One Summer Night

‘I thought we weren’t talking about Nico.’

‘We’re not,’ Zander said, ‘we’re talking about work.’

‘I’m very happy with what I do now.’ She stood as if to catch her breath, but instead it was to bite down on a sudden urge to weep, for he was offering her the world, and how she wanted to say yes, to be the woman he thought she was—if only she could be.

‘I would pay you more.’ He wanted his way, he always got his way, and he would have it now.

‘It’s not about money!’ Her voice came out shrill, too sharp, too strained to pretend she was not upset. She could barely manage to keep up the façade for a week, let alone permanently.

‘I would look after you better than he,’ Zander said, and he meant it. For he would look after her and that would start now.

Zander was at his most potent. The walk in the hills that had seemingly so naturally unfolded had been absolutely contrived. This was a route he had trodden so many times in his youth. It was no convenient rock they had ambled towards—this was his stomping ground, here, where with women he had always got his way. The letters ‘AK’ were carved in the rock beneath the moss where her bottom had sat.

‘Zander, I don’t know if I’ve …’ How could she say it, how could she tell him about her real and drab life? She had not set out to lie, but knew of course that she had. ‘I think I’ve misled you …’ She saw his face darken. And darken it did as he braced himself to hear that Nico was, as he surely had already known, far more than a boss. ‘I haven’t told you—’

‘Don’t,’ he interrupted her, for he did not need to hear it. He did not need an angel, Zander reminded himself, he was here only to get revenge. ‘You don’t have to say anything.’ And then he said something else, something that, despite the cool Xanos breeze, made her warm inside, had her sit back down when his hand took her wrist. ‘Let us enjoy our day.’ She wanted that, wanted so very much this escape. She did not want to cloud it, to spoil it, to bring reality in to this magical place. ‘Maybe you’ll think about my job offer later, maybe …’

‘I …’ How could she say that she wouldn’t think about it when it was all she would ever think about, even if it could never be? She closed her eyes and entered the luxury of his offer, working for him, seeing more of him, and then as his lips dusted her mouth, they confirmed the full extent of the debauchery behind his proposition. Yet it did not offend, it was the most delicious sensation she had felt in years, his lips warmer than her cool ones, his mouth so much more in control than hers. All she did was feel it—feel the warm pulse of his flesh on hers. She relished the weight of a mouth that moved slowly, a mouth that warmed rapidly, and she took his breath into her and held it, and held it some more, and then breathed it back to him and now they were one. It was one kiss that both were sharing, for now her mouth moved on his, now she tasted him, and their kiss was a slow one, a warning, a heady warning that there was so much more to come.

When Zander kissed, it was always with intent, a means to an end, a temporary place where he’d prefer not to linger, and now, in a minute, his hand would wander. Soon, in a minute, he would press her back to lie on the mossy stone, but there were things in this kiss that he had never noticed before, that her eyelashes swept on his temple and that the tip of her tongue was like a balm that made him forget the hell.

Sex made him forget, he reminded himself, kissing her just a little bit harder, for surely that was where this must lead, but she seemed to want more of a taste of him and, yes, he actually liked her tongue’s tentative exploration, liked the faint taste of their breaths mingled. Had it not been so delicious he would have taken her right there on the hillside, would have moved his hand from A to B and then a moment later a little lower again—would have worked the trusted formula that never failed. Had their kiss not been so unusually pleasing, he would have had her panties in his hand just about now, except all they were doing were kissing, and he did not want Charlotte bare-bottomed on a hill.

Oh, but he did, Zander thought as his mouth still moved hers and his ardor deepened as, not on formula but instinct, his hand moved beneath her waist to the low rise of her shorts. He wanted his fingers to slip in there, wanted where this could so, so easily lead, but he did not want her embarrassment afterwards. He resisted the lure of her zip and his fingers moved to the hemline, dug into her tender inner thigh as he attempted a rapid halt but it was she kissing him now, her tongue calling the shots.

