Modern Romance Collection February 2025, #1-4

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER TWO

I T HAD ONLY been once he’d got to the edge of the clearing that Dominic had felt he was being watched. And it wasn’t Marissa; he’d have to have been deaf not to hear her crashing through the undergrowth as she’d run from him.

No, someone else was watching him.

He’d stood there a moment after he’d thrown Marissa’s tunic after her, having decided he couldn’t be bothered to chase her, staring into the darkness, feeling the weight of someone else’s gaze on him.

Then he’d caught a scent, earthy and musky and delicate, and very female, and abruptly everything male in him had sprung to instant life.

It was a sensual, deeply sexual scent, banishing his boredom, flicking switches inside him, turning on a current of pure electricity that he’d thought was long since dead.

It had been nearly fifteen years since he’d wanted anything. A long time since his life had been more than simply following a whim. Years since he’d taken his father’s vast property development company and sold it off, piece by piece, netting himself huge profits and a sense of deep satisfaction.

He’d thought he’d come to the end of wanting anything, since whenever he had a hankering for something, he simply bought it or did it, letting nothing hold him back. He indulged himself at every opportunity, because why not?

Apparently, though, he hadn’t come to the end of wanting after all, because someone had been watching him in the darkness, a woman, and every little piece of him had been intrigued.

He’d turned and stared into the shadows near an oak not far from where he stood, and though his night vision had been impaired by the light of the torch, he’d been able to make out a slender figure by the trunk of the tree.

A wood nymph.

There had been a second where he’d been sure he’d seen her eyes gleaming in the darkness, and an inexplicable need had risen up inside him. A primitive, basely masculine need, primeval almost.

So much so that when she’d turned and run, it had been instinct to run after her.

He’d told Marissa the truth. He never ran after a woman. He never ran after anyone. They all came to him and he liked it that way since it gave him all the power, and he liked power. Especially when he had it and other people didn’t.

Which made his sudden mad dash after a woman he hadn’t even laid eyes on completely inexplicable. Yet there was also an inevitability to it. As if she’d been in this forest for years, perhaps was even part of it, and had been waiting for him.

Waiting for him and him alone.

She made no sound as she ran, white fabric of her tunic or whatever she was wearing billowing out behind her, a pale figure in the night. Her bare feet hit the soft earth soundlessly as she dodged trees and leapt fallen logs, agile as a deer.

He felt strangely outside himself, as if he’d left Dominic Lancaster, renowned investor and notorious playboy, back in that clearing, and he were someone else now. A man with no past and no future, who was concerned only with the here and now. With the sound of his breathing, fast and hard, and the beat of his pulse, steady and strong. With the scent of the forest around him, spicy and dark, and the woman running ahead of him...

Thoughts gathered in his head, mundane thoughts. What was she wearing? All the guests wore either a white tunic or a toga and this was neither, and yet it was white, so maybe she’d styled it differently. Who was she? Why hadn’t he noticed her earlier when he’d greeted everyone like the good host he was? He surely would have noticed her...

He pushed the thoughts aside. Those questions didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Nothing except running after her, a primitive hunter’s instinct waking up inside him, pouring adrenaline through him. A wild excitement building inside him and an anticipation he hadn’t felt for a long time, if he ever had.

He wasn’t sure why he was feeling these things now, but he didn’t question them. This was new, this was different. This made him feel as if he were sixteen again, and Craddock, the gamekeeper, had taken him deer hunting for the first time. He’d loved it, the thrill of the chase. Of course, he hadn’t been able to shoot the deer when he and Craddock had finally tracked it down, and his father had sneered at what he’d deemed Dominic’s ‘softness’.

He wasn’t soft now, though.

The forest around them thickened, becoming denser, which meant they’d moved out of the area he’d specified for the bacchanal, but he didn’t care. The only thought in his head was to catch her, bring her down, so when the white fabric of her tunic caught on a branch and she slowed to release it, he put on a burst of speed and before she could free herself, he was there, catching her in his arms and pulling her hard against him, her back pressing against his front.

