Page 93 of Modern Romance September 2025 5-8

Hot and a little sweaty, Jane was looking at the nearly finished treat with undisguised jealousy when the girl reached out and pointed towards Jane’s bag. ‘You’re ringing,’ she said in a broad accent.

Jane blinked, tearing her gaze from the little girl’s ice lolly to her face, which was smiling sweetly.

‘Oh, right.’ She looked across to find that even the teenager had stopped talking, and the parents were looking at her expectantly, too. She realised she was standing very close to their group, almost as if she wanted to be adopted in by them.

She stepped back quickly, smiled curtly then turned away, diving into her bag to remove the phone.

In a fit of irritation—self-directed, because she’d been thinking about Zeus and acting like a twit—she answered the phone.

Only to hear his voice, coming down the line, dark and somehow every bit as hot as the summer day.

‘Jane,’ he drawled, the simple word almost indecent. She quickly pulled away from the thrum of people, as much as she could, trying to find somewhere quiet to have this conversation.

‘I’m sorry, who’s this?’ She couldn’t resist teasing.

She could practically hear him smirk down the phone. ‘We met last night, at the bar.’

‘Right. Zoro?’

Now he laughed and she smiled, secure in the knowledge that he couldn’t see her, so he wouldn’t see how she sort of liked sparring with him.

‘Are you free tonight?’ he asked, barely a moment later.

She bit into her lower lip. For the sake of self-preservation, she should run a mile. She should tell him ‘no,’ that she was busy. That was exactly what Jane Fisher would have done, if left up to her own devices. But this was for Lottie. They had a plan, and it was up to Jane to play her part.

‘I might be able to move some things in my busy holidaymaker schedule around, depending on what you’re suggesting.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ he said, then softly, ‘How does dinner sound?’

She expelled a breath of relief. Dinner was fine. Dinner was out. In public. No chance of him getting the wrong idea if they were seated across from one another in a busy restaurant.

‘Great,’ she rushed, trying to remember she should sound delighted and not as though she were heading to the gallows.

‘Text me your address and I’ll pick you up at eight.’

She bit into her lip. ‘I’m at a hotel. I’ll get a car to the restaurant.’

Silence. He didn’t like being contradicted, she could tell. Well, tough. Jane intended to stay firmly in control of this situation, no matter what. Control was her defence against the dark ravages of her past; control was her salvation.

‘What’s the matter, Jane?’ he asked, but his voice was teasing now, as though he was making fun of her. ‘Are you afraid that if I come to your hotel we might decide not to go out, after all?’

That was precisely her fear, she admitted to herself. New fears of how much she wanted him, and old fears of being hurt and taken advantage of. Of sacrificing the control she’d fought so hard for.

‘Of course not,’ she muttered, looking around to make sure she was still alone, a little way off the beaten tourist track. ‘But it’s not the nineteen fifties. I’m more than capable of making my own way to you.’

She waited for him to argue and wondered how long she’d hold her steel for, but then he simply said, ‘Okay. I’ll text you the restaurant. See you at eight, Jane.’

She let out a breath of relief.

‘And Jane?’

Her heart skipped a beat.

‘I’m looking forward to seeing you again.’ He disconnected the call, and Jane closed her eyes on a rush of awareness and a growing sense of panic.

She had about five hours to talk some sense into herself and retrain her body so that it wouldn’t practically melt whenever he was nearby.

Five hours to remind herself that the only reason she was seeing this man—this man she hated on behalf of her best friend and womankind everywhere—was because of the horribly old-fashioned term of inheritance.

This meant the world to Lottie, and there was no way Jane was going to let her down.

Not after everything she’d already been denied in her life.

Jane had her back and always would. She just wished she could stop fantasising about Zeus!

Five minutes after eight, she strode into the restaurant in yet another dress she’d borrowed, this time from her mother’s wardrobe.

It was a couture dress from a few summers ago, meaning her mother had long since forgotten it existed and wouldn’t miss it.

A vibrant pink, with slender straps, it clung to the torso then flared at the hips in a skirt that fell to just beneath the knees in a classic prom dress silhouette.

But there was something risqué about the dress and the way the back hung low, revealing the line of her spine to just above the curve of her bottom.

She’d teamed it with flats tonight. Even for Lottie and this scheme, she couldn’t force her feet into another pair of high heels. Not after she’d walked all over Athens and was still recovering from a dose of pinch-toe-itis courtesy of the night before.

‘This way, madam,’ a waiter said with a deferential bow when she told him her name.

He led her through the restaurant, past the incredible windows that showed views towards the Acropolis, towards yet another room, this time small enough for one table, and with a sheer curtain hanging across the doorway.

Her heart plunged.

She’d been hoping to sit across from him in a crowded restaurant, not to be in yet another out of the way table like this, with the magic of Athens glittering in the background.

They had their own private window, though she supposed, if it was any consolation, the view was hardly likely to get more than a second glance from Jane, given that Zeus was standing up to greet her.

‘Jane,’ he said, crossing towards her, ignoring the waiter, who faded into the background.

She swallowed, but her mouth was inexplicably dry and there was nothing she could do to moisten it.

