One Summer Night. Carol Marinelli
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and she laughed like she hadn’t in a very long time as the hungry, frantic birds swooped and swirled around. They headed back to the hotel and as he located discarded leather shoes and slipped them on his invitation was not unexpected. ‘Let me take you to dinner.’
‘I really …’ She wanted to say yes to him, so badly she wanted it, but she had to speak with Nico first. It was with true regret that she declined. ‘I’m actually rather tired. It’s been a busy day, I might just get room service …’
He was skilled enough with women not to push.
An utter gentleman, he walked her back to the hotel foyer and even windswept and with the bottom of his trousers damp with sea water and sand, he was easily the best-dressed man there. There was an effortless elegance to him that needed neither shirt nor tie nor black credit card on show, he was easily the most beautiful. ‘Nico is going to be stunned when he sees you.’ Of that she was certain.
‘Then tomorrow let’s work out together how best to surprise him.’ He saw her swallow, knew she was torn, and he moved to assure her. ‘I did not want to tell him over the phone. I want to see his face when he realises we have found each other. Perhaps tomorrow you will say yes to joining me for dinner?’
The bar was in full swing; beautiful couples and stunning singles were everywhere, and a piano was playing a gentle invitation. He saw her eyes drift towards it, knew he could perhaps secure a drink, and then dinner, and then who knew? But he was far cleverer than that and now they were back in the hotel she was as wary as a kitten.
He took her hand and Charlotte jumped at the contact then shivered as he did the most old-fashioned thing: he picked it up and held her fingers to his lips and briefly kissed her hand.
It looked formal, it felt anything but. The weight of soft lips on her hand made her stomach curl, had her thoughts skittering, her world confused, for she had never had such an intense response to a man, to any man.
It had been a great relief in fact that, despite her boss’s devastating good looks, he did absolutely nothing for her, or Charlotte for him. Even prior to his wedding there had been nothing, not a hint of flirting, yet here stood a man in Nico’s image, and she wanted to sink to her knees. Everything around this man made her feel weak and confused. His black eyes lifted to her burning face, his lips dropped contact, but she could feel the warmth of them still on her skin and if he were to ask her for dinner again, she could only say yes.
‘Enjoy the rest of your evening.’
He bade her goodnight, saw the battle between relief and disappointment flare in her eyes and how delicious it would be tomorrow, he consoled himself, how much sweeter for waiting.
Would she tell Nico?
He watched her walk away and could not quite decide, but he had done his best to prevent it, bar tying her to a bed …
His tongue rolled in his cheek at the very thought, moved to his lips, tasting where her flesh had been, and he resisted the urge to follow, to ask her again, for never did Zander ask twice; instead, he headed to the bar.
She walked across the foyer, willed herself not to turn around, but want was stronger and as she made it to the lifts she allowed herself one tiny peek, hoped against hope that he was walking behind her, that Zander would ask her again, or at least be heading to his room, but, no, he was heading to the bar. She saw the unaccompanied females perk up as he stepped in. He said something to a waiter and then briefly turned around and caught her looking.
God, but she wanted to run to him. To go to the bar and claim her prize.
It was safer, though, to be away from him.
She made it to her room and closed the door, even slid the security chain, not to keep him out but more to keep her in.
Away from him she could think, could take a shower and slip into a robe, could order room service and remember who was her boss.
Loyalty was everything to Charlotte and without the flexibility of this job she shuddered to think what she would do. She had to ring him, had to tell him what she now knew, and away from the intensity of Zander, normality was returning.
‘Nico …’ She bit back a hiss of frustration at the sound of his voicemail. ‘It’s Charlotte—I’m in Xanos and something rather unexpected has come up. Could you call me back, please?’
He did not.
Again, as the maids came for turn-down service, she tried her boss’s number, sat on the balcony, huddled in her dressing gown, cold but grateful for it, watching the delicious water. She got Nico’s voicemail again, turning in surprise when a maid came out and served her a small glass of Raki and bade her goodnight. She took a sip, grimacing at the taste but liking the burn and hoping it would help her rest. Hope was short-lived for glancing above she looked straight into the eyes of Zander. He stood, glass in hand, on a vast balcony at the top. His eyes homed in on her and she sat there, frozen, like a mouse beneath a hawk and she thought he might swoop down and claim her.
She retreated to her room, slid the glass door closed and dropped the catch, scared not of Zander but of herself, of the woman inside who was screaming to be let out.
‘Nico, please …’ She rang again, just before she headed to bed. She slept with her phone beside her and when it rang at seven, she willed it to be her boss, but the devil inside leapt with delight when she heard Zander’s voice.
‘How about breakfast?’
She moved to the window, peered out, and could see him on his balcony, just a towel around his waist.
‘I’m not sure.’ She was hesitant, not just because of what Nico might say, more because this was a man no woman could safely handle. Even from this distance his beauty was evident.
‘On the beach,’ he added, and still she did not respond. ‘I will have them pack a hamper. It’s up to you if you join me. I’ll be there in half an hour.’
ZANDER walked along the golden beach of Xanos, but as scenic as the view was, as pleasant the water, his stomach churned with bile. Everywhere his gaze fell brought a fresh memory, spearing his scalp as if arrows were aimed at it.
Why had he bought the south of the island? Why had he invested so much time and money in a place he would rather forget?
He should have left well alone.
He looked towards the land, to the vast complex he had built, and he thought of the scaled model that was in his office in Australia. Usually he was hands on with his investments, but not this time. He had vowed never to return, yet here he was, and no matter how accurate the model, it was different seeing the real thing—seeing firsthand the houses that would soon be bulldozed to make way for a nightclub and more shops and restaurants. He looked to where Nico lived and knew it had once been their grandfather’s home, that their mother had been raised there. How it hurt to be back on Xanos sand. Yes, it had been a magnificent investment. Perhaps only a local could ever have envisaged the true potential of the hidden side of Xanos—the humble fishing village that was just waiting to be transformed—yet for all the prestige and profit, for all the erasure of the landscape he hated, all this place had ever brought him was pain, and it was doing so now.
His head throbbed from lack of sleep and he turned his mind to tomorrow, to the long-awaited confrontation with his twin—and Zander wondered if he had blown it, for no doubt Charlotte would have rung her boss already. He should have stayed in his suite, should have spent the weekend in isolation. Yet, Zander mused as he walked, he had enjoyed spending time with Charlotte. He glanced up at the hotel. Used to staring at the model in his office, he easily worked out which was her room, thought of her in it and wondered if she was preparing to join him.
It had not been his intention to call her this morning, but he had thought of the day that stretched ahead, the wait that that would be interminable