Kitabı oku: «Rising Stars Collection 2015», sayfa 3

CHAPTER THREE

ZANDER walked along the golden beach of Xanos, but as scenic as the view was, as pleasant the water, his stomach churned with bile. Everywhere his gaze fell brought a fresh memory, spearing his scalp as if arrows were aimed at it.

Why had he bought the south of the island? Why had he invested so much time and money in a place he would rather forget?

He should have left well alone.

He looked towards the land, to the vast complex he had built, and he thought of the scaled model that was in his office in Australia. Usually he was hands on with his investments, but not this time. He had vowed never to return, yet here he was, and no matter how accurate the model, it was different seeing the real thing—seeing firsthand the houses that would soon be bulldozed to make way for a nightclub and more shops and restaurants. He looked to where Nico lived and knew it had once been their grandfather’s home, that their mother had been raised there. How it hurt to be back on Xanos sand. Yes, it had been a magnificent investment. Perhaps only a local could ever have envisaged the true potential of the hidden side of Xanos—the humble fishing village that was just waiting to be transformed—yet for all the prestige and profit, for all the erasure of the landscape he hated, all this place had ever brought him was pain, and it was doing so now.

His head throbbed from lack of sleep and he turned his mind to tomorrow, to the long-awaited confrontation with his twin—and Zander wondered if he had blown it, for no doubt Charlotte would have rung her boss already. He should have stayed in his suite, should have spent the weekend in isolation. Yet, Zander mused as he walked, he had enjoyed spending time with Charlotte. He glanced up at the hotel. Used to staring at the model in his office, he easily worked out which was her room, thought of her in it and wondered if she was preparing to join him.

It had not been his intention to call her this morning, but he had thought of the day that stretched ahead, the wait that that would be interminable without diversion.

‘Forget it,’ he told himself, heading back to his suite, and to the shower. He would contact her later, take her to dinner—women were for the night-time, a reward for hard work, a balm for insomnia, not for spending the day with. Still, he was curious whether she had told Nico, which, he told himself, was the reason he had called her.

Charlotte approached, and she was nervous, dressed in shorts and a strappy vest, topped with the previous day’s cardigan. Her eyes were bruised with lack of sleep courtesy of this very man. Another call to Nico had gone unanswered and, as gorgeous as the smile was as Zander turned to greet her, still she would set the ground rules.

‘Morning.’ She made herself say it. ‘I’d prefer not to speak about Nico.’

‘Of course not,’ Zander said.

‘I just don’t feel comfortable …’ She was honest with this. ‘I haven’t been able to contact him yet.’

‘You don’t have to explain yourself. I’m just glad that you joined me. Let’s see what they have prepared.’

The hotel had put on a sumptuous breakfast and they sat on the deserted beach and she drank hot chocolate, while Zander chose coffee. They both ate yoghurt drizzled with passion fruit and then pastries, which Zander thought tasted somehow sweeter this morning.

‘I love seeing new places.’ Charlotte dug her toes into the sand, looked up at the sky and to the flash of a silver plane but again, with him beside her, she did not want to be up there.

‘What do you miss most about travelling?’ He followed her gaze.

‘All of it really.’ She gave a smile. ‘Except the unpacking. I don’t know, I love airports, the excitement. I love going to new places, exploring them. My friend Shirley and I …’ She did not continue, for sometimes she choked a little when she thought of those times, and the hours between flights that had been spent so well.

‘Have you looked around Xanos?’

‘Not yet,’ Charlotte said. ‘Maybe later today.’ He was such good company, such an intriguing man, because it was not he who pushed for information. Instead, Charlotte asked the questions for he fascinated her so. When asked, he told her about his hotel chain, about the casinos he owned, about his life on the other side of the world.

‘You must have missed this, though,’ Charlotte offered, turning to watch as he stared out to the Mediterranean, just as he had yesterday.

‘Australia is hardly lacking in beaches,’ Zander pointed out. ‘I have an office and a property in Sydney that overlooks what is arguably the most beautiful harbour in the world.’ If it sounded like a boast, it had not been intended as one. More, Zander was trying to convince himself. For how could he miss a place that had brought nothing but pain—a view, this view, that as a child and later as a teenager he had wept into.

