stood on the stairs that led down to the ballroom where a crowd of beautiful people thronged. Gold-edged mirrors around the ballroom reflected the glittering scene a thousand times over.

She wished she could say otherwise, but she spotted Primo immediately. Hard not to when he towered above most people around him. The lights glinted off his thick head of hair, highlighting the blonder strands.

As if sensing her, he lifted his head and his eyes zeroed in on her immediately. Faye felt it like a jolt of electricity straight into her blood. It was the first time she’d seen him since Venice. Admittedly it was only a few days, but it was as if she’d left his bed only that morning, the sensations were so immediate...and the memories.

He came straight to her, walking up the stairs. He was dressed in a black tuxedo and he looked gorgeous. She sensed everyone in the vicinity hush, all eyes on them. Primo had wanted them to arrive together, but Faye had been caught up at an art auction and, because she’d had to go to her apartment to change, wouldn’t have made it to meet him in time. So they’d come separately.

When he reached her she couldn’t look away. Those blue eyes held her captive. He reached for her, putting an arm around her waist and pulling her into him. She found herself cleaving to him before she could resist the pull.

Then he tipped up her chin and pressed a lingering kiss to her mouth. Faye was already dissolving and melting, in spite of every pep talk she’d given herself not to allow him to have such an effect on her again. Evidently she’d been wasting her time.

He pulled back. ‘Good evening, wife. ’

Faye made a face and tried not to be so aware of how her breasts were crushed against his chest. ‘I have a name.’

He smiled. ‘Smile...everyone is watching us.’

Faye smiled dutifully.

He pulled back a little further and his gaze swept down over her body. ‘You look...stunning, Faye .’

A glow of pleasure lit her up before she could stop it. But she had chosen her dress carefully. And it did please her that he’d noticed. She was used to sticking to classic shapes and colours, nothing too eye-catching, but this dress had called to the little girl inside her when she’d seen it in a window of a shop near the auction house.

Dark pink, strapless but for one garlanded strap over one shoulder. It had a ruched bodice and then fell in soft silken folds to the floor. It was whimsical. She didn’t want to say romantic , but the word whispered in her head. She’d matched it with a pearl necklace and earrings that had belonged to her mother, and her hair was twisted back into a low bun.

‘Thank you,’ she responded, too shy to tell Primo how gorgeous he looked. Surely he had to know?

‘You didn’t stay for breakfast in Venice.’

Faye’s face grew hot as she remembered her fear of him waking and finding her trying to contort herself back into the dress. Flitting from his magnificent apartment as if she’d done something wrong.

‘I had a meeting to get to. And a flight back to New York.’

‘I felt like a cheap one-night stand.’

Faye scoffed. ‘You’re telling me that you routinely encourage your lovers to hang out the morning after?’

He lifted his hand, where his wedding ring gleamed. ‘I’m a married man now.’

Faye couldn’t help a pulse of pleasure at this sign that he was taken. By her. He’d also neatly deflected her question.

Primo tucked her hand into his arm and said, ‘Let’s go meet the jackals, shall we?’

Faye couldn’t help her surprised huff of laughter as Primo led her down the stairs and into the crowd. It was only afterwards that she castigated herself. No doubt he’d done that on purpose, to ensure she looked suitably delighted to be on his arm. The new Mrs Holt.

After cocktails and canapés there was a lavish banquet, finished off by an auction. It included everything and anything, from the ownership of an unknown English football team to a vintage Aston Martin, last seen on screen in a world-famous spy movie.

As the auction was drawing to a raucous close Primo stood up, following others who were also starting to move to the dance floor. Faye looked up at him and felt dizzy, even though she was sitting down. He held out his hand in silent invitation.

Damn the man .

She put her hand in his. ‘I’d love to.’

In the next room a band were playing smooth tunes, and Primo pulled her into his arms. He looked down at her. ‘I believe this is officially our first dance.’

‘And what better arena for it to play out? In front of the very people you want to impress with your newfound settled status.’

Primo made a tsk ing sound. ‘I want more out of this marriage than just to convince people I’m settling down.’

Faye’s conscience pricked. She avoided Primo’s eye, helped by the fact that he’d spun her away from him with a little flourish and then pulled her back into his arms.

She was suddenly breathless. She could feel the way his body was responding to hers. He held her close. No escape. He was looking at her as if she was the only woman in the room. It was heady. Intoxicating.

Then he asked, ‘Why did you leave the other morning? And don’t fob me off with your itinerary.’

Faye couldn’t hide. To avoid admitting how intense it had been, she said, ‘Because I’m used to my own space.’

