One Summer Night: An Indecent Proposition / Beholden to the Throne / Hers For One Night Only?
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‘I’m a PA,’ Charlotte said. ‘It’s not my job—’ ‘I choose who I liaise with. If you choose not to, then go and tell your boss that you refuse to speak with me.’ He let go of her wrist then, for he knew she could not run. He snapped his fingers at a passing waiter and told him to organise a meeting room now, and it was said with such authority that the waiter immediately put down the plate he was carrying and Charlotte stood trembling, waiting as a room was hastily arranged. All she knew was that she did not want to be alone with him, did not trust him. Neither did she trust herself, for as they were led through the foyer her legs were like liquid.
They passed the bar where they had so recently sat together, where he had pressed his leg into her. How he must have inwardly been laughing. She glanced at the restaurant and the balcony beyond, where he had so skilfully seduced her. They turned to the function rooms, and into one of them. The slam of the door behind her told her why she was so very afraid, for she was back in his space, back alone with him, and for all he had done, still there was want.
Want as he turned to face her, want as he walked over to where she stood, her shoulders back against the door, want as she tried to be free of him, want for the man she had thought she had met.
‘What I said about us to Nico—’
‘Cannot be erased by an apology,’ Charlotte cut in, for she must keep her head, must remember that it had all been a ruse, a lie, that she knew nothing about the man who stood before her now. ‘You were right with what you said this morning—we never met. You’re not the man I thought I knew, so let’s just deal with the paperwork. I don’t need to hear your feigned apology.’
‘Why would I apologise?’ She could not believe his audacity. ‘I was offering you a job—a far better one than you have, working for him.’
‘You really think that I’d ever work for you?’ She could not, could not, believe what she was hearing. ‘After what you did, you really think that I’d consider—?’
‘I would pay you more than Nico does.’
‘It’s not about money.’
‘What, then?’ Zander asked. ‘You prefer to be his mistress? To share him with his wife?’
She did slap him then, professional or not. A morning’s worth of hurt leapt down her arm and was delivered by her palm and slammed into his cheek. He did not even flinch, he just stood there, then gave her a black smile as, stunned by her own actions, by the venom of her thoughts, she shrank against the door. This was what he had made her.
‘I work for Nico,’ she said through pale lips, ‘because he is a wonderful boss. Because he has integrity, because I trust him, because he has never, and would never, expect what you clearly would from me. I could never work for you and I will never, ever sleep with you again.’
‘You did not object last night.’
‘Last night you seduced me.’ She could see it so clearly now. ‘Last night you set out to—’
‘Ah, po po po …’ He spoke in Greek, and she knew enough of the language to get his meaning, and it burned that he could tut, tut, tut away the night they had shared, could be so condescending about something that had been so wondrous. She felt as if she were back on the hillside with him, but with clarity now, could hear the birds calling, for war had already been declared, he just hadn’t thought to tell her.
Charlotte had to bite on her lip for a moment to catch her voice, for she would speak her truth without breaking down and her voice rose as she forced herself to continue. ‘Last night you let me think it was about me, that it was about us, when, in fact, you had another agenda entirely.’ Her hand stung from the contact with him, her palm burnt red and she raked it through her hair to cool it, to wipe herself clean from him. He watched a moment as the blonde curtain lifted and he saw the bruise that his mouth had made, a visible reminder, proof of what had taken place; but the curtain fell and still the image remained, not of purple on pale flesh but the feel of her skin beneath his lips, how she had melted to him, how right they had been, how close he had come to sharing with another person, how she had been his. ‘You really tell me you have not slept with Nico …’
‘You have no right to ask me that!’ And she hadn’t, but her past was her own and certainly not for sharing with him. Still, she could not stay quiet, remembered now his push to the bed, and that it had not been just lust for her that had driven him. ‘Did it turn you on, thinking that I had, Zander?’ There was a warrior inside, a woman who rose, who would not let him destroy her, and she found her and moved from the door towards him, challenged him when it would have been so much easier to recoil. ‘Did you like the idea, Zander, that you were better, that you made me come harder?’ She taunted him as she reminded him because, damn, he deserved reminding about what he had done, what he had so readily destroyed. ‘Well, you were wasting your time thinking about your brother—your mind should have been on me.’
‘It was,’ Zander said. ‘I was not thinking of that.’ The admission and the passion with which it was delivered surprised even him, because her words had taken him back there and, no, triumph over his brother had not been on his mind then; instead, it had all been her.
‘It was all you were thinking of?’ Charlotte sneered.
And he closed his eyes because, yes, at first it had been.
‘Those little chats …’ How it stung. How innocent she had been to lie in bed on a grey morning in London and listen to him, to recall how he had brightened her day, yet it had all been a game to him. How easily he had played her—how readily she had let him.