She hadn’t been kissed in so very long, and never more thoroughly than now—so expert his tongue, so blissful his hands, so faint-making his scent, all she wanted was to give in to the press of his mouth and move backwards, to lie down under him, to relish the bliss of his hands—hands that slid from her arm to her waist. There was the faint brush of his thumb on her nipple and the sound of foreign birdsong, and so easily he took her away, so tenderly he removed each splinter on her mind, each shackle to her heart that with one kiss she forgot what she knew. With his kiss she lost the hurt and forgot to be wary.

His hands were near her bottom and then moving around to the front, the weight of him pinning her down, then the bliss of his fingers pressing into her thighs, climbing and then resting and then slowly climbing again as her mouth beckoned him on and, with his kiss, it was hard to remember she was here to work, here as Nico’s PA. Somehow, as his mouth dragged her under, as his kisses pressed her down to the mossy rock beneath, her mind fought its way to the surface, resisted delicious temptation and remembered the reason she was here.

‘Nico!’ He heard the word in his mouth and he almost spat it out, heard her say his twin’s name as he kissed her, and as her head pulled back, so too did his.

‘The name’s Zander!’ Black were the eyes that looked down at her, and the tone of his voice sent a chill through her.

‘I meant …’ Did he really think she had mistaken him, that in the throes of passion she had been thinking of Nico? ‘I forgot that I’m supposed to be at work.’ Surely she must have mistaken the ice in his voice and the anger in his eyes, for there was no trace of either now, just the familiar smile that warmed and a brief kiss to her lips as still he pressed on top of her that told her all was okay. ‘I don’t think I should be here.’

He actually agreed, for the mossy hillside was not where he wanted to sample Charlotte. He wanted her only in his bed now. He wanted her writhing and sobbing beneath him, wanted to ensure a future where it was his name she sobbed into Nico’s mouth.

‘Look.’ She aimed for confidence in her voice, even if she could not quite meet his eyes. ‘That should never have happened …’

‘That?’ Zander said, and his fingers gently stroked, crept up, just a little, but enough to remind her where they’d been heading. ‘Or this?’ He was still lying over her; she could feel his erection pressed into her hip, could feel his fingers at the hem of her shorts, and she felt as if the devil was beckoning.

It would be so much easier to simply kiss that mouth back, to deliciously resume; but the ease of her response to him unnerved her—and not for a moment could he comprehend how out of character this was, that the polished, sophisticated, well-travelled woman was, in fact, a ghost from her past, not the Charlotte she had now become. Neither would he understand that even the Charlotte of old would never have found herself half-naked on a hillside, that only with him had this wanton woman emerged.

‘None of it,’ she attempted, except it died on her lips, because back in London her only regret would surely be halting things.

‘Well, for what it’s worth …’ he kissed her cheek as he released her ‘… I’m glad that it did. Let’s get you back.’ It was Zander, slightly breathless as he stood, Zander who rearranged her clothes and then offered his hand. As she took it, she felt as if she was handing over her heart, felt for a giddy moment as if she’d found the one person who would take care of her. Damp night swirled in on Xanos, and her head was literally in the clouds as she walked down the hillside with him.

‘What is that bird?’ She could hear the same call that had danced in her mind as he had kissed her, its song following her now down the hillside and she craned her neck, her eyes scanning the trees to glimpse the bird that made the strange ‘po-po’ call.

‘It’s the hoopoe bird,’ Zander explained. ‘You rarely see them, you just hear them, but they are beautiful birds. They’ll be gone soon …’

Like you, Charlotte thought as they walked down the hillside, a rare beauty she had briefly glimpsed but could never hope to truly capture. She wanted to be back in his arms, wanted more of his kiss, but instead she held onto his hand as they walked and Zander talked.

‘They head to the Canary Islands for the colder months.’

‘It’s a strange call.’ She stood for a moment and listened, drank in the unfamiliar sound, wanted to remember the Xanos hillside for ever. ‘So relaxing.’

‘Not for the locals.’ Zander interrupted her thoughts. ‘They say when the hoopoe sings in the evening then soon there will be war. It’s just superstition.’ He smiled as her eyes widened. ‘The island is full of it.’ His hand was warm around hers, his smile reassuring. ‘You like birds?’

‘I guess,’ Charlotte said as they reached their scooters. ‘I think I like anything that can fly.’

