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

thinking of the terrible, reckless, depraved things she had done with his twin, for how could a mouth look so divine just biting into the lime of his gin? How could a finger look so sexy and dark and debauched as it stirred the ice though his drink?

      There was no lack of manners, he was not being rude, but it was sex and she knew it. He melted the ice with his finger as he was melting her now.

      ‘Where were we?’ Zander said, and she struggled to remember whatever it was she’d been saying, struggled to keep her head in the most oppressive environments.

      ‘About to have dinner,’ Charlotte said, her eyes pleading for the waiter, for the summons to their table, for she could feel the length of his thigh against hers, remembered the press of him on the Xanos hillside. She had been a fool to think she could handle this, that for a moment she could resist the potent force of him.

      ‘And how was your day?’

      ‘Fine.’ It was she being the rude one. ‘Pleasant, in fact.’

      ‘We could eat here,’ he offered, and her eyes darted from him to the bar. Sure enough, people were eating at the tables. ‘Shall I suggest …?’

      Thank God for the waiter who came and told them their table was ready. She almost wept with relief as she stood, pulled down her dress over her thighs, tried to rearrange not just her clothes but her mind into some semblance of decency as they walked though the restaurant to a beautifully laid table. The music in the background was so unobtrusive she was sure the entire room must be able to hear her heart.

      The waiter informed them that it was too cool and windy tonight for the balcony table she had ordered, which was a regret for her cheeks were on fire.

      ‘I didn’t order champagne,’ Zander said as they were seated and the waiter started to pour it.

      ‘I did.’ She sat and gave him a smile. ‘If he was aware of who my guest was tonight, Nico would insist. Anyway, I thought it appropriate, given that tomorrow you finally meet.’

      He wanted to be wining and dining Charlotte; he did not want to sit here with his brother’s PA, drinking champagne his brother would pay for, eating food that he had bought. He wanted nothing from Nico—well, no charity anyway. He wanted to take from him rather than receive, but not by a flicker did he betray the dark thoughts. Instead, he turned his charm to high beam, knew he could not be resisted. In the glare at first she attempted to resist, but he watched her melt, watched her weaken, and he would have her tonight, Zander decided. She would walk into the meeting tomorrow with the bruises from his mouth on her neck. Better, Zander decided, when he had told his brother his feelings, he would leave the meeting with her, would take Charlotte as his.

      His for a while, Zander thought, because that was all it ever was.

      The menu had delicious offerings and, grateful for reprieve from his gaze, Charlotte pored over it. It was a mixture of traditional Greek with a contemporary twist.

      ‘I’d like the dips.’

      ‘We are in Xanos,’ Zander said. ‘Why not try the crab ravioli? There is none finer.’

      ‘I’d like the dips,’ Charlotte said, but she chose fish for her main and winced just a little as he ordered herbed milk-fed lamb. ‘Are you looking forward to tomorrow?’

      ‘I’m not thinking about tomorrow.’ Zander replied. ‘Instead, I am enjoying tonight.’

      ‘But …’ She tried to quash her frustration. Almost every conversation was off limits till he met with her boss, yet there was so much she wanted to know about him, so much she wanted to share with him.

      ‘I’d far rather hear about you,’ Zander said.

      Except that was off limits too. She didn’t want the fantasy to end with the drudgery of her real life served up at this sumptuous dinner table, didn’t want to watch his black eyes glaze as she droned on about her problems.

      ‘It’s a beautiful hotel …’ she said.

      ‘You’d have seen a few in your travels,’ Zander commented. ‘But, yes, it is.’ He looked over at her. ‘Have you tried the spa?’

      ‘I’m here to work,’ Charlotte said, for she was conscientious, and though she had had more than a peek at the luxurious spa menu, she would never expect Nico to foot such a bill.

      ‘I am very proud of it,’ Zander said. ‘With all my hotels, I try for something different yet somehow the same.’

      Their starters were delivered. She took one look at his ravioli and, though the dips were the best she’d tasted, she couldn’t help but wish she’d taken his advice.

      ‘Here.’ He cut off a large piece and she thought he would place it on her plate but it was Zander, so of course the fork, his fork, went straight towards her mouth. She opened a jaw that felt rigid, tried to tell herself to relax, to take the offering, but with him it was so loaded. She tasted the butter on her tongue and tried to remember to swallow, tried not to ponder how with Zander everything tasted of sex.

      ‘Tastes good, yes?’

      She nodded. It was all she could manage. She licked a trickle of butter that was on her lip and as she did so the smile he gave her told her their minds were thinking along the same lines. He watched her toying with her food and, rather than summon the waiter, he moved forward a little to pour her more wine, which gave him the excuse to press his knee in. To his satisfaction she leaped as if branded, and then put a hand over her glass too late, for the champagne met slender fingers and bubbled and fizzed.

      He took her hand and wanted to suck each finger dry. Perhaps, from the tremble that shot through her body, he could have got away with it, but she thought him a gentleman, and for now he obliged, took a thick white napkin and wrapped it around her hand.

      And not a drop more passed her lips, and though somehow she made it through the main course, the conversation was awkward. He knew she was on guard, knew she was wrestling, could feel her nerves as the dessert menu was presented, as the evening neared a close.

      ‘I’m not sure if I’m hungry.’ She wasn’t hungry, but surely it was better to be here in the restaurant than saying goodnight, trying to resist his kiss. If he did kiss her again, which he would, she knew exactly where it might lead, so she stared at the dessert menu till it blurred out of focus.

      ‘If you’re having trouble choosing, we can get a couple,’ Zander offered. ‘We can share.’

      ‘It’s terribly warm,’ Charlotte said. She was babbling a little, Zander realised. ‘I won’t be a moment.’

      He did not want to be here, fed by his brother. He wanted Charlotte for himself, on his terms.

      He walked and found her easily, tucked away on the balcony, staring out to the Mediterranean, the wind blowing her curls around her face, and he could see from her profile she was troubled.

      She knew he was approaching and was scared to turn around in case she fell against him.

      So hard she wrestled with her conscience as she stood there.

      She did not fall into bed with men. There had been a couple of relationships—one that had ended almost as soon as it had begun when she had told him about her mother’s illness and one that had meant a lot but had faded and died as her mother’s illness had become more and more consuming, but it was Zander consuming her now.

      Zander was the first man in ages she had responded to, the first man she had ever reacted to with such force, and tonight, in this hotel, with this beautiful, beautiful man, it was not the champagne that reduced her inhibitions but the vibe of him, the presence that seeped into her pores, into her brain, and made her giddy with lust and with promise. It made twenty-four hours seem an impossible delay.

      She had left for some privacy, to gather her thoughts, to convince herself she could hold out till tomorrow, but there was almost relief when she heard the door and his footsteps coming up behind her.

      She