‘I should have heeded the warnings.’ She was furious not just at Zander but at herself, and then she threw back at him what Paulo had told her in Greek about his tawdry reputation, that he would sell his mother to the highest bidder, and she told him too how the islanders hated him.
‘I am not here for a lecture from you.’
‘Are you going to sign?’ She just wanted out of there, she wanted away, she wanted done, or she would start crying.
‘I have not decided.’ He looked at her. ‘Perhaps we go out on my yacht to discuss things, spend some time away …’
‘Never,’ Charlotte said.
‘Never?’ Zander checked.
‘I hate you.’
‘Tut tut.’ Zander smiled. ‘What would your boss say if he knew you were speaking to me like that? I thought Nico still wanted that land.’
‘I’ll resign before I have to spend a day with you.’ She was trapped, completely trapped, and the slap she had delivered had not put out the fire inside, for it was flaring again, as it had done the whole wretched morning, building and building till it could not be contained. ‘You have no idea what you’ve done to me. Because of you, I might have to put my mother in a home.’ Which was perhaps a bit harsh, for it had been heading towards that for months now. It was hardly all his fault, but Zander had made it impossible to approach her boss at this moment, impossible to negotiate for a better arrangement, when she had let him down so badly, and the words tumbled out untamed.
‘What are you talking about?’ He sneered at the hysterical female who blamed a night of passion for every last ill, but something niggled inside Zander, something unfamiliar, for he had seen her so vibrant, so happy, and now she seemed to be choking with fury and fear almost. ‘How can I be responsible for your mother’s—?’
‘Oh, what would you care about family?’ Charlotte snapped, already regretting the words that had spilled out, wishing she could somehow sink to her knees and retrieve them, gather them up and put them in her bag and pretend they had never been said. But it was far too late for that now and the best she could do was look him briefly in the eye before walking out. She looked into black eyes that had once caressed her but were unrecognisable now. ‘You’re trying to destroy yours; I’m just trying to hold onto mine. What would you know about it?’
‘The offer is there.’ Zander would not enter a discussion on family, did not want to know of her ills. ‘I will consider signing the papers when you decide to join me.’
CHAPTER NINE
SHE was his captor.
It felt absolutely like that.
The vast hotel felt like a goldfish bowl. Every time she turned, even if he wasn’t there, she anticipated him.
The only relief was the occasional visit to nursing homes and hostels for the homeless on the mainland in the search for Roula Kargas. Nico’s thorough search had already ruled out their mother being on Xanos or Lathira, but no matter how promising the lead, every time the result was same—the patient was too old, or the history wrong. Every time it was not their mother.
‘Anything?’ Nico asked when she rang early the next morning to report on her previous day, but they both knew it was bad news for had it been good she would immediately have told him. ‘Nothing. Her name was right …’ Charlotte gave a tense sigh. ‘I thought I had found your mother, but she was from Rhodes, and the child she had given up was a girl. It was actually really sad.’
‘I would have gone myself,’ Nico explained. ‘The trouble is, my father …’ He did not need to explain further.
Both knew there was little time left. The doctors were talking in hours now. ‘I know that I am asking a lot from you, Charlotte, that this is not part of your more usual work, and it is much appreciated. You need to unwind. Ring the spa, it is world class. Have a massage …’
She might just do that. She could feel the knots in her neck, in her shoulders, in her jaw, even in her fingers that gripped the phone.
‘Has Zander been in contact?’
‘No.’ She had told Nico about the offer to take her out on his boat and, though desperate for information, even Nico had agreed that would be too much to ask.
‘If you do speak with him, though …’ There was a rare pause from her boss, for their conversations were always brief. He always said what was needed and then hung up, except this was so personal and there was so much pain, it had shifted how things worked. ‘I want to find my mother, Charlotte. Any clue, any information, no matter how small.’
‘If he tells me anything, I shall pass it on.’ She hung up the phone, cross with Nico, yet she could not blame him for his desperation to find out about his past.
She paced the room till she was sick of the walls and she stepped out to the balcony to breathe, to drag in some air, except there Zander was on his balcony, reading the newspaper, coffee in hand, and she raced back inside, only to hear a knock on the door. It couldn’t be him, of course, given he was on his balcony, but her heart was thumping as she opened the door. The bellboy was hidden by a huge bunch of orchids and, on reading the attached card, an apology from Zander for any indiscretions and a summons, rather than an invitation, to join him for morning tea so that he could apologise in person. To add insult to injury, the florist had signed his name incorrectly.
Both card and flowers went in the bin.
Unless he contacted her about work, she would have nothing to do with him, Charlotte decided.
Indiscretions indeed! He was a brave man to request her presence.