It should be hard to fathom now, strong, independent, beyond wealthy, it should be impossible to recall with precision just how afraid and confused he had once been, but when he looked out to the ocean, to a small mound of rocks a few hundred metres out where the waves crashed and broke up, he could wipe away twenty years. He could feel the fear and the confusion, the bruises on his back and legs from his father’s beating, the wrenching pain that came with true hunger and the bewilderment of being left behind—that a mother, his mother, might have left him to deal with this. It was painful to recall it even now.

Each minute that passed brought him a minute closer to his brother, to the twin his mother had chosen to take.

Each minute that passed brought him closer to the confrontation of which he had long dreamed, the moment where he would finally face the brother who had lived in the lap of luxury while he had eaten from bins, the brother who had had been given the velvet-glove treatment, while he had been ruled by a fist.

‘Every beach is different though …’ Charlotte’s voice was softer than his thoughts. ‘And this feels like a slice of heaven.’

Or hell.

‘It was not all happy.’ He heard his voice, heard his own words, and it stunned him into silence, for he never revealed anything and certainly he should not to the PA of his twin. And yet as she turned, as she did not speak, just moved her mouth into a wry smile, she offered not words but the space of her mind. She turned her attention fully to him, and for once he did not want to retreat. ‘The memories are not all good.’

‘But are there some good ones?’

And his mind shifted because, yes, there had been some. He looked back at the ocean, to the same mound of rocks, and recalled teenage boys jumping, he in the middle, egging each other on. He remembered waiting for the tourist buses before it had turned more sordid, when pretty young things would arrive and he could escape. He remembered then the happier bits, instead of later—when he had relied on his looks to secure a bed, had kissed older, drunk women, for it had meant breakfast the next day. And his mind turned to the market at the north of the island, to being chased for stealing fruit and then laughing with friends as they’d eaten. There had been no innocence in his youth, but there had been some fun.

‘We would go to the market …’ Again, he was stunned that he told her, yet it felt good to speak, to share with another. ‘We were about twelve.’ He told her of the thieving and she laughed, but not too much, for after all he had been hungry. And he told her too of the taverna that would fill with tourists at night, how he had always looked older … He did not tell her about the women, or scrabbling through the bins out the back for something to eat. He told her the better bits and smiled at the better bits, and then Zander surprised himself again.

‘I will show you Xanos,’ he offered. ‘The real Xanos.’

She thought, because it was Zander, that she would be swallowed again by a huge limo, that the island of Xanos would be revealed to her through thick darkened glass, but instead he rang ahead and by the time they had made their way back, to her surprise and nervous delight two scooters had been delivered to the foyer of the hotel.

‘I’ve never ridden a scooter …’

‘I thought you liked exploring.’

‘On foot,’ Charlotte said, and then laughed. ‘Or on camel.’

He smiled at the thought. ‘Few tourists have ridden a scooter when they come here. You’ll soon pick it up.’

She wanted him to change his mind, to offer to let her climb on his scooter, to coast the island nestled into his back, but never did he offer easy; instead, he pushed her out of her comfort zone. She was grateful for it, for after a few nervous goes she enjoyed the thrill of riding her little scooter, the absence of a helmet not the only rule that was broken. With Zander she felt as if she were flying the trapeze without a safety net. It was wild and dangerous, the thrill of the chase, cat and mouse, as he accelerated ahead of her and waited for her to catch up, then sped off, laughing again.

The only blot on her happiness was a phone that still had not rung, and as they parked their bikes in the marketplace and they walked into a taverna, she caught him looking as she checked her phone.

‘It’s up to you whether or not you tell him, Charlotte,’ Zander said as they took a seat. ‘I don’t want to put pressure on you. I just had hoped to surprise him. I have long thought of the day that we see each other again.’

‘He’s my boss,’ she attempted, and thankfully he did seem to understand.

‘I have put you in an impossible situation,’ Zander said. ‘Really, I should have just stayed in my suite. I should be there now …’ He looked into her eyes and the world seemed to stop. ‘But then we would have missed out on our day, so I cannot regret it.’

Neither could she.

It seemed like for ever since she had been so self-indulgent, not just with the food or the views, but with the company and conversation, and though she did her utmost to remain distant, warned herself it was a distinct lack of male company in recent years that made Zander impress her so—that a couple of years ago, she could so easily have handled him—she knew that she was lying to herself. For in whatever life she might be living, in whatever circumstances they might meet, Zander would have consumed her on sight.

