Page 204 of Modern Romance September 2025 5-8

‘I’m fine,’ he responded, a little sharply. ‘Go on.’

She frowned, but did continue speaking, much to his relief. Now, if only he could control the direction of his thoughts, because without his consent they were obsessing over Jane, so that, as the night wore on, he found his nerves were stretched well beyond breaking point.

Jane had just stepped out of the shower and was pulling on one of the fluffy hotel robes when her phone began to buzz and her pulse immediately leapt into her throat as she imagined that it might be Zeus. It was almost midnight, though. Surely, he wouldn’t call this late? Only…after what had happened in the bar, could she blame him if he thought she might be up for a literal one-night stand?

Heat flushed her cheeks when she recalled the way she’d responded to his touch. No, the way she’d practicallybeggedhim to touch her.

And it hadn’t even been about Lottie, but rather Jane’s needs.

How had that happened? That night with Steven had terrified her. Up until then, they’d messed around, and she’d fallen in love with him—or thought she had. She trusted him, and she thought he’d been happy to wait, just like she’d asked. Instead, he’d plied her with alcohol and slept with her—her first and only time with a man—when she was too out of it to know what she was doing. She only remembered some of it, because of the fog of alcohol. But she knew that it had hurt, and that it had been fast and that he’d laughed off her upset afterwards. It had been a betrayal from which she could never return. Afterwards, any man’s touch had left her cold at first. It had taken years before she was willing to date anyone, and she’d kissed some men, perfunctorily, and hadn’t hated it, but she’d always been terrified of anything more intimate because…what if? What if they promised her something and then broke that promise?

She reached for her phone, snatching it out of her bag, face pale now, and flicked it over to see the screen. Lottie’s smiling face looked back at her, the photo taken about a year earlier when they were on holiday together in Scotland. Lottie was wearing one of the telltale scarves from the Harry Potter movies—a firm favourite of both of theirs for as long as Jane could remember. She expelled a calming breath, glad to see it was Lottie and no one else.

‘Hi,’ she answered.

‘Oh! You’re there. I was about to hang up.’

‘I was in the shower. Is everything okay?’

‘Yeah, why?’

‘It’s just…late,’ Jane finished with a shrug.

‘Oh, shoot. I forgot the time difference. Sorry.’

‘It’s fine. I’m up.’

‘I just wanted to check in.’

‘See if I’ve made any progress?’

‘Well, I mean, not to put too fine a point on it, but our future plans for global domination are kind of riding on it…’

Jane smiled, collapsing down onto the sofa, wondering at the strange sense of disloyalty that was filling her mouth with acid. ‘I met him,’ she answered, fingers pulling at some fluff on her robe.

Lottie let out a low whistle. ‘You only flew in today. That was fast.’

‘I went to that bar.’

‘And he was there?’

‘Yep.’

‘Let me guess… He fell at your feet and begged to kiss them?’

Jane rolled her eyes, but the gesture lacked acerbity, because her pulse was throbbing, and her insides were squirming. One touch had ignited her, body and soul. ‘No, sadly,’ she said, the words sounding foreign to her own ears.

But Lottie didn’t appear to notice. ‘So, what’s the plan?’

‘Plan?’

‘I presume you have one?’

‘Well, he has my number,’ she said, and then, sitting a little straighter, ‘and I have his.’

‘Excellent. You’re a genius.’

‘Well, we’ll see. I get the feeling I’m biting off way more than I can chew.’