One Summer Night: An Indecent Proposition / Beholden to the Throne / Hers For One Night Only?

Politely he walked on ahead and took a seat on a rock by the water’s edge as she spent a moment locating the number and being put through.

It was heartbreaking. The confusion in her mother’s voice, the pleading with Charlotte to come and save her, to bring her home, had Charlotte biting back tears as a nurse came onto the phone.

‘It might be better if you don’t talk to her just before bedtime,’ the nurse gently suggested. ‘It unsettles her for a couple of hours after she speaks with you.’

‘So it’s better that she thinks I’ve forgotten her?’ Charlotte retorted, and then apologised. “I’m sorry to snap, I just …’

‘It’s so hard on you.’ The nurse was incredibly kind. ‘If she was here permanently it would be different, but she’s only with us for a few days and the change of surroundings is so unsettling, it just disorientates her all the more when you call. Why don’t you ring and speak with the staff to find out how she is?’

It took a moment after hanging up to compose herself enough to join Zander, but he must have seen the glimmer of tears in her eyes because after a moment he spoke.

‘You’re close to your mum?’

‘I don’t know,’ Charlotte admitted, though she had never done so before, her head still spinning from the emotion of speaking with her mother. ‘I don’t know if we’re close or just bound …’ She took a deep breath. This was not the professional conversation she was supposed to be having with him, but surely she wasn’t being indiscreet in speaking about herself. Surely it was safer than speaking about Nico. And on this particular evening, knowing her mother was scared and in tears and that there was nothing she could do about it, it was easy to talk. Not that she would reveal her mother’s illness to him, for she had been badly burned doing so in the past—the look of horror on her boyfriend’s face when she had invited him in one night and he had witnessed the chaos that was her life, and another fledgling relationship that had ended before it had really begun when she had told him of her plight. Charlotte had long since learned where to stay quiet.

‘She had me when she was older …’ Charlotte said a couple of moments later, soothed by the company and the view, her ankles dangling in the water. The sky was a glorious riot of orange. She had front row seats to a show she loved, but this was surely the best one ever, the colours so vivid, the ocean so majestic. ‘I think at first she wanted my dad to leave his wife …’ She hadn’t really told anyone this, but it was so good to talk and have someone answer. Too used to her own thoughts, it was so nice to finally share a part of herself, though she chose not to tell Zander everything, chose not to reveal all of her plight. ‘She was my father’s mistress. He was from London, which was why she moved there. I think she thought if she had a baby that he’d …’ Charlotte gave a shrug. ‘Well, it didn’t work—he wanted a mistress, not a mother. He didn’t leave his wife, didn’t come and see us.’ She gave a wry smile, for her mother had never let her forget just how much she had given up for her child. ‘I always thought he’d come and live with us one day.’

‘Did your mum?’

‘Not in the end. By the time I was at school she’d long since given up.’ Charlotte shook her head. ‘She just got more bitter. I always dreamt he’d come and find us. She said that I lived with my head in the clouds …’

‘Clearly you were intended to,’ Zander said. ‘Forty thousand feet up in them.’ And she smiled, because he had listened, really listened, and then the smile on her face faded, because she was looking at him and he was looking at her, and it was more than talking and sharing. There was more, and in that moment she knew it but forced herself to deny it, changed the conversation, for they could not sit staring endlessly, and if they did, for even a moment longer, he would kiss her. He would kiss lips that were waiting, would be accepting, but he did not move.

‘What about you?’ Her voice did not break the spell.

‘I live with my feet on the ground,’ Zander said.

‘Your parents,’ she asked. ‘Do you still see your mother?’ There was so much she wanted to know, so much Nico was desperate to find out, but, sitting there, it was not Nico she was asking Zander the questions for but herself. She wanted to know him, but it was her question that broke the moment, her words that ended the kiss that never was.

‘I live in Australia,’ he said, which wasn’t really an answer. He turned away from her and looked out to sea, changed the subject along with the mood. ‘The sunsets are spectacular here,’ he said, because they were. Whatever he felt about Xanos, that much was at least true.

‘The sun doesn’t set,’ she said. He turned again to look at her, but she did not return his gaze, just stared out into the distance. ‘It’s just an illusion. We’re the ones moving.’ Now she did turn, saw him frown and she smiled. ‘It messed with my head a bit when I read it, but it’s obvious really—given that the sun never moves.’

He looked back at the ocean, to another truth that was a lie, to a different way of thinking, and it messed with his head too.

‘But, yes,’ Charlotte said, ‘it’s very beautiful.’

And they sat in silence, with separate thoughts but more comfortably together. Usually when she looked to the sky she wanted to be up there, just not this evening, not this time, for now, in this moment, she was happy where she was. Then, when he stood and offered his hand, she took it, let him lead her back, and they walked ankle deep through the lapping water and she was glad to be beside him.

There was no moon and it was growing too dark for idle walking, but as they passed the beach café he did something she never thought he would. There were no fries at the upmarket beach café, but he bought two souvlakis, not for them. They stood on the beach as it grew colder and darker and fed the gulls, 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.’

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_72cadec5-0d9c-5655-bc05-208043b9c87d)