Page 61 of Modern Romance December 2025 1-4

There was no sign of disturbance and he could see a form on the bed.

Keeping away from the light spilling through the windows, he moved soft-footed and silent along the wall, senses alert as he approached the bed.

It was definitely her. He recognised the pale trousers and dark camisole. He also recognised the sumptuous waves of reddish-blond hair loose around her shoulders, the arch of those definite eyebrows and the natural downturn at the corners of a mouth that in repose hinted at sultry sensuality.

His heart beat a quick tattoo as his lungs emptied then refilled.

Good to know she wasn’t abducted on your watch, Mavridis.

The sarcastic voice sounded like his old special ops commander.

He dragged his attention from the way one breast looked about to slip free of her top. His hands flexed as he recalled her pebbled nipples hard against the silk as she gave him sass laced with contempt.

Nota woman he should hanker after.

Okay, she was here, but was she all right? Why was she still dressed? She lay so still that she was either an incredibly deep sleeper or…

Fotis leaned over the bed until a drift of cinnamon and vanilla scent, laced with warm female, assaulted his nostrils. He drew it in, barely noticing his surprise that she should smell so sweetly wholesome. Wholesome but addictive.

Frowning, he moved closer and finally had the confirmation he needed. The softest waft of breath caressed his chin. He looked down and at last discerned the gentle rise and fall of her breasts which a moment before had seemed so still.

Abruptly he straightened and stepped back. She seemed safe enough. But she hadn’t bothered to bathe or change, much less eat. What was her problem?

He hadn’t wasted much time on a detailed background check. He’d already known more than enough about Princess Rosamund before her brother contacted him. He knew her character and her predilection for scandalous assignations. Was there also a drug habit? Was that why she hadn’t changed or eaten and why she seemed so deeply asleep?

A quick sweep of the bathroom revealed nothing. But returning to her room he noticed something on her bedside table. Scooping it up and turning away, he inspected it with a penlight torch. Painkillers. Not heavy dose prescription medications but over-the-counter tablets in common use against headaches.

He switched off the torch and surveyed the sleeping woman, replaying their last encounter.

She’d looked pale, standing in the garage staring with wide eyes, and she’d blinked against the afternoon light coming into the kitchen. Then there was the way she’d hunched her shoulders, like someone in pain, though she’d been quick to straighten. The tiny lines puckering the centre of her forehead. He’d thought that due to temper. Could it have been pain?

It must have been bad for her to fall, fully clothed, onto the bed.

Fotis prided himself on his ability to notice things others didn’t. To collect clues and transform them into a complete picture before other people had an inkling there was anything wrong. Hell, it was a core component of his business!

But he’d missed this. He’d let personal feelings hinder his ability to observe, collate facts and analyse.

No security system was inviolable. If therehadbeen an intruder, Fotis might have been too late.

He put the tablets back and moved away so that light, sweet fragrance didn’t tease him anymore.

His chest rose on a deep inhalation. Ignoring her wasn’t good enough. He’d given his word to protect her. Despite his inclinations, he vowed that from now on he’d pay close attention to every move she made. He couldn’t afford to miss any threat.

What had been a deeply annoying job had suddenly become almost impossible. He’d do it because he had no choice. But some primal self-knowledge was already screaming a warning.

He despised everything she stood for. Particularly her overweening sense of entitlement and selfish belief that she should get whatever and whoever she wanted with no thought to anyone else. But it wasn’t just contempt he felt.

Brutal honesty forced him to admit to a thread, a powerful thread, of lust.

It had been there from the first and only strengthened each time she challenged him with those knowing grey-blue eyes and pert rejoinders. Her attitude as much as her body underpinned her sex appeal.

He’d thought, given his history, feeling such attraction would be impossible. Surely he had better taste.

Scowling, he stalked out of the room.

CHAPTER THREE

THE LIMOUSINE CRUISEDdown a street that housed some of Paris’s most famous fashion showrooms. ‘There’s no need to come in,’ she said. ‘I’ll text when I’m ready to leave.’