Page 55 of Modern Romance December 2025 1-4

She looked up, and up further. Dimly she was aware of her pulse thudding a quickened beat. Of a spasm low in her body and her nipples peaking, abrading her bra.

All that in a millisecond as she took in the stranger before her.

His shoulders were straight and wide under his black leather jacket. There were black jeans too and a dark T-shirt that hinted at a steel-toned body. Black-as-night hair, winged ebony eyebrows and a dusting of midnight stubble on his hard-hewn jaw. But shockingly his eyes were light. They reminded her of the sea, a mix of blue and green and maybe even gold, as if the sun glittered over liquid depths.

With his strong features—she couldn’t call him handsome but arresting—Rosamund could imagine him cast as a fallen angel. Not just any fallen angel. With his incredible presence he had to be Lucifer, their leader.

Maybe those eyes were a reminder of those glory days before he was kicked out of heaven. Rosamund had never seen anything like that colour which, even as she watched, seemed to glow more golden.

Something shuddered inside her. Something shockingly like recognition. Awareness.

Nonsense! The artist in her simply wondered how to capture that precise shade.

‘Princess Rosamund.’

It wasn’t a question but a flat statement of certainty. Yet it was more too. In just five syllables his softly modulated baritone conveyed disdain. Scorn, even.

Suddenly, shockingly, she knew who this man must be and discovered she’d walked into a nightmare.

Thiswas the man sent to protect her? Who’d act as her partner for the duration of the trip?

Disbelief and dismay filled her. Despite his arrogance and his contempt, it would be easy for a woman to find him attractive. To want to put her hands on him, test that tensile strength and try to learn the secrets of his body.

No wonder every instinct screamed a warning.

It was impossible to sit under that scorching scrutiny.

Ignoring her shoes she rose, standing tall and cloaking herself in the illusion of confidence as her mother had taught her. She’d never been more grateful for those early lessons.

‘Kyrie Mavridis. Kalimera.’ She inclined her head as if graciously accepting a compliment and felt a flicker of satisfaction at his momentary surprise.

‘You speak Greek?’

Clearly he hadn’t expected that and she dearly wished she could claim that advantage. She suspected she’d need every advantage she could muster to deal with this man who wasnotlike any policy advisor she’d seen. So much for a balding, paunchy bureaucrat. She’d have words with Leon when she returned. He should have warned her.

‘Alas, no. Just a few pleasantries.’

She paused, far too aware of their height difference now they stood toe-to-toe. She rarely wore high heels and wished she’d worn some on the plane. As it was, barefoot she had to tilt her head to meet his eyes.

He inclined his head, his unsmiling mouth betraying no pleasure in her company.

What was the man’s problem? Couldn’t he even pretend to the usual social niceties?

It intrigued her that Leon had managed to persuade this man who looked as persuadable as a block of basalt, into looking out for her.

Did he owe Leon some debt?

‘You’re ready to go?’ His tone was brusque.

‘In a moment.’ His eagerness to be gone and his refusal to play nice spurred her to take her time, letting down her hair then gathering it up, winding it around her hand and fixing it more securely. Only when she was satisfied it would pass muster for any paparazzi did she turn to accept her jacket, held out to her by the steward. She gave a man a warm smile. ‘Thank you very much, Philippe.’

Then her shoes. She slipped them on, wishing the heels were three times the height.

She was reaching for her shoulder bag when her Greek minder said, ‘I came on-board to discuss the ground rules before this goes any further.’

Rosamund’s eyebrows lifted. She’d promised Leon she’d be discreet about this arrangement. It seemed Fotis Mavridis hadn’t got that memo. Or, she realised as she met that challenging stare, he had his own priorities. Any thought that he was dependent on her half-brother vanished.

‘Thank you, Philippe.’ She nodded at the steward. ‘We’ll follow you out in a moment.’