Her breathing was wild and her hair was in his face, a skein of raw silk that smelled just as delicious as she did. Christ, he’d never felt a woman as hot or as soft as she was.

She twisted in his grip, panting, but made no real effort to get away, nor did she speak. He bent his head, nuzzling against the side of her neck, her musky, feminine scent making him harder than he’d ever been in his entire life.

He didn’t understand why he’d run after her, or why she was making him so hard, but, again, that didn’t matter right now. What mattered was that she was in his arms and he wanted her. He wanted her more than he’d wanted anything in a very long time, and that was something to be savoured. He’d thought he’d lost the ability to feel anything more than mild pleasure and boredom, but clearly not.

‘You were watching me, nymph,’ he said, his voice rough and uneven. ‘You think I didn’t see you standing there in the darkness?’

Her breathing had slowed, and he could feel little trembles running through her, and for one timeless second they remained like that, her panting while he held her tight, his own breathing fast, inhaling the dizzying, intoxicating scent of her.

Then abruptly she turned in his arms and lifted her hands, her fingers in his hair, and she pulled his mouth down on hers.

And just like that Dominic lost his grip on reality.

Everything slid away. His father. His company. His guests. His party. There was only the forest, dark and still around him, and the woman in his arms. Her mouth, hot and hungry, and the taste of her igniting something in him he’d thought long dead. Something desperate and raw.

He slid his fingers into the silken warmth of her hair and closed them into fists, gripping her, holding her still as he devoured her, pushing his tongue into her mouth and exploring her heat and her taste. So sweet and yet with a tart edge that excited him, that made him want to kiss her deeper, harder.

She made an animal sound, throaty and husky, and it wasn’t in protest. Not when her hands were on his bare chest, running over his skin, her nails scratching him as she reached down over his stomach and further down. He wore nothing but his toga and a growl escaped him as her fingers found the achingly hard length of his shaft and closed around it.

The touch was too much. He wanted to get rid of this excess fabric between them, have her skin next to his. He wanted to taste her. Lick her. Bite her. And only then, once he’d had his fill, would he give her what she so clearly wanted.

She didn’t make a sound as he took her down onto the forest floor, onto a pile of bracken that God himself couldn’t have positioned any better, and then he was casting his toga to the side before tackling whatever it was that she was wearing, tearing it straight down the middle and off. She reached for him as he pulled it away from her, hungry in the night, but he took her hands and pinned them above her head with one hand, while with the other he began to map her body hidden in the darkness.

She was delicate and slender, yet the curve of her breast fitted his palm to perfection and her skin was warm silk. She moaned as he brushed his thumb over her hard nipple and then gasped as he slid his hand lower, to her hip, fingertips lightly brushing over it, touching the side of one thigh, then exploring between them. She shuddered, her sharp intake of breath loud in the night air, as his fingers found damp curls and slick, hot skin.

She smelled like sex and the forest itself, and he found himself raising his fingers to his mouth and licking her flavour from them. A flood of intense hunger swept through him, drowning the last remaining piece of Dominic Lancaster, and now there was only him. Only the trees. Only her. Female to his male. Raw and primeval as the forest itself.

He released her hands, but only to grip her thighs and spread them wide. Then, pinning her hips in place, he bent and began to devour her like the beast he’d become.

Maude lay on her back, conscious of nothing but the feel of his strong hands holding her pinned to the bed of soft bracken, his hot mouth between her thighs. Of his tongue exploring her delicately and yet with an insistence that made her tremble. And of the sharp, agonising pleasure, winding tighter and tighter.

It was a mystery how she’d ended up here. Why she’d run from him instead of calmly walking out from behind the tree and telling him who she was, before going off to her cottage alone. Why she’d kept running through the forest, filled with a totally alien and yet wild exhilaration, part of which was delicious fear and yet another part excitement.

Something sensual had awoken within her as she’d run headlong into the dark, an awareness that had seemed to saturate the forest around her. An awareness too of the man pursuing her.

He might have said he didn’t run after a woman, yet he’d run after her, somehow staying close behind her even though a man of his size and power shouldn’t have been able to run as fast or know the forest as well as she did.

