she automatically looked around for a hair dryer. Then she stopped herself. No. No more hair dryer. No flatiron. No more fuss.
Going back into the bedroom, she flung open a drawer and found a wireless bra and comfortable white cotton panties that would actually cover her backside. Looking through the closet, she bypassed the fancy satin cocktail gowns and reached for a soft cotton skirt and a tissue-thin knit top. After getting dressed, she looked at herself again in the vanity mirror and took a deep breath.
She looked like her old self again. Regular old Rose Linden from California, the waitress who was working toward a college degree, the loving daughter who brought her parents homemade candy on weekends, who babysat for her nieces and nephews on Friday nights. No jewels, no furs, no tiara. Just her.
But her eyes had changed. They were exhausted and puffy from weeping, but it was more than that. Though still a virgin and no longer a bride, Rose knew she would never completely return to the idealistic girl she’d been.
But without all the makeup and confining clothes, letting her long blond hair air dry into its natural wave rather than wasting a precious hour of her life with the flatiron, she felt a new freedom. She went out to the chair and table by the window. Opening the screen door, she looked out at the view as she ate the rest of her breakfast, devouring the fresh fruit, potatoes and buttery pastries with equal relish.
She felt light. Freedom coursed in waves against her skin, as cool and refreshing as the soft sea breeze blowing through the window. Setting down her coffee cup beside her empty plate, she wandered outside on the balcony and looked out at the blue Aegean. The air was warm and smelled of salt and flowers and freshly exotic scents from faraway lands.
Last night, she’d been overwrought and exhausted and afraid. This villa had seemed full of darkness and shadows. But today, in the sunshine, she saw that it was beautiful. Bright pink flowers laced over white stucco on the edge of the bright blue sea.
As the cool morning wind blew against the bare skin of her legs and the tissue-thin cotton of her T-shirt, she closed her eyes in pleasure, turning her face toward the sun like a flower that had been deprived of it too long. For the first time in three months, she didn’t feel jittery or stressed. She felt…happy.
“Buy it then.” Xerxes’s low voice floated up from below. “But not until the price hits forty. By then their shareholders will be screaming and they’ll have no choice but to sell.”
Looking down with an intake of breath, Rose saw him pacing by the shaded grove near the pool as he spoke into his cell phone.
Khaki shorts revealed the strength of his thighs. The black tank top showed his broad shoulders and taut waistline as sunlight glistened off well-muscled arms.
He looked different to her today, too. The sunlight, now moving against the gray clouds, softened the hard lines of his face. He no longer seemed so fearsome and brutal. He just looked ruggedly handsome. And strong.
Was it because she no longer feared him? She no longer hated him, either. How could she? If Xerxes hadn’t kidnapped her from the castle last night, she would have given herself to Lars in bed, believing she was his wife. She would have made the biggest mistake of her life.
All along, her body had told her something was wrong with Lars. The more often he’d insisted to Rose that she was absolutely perfect in every way, the more imperfect she’d felt. Rose knew she was a goofball, impulsive, and all kinds of other silly things, not perfect at all. Besides, what did love—real love, the kind that lasted a lifetime—have to do with sterile, frozen perfection?
All along, her body had known he was wrong for her. Her body—so much smarter than her brain!
“Fine.” Still speaking into his phone, Xerxes suddenly lifted his head and looked right at her.
Sucking in her breath, she jumped back on the balcony, back into the shadows. A moment later, she heard his phone snap closed.
“Rose,” he said with a low laugh. “I can see you.”
She stepped forward, blushing with embarrassment. “Oh, hello,” she said, wincing at her own pathetic effort to sound casual. “I, er, didn’t see you there.”
Xerxes just gave her a lazy smile. “Just come down,” he said. “I want to show you something.”
FROM the instant Rose had come out on the balcony, Xerxes had felt her presence like the first burst of sunlight at dawn.
He’d pretended not to see her at first. He’d continued to pace as he spoke, as was his habit when he was making deals over the phone that were worth hundreds of millions of dollars. But as he discussed business with his vice president of the Novros Group in New York, Xerxes had secretly watched Rose with hooded eyes.
Her expression was in shadow, but he could see her body. Long, wavy blond hair now hung damply down her shoulders, over a thin top that clung to her full breasts and tiny waist. A knee-length skirt revealed impossibly long legs, slender and strong.
Looking up at her, his whole body had tightened painfully. There was something about this girl—except girl wasn’t the right word. Rose Linden was absolutely a woman. But there was something different about her, some quality of innocence that made her seem even younger than she was.
As he watched her, a strange need had trembled through his body that he’d never felt before. He did not like the feeling. He—Xerxes Novros—needed no one.
He barely knew her, and yet she had some power over him, a power his own body gave her. He understood, more and more, why Växborg had been willing to risk anything and defy anyone to possess her.
“Fine,” he bit out, finishing the call. He looked back up at the balcony, deliberately allowing his eyes to meet hers. She instantly jumped back as if she’d been burned, shrinking back into the shadows of the balcony.
So she felt it then, too, this strange connection between them.
Xerxes still remembered the way she trembled when he’d kissed her on the plane. He’d called her clumsy and it had been true. For a beautiful woman, she’d been astonishingly inept. He still recalled the way her lips had moved so tremulously against his own, as if she had no idea how to move her lips into a kiss. But clumsy was only part of it. He hadn’t told her the rest—that somehow, it had also been the most erotic kiss he’d ever experienced. He’d felt the passion of her brief surrender in a way that nearly brought him to his knees with the force of his own desire.
And then she’d slapped him.
He’d known from that moment that he would have her. Innocent or not, he would have her.
His promise not to kiss her until she begged for it was real, but it was strategic. He wouldn’t break his word. He wouldn’t have to. After that kiss, when he’d felt her passion and fire, he’d known it would be the easiest thing in the world to use her own sensuality against her and sweep her into bed.
In no time at all, she would beg him to kiss her. Just as every woman did.
Seducing Växborg’s mistress before Xerxes traded her would be the final twist of the knife against his enemy. Especially since he would make sure Rose enjoyed it beyond measure.
Xerxes