‘Soon you will be back in London,’ Zander said, ‘and I will be back in Australia.’ His words were a brutal reminder that all they had was measured in days, a warning—or was it permission he was giving her?—to just enjoy this, to be the glamorous party girl that he perceived she was. ‘To our day,’ he said, and raised his glass. How delicious the sparkling water tasted as it slid down her throat, how heady and exhilarating it was to be with him, but she felt her face redden when her phone rang. There was sweat beading on her lip, which probably wasn’t the most attractive of looks, but she was not thinking of that as she picked up her phone and saw that finally Nico was returning her call.

‘Excuse me a moment.’ Charlotte stood. ‘I might take this outside.’

He wanted to know what was discussed, he needed to know, so Zander had a word with the waiter and handed him a very nice tip, warning him to be discreet. The waiter then headed out to clear the tables.

Charlotte took a seat at a small table, and took a deep breath as she answered, nervous to tell Nico but knowing she had to, no matter what Zander might think, no matter the surprise she spoiled, Nico was her boss and somehow, despite the dizzying effect of Zander close by, she must keep her head and remember that fact.

‘Charlotte, it’s Constantine.’ The sound of Nico’s wife caught her by surprise. ‘Nico knows you’ve been trying to get hold of him—he asked me to ring you back.’

‘I really need to speak with him.’

‘His father’s been taken ill,’ Constantine explained, and then clarified. ‘His adoptive father. You know things have been tense …’ Charlotte was quiet as Constantine took a steadying breath. Tense was the understatement of the year, for since Nico had guessed that he had been adopted, the already fragile relationship with his father had been tested beyond its limits. His adoptive parents had not even attended the wedding, and Charlotte closed her eyes in sympathy as Constantine made things fright-eningly clear. ‘He’s on the small hospital in Lathira, but Nico is having him flown now to the mainland as things are very serious. Nico will be at the meeting tomorrow, but for now he asks that you hold the fort. He wants you to arrange a seven a.m. flight from Athens—he really wants to attend the meeting—but then he will fly directly back.’

‘The thing is …’ Charlotte attempted, but she halted. She could hear the chimes of the hospital, their baby, Leo, was crying too, and now was not the time. How could she reveal something so personal, and not even to Nico himself? Perhaps Zander was right. The surprise would be more meaningful coming from his brother and surely Nico did not need any extra stress right now. ‘Tell Nico everything is fine. Tell him that there is good news waiting for him when he gets to Xanos and give him my best wishes.’

‘I will. I have to go now, Charlotte.’

She rang off the phone and sat silent for a moment, declined when a nice waiter offered to bring her drink outside. ‘It’s okay—I’ll be back in a moment.’

So she was on her own with the secret.

She looked into the bar where Zander sat and, to his credit, he did not look over, was not trying to work out what she had said to his brother and to see if she had spoiled the surprise; instead, he chatted to the waiter as his glass was refilled and smiled as she walked back into the taverna.

‘Do you want to eat lunch here?’ She was incredibly grateful that he did not try to delve, did not ask what she had said to Nico, and she returned his smile, with one that came from the bottom of heart, for now she trusted him.

‘That would be lovely.’

She trusted this beautiful man to do the right thing by her boss, and by her.

Believed in tomorrow as she sat down and Zander took her hand.

After all, she had no reason to think otherwise.

He ordered hot peppered calamari and for Zander it was good to be back, to sit at a table with money in his wallet, to look the owner in the eye when he came in and laugh as he called out something in Greek.

‘What did he say?’ Charlotte asked, wishing her Greek was better.

‘“Alexandros, you were banned from here,”’ Zander translated, and then she was treated to that stunning smile. ‘Then he said, “Welcome back”.’

‘Alexandros?’

‘As I was then.’ He looked into eyes that were blue, eyes that held his, eyes that made him go on. ‘After my father.’

‘He’s …’ Charlotte swallowed, for this much Nico had told her. ‘He’s deceased?’

‘He is.’

‘And your mother?’

And the question that yesterday had been probing felt different now, more like natural conversation, but if he answered with truth, if she glimpsed his hate, she’d be gone. All Zander knew was that he did not want that, he wanted this day, so his answer was guarded instead. ‘I’ve never known my mother.’

