Page 65 of Modern Romance January 2025 5-8
‘Sometimes, I’m late by a day or two. But—’
‘How late are you now?’ The words were fired bullets. Urgent and unstoppable. Much like his runaway heartbeat.
‘Three days. But like I said, it might be nothing.’
He reached for relief and found it absent. ‘Except you’re worried enough to mention it.’
Her flush made her paleness stand out even more. And wasn’t it the wildest thing that he found her even more alluring in that moment?
‘Because in the past I hadn’t been sleeping with anyone,’ she rasped.
He wanted to cockily remind her that their activities in bed involved much more than mundane sleep. But it wasn’t true. He’d found his most restful nights in years with her.
An addictive peace. Warmth. A sense of homecoming after restlessly wandering the seas. The truth of it hammered harder at him.
He opened his mouth to say something...anything...to rationalise his way through the myriad weighty sensations pouring through him.
The distinctive sound of helicopter rotors was a minor distraction that soon turned into a major one as the sound grew.
No one would dare land on or approach his vessel without express permission.
No one except...
Dulce cielo.
The implication of his possible visitor’s presence sent cold tremors through him. He wanted to curse the demons for this untimely interruption, but he knew he only had himself to blame as he forced himself to turn away from her, to ignore the flash of relief, then anguish across her face when he immediately turned back. Cupping her jaw, he locked gazes with her, ensuring she didn’t miss the unequivocal response. ‘If you’re carrying my child, then I will claim it as is my right.’
Her eyes flared wide. ‘What? You can’t just—’
‘We’ll pick this up later. But you wanted my response. Now you have it. I respect your rights, but I also keep what’s mine.’ The pulse of deep possession that throbbed through him cemented his feelings about this bombshell. He would rise to this challenge, too, as with everything else in his life. And he would succeed.
Without her? Are you sure you don’t need her?
The power of that inner voice terrified him into turning for the door.
‘Where are you going? Who are you expecting?’
Quiet alarm stiffened his spine. ‘Expecting? No one. Someone I can’t turn away? Most likely.’
With every leaden step that took him to the second helipad reserved for guests, he swung between dread and elation.
But even as he watched his mother step down from the chopper and turn towards him, a blinding smile creasing her face and a large part of him thankful that she looked the best he’d seen her in years, he knew his past, present and possible future were on an unstoppable collision course.
Willow couldn’t fight the compulsion to follow Jario minutes after he left the suite, even though she wished she could. Every moment since boarding his yacht in Los Cabos felt like a series of compulsive reactions drawing her deeper into a vortex of inescapable emotion.
Even discovering she’d missed her period felt almost...inevitable. Another domino falling as hard as she’d fallen for Jario, regardless of the mountain of turbulence awaiting her if it turned out to be true.
She’d barely stopped to throw on her shorts and tank top before she raced barefoot after him, dragging her fingers through her damp hair to control the dishevelled mass.
Now, in the salon closest to the visitors’ helipad, she watched the someone he couldn’t turn away enfold him in an embrace, the woman who bore a striking resemblance to the man she loved. Fierce premonition that the end she’d dreaded was in sight took hold of her.
When a mocking voice joined in the chorus of chaos, suggesting she only had herself to blame, one hand dropped to her belly, while the other tried to smother the hoarse sound that escaped her throat.
It was no use.
Jario and his mother turned towards her, his face a rigid mask that slashed at her heart, his mother’s morphing into wary confusion at her son’s expression.
The death knell arrived when the crew member who’d just served his mother’s champagne approached Willow with a tray. ‘What would you like to drink, Miss Chatterton?’