Page 191 of Modern Romance May 2026 Books 5-8
Should she leave? Give him his privacy?
She decided to wait for him to leave since she wasn’t ready to return to her silent flat, where she had to think about packing to move home again.
That thought cast a cool shadow across her heart. It was the dread of seeing her father every day. Of pacing in her own cage, striving to prove herself to a man who genuinely didn’t seem to care about her.
The stranger arrived at the shallow end and stood. Water sluiced off his shoulders and down his torso. His chest had a neatly groomed amount of hair that decorated his pecs and accentuated the stacked muscles of his abs. The waterline cut across the top of his very small swimsuit well below his navel. There was a suggestion of hair there, and she yanked her gaze from studying it.
He was looking straight at her, almost confrontational, making her suspect he had known she was here all along. Which was disturbing.
She wished she had pulled her robe back on while he’d been swimming. She felt very naked all of a sudden, but it would reveal her nerves to cover up now.
Without a word, he slapped his hand on the ledge and levered to sit with his back to her, legs still in the water. His rib cage heaved as he took a few deep breaths, but he didn’t seem winded from his exertion.
Should she say something? This was how social anxiety undermined her. The moment to offer a polite smile or greeting was gone and voices of self-doubt were creeping in. She would only sound stupid if she said something now. Better not to say anything.
She’s such a snob, she had overheard more than once during her years at boarding school, all because she didn’t fit in with the boy-crazy fashionistas who spent all their time gossiping and preening for selfies. She liked reading and historical facts and walking in parks and gardens. The few times she’d tried to make connections at university, she’d garnered surprised looks, as though her fellow students hadn’t imagined she possessed a voice.
She had to change that about herself. She knew she did. She would soon have an executive position in her father’s company, along with staff to direct. Eventually, she hoped to have a family.
Making babies with this man would not be a chore, she decided, allowing herself another look at the way his broad shoulders narrowed to his waist. His short hair wasn’t quite black. It picked up reddish-brown tones in the sun.
He flexed his shoulders as though he felt her gaze, then abruptly swung to his feet and faced her. The sun was above and behind him, making her squint, unable to read his expression. She had the sense that his gaze was raking down her, though, before slamming back to her face.
Her heart began to knock in her chest.
“Do you want to be left alone?” he asked in a deep voice that held a hint of an Italian accent. “Or would you like to have a drink with me?”
A thousand reactions accosted her: surprise, flattered delight, threat at being noticed, fear of failure. Irrational panic. Her mouth filled with thoughts likeI have a drink, andI’d rather be alone.
But she didn’t want to be alone. Not forever. She was actually profoundly lonely.
Change, she ordered herself.
And that word actually reminded her that she was mostly undressed, as was he.
She started to gather her robe around herself. “Downstairs? I’d like to dress first.”
“Here. I’ll order something.” He nodded toward the entrance, where she had seen a phone mounted to the wall inside the hotel. “Wine?”
“White, please.”
He stepped away to make the call.
She hurried to pull on her robe only to immediately overheat, flustered and blushing. She pulled her arms from the sleeves and looked around, wishing she’d brought the crocheted cover-up she normally threw over her bikini.
Not that she was underdressed. He returned and held out a hand, filling her vision with way too much tanned skin and that itsy-bitsy scrap that covered his not so itsy-bitsy bulge.
“Rocco.” He met her gaze in a way that reminded her of a train crashing out of a tunnel.
She swallowed,sohot inside her skin. Her belly was filled with glowing embers. It took such an effort to bring her hand up, she must have looked reluctant to do so.
“Mira.” Her voice had to be dragged up from beneath the waves of shyness and overwhelm that accosted her.
He pumped once, making her heart feel like a squeezed balloon. Then he sprawled into the lounger beside her, one hand hooking up behind his head to grasp the top edge, one knee crooked in negligent ease.
“How long are you in London?” He turned his head toward her.
How could such a handsome man be interested in her? She wasn’t repulsive or anything, but she was very average, with a too-wide mouth, mousy brown hair and plain brown eyes. She wasn’t wearing any makeup and her hair was a bird’s nest in a clip.