They rode back to the hotel, and only as she climbed off the scooter in such gorgeous surroundings did she realise how grubby and unkempt the day had made her, but she felt as if she was wearing a ballgown as he offered his arm and they walked inside.

‘We will meet for dinner,’ Zander said, for he would not take no tonight. ‘I’ll call for you in an hour. What is your room number?’ He was so direct, so all-assuming. Again she reminded herself that Nico was her boss. She had to somehow wrestle control back, for around Zander she had virtually none.

‘I haven’t said yes yet.’

Oh, you just did, Zander thought, for he could see her pulse leaping above her collarbone, could almost smell the want that was in the air.

‘Fine,’ Zander said, and as he had last night he made as if to leave it, even turned his back and went to walk away, so positive was he she would call him back, but he was caught off guard by her words.

‘Perhaps I should offer to take you to dinner,’ Charlotte said, and he turned his head. ‘I am sure Nico would expect no less.’

She saw his eyes shutter, for a moment thought she might have offended him, but when she looked again he was smiling, and she must have imagined the flash of darkness.

‘I’ll meet you in the foyer,’ Charlotte said, not sure she wanted this stunning man knocking at her hotel-room door, not sure at all that she could resist him.

‘I’ll look forward to it’ was all that Zander said.

And so too would she.

She rang the nursing home and, as advised, spoke not to her mother but to the staff and was informed that Amanda had settled in a little better, which should have reassured her, but she didn’t quite believe it was true.

‘If she does get upset,’ Charlotte said, ‘please remind her that this is just temporary, that I’ll be home in a couple of days.’

It might bring comfort to Amanda, but it brought little to Charlotte. She truly didn’t know if she missed her mum, if she even wanted to get back to her real life. There was guilt with the realisation, guilt that seemed to layer on guilt, but she quashed it. She was determined to just enjoy her time her on Xanos, to go back a better daughter for the temporary reprieve.

He was a reprieve, Charlotte told herself, a brief indulgence that she could handle, dinner and perhaps one more kiss.

As she undressed in the bathroom, slipped her freshly foiled hair into a hotel shower cap, she felt more like the old Charlotte than she ever had—felt like the jet-set woman she once had been, a woman who could handle a man like Zander Kargas.

It was bliss to sink into the bath, and more to step out of the bathroom and to see the pulled curtains, to resist the temptation to open them. It was heady and dizzy but she felt as if his eyes could burn through the fabric as she massaged her skin with oil, felt as if he was watching her as she dressed slowly.

For him.

Somehow he made the fantasy real.

Made her feel special enough to take that extra care.

She was used to doing her hair quickly, so she stood in the marble bathroom and smoothed it out with her trusty straighteners, but it needed something more so she skilfully spun thick, heavy ringlets, over and over again, each one, Charlotte thought, for Zander. With each curl, she imagined his fingers through it later, and then told herself there could be none of that.

She told herself he was a guest of Nico’s tonight, if only to help herself behave.

There wasn’t really much decision as to what to wear. She had brought her faithful travel wardrobe of old, which consisted of a black evening dress, a touch slinky with spaghetti straps, and a small wrap, or another more demure dress, a soft brushed velvet in chocolate brown with a cowl neck.

She settled for the brown.

Hoped the demure cut of the dress might calm her but, even slipping it on, the sex in her mind brought the dress to life; the fabric seemed tighter around her bust and more clingy over her hips. Her eyes glittered in anticipation and her cheeks glowed at the very thought of Zander. She begged herself to reel it in. She had to keep her head for one night, one night only, for tomorrow the secret would be out. Tomorrow she could fall into his arms, as she now so badly wanted to.

She was dizzy with lust as she sprayed fragrance not just on her wrists and neck but the backs of her knees too. She imagined his mouth there on the tender flesh and she knew she must not, that tonight somehow she had to resist him, that tomorrow, after tomorrow, when he and Nico were reconciled, when things were more ordered, then she could think about them.

Except she could only think about him.

Could only shiver at the memory of his kiss.

It wasn’t a date. It was not a date, she told herself, but it felt like it was as she glossed her lips and had one final check in the mirror.

