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

‘because he is a wonderful boss. Because he has integrity, because I trust him, because he has never, and would never, expect what you clearly would from me. I could never work for you and I will never, ever sleep with you again.’

      ‘You did not object last night.’

      ‘Last night you seduced me.’ She could see it so clearly now. ‘Last night you set out to—’

      ‘Ah, po po po …’ He spoke in Greek, and she knew enough of the language to get his meaning, and it burned that he could tut, tut, tut away the night they had shared, could be so condescending about something that had been so wondrous. She felt as if she were back on the hillside with him, but with clarity now, could hear the birds calling, for war had already been declared, he just hadn’t thought to tell her.

      Charlotte had to bite on her lip for a moment to catch her voice, for she would speak her truth without breaking down and her voice rose as she forced herself to continue. ‘Last night you let me think it was about me, that it was about us, when, in fact, you had another agenda entirely.’ Her hand stung from the contact with him, her palm burnt red and she raked it through her hair to cool it, to wipe herself clean from him. He watched a moment as the blonde curtain lifted and he saw the bruise that his mouth had made, a visible reminder, proof of what had taken place; but the curtain fell and still the image remained, not of purple on pale flesh but the feel of her skin beneath his lips, how she had melted to him, how right they had been, how close he had come to sharing with another person, how she had been his. ‘You really tell me you have not slept with Nico …’

      ‘You have no right to ask me that!’ And she hadn’t, but her past was her own and certainly not for sharing with him. Still, she could not stay quiet, remembered now his push to the bed, and that it had not been just lust for her that had driven him. ‘Did it turn you on, thinking that I had, Zander?’ There was a warrior inside, a woman who rose, who would not let him destroy her, and she found her and moved from the door towards him, challenged him when it would have been so much easier to recoil. ‘Did you like the idea, Zander, that you were better, that you made me come harder?’ She taunted him as she reminded him because, damn, he deserved reminding about what he had done, what he had so readily destroyed. ‘Well, you were wasting your time thinking about your brother—your mind should have been on me.’

      ‘It was,’ Zander said. ‘I was not thinking of that.’ The admission and the passion with which it was delivered surprised even him, because her words had taken him back there and, no, triumph over his brother had not been on his mind then; instead, it had all been her.

      ‘It was all you were thinking of?’ Charlotte sneered.

      And he closed his eyes because, yes, at first it had been.

      ‘Those little chats …’ How it stung. How innocent she had been to lie in bed on a grey morning in London and listen to him, to recall how he had brightened her day, yet it had all been a game to him. How easily he had played her—how readily she had let him.

      ‘I should have heeded the warnings.’ She was furious not just at Zander but at herself, and then she threw back at him what Paulo had told her in Greek about his tawdry reputation, that he would sell his mother to the highest bidder, and she told him too how the islanders hated him.

      ‘I am not here for a lecture from you.’

      ‘Are you going to sign?’ She just wanted out of there, she wanted away, she wanted done, or she would start crying.

      ‘I have not decided.’ He looked at her. ‘Perhaps we go out on my yacht to discuss things, spend some time away …’

      ‘Never,’ Charlotte said.

      ‘Never?’ Zander checked.

      ‘I hate you.’

      ‘Tut tut.’ Zander smiled. ‘What would your boss say if he knew you were speaking to me like that? I thought Nico still wanted that land.’

      ‘I’ll resign before I have to spend a day with you.’ She was trapped, completely trapped, and the slap she had delivered had not put out the fire inside, for it was flaring again, as it had done the whole wretched morning, building and building till it could not be contained. ‘You have no idea what you’ve done to me. Because of you, I might have to put my mother in a home.’ Which was perhaps a bit harsh, for it had been heading towards that for months now. It was hardly all his fault, but Zander had made it impossible to approach her boss at this moment, impossible to negotiate for a better arrangement, when she had let him down so badly, and the words tumbled out untamed.

      ‘What are you talking about?’ He sneered at the hysterical female who blamed a night of passion for every last ill, but something niggled inside Zander, something unfamiliar, for he had seen her so vibrant, so happy, and now she seemed to be choking with fury and fear almost. ‘How can I be responsible for your mother’s—?’

      ‘Oh, what would you care about family?’ Charlotte snapped, already regretting the words that had spilled out, wishing she could somehow sink to her knees and retrieve them, gather them up and put them in her bag and pretend they had never been said. But it was far too late for that now and the best she could do was look him briefly in the eye before walking out. She looked into black eyes that had once caressed her but were unrecognisable now. ‘You’re trying to destroy yours; I’m just trying to hold onto mine. What would you know about it?’

      ‘The offer is there.’ Zander would not enter a discussion on family, did not want to know of her ills. ‘I will consider signing the papers when you decide to join me.’

       CHAPTER NINE

      SHE was his captor.

      It felt absolutely like that.

      The vast hotel felt like a goldfish bowl. Every time she turned, even if he wasn’t there, she anticipated him.

      The only relief was the occasional visit to nursing homes and hostels for the homeless on the mainland in the search for Roula Kargas. Nico’s thorough search had already ruled out their mother being on Xanos or Lathira, but no matter how promising the lead, every time the result was same—the patient was too old, or the history wrong. Every time it was not their mother.

      ‘Anything?’ Nico asked when she rang early the next morning to report on her previous day, but they both knew it was bad news for had it been good she would immediately have told him. ‘Nothing. Her name was right …’ Charlotte gave a tense sigh. ‘I thought I had found your mother, but she was from Rhodes, and the child she had given up was a girl. It was actually really sad.’

      ‘I would have gone myself,’ Nico explained. ‘The trouble is, my father …’ He did not need to explain further.

      Both knew there was little time left. The doctors were talking in hours now. ‘I know that I am asking a lot from you, Charlotte, that this is not part of your more usual work, and it is much appreciated. You need to unwind. Ring the spa, it is world class. Have a massage …’

      She might just do that. She could feel the knots in her neck, in her shoulders, in her jaw, even in her fingers that gripped the phone.

      ‘Has Zander been in contact?’

      ‘No.’ She had told Nico about the offer to take her out on his boat and, though desperate for information, even Nico had agreed that would be too much to ask.

      ‘If you do speak with him, though …’ There was a rare pause from her boss, for their conversations were always brief. He always said what was needed and then hung up, except this was so personal and there was so much pain, it had shifted how things worked. ‘I want to find my mother, Charlotte. Any clue, any information, no matter how small.’

      ‘If he tells me anything, I shall pass it on.’ She hung up the phone, cross with Nico, yet she could not blame him for his desperation to find out about his past.

      She