Page 35 of Modern Romance June 2025 1-4

‘What is it,poulaki mou?’ he taunted, his sapphire eyes meeting hers in mocking challenge. ‘What names do you want to call me?’

And that was what did it. The flicker which sparked the flame. Which drove all reason from her head and replaced it with a red-hot fury. With a little yelp, she launched herself at him, planning to drum her fists against his chest, or maybe to shove him out of the door to show she didn’t need him, or want him. But who was she kidding? Because that wasn’t happening. His mouth was on hers—hot and hard and urgent—and she was kissing him back as if her life depended on it. Her hands were all over his body, as if she were discovering it for the first time, and he was doing the same to her. Palming her breasts so that the nipples became hard and painful. Trickling her finger down over his belly, she began scrabbling at his belt, and as she slithered his jeans over his thighs she thought he’d never felt this big before.

‘Oh!’ she gasped.

‘So what are you going to do now, Grace?’ he goaded.

‘This.’

With the flat of her hand she pushed his accommodating body back until he was lying flat on the floor. He was watching her from between slitted lashes, a muscle working frantically at his cheek as she found a condom on the nightstand and opened it so slowly that some of his control seemed to crack.

‘Just hurry, will you?’ he husked out.

That urgent plea pleased her more than it should have done because there was no measured quality in his deep voice now, was there? Grace revelled in his helpless groan as she finished sheathing him with fingers which incited and excited, using skills he had taught her. And then she took off her panties and boldly climbed on top of him, taking him deep inside her, deeper than he’d ever been before—at least, that was how it felt. He was hot and hard. He was beautiful, and he was hers.Hers.A wave of emotion swelled up inside her as she cried his name and his hands were on her breasts as she rode him, his bronze fingers splayed decadently over the pale fabric of her sundress. She gripped his shoulders, feeling the pleasure build to a pitch which was sweet and unbearable, until she could resist it no longer. A low, keening sound erupted from the very core of her as suddenly she was torn apart, her body blitzed by sensation as she felt the first pump of his seed.

Dazed, she slumped on top of him, resisting the sleep her body was so desperately craving, remembering the futility of her thoughts in the middle of that frantic lovemaking. Because Odysseus wasn’thers, was he? He never had been and never would be.

And that reaction had frightened her.

It was frightening her now. Observing the ebony sweep of his closed lashes and the satiated smile curving his lips, all she could feel was a great swell of misplaced longing, which was totally one-sided. Which was probably going to get worse. Because she was fast discovering that affection, or love, or whatever you wanted to call it, was a funny thing. It grew, even when you didn’t want it to. It made you vulnerable and it made you hurt.

She couldn’t carry on like this and she needed to tell him, before their strange marriage whittled away her sense of worth completely. But not here and not now. Not while she was still straddling him and could feel him inside her.

‘I’m going to take a shower,’ she announced, aware of his lashes fluttering open and his hot blue gaze burning into her as she peeled herself away.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Theknockonthe door was unannounced but Odysseus had been expecting it, ever since his wife had left him lying half naked on the floor of their bedroom and slammed her way into the bathroom. A ragged sigh left his lungs. It had been unforgettable sex. Intense.Theos, neh.Very intense. But angry, too. So very angry. He had been jealous. He who had never known a moment’s jealousy in his life.

But that was part of the trouble, wasn’t it? That somehow Grace had the ability to access feelings he didn’t even know he possessed. Why else would he have raged about a youth he’d known in his heart that she wouldn’t have looked at twice. Because she didn’t really want any man but him, did she? That was the disturbing truth of it.

‘Come,’ he growled reluctantly, the complexity of his thoughts compounded by the sight of Grace walking into his office, because there was something different about her and he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. He kept his expression impassive enough for her to realise that her presence was unwelcome, because he didn’t want this. The last thing he needed was some kind of showdown when he was trying to work Far better to suggest they discuss it reasonably over dinner later, when hopefully she might have had a chance to calm down.

‘Can’t this wait?’ he questioned.

‘I’m afraid it can’t.’ She bit her lip as if unsure how to proceed.

‘Well?’

His terse interjection seemed to galvanise her and she sat down on the other side of his desk without asking.

‘I want to go to England,’ she announced.

He felt an automatic flicker of disquiet. ‘I hope your grandmother is not ill?’

‘Odysseus, she has dementia. She doesn’t know what day of the week it is. Thank you for asking, but that’s not…’ She drew in a deep breath. ‘That’s not the reason.’

He raised his eyebrows, aware of the sudden pounding of his heart. ‘So whatisthe reason for this unexpected departure?’

‘Oh, come on. Is it really sounexpected?’ she challenged, and then, when he refused to rise to it, she gave a little nod—as if he had just confirmed something she already knew. ‘I don’t want to continue with this marriage.’

‘But you’re supposed to be accompanying me to Tuloranka next week,’ he informed her with icy logic. ‘That was part of the deal.’

She didn’t deny his words but her expression remained oddly calm. ‘You really are an extraordinary man, Odysseus,’ she said slowly. ‘Aren’t you even going to ask me why?’

Suddenly he realised what was different about her. Her jeans were old and her top much-washed. There was no sign of the fine garments crafted by some of the world’s most famous designers which had been heaped on her since her arrival. Instead she was wearing her own clothes. Not only that, but her engagement ring and wedding band were nowhere to be seen. It was as if she had shed the luxurious skin she had acquired when she had become his wife, to reveal the woman she had always been underneath.

And that was when he knew she meant it.

---