Primo frowned. ‘You’ve been married. I can’t imagine you crept out of your first husband’s bed.’

Faye had a flashback to waking up in bed alone after she’d had the operation after her miscarriage. Her husband hadn’t shared breakfast with her ever again. Or her bed. Their moments of marital bliss had been laughably brief.

She forced a smile, but it was brittle. ‘It was so long ago I hardly care to remember.’

‘And it’s none of my business,’ Primo conceded, surprising Faye. Then he said, ‘What matters is the present moment, and the fact that we are married now.’

Faye felt absurdly grateful for how easily Primo was willing to let that go. And for the maturity he’d exhibited. ‘Thank you.’

He swung her around to avoid colliding with another couple, and that only pressed Faye closer to his body, making her aware of the whipcord strength of every hard muscle. If she closed her eyes for a second she was transported back to Venice, and how it had felt when his body had joined hers for the first time.

Suddenly she was filled with desire—a desire to escape the hundreds of eyes watching their every move and the whispers.

Primo stopped moving and looked down at her. ‘Had enough?’

This time Faye was grateful for the uncanny way he seemed to be able to read her mind.

She nodded. ‘Yes.’

Primo took her hand and led her off the dance floor. They made their way to the foyer, where Faye collected her coat—a light three-quarter-length jacket matching the dress.

She was surprised that it was so late. Usually she found these events beyond tedious. But Primo hadn’t been a clingy date, nor had he expected her to cling to him. He’d been happy to conduct his own conversations. A man who was confident in himself... A rarity in her experience.

As they waited for Primo’s car to be brought round, Faye wondered if she should hail a cab. But Primo said, ‘My driver is at your disposal, but I would like it if you accompanied me to my apartment. I seem to recall that you don’t have any early engagements.’

Faye might have asked how he knew that, but at Primo’s request her assistant and his now worked together to synchronise their social and work engagements. The fact that he now knew her schedule as intimately as she did was still a bit disconcerting, but then she realised that it worked both ways and smiled.

‘I seem to recall that you have an early pick-up for a flight to London?’

He inclined his head. ‘Indeed, but if you keep me up all night I can sleep on the plane.’

She shrugged minutely, belying the heat in her body at the excitement that gripped her at the thought of keeping him up all night. ‘Why not?’

At that moment, as if on cue, Primo’s driver appeared in front of them, jumping out to open the car’s rear door. Faye got in, and Primo went around to the other side.

The journey to Primo’s apartment didn’t take long, and Faye had to concede that in practical terms it would probably make sense for her to move into Primo’s apartment...but that wasn’t a step she was ready to dive into.

Getting involved in the intimacy of day-to-day living would remind her far too painfully of her first marriage, and the way her husband had shut her out once she could no longer deliver the required heir.

The thought of something similar happening with Primo made her feel a little winded for a moment—and that was what kept her cautious. He’d already impacted on her in ways she didn’t want to investigate.

The car was pulling to a smooth stop now, outside a tall building bordering the park. When Faye got out Primo was there to greet her, holding out a hand. As she took it, flashes of light alerted them to the paparazzi who must have followed.

Primo cursed softly under his breath, and when they were inside he said, ‘I’m sorry about that. I had no idea we were being followed.’

Faye shrugged a little. ‘It’s just as well I agreed to come with you—otherwise there’d be a story on Page Six tomorrow, speculating as to why we’re not living together.’

They were in a private elevator now. Primo leaned back against the wall. ‘That’s not why I asked you to come back with me. I want to make love to you. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since Venice.’

Faye’s heart sped up. She hadn’t stopped thinking about it either, but the elevator doors opened at that moment so she didn’t have to speak.

Primo led her into a circular entrance hall. Marble floor, walls painted a light soft grey with blue tones.

‘Let me take your jacket.’

Faye let it slip from her shoulders. Primo took it and put it in a small cloakroom. He led her through one doorway into a large reception room. It was bright and airy, with sumptuous couches, coffee tables. Understated tones of blue and grey. Classic. Elegant.

Then she spotted something on one wall and gasped, walking over to stand before the massive canvas. Primo came and stood beside her, and handed her a glass of sparkling wine.

She said, ‘It’s a Monet. I didn’t know you had one in your private collection. It’s one of his Haystacks paintings.’

‘You mean I could have lured you here before now with that?’ Primo joked.

Faye tore her gaze from the luminously beautiful painting. ‘He’s one of my favourite artists.’

Primo looked at the painting. ‘Mine too—although I’d say for far less knowledgeable reasons than you.’

