Page 4 of Modern Romance June 2025 1-4

‘Sì, sì, signor. Mi dispiace!’The hapless man backed away before scuttling off and being swallowed up by the crowd.

‘Mission accomplished,’ murmured Odysseus, a quiet sense of satisfaction washing over him as, reluctantly, he removed his hand from her waist. ‘I don’t think he’ll bother you again.’

‘Thank you. That was very…kind of you,’ she said, in that soft English voice, but he could sense her hesitation. As if she didn’t want to go. Which happened to coincide with his own sentiments exactly.

Do you think we should make some moves just for the hell of it, in case he’s watching?’ he suggested silkily. ‘Or would you prefer me to deliver you safely somewhere else? There might be a man waiting for you. Your date, perhaps?’

She shook her head so that the elaborate concoction of feathers fluttered in a blur of scarlet and gold. ‘There’s no man. I’m here on my own, though my friends are here…somewhere,’ she added vaguely.

‘So, nothing to stop you from dancing with me.’ A slow smile curved his lips. ‘If you want to?’

Grace swallowed. If she wanted to! But daydreaming about marching up to the masked man to demand he whirl her around the floor was one thing—actually going through with it was quite another. Because up close, he was even more arresting. The firm jut of his jaw was dark, the curve of his lips shockingly sensual. And his eyes were incredible. The most unusual shade of piercing blue—brilliant and burning, like the flames of that old-fashioned gas fire in England which her nana used to have. And he was still waiting for an answer. Better she indicated her hopeless lack of ability, rather than making a fool of herself in front of so many people. ‘I’m not very good at dancing,’ she admitted.

‘In that case, I will teach you.’ Behind his mask, his blue eyes gleamed. ‘I’m a very good teacher.’

His soft boast was underpinned with sensual promise and her body was reacting to his words in the most disturbing way. Beneath the boned bodice of her dress, her breasts were tightening, the nipples puckering into exquisite little nubs. Was it normal to respond to someone in this way, when you barely knew them? Was she risking making a complete fool of herself? Maybe it was that which made her hesitate to leave the fairy tale intact in case she ruined it…

‘I might step on your toes?’

‘I won’t let you.’

She stared up into his masked face, so mesmerised by the curve of his lips that she completely forgot her self-consciousness. ‘How will you stop me?’

‘I will lift you up before your tiny foot makes contact with mine.’

‘How do you know my foot is tiny?’

‘Because the rest of you is. Small and perfectly formed.’

Stupidly, she blushed. ‘Actually, I’m heavier than I look.’

‘Ah. Shall we test it out?’

‘Go on, then,’ she agreed recklessly.

He gave a soft laugh before placing his hands on her hips and lifting her up into the air, before putting her down again, seemingly oblivious to the wild tremble of excitement which rippled over her skin. ‘You were saying?’

Grace’s heart was racing so fast she could barely get the words out. ‘I can’t believe you just did that!’

‘You liked it,’ he observed softly.

‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I did.’

The air between them was thrumming with a sense of expectation so potent that Grace forgot to be shy, or nervous. Because this was flirting, she realised. Real, grown-up flirting. She’d witnessed it all her life because the Italians had managed to turn it into an art form, but had never properly engaged in it herself. She was always too self-conscious—too aware of her shortcomings and responsibilities—not to mention the fact that she’d never met anyone she’d particularly wanted to flirt with. Her job meant that she led a monastic sort of life, which made her fade into the background in so many ways. But now? Now she was having X-rated thoughts about a man in breeches, which she couldn’t help noticing were lying so tautly and provocatively across his powerful thighs.

‘Shouldn’t we…I don’t know…introduce ourselves? I’m Grace,’ she added, resisting the desire to hold her hand out to be shaken.

‘Odysseus,’ he replied silkily.

She nodded. Of course. She’d been trying to work out the origin of that delicious accent, which sounded like a mixture of gravel and honey. ‘That’s Greek.’

‘So it is.’ Suddenly his gaze was hard and piercing. ‘And?’

What were the rules of flirting? she wondered, with a novice’s desperation. Wasn’t she supposed to dazzle him with her humour and wit? ‘Isn’t there something about having to beware of Greeks?’

‘Only if they’re bearing gifts, which I’m not, and if you’re angling for one, let me warn you that it’s way too soon for that,darling. So stop blushing,’ he instructed softly. ‘And come and dance with me.’

Grace was acutely aware of eyes watching them as he led her downstairs to the dance floor. Or rather, they were watchinghim—every eye drawn to his tall and powerful frame. This section of the ballroom was still relatively quiet and the string quartet was playing an Italian melody she knew very well, but it sounded as if she were hearing it for the first time.

---