Page 2 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 5-8

The man she’s dancing with spins her in a circle, pulling her too close for my liking. They turn, giving me a view of her bare back. I grit my teeth to keep my jaw from dropping. Sophaya usually favors classic pieces like elegant sheath dresses or tailored pants with fitted jackets. Graceful, polished, refined.

But this dress…this dress is pure sin.

Her back is bare, as are her shoulders. Midnight blue fabric clings to her arms before billowing into sheer sleeves that offer teasing glimpses of her skin. Who the hell knew a woman’s arms could look so sexy when they’re barely covered by some filmy material that reminds me of wings?

And then there’s the skirt. All that dark blue cascading down, following the curve of her hips and legs as golden vines and pale blue flowers twine over the fabric. It’s all too easy to imagine peeling the dress from her shoulders, freeing her breasts so I can fill my hands with them before I finally claim her mouth with my own.

If I wasn’t already destined for hell, I’m certainly headed there now.

Her dance partner’s hand slides down to her waistline, his fingers pressing against her naked skin. Rage bolts through me. I quicken my pace until I’m right next to them.

The man glances up at me, then does a double take and pales beneath his mask. “Um…can I help you?”

Satisfaction at the faint tremble in his voice eases some of my anger. “Take your hands off her.”

The man straightens, his eyes narrowing. “Excuse me?”

“Off.” I lean down slightly. “Now.”

He drops Sophaya’s hand and turns his attention back to her. “You could have told me you were married.”

Before Sophaya can respond, the man disappears into the crowd. A quick glance confirms we’re attracting attention. Swearing under my breath, I slide an arm around her waist. My cock hardens as my hand settles on her smooth skin. She stiffens as I pull her close and start to sway to the music.

“What are you doing, Mr. Hawke?”

Gone is the warmth, the happiness she gave the other man. In its place are the usual frost dripping from her faintly accented voice, her blue eyes sharpened into shards of ice as she glares at me from behind her mask.

“Dancing.” She starts to pull away, but I tighten my grip, pull her close as I lean down. “People are looking. Keep fighting and one of them just might snap a picture.”

She freezes. Then, slowly, she relaxes in my arms, allows me to turn her about the room. I keep an eye out for cell phones, cameras, anything that might be used to capture and potentially betray Her Royal Highness Sophaya de Marivela, Crown Princess of Siravelle.

“You lied to me.”

“I did not.”

I breathe in, then out. The last time I cried was when I was seven years old and my grandmother, the woman who loved me unconditionally, passed away. I didn’t cry when my foster father hit me the following year for daring to advocate for myself. I can still remember the cold that settled over me, the unwavering determination to walk out of that hellish house and forge my own path even though I had nowhere else to go. I served in the United States Army as a ranger in specialized reconnaissance, extracting intelligence assets in total darkness as bullets whizzed by. I’ve been running Hawke Security for ten years, fending off ex-lovers, stalkers and angry mobs for the world’s rich and famous. I haven’t cried, haven’t balked, haven’t hesitated in thirty years.

Yet Princess Sophaya gets under my skin with an almost eerie ease.

I look down at her, wait for her to meet my gaze. When she does, blue fire flashes in her eyes as she lifts her chin in a subtle act of defiance as I guide her around the dance floor. And damn if that rebellious gesture doesn’t shoot straight down and make my cock even harder, almost to the point of pain.

“You said you were going to bed.”

“I changed my mind.”

“And just happened to have a mask and…” I glance down at the gown, try and fail to not notice how the swells of creamy skin rise above the fabric clinging to her breasts. “A dress for a gala?”

“I always have a dress for a gala.”

“Don’t play games with me, Princess.”

Her eyes narrow behind her mask. “Don’t call me that.”

“Then answer me. Honestly,” I add as her red lips part.

She sucks in a deep breath, then slowly releases it. “When you invited me, I didn’t intend to come. I changed my mind, did a quick shopping trip and came here.”

I bite back a torrent of curse words.