Faye shook her head. ‘It’s nothing to do with knowledge. It’s how it makes you feel.’

She felt her skin prickle and turned her head to find Primo watching her.

‘Do you want to know how you make me feel?’ he asked.

Faye’s hand clutched the glass. ‘Do I?’

Primo’s gaze turned dark and explicit. ‘Hungry.’

She was ravenous. She wanted his hands on her.

‘I’m hungry too,’ she admitted, although it felt as if saying that was chipping away at the walls inside her.

He smiled. ‘That wasn’t so hard, now, was it?’

Faye didn’t have time to scowl, or react, or tell Primo that actually she’d changed her mind. Because the glass of wine was taken out of her hand and she was in his arms and he was kissing her. She felt a sigh of relief mixed with pure base pleasure move through her in a shudder of longing.

He pulled back and she felt herself become weightless as Primo lifted her into his arms so that he could carry her through the apartment. Faye caught glimpses of an outdoor terrace. A gleaming kitchen. A dining room. And then they were in a corridor and Primo had kicked open a door that led into a huge bedroom with possibly the biggest bed she’d ever seen in her life.

She had an impression of dark muted colours in a simply decorated space.

He put her down and she slipped off her shoes. Hunger propelled her to start pushing Primo’s jacket off his wide shoulders until he shucked it off and it fell to the ground. Then she was undoing his bow-tie and the buttons on his shirt.

He was slipping the garlanded strap of the dress down her shoulder and bending to press kisses against her skin. Faye gave up trying to take his shirt off and let him take over.

He found the zip at the back of the dress and pulled it down. He pulled the tie out of her hair so that it fell down around her shoulders and back. Then he straightened up and looked at her.

‘Undress me.’

Faye needed no encouragement. She pushed aside his shirt and marvelled at the expanse of his muscular chest. She’d wondered in the last few days if maybe she’d imagined his beauty. But no. He was even more beautiful.

She pushed the shirt down over his shoulders and arms, coming close again. But Primo didn’t touch her. He let her take her time, her gaze roving over his form. Hands splaying across his chest. Fingers trapping a blunt nipple.

She heard his indrawn breath and looked up, and she couldn’t help smiling as she leant forward and flicked her tongue over the nub of flesh. Primo hissed. A sensitive spot. Faye made a mental note. She had a sense in that moment that a hundred years wouldn’t be long enough to learn all of this man’s sensitive spots, and she felt the most acute and peculiar pang of loss.

Faye pushed the notion aside, telling herself she was drunk on Primo—he was addling her brain. She put her hands to his belt and trousers, undoing them with an efficiency born of growing desperation. And then she was pushing trousers and underwear down over his hips. They fell to the floor and Primo stepped aside gracefully.

Her dress was loose around her chest, and she tugged it down until it too fell to the floor. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Now all she wore was her underwear. Primo cupped her breasts in his hands and Faye shivered delicately. He rubbed her nipples with his thumbs and she had to bite her lip to stop moaning or begging.

‘What do you want, Faye?’

She moved closer, dislodging his hands, pressing her body against his, moving against him, relishing the feel of his hard body against the softness of her belly and between her legs, where she ached.

‘Touch me, Primo.’

He put his hands on her waist and together they tumbled onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, hard against soft. He moulded every curve with his hands, kissed, licked and sucked every erogenous point until she was incoherent with need.

And then he pushed her legs apart and hooked them over his shoulders. He put his mouth on her and Faye could no more keep it together than stop breathing. She cried out as wave after wave tore through her body, and then Primo entered her still clasping body with one smooth, devastating thrust and Faye was torn apart all over again.

When Faye woke, she was the one alone in the bed. She couldn’t move for long moments, her limbs heavy with a kind of satisfaction she’d never experienced before.

Before Primo .

Once again, the intensity of the physicality between them stunned her. She’d heard about sex like this, but had always believed it to be a kind of myth. People boasting.

He was obviously an experienced lover, and not remotely shy—she blushed when she thought of how he stood before her unashamedly naked—so was it uniquely him? Did all his lovers feel the same as Faye?

That thought sent a tendril of something dark through her. Jealousy. She denied it. Jealousy had no place here. In six months she would be walking away, and she would have no hold over Primo. Their time was finite. A means to an end. And if she felt bad about it then she must reassure herself that she was no less ruthless than him for marrying her solely because he’d deemed her suitable. And because he was acquiring their family business.

To that end, her father was a transformed man. He was actually getting to enjoy a retirement of sorts, now that the burden of heavy decision-making had been lifted from his shoulders.

