Page 9 of Modern Romance June 2025 1-4

‘I can’t,’ she said bluntly.

He looked surprised. No doubt he was. She couldn’t imagine many women choosing to leave in similar circumstances, not when he was lying there looking so delectable with invitation oozing from every pore of his spectacular body. He obviously hadn’t had enough sex, but the weirdest thing was that neither had she. How was that even possible? How had she gone from novice to addict in a few short hours? He had awoken a powerful physical hunger inside her and satisfied it beautifully on three occasions, but she was left wanting more. Grace would have given almost anything to have gone back over to curl her hand possessively over the hardening ridge she could see outlined beneath the bedding, and then to position herself so that he could push inside her again.

Almostanything.

But not her whole existence. She couldn’t risk her job and her reputation and her very livelihood. Not on something he’d told her at the outset wasn’t going to last.

‘I don’t know why you’re choosing to leave at this time of night,’ he said impatiently. ‘But if you won’t change your mind, at least give me five minutes to throw on some clothes and I’ll put you in a water taxi and see you home.’

‘No!’ The word came out more sharply than she had intended but the idea of him escorting her to the front door was making her feel almost dizzy with fear. ‘Thanks, but no, thanks. I can see myself home.’

Beneath that blazing blue scrutiny she did the rest of the buttons up and bent to put on her buckled shoes, glad to hide the flush of emotion from her hot cheeks. She needed to compartmentalise this, she told herself fiercely, because that was one of her skills. Putting things in their rightful place. Accepting situations for what they were and not what she’d like them to be. So that by the time she straightened up to face his rumpled beauty, she had composed herself enough to present him with a smile she hoped held just the right amount of appreciation which was appropriate in the circumstances.

‘Anyway. Gotta go,’ she said lightly. ‘Great night.’

‘Come over here and kiss me goodbye.’

Grace was sorely tempted by his soft command. Especially when he moved one hard thigh beneath the thin sheet. She cleared her throat. ‘Better not.’

‘Why not?’ His voice was mocking. ‘Scared I might persuade you to stay longer?’

‘In a word…yes.’ As she grabbed her little sequined bag, she flashed him a rueful smile. It was fairly obvious that within a few seconds of being kissed she would be flat on her back again and there simply wasn’t enough time if she wanted to get back before the Contarini household woke up.

But it was more than that. She was scared of the way he could make her feel. Scared of the mass of contradicting emotions he had stirred up inside her, like a hornet’s nest. In his arms, she had discovered a side of herself she hadn’t known existed. Like one of those hard-boiled sweets which were meltingly soft on the inside when you sucked them for long enough. She’d felt like a woman instead of a dogsbody. A real person and not just an invisible functionary. And she couldn’t allow herself the luxury of feeling that way because there was no future in it. The sooner she got back to her humdrum existence, the better.

‘Thanks for the memory!’ Picking up her feathered hat and jewelled mask, she blew him a kiss, wondering if it was admiration or irritation which flashed so briefly in his narrowed eyes.

This is all for the best, she told herself fiercely.

But her heart was pounding with regret as she turned away and headed for the door.

CHAPTER FOUR

Silhouettedagainstthewindows, staring out at the sun-splashed water of the canal, the old man must have heard the heavy door open, but he didn’t bother turning around as Odysseus was shown into the formal salon.

‘Signor Diamides,’ announced the startled-looking maid who had greeted Odysseus on his arrival, then kept him waiting in a gloomy anteroom which had made him think of some medieval torture chamber. He suspected it had been a poor attempt to intimidate him, but naturally it had failed—because nothing and nobody ever intimidatedhim. His mouth twisted as he studied the old man standing at the far end of the salon, surrounded by coloured glass ornaments which glowed emerald, ruby and golden in the sunlight.

‘Leave us!’ barked Vincenzo Contarini but still he didn’t turn round, not even when the maid shut the door behind her.

This was a classic demonstration of power-play, thought Odysseus, his irritation at theobviousnessof the old man’s delaying tactics giving way to a slow beat of anger as he wondered what he was hoping to gain from this meeting.

A grovelling apology?

Regret on the aging tyrant’s part?

Because if that was the case, he suspected he would go away empty-handed. And besides…even if the old man broke down—even if he got down on his knees and begged his forgiveness for what he had done—would that really make any difference? It wouldn’t bring her back, would it? It wouldn’t change anything. The loss, or the bitterness, or the guilt.

Refusing to stoop to his grandfather’s level of game-playing, Odysseus stood in silence, letting his gaze flicker around the prestigious salon. Despite the world-famous glass artefacts which had been produced by the Contarini family for centuries and the priceless antiques which stuffed the room, it was a curiously sterile room. There were no photographs. Nothing in any way personal. More like a museum than a home, he thought disparagingly.

But who cared how the old man lived? He was here to ask questions, nothing more. And if he wasn’t firing on all cylinders this morning, then didn’t he have only himself to blame? Odysseus felt his pulse quicken as his mind took him back to the memories he’d been failing so spectacularly to suppress. He had woken up alone this morning, his body pulsing with frustration as he recalled his liaison with the woman in red.

He remembered her exquisite tightness. The way she had wrapped her soft legs around his back and made those helpless little cries as he had driven into her. He didn’t know a damned thing about her apart from her name, though she might have lied about that. She had certainly been a mass of contradictions—her foxy exterior disguising a remarkable innocence and he couldn’t deny that it had blown his mind when he’d discovered she was a virgin. If he’d known, would he still have bedded her?

Probably.

He had been accused of many things in his life but never self-delusion. And he had found her so utterly irresistible… He remembered lying amid the rumpled sheets, hard and aching as he’d watched her go. His inability to get her to stay was a first, which had only added fuel to his desire. Over breakfast he had wondered how difficult it would be to trace a masked woman who had gatecrashed a party of over two hundred guests. But surely, the whole point was that he didn’twantto trace her. The memory was perfect because he knew he would never see her again. He would never have the chance to grow bored or impatient with her, or wonder how best to end it without breaking her innocent little heart.

‘So. My unexpected guest.’

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