The smell of orchids filled the room, but she refused to open the sliding doors, deciding instead that she would have the massage that Nico had suggested.
It was but a brief escape, although a pleasant one. Her body was smoothed and pummelled, oiled fingers massaged her scalp and she could almost feel the tension seeping out of her body and through her fingertips. As she was left alone for the lotions to work, as she lay in the warm, darkened room, her mind did not automatically drift to Zander, as it did all too often these days, for he was not the only problem she had. Neither did her thoughts drift to the constant worry about her mother. No, given this pause, for the first time in a long time there was a moment to focus on self, and the voice she had been silencing for a while now started to make itself known. It was a voice that was familiar from her childhood. It blamed others for her problems, heaped on the guilt—the voice of her mother was becoming her own and Charlotte did not like the sound of it a bit. Yes, Zander had hurt her. Yes, his behaviour had been beyond appalling, but her problems were her own and she knew they needed to be sorted out rather than shelved, knew that so much had to change.
The massage both regenerated and soothed her, but it was a fix that Charlotte knew was only temporary for all too soon she was back in the lift, heading to her room. She swiped the card in her door, relieved to be inside, but her relief was short-lived for there he was, sitting on the chair. She didn’t jump, for she put nothing past him.
‘I’ll complain.’
‘To whom?’ Zander said. ‘I own the hotel.’ He glanced over to the bin. ‘I see that you don’t like orchids.’
‘I love orchids,’ Charlotte said, ‘or rather I used to.’ She gave him a very tight smile. ‘Though the scent of them will now forever make my stomach curl.’
‘I asked you to join me in the restaurant.’
‘To discuss business?’ Charlotte asked, and watched his jaw tighten. ‘Because if that was the case then a phone call would have sufficed—flowers and a secondhand apology weren’t necessary.’
‘Second-hand?’
‘They spelt Zander with an X. Anyway it’s irrelevant. I have nothing to discuss with you unless it’s about business.’ Zander was not used to being stood up or turned down and certainly not when he’d deigned to send flowers.
‘I wish to talk.’
‘You really think that you can just walk in anywhere and get whatever you want?’
‘Of course.’
‘You’re just a spoiled rich boy …’
And he looked to where she stood and knew he could correct her, could tell her there had been nothing spoiled about his childhood, that the privileged life he led now had been built by his hands, but he spoke of his past with no one, although he had, occasionally, with her.
‘You don’t know anything about my life.’
‘I thought I was starting to,’ Charlotte said. ‘I thought when we walked on that beach, when we went out to dinner, when you took me to bed …’
He was not here to discuss his past; he was here to find out about her, to put to rest the rare guilt she had generated in him, a feeling that did not sit well with him. ‘What you said about your mother, about her having to go into a home …’
‘I shouldn’t have.’ Charlotte’s response was instant, that precious time in the spa allowing her to speak with clarity, on that subject at least. ‘My problems are my own and they have nothing to do with what happened between us, so you can leave now.’ She went to open the door, but Zander was not going anywhere.
‘I want to know what is happening.’
‘I don’t want to discuss my mother, and I have nothing to say to you.’
For the first time with a woman he could not leave it there, did not want to leave it there—for although their day had been engineered, although their night had started with cruel intent, it had concluded differently, and he wanted her back. He wanted the Charlotte that had spoken with him, but her stance was closed, her face a mask, and he fought with the one thing he had left.
‘What if I am here about business?’ Zander said.
‘Then I’ll schedule you an appointment. ‘
‘I have already been more than patient …’
‘Really!’
‘Do you know how valuable my time is? Instead, you keep me waiting in a restaurant. You will come out with me. I have arranged to take out the yacht. I am considering releasing the land …’
‘I just need your signature.’ Charlotte did her level best to keep her voice even. ‘It isn’t necessary to go out on your yacht.’
‘Necessary for whom?’ came his snobbish response. ‘It is how I conduct business.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Okay, ring Nico and tell him to join me.’
‘That’s not possible now. I could speak with Paulo.’
‘I have no time for him. It is to be Nico or you. We would go out on the boat, then naturally we would share a long lunch, we would talk, and then I would, perhaps, sign. In fact …’ She could feel her nails digging into her palms as cruelly he continued. ‘It should be Nico taking me out, given how much he wants this deal. Perhaps he is not so keen after all. Perhaps given his PA can only spare me a few minutes of her time …’
‘You know that is not the case.’
‘So where is he?’ Zander pushed and of course she could not answer, knew that he had her trapped, and she did not want to be on a boat with him. She just wanted it over and done with, wanted him out of her life.
‘You know you don’t need to take me out for a signature.’
‘I want to, though.’
‘You think I’ll change my mind, that you’ll seduce me again …’ The trouble was that he would, he absolutely would, and that was what most terrified her.
