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.’
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