Page 172 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 1-4

Panos found himself gathering a deep breath as they exited the building. ‘Which way?’

She lifted her free arm and gestured. As he’d thought, it was the direction where he’d seen that figure disappear yesterday. The figure with the lithe, curvy body and wild curls that had sent his subconscious circling back to the woman he’d known three years before. The woman who’d been on his mind all through last night’s dinner with Chiara.

Panos drew her away from the building. This woman had upset his plans yesterday, putting paid to any thought of cementing his engagement with a night in Chiara’s bed. Instead he’d pleaded tiredness and retired to his own accommodation, only to have his dreams tormented by memories he’d told himself he’d forgotten.

He ignored the fact that just before he’d been mulling over reservations about Chiara as a wife. Wondering if he should slow things down rather than speed towards marriage.

That wasn’t the point. The point was that Dido Jones had once again thrown things into chaos.

‘You don’t have to frog-march me.’

Her voice was low and breathless, drawing his thoughts inexorably back to a time when he’d heard a similar cadence in that husky-edged voice. In bed.

His fingers tightened reflexively as heat pulsed through his groin. He ignored it and kept his eyes on the path.

‘You can let me go now.’ She tried again. When he said nothing he saw her swing her face around towards him. ‘Unless you want me to think you like touching me.’

Instantly his fingers loosened, his hand dropping from her arm.

Because, he realised, there was something about touching her that…

Impossible! He didn’t enjoy it. That would be crazy. He was no masochist. Yet, if he were brutally honest, there was something about holding her that satisfied him.

He’d spent a lifetime surrounded by sycophants and people pretending to like him in hopes some of his fortune would rub off on them. The only person he trusted to tell the truth was himself.

His inner voice proclaimed that though he despised Dido Jones, though he didn’t like touching her, something made him want to maintain the physical connection. Something akin to need.

Panos filed the unpalatable idea away for later consideration. Right now he had more urgent issues to address.

But they’d keep until they were alone. The island was deserted, except for the staff here to see to their needs over the weekend. But he had no intention of discussing his personal business where some gardener or other employee might catch their conversation.

They passed out of the sunshine onto a shaded path where the trees seemed to enclose them. Some trick of the senses made him register her perfume as if they still stood toe-to-toe. A warm vanilla scent with a hint of sweet honey. Deeper and richer than the scent of baking, for it blended with pheromones unique to her.

Panos had always found it intoxicating He remembered falling asleep with his face buried in her hair as she lay spooned before him. Waking to her scent in his nostrils, the tang of feminine arousal sharpening his senses, telling him she’d woken ready for him.

He slanted her a look. Her eyes were fixed ahead and she strolled down the path as if she hadn’t a care in the world. Yet her jaw was tight, her skin flushed and tension radiated off her.

She was dressed for work, coolly sophisticated. Then he noticed a tendril of dark hair had unwound from her tight bun to fall in a lustrous corkscrew down the back of her neck.

His fingers tingled with the urge to touch. He knew her hair was silky soft as well as deliciously wild. Once it had intrigued him.

‘This is it.’ She stopped before a glass pavilion that blended perfectly with its surrounds. ‘What now? Are you going to try bullying me into silence?’

Her chin was up and her hands locked on her hips, but her eyes said she was more than a little nervous. Good. She deserved to be, coming here, making trouble. Acting as if he’d done anything wrong when she was the culprit.

‘We’ll speak inside, where it’s private.’

For a second he thought she was going to refuse, then she spun away, marched to the door and led the way inside.

It was only after he’d settled, leaning a shoulder against a slender column near the vast wall of glass, that he realised his mistake. He’d watched her cross the room, pacing as if unable to settle, then turned his head and glimpsed her bedroom through an open door.

Tossed across the vast bed was a lacy bra in the distinctive grey-green that exactly matched her eyes. Beside it was a miniscule sliver of matching lace, a thong.

Panos’ heart thudded into his ribs. Carnal thoughts pierced his righteous fury.

He could picture her in the provocative underwear too well. He could even picture her deciding that for some reason that combination wouldn’t work with her outfit and dragging it off, with that enticing little shimmy of her hips as she thrust the thong down her legs.

Heat stirred low in his body as he snapped his attention back to her, telling himself his mouth hadn’t dried. He was just angry.