Page 125 of Modern Romance December 2025 5-8

‘I had thought once before I wasn’t alone, but it turned out I was mistaken.’ He brought his white teeth together, his shark-like smile more like a grimace as he watched her pale and virtually ooze guilt. ‘Don’t look so worried, Amy. What doesn’t kill you and all that. So, are you ready?’

‘I just need my…’ She flung the words over her shoulder as she quickly disappeared into the bathroom. She needed a minute. She had reached the point of no return on the tears that refused to be blinked away behind the misted tinted glass.

What was she crying about, anyway?

He was never going to forgive her, she knew that. For a long time she had struggled to forgive herself, but she knew that if she had to make the choice again, she still would. That didn’t make it the right decision but, right or wrong, she had to live with it.

And she had been living with it, in a water-under-the-bridge, moving on kind of way, but now, being here, seeing Leo, and remembering who he had once been…

He had moved on and so had she. Their lives were briefly connecting again, that was all.

On that tear-drying, pragmatic thought she snatched a tissue, blew her nose and wiped the mist from her glasses with her sleeve and went to locate her trainers from where she must have kicked them off last night. If Leo wanted to give her a tour, he could give her a tour. Anything that got them out of this room was a bonus.

Leo had watched Amy leave the room, admiring the view. He was still struggling to keep his libido in check when she returned, still pale in the face and huffing out breaths as she balanced on the foot that was shoved in an unlaced trainer, while with her knee brought up almost to her chin she tried to put the other on.

‘There’s no fire. Sit down before you do yourself an injury,’ he barked out roughly.

She obeyed, quite literally dropping to the floor and straight into a cross-legged position, where she proceeded to push her bare foot into the trainer before leaping to her feet again.

Had she always been like that? Always on the go, rushing around? There were certainly things that had changed. Her face was a little thinner, the youthful softness of her features had become more refined, her rounded cheeks more pronounced, her stubborn chin a little sharper.

But her figure seemed exactly the same as he remembered it.

An image from the many stored in his head surfaced unbidden through the wall he had erected to hold back what he had mentally filed as juvenile fantasies.

Except this fantasy had been real.

Amy, the rosy tips of her breasts showing through her silky hair as she bent over him, her hands either side of his head, her hair brushing his chest.

He fought free of the images that belonged to a time in his life when he had actually wanted ties, a time when he had not understood the advantages of no obligation, uncomplicated, honest sex.

Being transfixed by the rise and fall of her breasts beneath the loose cotton covering was an expression of nothing more complicated than a physical need, no more meaningful than slaking a thirst.

Sure, think of her as a glass of beer, Leo, mocked his internal voice.That’s really going to work!

Oblivious to the fact that Leo was fighting against memories, Amy was focused on coaxing her features into a neutral expression that didn’t hint at the painful friction caused by her breasts pushing against the fabric of her white shirt while she trawled frantically for a response, because the truth was not an option.

‘Let’s get this over with. I have work to do.’ Work was her salvation during tough times, all times really. When she was thinking of spice combinations, tastes and textures she could shut out the background noise—or at least turn down the volume.

He opened the door into the corridor she vaguely recalled from last night, and she really wished all her memories of last night were as vague.

She stepped past him, walking into the corridor in daylight giving the brief illusion that she was stepping into the sea and sky. When the illusion faded, she realised that there was solid ground under her feet and the sea was several hundred metres beyond the ten-foot-high windows. She lifted a hand to offer another level of protection from the bright sunlight.

‘You’re not a fan of delegation then?’ he wondered, joining her.

Light spots dancing across her vision, she turned away from the vista that another time she would have enjoyed. Her retinas made Leo a dark, threatening shadow against the light.

‘I don’t ask anyone to do anything I can’t. I’ve never been what anyone would term anexecutivechef. I’m hands-on, even when I was working at the restaurant,’ she explained, throwing a glance at her small hands with the neatly trimmed pearly nails. ‘We might not have kept the Michelin star, even if we hadn’t closed. There’s a lot of pressure to maintain it, and for me it was never about attracting an elitist custom base. I just wanted to serve good food that only the elite could afford.’

Leo followed the direction of her gaze. Other than last night, he hadn’t seen those elegant fingers chopping and dicing, but he had plenty of first-hand experience of them stroking and touching his flesh, featherlight and skilful. His body hardened, helpless to resist the ache of hunger in his belly.

His teeth clenched as he told himself he wasn’t helpless; he was fully in control of himself.

‘Very egalitarian of you.’

She ignored his mockery. ‘In my experience, throwing around orders isn’t the quickest way to gain respect.’ She felt her shoulders relax. They were not retracing their footsteps from the previous night and the windows framing the views had been replaced by stone sconces containing bas-relief figures carved in the niches. They looked intricate but not friendly.

‘Do you need respect?’