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

and glamorous it was heaven to eavesdrop while she looked out to the beach, to the azure water and gorgeous sands. For a moment she almost felt back in her old life, except there were no colleagues to meet up with, no one to explore the island with, no one to lie with her by the pool, as so often she had.

      An uneasy feeling seemed to pool in her throat, tasting of bitterness and martyrdom—the food she had been fed by her mother throughout her childhood. And that was the very last thing she wanted.

      She needed to think, really think about her future, and even if the neighboring conversation was intriguing, the beach beckoned more and Charlotte headed inside. She pulled on a simple shift dress, light cardigan and sandals, wanting to catch the last of the evening sun.

      Still, even though she was miles from home, even though it was a relief to have a night to herself and the secret pleasure of finally coming face to face with Zander on Monday, as she walked along the golden sands of Xanos, her thoughts turned to her mum. Amanda would have loved it here. Their yearly holidays through Charlotte’s childhood were perhaps her most treasured of memories, for it was the only time she had ever really seen her mother happy; the only time Amanda had seemed at peace instead of bitter about the career she had forgone and the lover who, when Amanda had found out she was pregnant, had spurned her instead of facing up to his responsibilities.

      How could Charlotte do it to her—put her in a home because it made life easier? Even all these years on, Charlotte nursed guilt for her childish selfishness, for the way she had idolised her absent father, not aware of the sacrifices her mother had made. Oh, the rows and tears that had come from her brought a sting of shame today. But once a year they had cast it aside, walked along Camber Sands or Beachy Head and, without fail, her mother would buy an extra portion of fries each evening, a ten-minute indulgence where they’d feed the seagulls and laugh and whoop as the gathered birds went wild.

      There was Nico.

      She looked up from her dreams and saw reality: her boss skimming stones in the water. It caught her by surprise, why she could not fathom for Nico lived here now—just along from this stretch of beach was his private residence. Something about him made her start. There was purpose to him, not idle relaxation as his wrist flicked the smooth, flat stones but an anger almost. She carried on walking, though she considered turning around, pretending she hadn’t seen him, for so dark were his features, so deep his concentration, she wondered if he and his wife Constantine had just had a row. Still, it would be worse if he saw her turning and thought she was ignoring him, and she did need to pass Paulo’s message on so, pretending she had not noticed his dark mood, she walked purposefully towards him, smiling as she called his name.

      ‘Nico!’ she called. ‘I’ve been trying to ring you …’ And then he turned around and her breath held in her lungs as she realised that, though he looked like him, though it surely was him, somehow the man that had turned to her call was not Nico. She could not explain it; the only thing she could liken it to was, years ago, as a small child she had lost her mother in a department store and a few panicked minutes later had rushed towards the familiar beige coat and tugged on it, had looked up at her mum and recoiled as she’d realised that it was not her, that the eyes that frowned at her had not been her mother’s. The feeling was back, was there in her chest now, as her familiar greeting was met with a stranger’s stare. ‘Sorry.’ She walked backwards for a few steps. ‘My mistake …’

      She wanted to turn and run, it was her first instinct, she wanted to run, for her head was a mass of jumbled thoughts, but instead she walked quickly, desperate to get back to the hotel, to think, to talk to Nico, to find out just what the hell was going on.

      ‘Slow down.’ His footsteps were muffled by the sand, but still she heard them, could feel him as he drew closer, jumped with the shock of contact as his hand closed around her shoulder and spun her around. ‘Why are you running?’

      She turned to eyes that were black, blacker than Nico’s, to a face that appeared in every detail to come from the same canvas as Nico’s except the brush had been dipped in an ink that was darker; the hand that had created this masterpiece just a touch heavier than the one that had made the other. His hair was longer, his bone structure more severe, but it was his mouth that drew her eyes for a second, a mouth that was heavy and sensual, with beautifully white teeth that smiled a smile that contradicted the bore of his gaze.

      ‘I made a mistake …’ She was far too confused to think logically. ‘I thought you were someone else.’

      ‘You thought I was Nico?’ This was so not how he had planned it. Zander knew he had taken a risk walking on the beach, but being cooped in the hotel was driving him crazy. At the last minute he had changed his plans and flown in early, but it had been a mistake, for already there was a buzz at the hotel. He had checked in under a different name, wanting to see how the hotel ran when the staff were unaware the owner was in residence, but the curious looks told him that Nico was a regular. From the way this woman had approached, the fact she had been trying to ring Nico, Zander knew he had only moments to act to prevent his cover being blown. He wanted his moment on Monday, wanted to see Nico’s reaction at first hand, and now he had to convince this woman, this stranger, not to tell him. Somehow he had to win her trust quickly, which was no trouble at all for a man like Zander, who could have any woman eating out of his hand in a matter of moments.

      He smiled but his heart was not in it, though surely not a soul on earth could tell, for he had for so long perfected his routine. He looked deep into her eyes and focused on the glittering blue and his hand that was still on her wrist held her more loosely now, but the pulse that leaped beneath his fingers told him that she was in shock and it raced again when next he spoke.

      ‘I am Nico’s twin.’

      ‘Twin?’ She almost laughed at the ridiculousness of her response, for of course he was his twin, except she hadn’t even known that Nico had one.

      ‘I’m Zander.’ And from her blush when he said his name, from the slight catch in her throat, he recognised her. His weekend retreat suddenly became a lot more interesting, a lot more pleasurable perhaps? ‘You must be Charlotte.’ He smiled and it was deadly; it was a smile that had the hairs on her neck rise in strange response, made her arm pull back from his fingers, from the left hand that had shot out to grab her, when Nico would have used his right. ‘Finally we meet.’

      ‘You’re Zander.’ Her eyes flew away from his intense gaze as she wrestled with mortification—for if their dealings had already been a touch inappropriate, they were far more so now. It had been her boss’s twin that she had flirted with.

      Oh, and they had been flirting!

      ‘I didn’t know Nico even had a twin …’ She could not think with him looking at her, could not be in his space. She stepped back a little, moved her eyes from the intensity of his gaze, back to his mouth, but she could not concentrate by looking there, so she looked downwards—to clothes that could never be described as casual, for there was luxury in every thread. The silk and cashmere black jumper billowed in the wind to give a blatant outline of his chest, the charcoal grey linen trousers rested low on narrow hips—there was no escape from his beauty. Even as she searched lower she was met with naked feet, the olive of his skin a contrast to the pale sand, and she wanted to get away from him, wanted the beach to be empty, wanted to get back to the safety of her thoughts and a walk that was gentle and aimless, instead of the confrontation with him.

      ‘Neither does Nico,’ Zander said. ‘On Monday I plan to surprise him.’ He must have seen the flare of worry in her eyes, for he moved swiftly to assure her, ‘I am hoping that the surprise will be a pleasant one …’ He sensed her doubt, knew that her instinct was to flee, and he did not want her spoiling all he had planned, did not want her running to Nico with her tales, but also … He looked down at the pale cream shift dress and the long slender arm he had a moment ago been holding, then up to the face that was just as pleasing as the voice he had dealt with in recent times, to the blonde hair that the wind whipped around her face and, yes, he wanted time with her, wanted to meet the voice that had entranced him, for on Monday, when he had said his piece, when he had wreaked his revenge, for sure, Charlotte would want nothing to do with him.

      ‘I