When the branch had caught her nightgown a simple rip would have pulled it free. She hadn’t needed to slow down, yet she had. Maybe she’d slowed deliberately. Maybe a deep part of her had wanted to be caught. Wanted him to catch her. Not just any man, but him.

Zeus, the king of the gods.

The god of the forest.

He had caught her then, his arms closing around her, pulling her back against him. All the breath had gone out of her, all her awareness captured by the male body behind hers and the power of his arms banded about her. The heat of him had been incredible and he’d felt so hard, like rock, and so tall. He’d towered over her, like one of the trees she’d been hiding next to.

There was no hiding from him, though.

He was a god.

Now, she stared up into the darkness of the tree canopy, seeing nothing but stars as he lay between her thighs and did something wicked with his tongue, causing everything to light up inside her, making her feel like one of those torches, flaming in the night.

She cried out, shaking as the pleasure crashed through her, and she was still trembling with the aftershocks when he rose from between her thighs and stretched himself out above her. His toga was long gone, but the laurel leaves in his hair were still there, gold gleaming against stark black and that snowy white stripe.

What are you doing? He’s your boss. You don’t even know him.

The thought was dim, the sound of it reminding her of her grandmother and all the rules she’d been given. Rules she’d had to follow if she wanted to stay with them and, since she’d had nowhere else to go, she’d stayed. And followed their rules. But she was tired of that. Tired of rules.

So what if he was her boss? So what if he was a stranger? He was part of the forest and she was too, and she didn’t care what she should and shouldn’t do. She’d never been in a man’s arms before, never wanted to be, but this felt right. This felt primordial and so was she.

A current of intense sensual awareness ran through her, making her conscious of her own sexuality in a way she’d never been conscious of before. Of how right this was and how natural to come to full awareness of herself as a woman right here on the forest floor, beneath the trees she loved. With a man who seemed part of the forest himself.

He was above her now and he smelled so good, warm and earthy and spicy. Somehow familiar and yet intoxicating. Sexual. Carnal.

He lowered his head, his teeth at the side of her neck, and he bit her like an animal, making her shudder, waking pleasure inside her yet again. Then she felt the touch of his tongue against her skin, as if he was tasting her the way he had between her thighs, and another rush of heat flooded her, prickling over her entire body.

Obeying an instinct that came from deep inside her, Maude lifted her arms to him, pulling his big, powerful, muscular body down on hers, finding his mouth and kissing him with wild abandon. She tasted herself on his lips and that was as it should be. Right. Powerful. She felt powerful, the primal feminine to his masculine, a goddess in her own right and now demanding his surrender, as she’d given him hers.

She had no idea what she was doing, but she didn’t care. Tonight there were only the rules she made herself and if this kiss involved sharp teeth and tongues, then it did. They were animals tonight, connecting in their purest form.

He made a low, guttural sound as she bit his bottom lip and then his hands were in fists in her hair, holding her still as he kissed her back with raw savagery, nipping, biting, licking, tasting.

She moaned, her hands pressed against the velvety skin of his chest, all heat and the prickle of hair as she touched him. He was naked but for the crown of laurel leaves and he was magnificent, and even though the darkness hid most of him, his crown deemed king in this forest.

Tonight, she would be his queen.

He shifted his hips and without hesitation pushed inside her, hard and deep, and it felt right to wrap her legs around his waist and arch beneath him, making him slide even deeper. Sensation rushed through her as she felt herself stretch around him and tighten, holding him inside her. Glorious pleasure with a slight edge of pain to make it sweeter.

She groaned, inner muscles tightening around him, and then his mouth was on hers again, the kiss savage, passionate, wild. He moved, inevitable as the turn of the earth, as the change of the seasons, the rise of the sun and the fall of night.

There had always been this darkness inside her, a hint of primitive savagery that she hadn’t wanted to uncover. But now she did. Now she went deep into that darkness and found him there waiting for her.

He moved faster, harder, and she moved with him, the forest surrounding them, glittering with the wild magic they were generating between them.