He took her hands in his, held them for a moment then lifted one to his lips.

Her stomach dropped to her toes; her insides squeezed with recognition.

‘Zeus,’ she said, trying to focus. Trying to remember how she needed to act—for Lottie—but also for herself.

‘Thank you for meeting me.’

She arched a brow then gestured towards the window, glad to wrestle back control of her hand. ‘You promised to show me the sights. You weren’t lying.’

‘I never lie,’ he said, and guilt coloured Jane’s face.

She wasn’t lying to him, though, just by omitting her connection with his family and her reason for being here.

He hadn’t asked; she was under no obligation to volunteer the information.

He put a hand on her hip then, drawing her closer to him, and he kissed her cheek in a manner that was somehow so much more intimate than anything they’d done the night before. A shiver ran the length of her spine.

‘I—’ she whispered, voice husky. ‘I need to tell you something,’ she said, pulling away so she could see his face.

And the importance of this moment slammed into her.

The knowledge that what she told him might ruin Lottie’s plan—but that it had to be done.

She couldn’t keep doing this without putting some guardrails in place; it was too dangerous for Jane. Too hard for her.

His eyes bore into hers and he nodded without making any effort to put some distance between them.

‘Last night—what happened in the bar—’

‘I thought we discussed this already.’

‘No, you decreed I shouldn’t explain, but that’s not good enough. I have to.’

Amusement sculpted his lips and lifted his brows. ‘I decreed?’

‘Yes. You’re very bossy, you know,’ she said with a semi-apologetic grimace.

‘I have been told that before.’

‘I’m not surprised.’

‘Not often so gently, either,’ he added, and one side of her lips tugged upwards in a smile.

‘Go on, Jane. Explain whatever it is you would like to say.’ He pressed a finger beneath her chin, though, lifting her gaze to his.

‘Though I do not consider anything requires an explanation. As I said last night, I felt it, too.’

‘You felt what, exactly?’

His eyes flared for a moment and then he pulled her closer, holding her against his body, stroking the naked flesh of her back. ‘Desire.’

Yes, desire. It had been a potent force between them, something she’d never really experienced.

Not like that—a freight train, rushing headlong towards her.

‘Be that as it may,’ she said, the conversation becoming almost impossible to focus on when faced with the evidence of the attraction that was flaring between them, particularly from his growing hardness.

She closed her eyes, praying for strength.

She had to walk a fine line here to keep him interested without selling her soul to the devil.

Lottie wouldn’t want that, and it was a bridge too far for Jane.

This was not, and had never been, about sex.

‘I need to be honest with you about my… What I want.’

‘I would dearly like to hear all about what you want,’ he said, dropping his mouth to the curve of her neck and kissing it, so she groaned and shifted her head to grant him more access.

Did she really have to do this? Of course she did.

A man like Zeus undoubtedly had relationships that included sex.

A lot of sex. And after last night, he probably presumed she was like any of his other conquests; but Jane wasn’t.

This could only continue if he understood that she needed to go slow.

To be in control. And yet, she angsted back and forth over the necessity of telling him, because a part of her wanted him to see her like any other woman, to kiss her and touch her and possibly even make love to her, because maybe then she could reclaim that part of herself that had been burned by Steven beyond—she’d always thought—repair.

‘I’m celibate,’ she blurted out, tired of the argument going on in her mind, placing a hand on his chest, needing some space, and sanity, to return.

‘Celibate?’ He arched a brow enquiringly, as though he’d never heard the word.

‘I don’t sleep with people.’

‘You don’t, or you haven’t?’

‘I haven’t, for a very long time,’ she admitted, pushing Steven out of her mind with difficulty. ‘And I don’t intend for that to change anytime soon.’

‘I see,’ he said when it was clear he didn’t. ‘Why?’

‘I decided I would wait until I was in a committed relationship. With someone I love. And trust.’ She lifted one bare shoulder.

‘I don’t necessarily mean I’m waiting until I get married, but at least…

engaged,’ she responded. And the moment she told him that—which was the truth, from the bottom of her heart—she realised how a man in his situation might take it.

As an easy way to tick several boxes, all at once.

And her heart began to race at what she’d just unintentionally done.

If she were more Machiavellian, she might have seen it as a masterstroke, but for Jane, it felt as though she was being even more dishonest now. Devious and manipulative.

But he was listening to her with that intelligent, assessing dark gaze, studying her in a way that made her want to squeeze her eyes shut and run a mile, because she feared he saw so much more than she wanted him to.

‘I just didn’t want you to think, because of last night, that dinner would be a prelude to…you know. Me going home with you.’ She took a step back with difficulty, her whole body flushing with cold at the absence of touch. ‘If you want me to leave—’

‘Leave?’ he interrupted, frowning, as though she’d suggested she might grow another head from her hip. ‘Why would I want you to leave?’

‘Because I know what you’re like. What men like you are like,’ she amended quickly, because she wasn’t supposed to know anything about Zeus. ‘And I don’t want to waste your time.’

‘ Agape , there is not a chance on earth of you doing that. Sit. Tell me more about yourself, starting with your last name.’