and sighed heavily. He walked to his window and looked out over the Aegean, where the sun’s first rays bounced on the horizon between the lightening sky and the still dark sea.
That was a call he’d hoped to not have to make. After the furious row with his parents that had gone on into the early hours, he’d come to the conclusion he had no other choice.
For his nephew’s sake he needed a wife and he needed one now. It was sheer chance that he already had one.
All he had to do was convince Elizabeth to go along with it. After the way he’d ended things between them all those years ago, he knew he had a fight on his hands to get it. He could handle it. He was used to battles. Every day of his life was one.
He’d heard her sharp inhalation when he’d mentioned their destination. He’d deliberately kept their conversation short and to the point so she wouldn’t have time to object. He would not give her the time or place to reject his proposal.
Elizabeth wasn’t the girl he’d fallen for all those years ago who wore her heart on her sleeve and her emotions on her face. She’d matured into a discreet, professional woman with a cool analytical head.
She would need that cool head if she were to make the correct decision and agree to be his wife again.
THE PRIVATE JET Xander had chartered for her circled St Francis’s small airport. Elizabeth gripped the hand rest. It wasn’t fear of landing that made her knuckles whiten but fear of what the evening would bring.
She’d had one night to dream up something inventive to get out of it; family emergency, car accident, diabetic coma... She’d rejected every one of them.
When all was said and done, this was her job. Her services were discreet and known only to a select few, but those select few inhabited their own world. All it would take was one whisper of unprofessionalism or unreliability and the reputation she’d spent eight years building up would be smashed down.
The Xander she’d known didn’t exist. All she knew of the real Xander was his reputation, and that was of a man who didn’t suffer fools. If he had any affection left for her he wouldn’t have insisted they meet at St Francis.
She’d loved him once, with the whole of her heart. The morning she’d packed her suitcase full of excitement at the thought of flying to Diadonus, the island he lived on, to meet his family and begin their new life together, he’d pulled the rug out from under her. He’d told her that he’d made a mistake; that he didn’t love her, his family would hate her and he’d be returning to Diadonus alone.
Her lungs and stomach contracted into balls as the pain of that moment hit her afresh. But she would give anything to live it again, so she could keep her composure and not have his last memory of her being one where she could hardly breathe through the tears.
In their short time together on this island she would show nothing but her professional face. She would be polite and friendly. She would treat him exactly as she would any other client. She would smile and pretend he wasn’t a lying cheat who’d broken her heart.
The jet landed smoothly but that didn’t stop the nausea increasing. She hadn’t been this nervous since she’d walked out of her home and into the big wide world alone and unsupported.
The early evening sun still blazed over the pristine airport, casting the ground and small white terminal in a golden haze. She stepped off the jet, holding tightly to her carry-on case, purse and laptop bag. After the freezing New York temperatures, the warmth was welcome.
Before she’d travelled to St Francis, Elizabeth had never left the States, had hardly left New York. Then her granny had died and left some money for her only grandchild, her will stipulating clearly that she wanted Elizabeth to use some of it ‘to get out of this darn country and see something of the world’.
Her granny would be delighted to know Elizabeth’s work took her all over the world. And of all the places she’d been, this exclusive Caribbean island remained in her mind as the most beautiful place on earth...but the memory was tainted. It was as if the fine white sand had become tiny shards of glass and the clear blue Caribbean Sea, so enticing and welcoming, filled with poison.
An official in a golf buggy greeted her, gave her passport a cursory glance and whisked her off to the car park.
A rugged black four-by-four gleamed beside the terminal wall. At their approach, the driver got out, the setting sun enveloping him in the same haze as the surroundings.
Her heart leapt and her throat closed. It was Xander.
He strode towards her, his long legs covered by a pair of tan chinos, a short-sleeved pale blue shirt stretched across his honed torso, the brown hair she remembered as rumpled now cropped with a slight quiff at the front.
Her grip on her case tightened. He reached them, nodded at the driver and then fixed the sparkling blue eyes she’d once gazed into without blinking for what had seemed like hours on her...
Her insides turned to jelly. From deep in her chest a swell erupted; that awful need to burst into tears and sob. Where it came from she didn’t know, but she controlled it. She’d known this wouldn’t be easy and, she told herself, this would be the worst of it. That first time seeing and speaking to him again. That was always going to be the worst part and no amount of preparation could mitigate it.
‘Elizabeth,’ he said by way of greeting, stretching out a hand.
She’d always loved how he pronounced her name. Her mother always affected an English accent when she said it. Her father always addressed her as Lizzy but she suspected that had always been to needle her mother. From Xander’s wide, generous mouth, her name rolled like a caress.
There was nothing wide or generous about his mouth now, fixed as it was in a tight line.
Plastering the brightest, most toothsome smile she could muster to her face, she released her hold on the case and accepted his hand. ‘It’s great to see you again.’
His lips curved into a taut smile. ‘You’re looking well.’
‘Thank you.’ Still holding his hand, she used it for support to climb out of the golf buggy, pretending that every inch of her skin hadn’t started dancing at his touch.
He was as tall as she remembered but the years had given an added hardness to his physique and he’d gained an overall edginess she didn’t remember from before. The sparkle that had always been in his eyes was muted and faint lines had appeared on his face, yet somehow he was even better looking than he’d been a decade ago.
So gorgeous had he been that when he’d approached her on her arrival at La Maison Blanc Hotel and insisted on helping her with her luggage, she’d assumed he worked for the hotel. In hindsight, that he’d been wearing a pair of swim shorts and had had a towel slung over his shoulder should have been a giveaway that he was a guest rather than a hotel porter. That, and the fact the other porters had been wearing navy blue uniforms, right down to the silly hats they were forced to wear. Xander’s brown hair had been damp from a swim in the sea.
It had taken her a good ten minutes—enough time to check in and find her room—before she’d realised the drop-dead gorgeous young man with the infectious smile, sparkling
