Page 208 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 5-8

“After you turned on me because of who I was?”

She heard real hurt behind the sharp cut of his voice.

“Yes, I know I was unkind. I was angry that you withheld your identity from me. It felt like a lie of omission because you knew how I felt about royalty.” Livia frowned, and it felt as if her own wounds from eight years ago had opened again. “Was the reveal another one of your tests? Because if you really cared about me, then why wouldn’t you come back and try again? Was it pride?”

She turned away. So much for the plan of keeping it all together and gently teasing out the answers she needed.

Gustav was quiet for a long time, and when she glanced over at him, his expression was unreadable. He gazed out at the sea, glittering in the afternoon sun. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and quiet. “I can’t remember the first time I heard the term Bastard Spare, but I remember it came as no surprise. That was exactly how my father treated me, so it felt more like putting a name to something that I already knew. For my whole life, my brother and father barely spoke to me, and though I was given the very best of everything, it was clear that I was simply an off-brand replacement, a spare part if the first one stopped functioning. Because of who I was born as. Not because of who I was on the inside or anything else about me.”

And despite her anger, she felt the sadness of what he was saying.

“When we met, you had no idea who I was, and I’d like to think you liked me just fine that way.” Finally, he looked at her. “And yet the moment you found out who I was, everything was over.”

Livia felt her stomach drop.

“With my father and my brother, there were no illusions, but with you, I had hoped for something different.” He gave her a humorless smile. “But that’s in the past. I’ve adjusted my expectations.”

She felt the sting of it all, because everything he said was true. She had let him down.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, because she had no defense. “I messed up.”

His expression softened, and he sat up and pressed his hand to her cheek. It was such a familiar gesture, one she still remembered from all those years ago. One that had left her reeling when he’d arrived at her doorstep. And he looked at her with a strange burning in his eyes. “We cannot change the past, but we all find ways to move on, do we not?”

She could feel the shift in his mood, and she knew exactly what he meant. And though she told herself that intimacy was her most strategic move, deep inside, she knew her desire had nothing to do with strategy. Suddenly, she was so hungry for him, so tired of this game that they were playing, the withholding of everything that made them vulnerable to one another. She simply wanted him, so she parted her lips and closed the last distance to kiss him.

Gustav welcomed her. He tasted wet and salty, and the scent of pine clung to the scent of him, masculine and so sensual. And then he was kissing her back, his hands on her cheeks, urging her closer, luring her in, and she didn’t care. She wanted to feel his skin against hers. He shifted, rising above her on the soft blanket, his hands greedy as he caressed the curve of her waist and tested the weight of her breasts. His fingers brushed over her nipples, and she gasped.

None of her plans and calculations mattered. All that mattered was that she was kissing Gustav again, touching him. He settled on top of her, his broad chest heavy against her breasts, his hard length trapped between them, insistent, and she sighed and moaned.

Livia never wanted this to end.

Even that thought wasn’t enough to jolt her out of the haze of desire, not when he pulled back and trailed his kisses down her neck and over her breasts. Not when his hands teased lower on her stomach. Not when his mouth brushed against the tender skin just above her tiny red bikini bottoms.

“This,” he whispered as he kissed the scrap of material that covered her. “I want this.”

The demand rumbled from him, sending a sensual shock wave rippling through her body. His eyes were dark and possessive as he settled between her legs.

“You are mine,” he muttered, his breaths teasing the most sensitive places.

The words echoed through her, both a promise and a threat. Her plea flashed through her—please don’t hurt me—but before she could open her lips to speak it, he moved aside the thin material of her suit and pressed a kiss between her legs. She cried out, so he did it again. His mouth was possessive as he teased and taunted her. Every stroke echoed with his words: You are mine. He was worshipping her with his mouth in the most intimate way, and his groans of pleasure coursed through her until she was gasping and begging.

“Gustav. Please.”

Livia could have sworn that she heard his dark laughter as she fell over the edge into bliss.

* * *

They swam back to the boat in the late afternoon, and the crew picked up anchor as they lounged on the deck. Gustav watched as Livia bit into a fresh strawberry. Her hair was still wet from the swim, and as she leaned back on the bench, it dripped wet trails on the arm he rested behind her. Desire was making him restless. The cold Baltic waters had temporarily eased the urgency of this constant need, but every brush of her soft skin, every wry smile she flashed at him stoked that same need to touch her again. He wanted Livia. He wanted the woman who moaned when he kissed her, who cried out his name when his mouth was between her legs. Who sometimes looked at him like he was the only thing that mattered.

And he would have her. He would lose himself inside her again once she told him the truth about everything. About his brother and whatever else she was hiding. Because no matter what she said, no matter how brutal the truth was, he would still want her. If the truth really was that brutal, he would simply exact his revenge by making her want him. He would make her pay in pleasure. He would make her so needy that she would come back to him, again and again, no matter what he did. Or who he was.

He would keep her coming back to him until he was sated with her. And then he would end it. That was always the plan. Right now, it didn’t sit well with him, but he reassured himself that it would be what he wanted in time.

“You’re quiet this evening,” she said. “Planning for my beheading tomorrow?”

He smiled despite himself. “I’m afraid my thoughts are much baser.”

And he saw that flash of desire cut through her well-trained exterior before she looked away. Did she feel how easily it was to get carried away with this constant hum of want between them?