Midnight in the Desert Collection. Оливия Гейтс

and a simple stone house on another. That’s the island they were landing on.

      The pilot slowly touched down in a clearing before the house and Zale opened the door, climbed out and helped Hannah out. The pilot handed Zale a leather duffel and they spoke together for a moment before taking off.

      Hannah watched the helicopter lift off, blades whirring, leaving them alone on a deserted island in the middle of the Adriatic Sea. “He’s coming back for us, right?”

      Zale’s lips curved in a trace of a smile. “Don’t worry. He’ll be back before it’s dark. But even if he isn’t, my security detail has been in the water since midmorning. They’ve secured the island and they can be here in minutes.”

      “Do you come here often?” she asked, shouldering her beach tote bag and looking around. The simple farm-style house had thick stone walls, single-pane glass windows and a pale terracotta tiled roof.

      He shook his head. “Haven’t been here in years.”

      “Why?”

      “Haven’t had the desire, nor the time.”

      The sun was now directly overhead and it was hot in the sunlight. Hannah peeled her navy jacket off. “I should have brought shorts or worn a skirt.”

      “You’ll be in your swimsuit soon. We’re about to head down to the beach for lunch.”

      “Is that our picnic lunch?” she asked, gesturing to the small leather duffel.

      “Nope. My suit, towels and sunscreen.”

      “Where’s lunch?”

      “Hungry?”

      “Thirsty.”

      “Come. Let’s go to the beach. Everything’s already there.”

      They walked across the clearing toward the cypress trees and a steep staircase chiseled into the stone cliff.

      Hannah followed Zale down the stairs slowly, careful not to trip in her heels. The sun beat down on the top of her head and she grew hotter by the moment. Her elegant sandals were totally impractical for the steep descent and her white trousers grew dusty at the hem. And yet the ocean sparkled far below, the sapphire and turquoise water lapping against ivory sand.

      The deep blue water looked impossibly inviting. Hannah couldn’t wait to get her feet wet. She loved to swim and looked forward to stretching out in the sun.

      Zale waited for her at the bottom of the stairs. He’d taken off his shoes and rolled up his sleeves revealing strong tan forearms. “No more stairs till later.”

      She slipped off her high-heel sandals, flexing her toes. “Good. That was a little scary.”

      She’d thought they’d already reached the beach but Zale walked around the corner to another private beach. A large colorful blanket was spread out on the sand with a large basket anchoring one corner, and an ice chest on another.

      Zale crouched next to the ice chest and opened the top. “Chef took care of us. Beer, wine, water, juice. What would you like to drink?”

      “Beer, please,” she said, kneeling down on the blanket, feet blistered and totally parched.

      “Beer?”

      “I love a cold beer on a hot summer day. Don’t you?”

      “Yes, but not many women do.” He withdrew two chilled bottles and a chilled glass.

      “I don’t need a glass,” she said, waving off the glass and taking one of the opened bottles from him. “How did this all get here?” she asked, gesturing to the basket and ice chest.

      “My security detail brought it earlier when they secured the island.”

      “Is this a family island?”

      He unbuttoned his shirt, giving her a tantalizing view of tan, taut skin over sinewy muscle. “No, I bought it back when I played football for a living. I wanted a place far from crowds, paparazzi and overly friendly fans.”

      Hannah almost licked her lips. He looked incredible. The dense curved muscles of his chest gave way to lean hard abs. “Did you bring your girlfriends here?”

      “Just one, and only once. She found it too isolated for her liking.”

      “So what do you do when you’re here?”

      “Sleep. Read. Relax.”

      She sipped her beer. “What do you read?” “Everything. Novels. Biographies. Histories. Whatever I can get my hands on.”

      Her lips curved and she settled onto the blanket. “Do you have a favorite author?”

      “I do, but I don’t think he’s writing anymore. Most of his books were published nearly twenty years ago. James Clavell is his name. He wrote Shogun, Tai-Pan, Noble House—”

      “King Rat,” she supplied, smiling. “I loved his books. My father introduced me to him. For years I wanted to learn Japanese.”

      “Did you?”

      “No. You couldn’t find Japanese language classes in B—” Hannah broke off, realizing she came dangerously close to saying Bandera, her hometown in Texas. She flushed, took a quick sip of her beer. “I learned Spanish and Italian instead.”

      “You’re fluent in both?”

      “Yes. You are, too. I read somewhere that you know more languages than any other modern royal. Do languages just come easily to you?”

      “I worked at it, the same way I worked at playing football. You don’t improve if you don’t apply yourself.”

      “Not everyone is willing to work that hard.”

      He shrugged, the thin fabric of his shirt clinging to his broad shoulders and outlining his muscles. “I don’t mind hard work. Never have.”

      Hannah bit her lip, liking him more with every moment that passed. Zale was her kind of man—gorgeous, built and brilliant, too. Not fair, she thought breathlessly, far too attracted for her own good.

      What she needed was to cool down. “Feel like swimming?” she asked.

      “Good idea. It’s hot.” He pointed along the cliff to an opening in the rock. “There’s a little alcove over there by the rock where you can change. Or if you don’t like caves, you can just change here, and I promise not to look.”

      “Cave sounds great,” Hannah answered, grabbing her suit and getting to her feet.

      In the hollowed-out rock she stripped off her clothes and stepped into the tangerine bikini bottoms before tying the strings of the bikini top around her neck and back. The tiny shiny orange triangles barely covered anything and she sucked in her stomach as if she could somehow make herself smaller.

      It took all of her courage to walk back to the blanket in nothing but her suit.

      It didn’t help that Zale stood at the edge of the water, watching her walk. He’d changed while she was gone and was wearing black and red surfer-style board shorts instead of the traditional European men’s suit.

      She liked the long board shorts. They hung low on his lean hips, showing off his flat, chiseled stomach. He looked like a surfer—tan, lean, muscular—and she couldn’t remember the last time she had found a man this sexy.

      Dropping her clothes on the blanket, Hannah walked toward him. “I like your board shorts. Do you surf?”

      “I do.” He paused. “Well, I did. I grew up surfing—my brother Stephen was really good—but haven’t gone on a true surf trip in years.”

      She waded into the water, gasping a little at the cool temperature. “Where would you go?”

      “Wherever there were good waves. Rincon, Brazil, Indonesia, Costa Rica.” He