And it was magic. It was glory. It was a connection she’d never dreamed she’d ever have, but it was happening right now and she was losing herself to it. Losing herself to the pleasure and the night.

When the orgasm came for them both, it blazed hot through each of them, leaving them flaming in the dark. Both, like torches.

Dominic opened his eyes to find himself lying on his back in the middle of the forest, completely naked. Dawn was filtering down through the forest canopy above his head, dew chilling his skin.

For a moment he had no idea where he was or why he was lying naked in a forest. He felt...relaxed. Which he shouldn’t have considering the location, and yet, he did. Alcohol and other such...substances, didn’t usually leave him feeling so boneless and sated, though they were usually the reason he woke up somewhere he didn’t expect.

But he wasn’t hungover or anything else. In fact, he felt oddly energised.

He sat up at the same time as a beam of sunlight shone through the trees, falling on his skin like a benediction, and that too felt good, so he stayed there for long seconds, enjoying the feeling of sun on his skin.

Then memory began to filter through, of the darkness and warm skin, of breathless cries and intense pleasure...

Abruptly, he looked around for the woman he’d spent all night having sex with like an animal in the dark, but there was no sign of her.

He was alone.

Damn.

He’d never had a woman like her in all his life and he’d had more women than he could count. All beautiful. All skilled lovers. All ready to do whatever he wanted.

But that woman... She’d been all passion. All heat. Fire between his hands. She’d taken what she’d wanted from him, no holding back, matching him passion for passion. He’d taken too and she’d let him just as he’d let her. She hadn’t asked him what he wanted or watched him to make sure he was enjoying himself or watched herself to make sure she only looked sexy. She hadn’t cared. It had been dark, admittedly, so neither of them had been able to see, but she hadn’t teased him or taunted him, or tried in any way to engage him. No, she’d used him, he suspected. Taken what she wanted as if she owned him.

And he’d found himself giving as good as he got, his reward her cries of pleasure, her nails digging into his back, her teeth against his shoulder.

They hadn’t spoken. They’d let their bodies speak instead and it had been...

He let out a breath, closed his eyes, and tilted his head back, feeling the warmth of the rising sun on his face.

He felt...bloody amazing. His body sated. His mind at peace.

That hadn’t happened in years.

The pursuit of pleasure had always been one of his interests, and he hadn’t cared where it came from. The urge to fill the gaping void inside him with sensation. It was always there that void, or maybe it wasn’t a void. Maybe he was just dead inside and sex and pleasure were the defibrillator he used to jump-start what was left of his soul.

In which case, the sex he’d had last night had been one hell of a charge. He could feel it still, passion burning in the depths of him, embers of a fire that had ignited the night before and were smouldering away still.

Who was she?

It didn’t matter. What mattered was something coming alive inside him as he’d run through the forest in the dark, an exhilaration, an excitement. The instinct of a hunter, chasing sensual prey.

He’d never felt it before, not at any of the bacchanals he’d held in years gone by, and some of them had been good. But this...this was something else. This was what a bacchanal was really about, wild, savage, carnal.

He’d taken her down to the forest floor and when he’d pushed inside her, he’d felt as if he’d come home almost.

Christ.

He could go over the guest list again and find out who she was, but there had been something magical, mystical even, about not knowing. As if finding out who she was would break a spell.

Fanciful even for him, but perhaps it was best if what happened at the bacchanal stayed at the bacchanal. After all, he knew how passion played out. Eventually it died, no mysteries left, and cue the boredom.

He didn’t want that to happen.

Dominic sighed again, took a deep breath of the dawn air, then pushed himself to his feet. His ridiculous laurel crown had come off at some point in the night and he found it under a fern. He picked it up, settled it on his head, found his toga and threw it over his shoulder. Then, not far from the bed of bracken he and the nymph had slept on the night before, he found the remains of more white fabric. It was not one of the togas or tunics that had been issued to the guests.

It was a white nightgown. And was ripped right down the front.

Which meant only one thing.

The woman he’d spent the night with in the forest had not been one of his guests at all.