‘I came here to do business,’ Zander said coolly. ‘I expect either Nico or yourself on the jetty at midday.’ He looked at where she clutched her dressing gown to herself. ‘Hopefully you will dress suitably. Speak with Ethina in the boutique, I will tell her to expect you.’
Bastard.
‘Nico …’ She apologised for disturbing him, but she would not make a move without telling him, and Nico listened as she explained what his brother had in store for her.
‘I’ve told you, you don’t have to go out on his yacht with him. I would never ask you to do that.’
‘I’m willing to, though. I just want these papers signed, Nico. And then, I’m sorry, I just want to go home.’ She took a deep breath for there was so little to lose now. ‘I’m having some health issues with my mother and I really need to fly home first thing tomorrow.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do to help?’
‘I don’t know …’ she admitted. ‘I need to see how she is before I make any decisions.’
‘You can cope?’ Nico checked. ‘With Zander?’
‘Of course.’
‘Charlotte …’
‘I’m working for you, Nico,’ she said, because she was, and, yes, she could cope.
If Zander thought she would succumb again to his charms, that a few hours in close confinement on his yacht with him would somehow dissipate the hurt, would have her falling into his bed again, he was wrong.
So wrong, Charlotte thought, and a small smile spread across her lips.
A smile that became more devilish.
A smile that, as she looked in the mirror, reminded her of the old Charlotte. Apart from her work clothes she was so behind with fashion these days, what heaven it would be to update. How wonderful to keep her head with Zander and look brilliant while doing so.
She stood in the boutique, facing a full-length mirror. Ethina, the owner, was far from gushing, was critical. Clearly it was Zander that Ethina had to impress, and, from the purse to her lips as she ran her eyes over Charlotte, she had her work cut out. She had to transform the lily-white body that hadn’t so much as set foot in a gym into the groomed beauty expected by the wallet the boutique was attached to.
How many clothes did a signature from a billionaire require?
‘Too harsh.’ Ethina held a blood-red bikini up to Charlotte’s shoulder and then a jade one and then white. Had her mind not been made up as to her course of action, Charlotte would have run out of the exclusive boutique rather than take the shame.
No doubt that was what Zander was expecting.
For her to make do with what was in her case or to grab the first offering Ethina held up. Instead, she stood there and fought down the shame. She listened and watched and slowly, very slowly, marvelled at the skill of the snooty Ethina.
She learnt that the dull silvery-gold string bikini that looked so tacky on the rack looked sensational on her, that it did not clash with the paleness of her skin and that it blended in with the gold of her hair.
‘With the right sunglasses …’ Ethina continued, ‘the right sandals …’ There were beautifully cut shorts and cool linen shirts and then for the first time since her project had entered there was a smile on Ethina’s face as she eyed Charlotte in the mirror. ‘My work is done.’
Even a bag was purchased for her and Ethina said that she would pack it. Charlotte was led to the salon, the oils washed out and her hair brushed, straightened and then curled, all to create one, oh, so casual ponytail, and she felt casual and elegant and possibly a little bit beautiful as she picked up her new bag and headed to the jetty.
Yes, she felt ready to face him.
Zander watched her walk along the jetty.
Saw her ponytail swishing in the breeze. He had expected hesitation, for her to stop and fiddle, to find a mirror, but it was a confident Charlotte who walked towards the boat—and she looked stunning, even with those gorgeous eyes shielded.
She did her best not to sulk.
Instead, she played the game and accepted champagne and the delicacies on offer, laughed at his comments, spoke with him—but not for a second was she herself, and he missed her, he craved her, he wanted her back.
‘That is Lathira …’ he pointed to the island in the distance ‘… where Nico grew up.’
‘Oh.’
‘You know that,’ Zander said. ‘It was the wealthier of the islands then.’ She examined a manicured nail instead of commenting. She was at work, Charlotte reminded herself, there to gather information for Nico. There to confuse Zander with her confidence, there to reclaim some pride.
‘And you grew up on Xanos,’ Charlotte said. ‘What about …?’ She swallowed, for she felt like a spy. ‘What about your parents?’
‘What did he ask you to find out?’ Worse than a spy, she felt like a double agent.
‘I was just making conversation.’
‘You blush when you lie,’ Zander said. ‘Not a lot, but your neck goes pink.’
They dropped anchor and she didn’t feel so brave any more, but tried not to show it.
He took off his shirt and she yearned to do the same, to feel the breeze on her shoulders, but her body thrummed in his presence and it was safer covered. He smiled as she sat on the bench, trying to look detached, trying to ignore the scent of him as he leant over to pick up the sun lotion.
‘Could you do my back?’ He asked as if he were innocent, as if that olive skin could possibly burn, as if a man like Zander Kargas could possibly feel pain if it did.
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