Zander was absolutely potent and she had to keep her head tonight, had to see how things went with Nico and Zander before she did anything. She almost doubled up then, stunned at the possibilities her mind lurched to, for he made her feel rash, dizzy, to want.

Zander too smiled as he looked into the mirror.

Tonight would be such an unexpected treat.

He had enjoyed flirting with Charlotte on the phone, getting her to open up a little, and though last night he had more intended to loosen her tongue with fine wine, the stakes were raised now. He had not anticipated the rare beauty of her, that she might live up to the voice he had enjoyed these past weeks.

Now he wanted her.

Wanted her to sob his name into his brother’s mouth. How sweet was delayed revenge, for he wanted everything his brother had and then some more, but the thought of her with another made him churn in a way he never had before. As he stared into the mirror he chose not to shave, just splashed on cologne. Then his thoughts were darker, his intent deeper, for he would leave Nico with nothing, as he had been left with nothing, and his mind was made up. It was not a cruel decision, Zander told himself as he headed down to meet her. He might be misleading her but soon she would come to understand.

Tonight he would have Charlotte in his bed.

Tomorrow she would be in his life.

CHAPTER FOUR

CHARLOTTE had worked long enough with Nico to know how he liked things, and what he expected from her when dealing with clients. She knew as she arrived before their arranged time that, despite the butterflies in her stomach, despite the thrill of an evening with Zander, she was, even if Nico was unaware, working for her boss tonight.

She did as Nico would expect of her—arriving in the foyer a full fifteen minutes early, she whiled the time away till Zander arrived looking into the boutique windows at the bags and purses with leather so soft they seemed to beg her to go in and stroke them. She wandered to the jeweller’s, blinked at the most stunning of necklaces, thick with rubies and diamonds. She had possibly never seen anything so lovely.

‘It would look good around your neck.’

She heard his words, heard his greeting, smelt the freshly washed male scent of him. It felt as if not the necklace but Zander was around her throat, for it was so tight as she turned to greet him.

Oh, he had once looked like Nico, but now, to Charlotte, all he was was Zander. There could be no mistake ever again. It wasn’t just that Zander’s hair was a little longer, his strong jaw shadowed, his eyelids slightly heavier lidded, his skin a touch darker. With Zander she felt far from safe, for each parting meant a new greeting and each time the stakes seemed raised. She registered the flare of danger that ignited whenever he approached, acknowledged that he took her, without asking, completely out of her usual bounds. It was Sunday night in Xanos, the dress code smart casual, and Zander wore it incredibly well—black dinner trousers with a white fitted shirt that showed his toned body. His hair was tousled but gleaming yet there was an edge to him, something in the unshaven jaw and black gypsy eyes that set him apart, a statement made without words, something that warned he had never been and could never be tamed.

‘Have you been waiting long?’ Zander asked.

‘Not at all,’ she tried, even if it was a little late to do so, to sound professional, to make things clear, to draw a safe line. ‘Anyway, you’re my guest.’

‘Had you been mine,’ Zander pointed out as the maître d’ suggested they take a seat at the bar and their table would be ready in a few moments, ‘our table would have already been ready.’

Not used to waiting, especially in a hotel he owned, Zander did not actually mind, for instead of the clean white linen and neat order of the restaurant they were led to a dark sultry bar that was to be their holding pen. He had seen the designs, the finished product on the computer, had even been in here last night, but had not really appreciated it till now.

Zander suppressed a smile as she sat down, her bottom lower than her knees on the extremely low couches, revealing a stretch of thigh. It was not his fault, of course, that he sat just an inch too close, that the soft plush of the sofa rolled his body in just a little, till the fabric of his black trousers almost melted as it encountered her flesh. He felt her attempt a discreet wriggle away as she tried not to touch him, but there was nowhere to go.

‘I’m sorry about this.’ She tried a smile that was supposed to come out professional and businesslike, tried to pretend that it was Nico for whom the table was not waiting, because with him she could talk, could laugh and yet reveal nothing. ‘The table shouldn’t be much longer.’

‘I’m more than happy to wait,’ Zander said as their drinks were delivered.

