Page 80 of Modern Romance December 2025 1-4

Rosamund pressed her hand to her middle, trying to stop the useless yearning, then dropped it when he watched the movement as if fascinated.

‘Thank you, Fotis. For everything.’ She faced him, tilting her chin to hold his gaze, letting him hear finality in her voice. ‘I appreciate everything you’ve done.’

She still marvelled that Leon had persuaded such a man to watch over her for a whole week. Whatever the favour he’d promised, it was obviously vital to her companion.

‘No need for thanks.’ He paused. ‘You’re sure, Rosamund?’

Anyone listening would have noted his gruff voice but only she understood what he didn’t say. That if she said the word, they’d be lovers tonight.

Her throat constricted. It was ridiculous to want a man so much. Downright dangerous to want a man who, she sensed, might take a part of her with him when he left.

She nodded before she could change her mind as regret grew to an ache. ‘Completely sure.’

He inclined his head then led her through the villa to the vast porte-cochère.

‘Wait here while I get the car.’

Prestigious as the residence was, parking in the grounds was limited. Fotis had dropped her at the front door, then parked down the road.

‘Couldn’t we go together, just this once?’ Having decided to be sensible, Rosamund found herself wanting to eke out her time with him, even just the few minutes it would take to walk to the vehicle. ‘It’s a beautiful night.’

She had the unnerving feeling he understood her internal battle. His scrutiny was thorough. Finally he said, ‘Just this once,’ in a voice so husky it abraded her senses and made her wish she dared change her mind.

He folded his hand around hers. They fitted together perfectly. Did he feel the tremor coursing through her?

‘Come on, Princess. It’s time we got you safely back.’

They followed a guard through the scented garden to a secret exit well away from the estate’s grand entrance. The exit was around a curve in the road, out of sight of the coterie of waiting photographers. The guard paused, viewed the image of the street on his device, then unlocked the door.

Fotis paused, frowning. ‘Actually, it’s better that you wait in the grounds. I’ll come back with the car.’

Rosamund shook her head. They had so little time left together. She didn’t want to miss a moment. She’d decided to do the sensible, responsible thing and walk away from this man. Surely she deserved a few minutes more, walking beside him, feeling his hand on hers and the heat of his body close to hers.

‘Please, Fotis.’

It was the first time she’d asked him for anything. Did he realise how out of character that was?

Gleaming eyes locked on hers and her breath caught. Finally he tugged her closer, and it felt…wonderful. Almost as wonderful as that moment in Paris when their lips had touched and she’d longed for it not to end.

‘Come on, let’s get you in the car.’

They passed several luxury vehicles parked up against the pavement, and were just about to pass a small van, when his stride changed. His hand tightened on hers as they slowed.

‘What is it?’ she whispered.

‘The street light’s out.’ Belatedly she noticed the gloom. ‘We’ll go back to the villa and you can wait there.’

Rosamund was about to protest that there was enough light when there was a burst of movement ahead. A figure emerged from behind the van, lunging towards them.

Fotis shoved her behind him then leapt forward. She reeled, heart pounding. Between the shadows and his form blocking her view, she couldn’t see what was happening. But it didn’t sound pretty. There were grunts and a thud, then a loud crack that she told herself sickly couldn’t be bone breaking.

Frantically she scanned the pavement for a weapon she could use to help Fotis.

A second later came the sound of splashing. There was a hiss of indrawn breath followed by a high-pitched shriek of pain that made all the fine hairs on her body stand on end.

The figures broke apart and she was relieved to see Fotis standing tall, broad shoulders heaving, whereas the other person—a man she saw now—writhed on the ground.

She started forward. ‘Fotis—’