And the burden of worrying about you , whispered a voice.

Faye groaned a little and rolled over. She buried her face in Primo’s exquisite bedlinen. All four hundred million thread count, or whatever it was.

When she could move, she sat up and pulled back the covers. She had no idea when they’d finally fallen asleep. And now he was on a plane somewhere over the Atlantic.

Faye got up and washed herself in the luxurious en suite bathroom and found a robe, pulling it on and belting it.

Back in the bedroom, she studiously ignored the fact that Primo had obviously picked up the detritus of her clothes and underwear and draped them over a chair. She was tempted to look in Primo’s drawers for something to wear but hesitated, feeling it was too intimate.

After a night spent in your husband’s bed? mocked a voice.

She ignored it.

She pulled the curtains back, finding French doors that led out to a terrace. She went outside in bare feet. The morning was bright and the air fresh. The streets were a long way below. From here Faye could look across Central Park. Her apartment was somewhere on the other side of the park, a block further back from this spectacular view. She’d bought her own place with her own hard-earned money and she was inordinately proud of that fact.

She went back into the bedroom and decided to explore beyond it. She heard a sound coming from the main part of the apartment and went still. Had Primo not left?

The thought that he hadn’t left because he wanted to spend more time with her was sending flutters into her belly... But when she got to the doorway leading into the kitchen there was an older woman there, dressed in dark trousers and shirt, her hair in a sleek, elegant grey-haired bob.

She turned to Faye, who immediately felt naked even though she wore the robe. ‘Good morning, Mrs Holt. I’m Marjorie. Mr Holt’s housekeeper and general domestic dogsbody.’

Faye couldn’t help but respond to the woman’s warm, easy manner and outstretched hand. ‘Please, call me Faye... I’m still getting used to being Mrs Holt.’

To put it mildly .

The woman smiled at her. ‘You must be hungry...please come with me.’

She led Faye through to an adjoining informal dining room, where a veritable feast had been laid out. Fresh fruit, granola, yoghurt, pastries, coffee, tea... And the daily newspapers.

‘I can do you a cooked breakfast, if you’d like?’

Faye shook her head. She wasn’t used to being waited on like this, and rarely had time for breakfast. ‘Oh, no, that won’t be necessary—but thank you.’

‘Mr Holt has organised some clothes for you—he said you’re still not fully moved in.’

Faye smiled weakly and looked at the designer bags by the door. ‘Thank you.’

Marjorie left her to eat in peace, and Faye eyed the bags suspiciously while she had some fruit and granola and yoghurt. She forced herself to have coffee before looking. The man had left at the crack of dawn—not that Faye had woken out of her pleasure-induced coma. How on earth had he organised this?

Eventually curiosity overcame her. She got up and investigated, pulling out trousers, tops, underwear, flat shoes, heeled shoes, toiletries. There was also a choice of leisure wear, and even jeans. They were simple, elegant clothes—the kind she would have chosen herself.

Faye’s mobile phone pinged from somewhere nearby and she found it in her evening bag, which had been left on a table in the hall. Her face flamed. She couldn’t even remember discarding that when they’d arrived here. Too drunk on Primo. Too desperate.

There was a text from Primo—presumably from somewhere over the Atlantic.

Good morning, I hope you slept well. I arranged some clothes for you. I have to go to Paris from London for a cocktail function on Friday evening. It’s not on the list of events for us to attend together but...they have art in Paris. P (Your husband)

Faye couldn’t stop a silly smile spreading across her face. But as soon as she was aware of it she rearranged her features. Her initial reaction was, No way! They hadn’t discussed it, she had prior engagements, and she couldn’t just drop everything and be expected to fly across to Europe again so soon.

And yet with the lingering after-effects of Primo’s very particular brand of expert lovemaking still humming in her blood, all she could see in her mind’s eye was a rose-tinted view of Paris as the sun set over the Seine.

She knew that she could rearrange her schedule quite easily—the beauty of working for oneself. And he was right. They did have art in Paris. And she had clients.

She knew deep down that she’d made her decision instantly, and that it had not much at all to do with making arrangements to see clients and a lot more to do with a man who was fast becoming something of a distracting obsession.

She sent back a quick text.

Thanks for the clothes, that was thoughtful. I will see if I can rearrange some work engagements. F (Your wife)

Before she could delete the cutesy copycat your wife , she sent the text and threw the phone down.

Her insides were somersaulting like a teenager’s. Ugh. This had so not been the plan when she’d signed up to this marriage.