Page 89 of Modern Romance December 2025 1-4

The island was too small to be on the tourist map and any stranger would be obvious. But a deserted town?

They swung around a curve and there, seeming to grow straight up from a sheer cliff, was a long two-storey building, old but clearly renovated. Rows of windows looked towards the sea and the terracotta roof was a blend of old and new tiles.

Fotis flew low over it to land on a crisply painted helipad.

Of course he didn’t live anywhere as ordinary as a modern apartment or conventional house. The man cloaked himself in mystery. Even his business was about keeping and decoding secrets. Why not live in a deserted mediaeval town?

‘What’s the joke?’ he asked as she took off her headphones and the sound of the rotors faded.

‘You thought I was elitist because I was born in a palace. Yet you live in a…’ She surveyed the large building. ‘Castle?’

‘Abandoned monastery.’

Rosamund couldn’t help it, laughter bubbled up.

His winged eyebrows rose but there was a gleam in his eyes that might have been wry amusement. The sight made her stomach do a curious sweep and shimmy motion that had nothing to do with their chopper flight. ‘And that’s funny because…?’

‘You really are reclusive. Like those monks who cut themselves off from the outside world, looking for peace and tranquility. Does anyone else live here?’

‘Just me. A couple from the village look after the place.’

So you’re going to be alone with him there.

They’d been alone in the Paris house and she’d enjoyed the relative peace, even managed to do a little work. But things had changed.She’dchanged, become so attuned to him that it was hard to think of anything else.

‘I bring some of my team here when we’re working on something that requires close collaboration.’

Rosamund didn’t know whether to be impressed, jealous, or disturbed that he lived in an eyrie, perched on a rock in the middle of an isolated island.

There were times when she wished she had a bolt-hole where she could truly escape when she needed to concentrate. ‘You don’t get lonely?’ she asked as she undid her seat belt.

‘I’m happy with my own company. Anyway, I find company when I want it.’

His voice dropped to a deep note that made her lift her head to meet his stare. His eyes seemed brighter, his expression intense and she realised what he meant by company.

Women. Sex.

It was as if he’d flicked a switch inside her. Far from being weary from the journey to Greece or distracted by her churning thoughts, she was suddenly hyper-aware. That hooded stare made her breasts grow heavy, heat brewing in that secret feminine place between her legs.

Suddenly all the things she’d been tryingnotto think filled her brain.

Rosamund imagined his gaze holding hers as he drove himself deep inside her, filling her to the brim. Those callused palms stroking her breasts, skimming her thighs and then the place where need throbbed hard and fast. She remembered the taste of his mouth and imagined having the freedom to taste him all over.

She jerked her head around to stare out the side window, nostrils flaring as she dragged air into constrained lungs.

All day they’d skirted around the sexual awareness clotting the air between them.

Her stupid impulse to kiss him at the restaurant had been a mistake. She’d known it but hadn’t been able to resist. Had barely been able to resist the temptation of him last night when his murmured invitation to retire early had sent her into a tailspin of longing.

She couldn’t understand this man’s power.

Like her mother, she had a strong impulsive streak. Like her mother, it had got her into trouble when she was young. But circumstances and the strictures of her royal role meant Rosamund had finally curbed what her father had curtly labelled her waywardness.

At twenty-eight, Rosamund had learnt to think before acting. Yes, setting Ricardo up had been impetuous, but based on sound reasoning. She couldn’t stand by and allow him to destroy an innocent’s life. Dimitria Politis wouldn’t have believed her, if she’d told her about Ricardo’s sickening bragging. The girl was besotted and would trust her lover over a woman she didn’t know.

But kissing Fotis Mavridis? That had been utterly foolhardy. Because now he was in her mind, in her blood, in a way she’d never experienced before.

The door opened and there he was, well over six feet of impressive masculinity. Her heart gave a silly flutter which she chose to ignore, just as she ignored his outstretched hand and stepped down without help.