As she sat too close to this dangerous image, this sexy version of her boss, Charlotte felt as if she was in some erotic dream, some wild, vivid dream, where she would be unable to look at Nico in the morning thinking of the terrible, reckless, depraved things she had done with his twin, for how could a mouth look so divine just biting into the lime of his gin? How could a finger look so sexy and dark and debauched as it stirred the ice though his drink?

There was no lack of manners, he was not being rude, but it was sex and she knew it. He melted the ice with his finger as he was melting her now.

‘Where were we?’ Zander said, and she struggled to remember whatever it was she’d been saying, struggled to keep her head in the most oppressive environments.

‘About to have dinner,’ Charlotte said, her eyes pleading for the waiter, for the summons to their table, for she could feel the length of his thigh against hers, remembered the press of him on the Xanos hillside. She had been a fool to think she could handle this, that for a moment she could resist the potent force of him.

‘And how was your day?’

‘Fine.’ It was she being the rude one. ‘Pleasant, in fact.’

‘We could eat here,’ he offered, and her eyes darted from him to the bar. Sure enough, people were eating at the tables. ‘Shall I suggest …?’

Thank God for the waiter who came and told them their table was ready. She almost wept with relief as she stood, pulled down her dress over her thighs, tried to rearrange not just her clothes but her mind into some semblance of decency as they walked though the restaurant to a beautifully laid table. The music in the background was so unobtrusive she was sure the entire room must be able to hear her heart.

The waiter informed them that it was too cool and windy tonight for the balcony table she had ordered, which was a regret for her cheeks were on fire.

‘I didn’t order champagne,’ Zander said as they were seated and the waiter started to pour it.

‘I did.’ She sat and gave him a smile. ‘If he was aware of who my guest was tonight, Nico would insist. Anyway, I thought it appropriate, given that tomorrow you finally meet.’

He wanted to be wining and dining Charlotte; he did not want to sit here with his brother’s PA, drinking champagne his brother would pay for, eating food that he had bought. He wanted nothing from Nico—well, no charity anyway. He wanted to take from him rather than receive, but not by a flicker did he betray the dark thoughts. Instead, he turned his charm to high beam, knew he could not be resisted. In the glare at first she attempted to resist, but he watched her melt, watched her weaken, and he would have her tonight, Zander decided. She would walk into the meeting tomorrow with the bruises from his mouth on her neck. Better, Zander decided, when he had told his brother his feelings, he would leave the meeting with her, would take Charlotte as his.

His for a while, Zander thought, because that was all it ever was.

The menu had delicious offerings and, grateful for reprieve from his gaze, Charlotte pored over it. It was a mixture of traditional Greek with a contemporary twist.

‘I’d like the dips.’

‘We are in Xanos,’ Zander said. ‘Why not try the crab ravioli? There is none finer.’

‘I’d like the dips,’ Charlotte said, but she chose fish for her main and winced just a little as he ordered herbed milk-fed lamb. ‘Are you looking forward to tomorrow?’

‘I’m not thinking about tomorrow.’ Zander replied. ‘Instead, I am enjoying tonight.’

‘But …’ She tried to quash her frustration. Almost every conversation was off limits till he met with her boss, yet there was so much she wanted to know about him, so much she wanted to share with him.

‘I’d far rather hear about you,’ Zander said.

Except that was off limits too. She didn’t want the fantasy to end with the drudgery of her real life served up at this sumptuous dinner table, didn’t want to watch his black eyes glaze as she droned on about her problems.

‘It’s a beautiful hotel …’ she said.

‘You’d have seen a few in your travels,’ Zander commented. ‘But, yes, it is.’ He looked over at her. ‘Have you tried the spa?’

‘I’m here to work,’ Charlotte said, for she was conscientious, and though she had had more than a peek at the luxurious spa menu, she would never expect Nico to foot such a bill.

‘I am very proud of it,’ Zander said. ‘With all my hotels, I try for something different yet somehow the same.’

Their starters were delivered. She took one look at his ravioli and, though the dips were the best she’d tasted, she couldn’t help but wish she’d taken his advice.