Page 82 of Modern Romance December 2025 1-4

Fotis grimaced as he glanced at his bandaged arm with its low-grade hum of pain.

After his disturbed night, what he needed was a workout, a few hours in the gym or a swim to re-establish his equilibrium. But the medic had insisted he not get his injuries wet and though the exclusive coastal resort was well protected, Fotis refused to leave Rosamund alone in their separate suite, even to go to the hotel gym.

Being cooped up with her only increased his frustration. For the last ten minutes he’d watched her swim laps of their private pool, screened from the rest of the resort by high walls on two sides and a sheer drop to the sea on a third.

He’d spent the night reliving those moments when someone had tried to hurt her, but in his troubled dreams the man had succeeded. The screams he’d heard had been Rosamund’s and it had jolted him awake, heart pounding and nausea bubbling.

But melded with his concern for her safety was something else. The fascination that had begun the moment he’d met her had morphed from disdain into rampant curiosity, through unwilling respect then admiration. And ever-present lust.

She wasn’t the smug, selfish woman he’d imagined. He regularly saw her concern for others. Her wheelchair-bound friend in Paris. The people who gathered outside events just to catch a glimpse of her, and who’d been rewarded when she inevitably talked with them. Last night despite her shock at being targeted, it had beenhimshe’d worried about.

Then there was the mind-boggling news that she’d acted tohelpDimi, at huge cost to herself. That she herself had been a victim. Fotis had discovered a whole new level of feelings as he learned more about Rosamund. He was furious she’d put herself in danger, yet proud and protective. He wanted to find the man who’d hurt her and make him pay.

His hunger for her knew no bounds. Even last night when she turned him down, her actions had made him want her more.

For once her expression hadn’t been guarded, so he’d witnessed the struggle, the decision to say no, because of course they had no future. They lived different lives. He’d seen what the refusal cost her. He too had felt that yearning for more as they walked in the soft darkness, hands clasped because that was the only touch they could permit.

He turned and reached for his phone.

Fifteen minutes later, Fotis stood at the end of the pool, watching her steady progress.

So much for the idea she expended her energy on partying. With her morning yoga, regular gym sessions and chamomile tea, she didn’t fit the party girl mould. She liked champagne but didn’t drink to excess. She’d relaxed and laughed, the sound of her husky amusement running through his body like fingertips on aroused flesh. But she’d turned down every offer to party except last night and they’d left that early.

She didn’t fitanymould he knew. Whenever he thought he understood her, something happened to make him reassess.

She neared the end of the pool and he crouched, touching her outstretched arm. He felt a shiver ripple up her arm and pulled his hand away, rising to his full height.

She flicked bright hair off her face, her gaze making his blood quicken and the morning sun sharpen on his skin.

He gestured to the table positioned to make the most of the sea view. ‘Breakfast.’

She hauled herself out, sunlight glistening on wet skin. On strong, supple legs. On her toned torso with that intriguing dip to her waist and flare of her hips. On the upper slopes of her heaving breasts.

Fotis’ fingers tightened on the towel he held. He offered it to her and turned towards the breakfast he’d organised.

But as he crossed the terrace it wasn’t the sea or the breakfast he saw but Rosamund. Her bikini was rainforest green, all lush foliage, with tiny dots of colour here and there. A red butterfly. A half-hidden blue Macaw. A pair of yellow eyes from a dark feline face. All designed to catch the eye, but none intrigued like the woman wearing it, her golden skin glowing with vitality.

His hands clenched and so did his lower body.

He sat and reached for the coffeepot. ‘The police want us to stay longer.’

She settled opposite him, the towel wrapped around her body. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

‘For how long? We’ve told them everything we know. We’re supposed to leave today.’

He read her tension. He knew the feeling. The sooner they left the better. Staying with her in his Paris townhouse had been both surprisingly easy yet increasingly claustrophobic. Because he was aware of her in ways no bodyguard should be.

‘You really want to pull the privilege card? What did you have in mind? Storming out of here as if the police don’t have a job to do?’

He paused, knowing his anger was with himself, not her. Because he’d weakened last night and let her walk with him. Because he’dwantedher and that selfish decision had left her open to attack.

Because everything felt wrong this morning.

‘Their investigation can only help you. If they can make a link between the man last night and Ricardo…’

‘I know, I know.’ She reached for her coffee but instead of drinking, held the mug in both hands as if needing its warmth. ‘I’m overreacting. It’s just that every time I think of last night—’

‘You’re safe, Rosamund.’ He wanted to reach for her but forced his hands into immobility. ‘Between me, the hotel security staff and the police…’