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
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 without diversion.
‘Forget it,’ he told himself, heading back to his suite, and to the shower. He would contact her later, take her to dinner—women were for the night-time, a reward for hard work, a balm for insomnia, not for spending the day with. Still, he was curious whether she had told Nico, which, he told himself, was the reason he had called her.
Charlotte approached, and she was nervous, dressed in shorts and a strappy vest, topped with the previous day’s cardigan. Her eyes were bruised with lack of sleep courtesy of this very man. Another call to Nico had gone unanswered and, as gorgeous as the smile was as Zander turned to greet her, still she would set the ground rules.
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