‘Did you always know that you had a twin?’

‘I thought Nico was off limits,’ Zander said. ‘Your rule.’ He gave her a smile as he stood and put down some money for the bill. ‘Come on, we can ride to the hills.’

It was a day that was, for both of them, different.

For later, as afternoon turned to evening, as they parked the scooters and walked high in the hills of Xanos, the air chilly now, he was not plotting revenge, or thinking about tomorrow. Instead, he was thinking beyond that to a place he had never been—could almost see her in his world.

‘I have hotels and casinos across Australasia. I do a lot of travelling …’ They stopped at a flat rock and she nodded when he suggested that they take a moment to relax. She sat on the rock, enjoying the view, not just of Xanos but of a world he was painting for her. ‘You’ve been to Singapore?’

‘Not on my route.’ Charlotte smiled.

‘Then you have missed an amazing place. There is good shopping, amazing salons …’ She gave a wry smile, for dressed in her work best, with her finger- and toenails painted and her roots freshly done, her eyebrows newly shaped, it was a natural assumption that this was how she lived. Despite the coolness, her cheeks reddened, for all the lies she had told, the weddings and cocktails and long lunches with friends that had never happened. ‘Unlike your boss, I would want my PA to be around …’ He saw a blush darken her cheeks as he gently explored what was becoming an option. A job that was a hundred per cent glamour. He could give her this every day, instead of it being a rare treat.

‘I thought we weren’t talking about Nico.’

‘We’re not,’ Zander said, ‘we’re talking about work.’

‘I’m very happy with what I do now.’ She stood as if to catch her breath, but instead it was to bite down on a sudden urge to weep, for he was offering her the world, and how she wanted to say yes, to be the woman he thought she was—if only she could be.

‘I would pay you more.’ He wanted his way, he always got his way, and he would have it now.

‘It’s not about money!’ Her voice came out shrill, too sharp, too strained to pretend she was not upset. She could barely manage to keep up the façade for a week, let alone permanently.

‘I would look after you better than he,’ Zander said, and he meant it. For he would look after her and that would start now.

Zander was at his most potent. The walk in the hills that had seemingly so naturally unfolded had been absolutely contrived. This was a route he had trodden so many times in his youth. It was no convenient rock they had ambled towards—this was his stomping ground, here, where with women he had always got his way. The letters ‘AK’ were carved in the rock beneath the moss where her bottom had sat.

‘Zander, I don’t know if I’ve …’ How could she say it, how could she tell him about her real and drab life? She had not set out to lie, but knew of course that she had. ‘I think I’ve misled you …’ She saw his face darken. And darken it did as he braced himself to hear that Nico was, as he surely had already known, far more than a boss. ‘I haven’t told you—’

‘Don’t,’ he interrupted her, for he did not need to hear it. He did not need an angel, Zander reminded himself, he was here only to get revenge. ‘You don’t have to say anything.’ And then he said something else, something that, despite the cool Xanos breeze, made her warm inside, had her sit back down when his hand took her wrist. ‘Let us enjoy our day.’ She wanted that, wanted so very much this escape. She did not want to cloud it, to spoil it, to bring reality in to this magical place. ‘Maybe you’ll think about my job offer later, maybe …’

‘I …’ How could she say that she wouldn’t think about it when it was all she would ever think about, even if it could never be? She closed her eyes and entered the luxury of his offer, working for him, seeing more of him, and then as his lips dusted her mouth, they confirmed the full extent of the debauchery behind his proposition. Yet it did not offend, it was the most delicious sensation she had felt in years, his lips warmer than her cool ones, his mouth so much more in control than hers. All she did was feel it—feel the warm pulse of his flesh on hers. She relished the weight of a mouth that moved slowly, a mouth that warmed rapidly, and she took his breath into her and held it, and held it some more, and then breathed it back to him and now they were one. It was one kiss that both were sharing, for now her mouth moved on his, now she tasted him, and their kiss was a slow one, a warning, a heady warning that there was so much more to come.

When Zander kissed, it was always with intent, a means to an end, a temporary place where he’d prefer not to linger, and now, in a minute, his hand would wander. Soon, in a minute, he would press her back to lie on the mossy stone, but there were things in this kiss that he had never noticed before, that her eyelashes swept on his temple and that the tip of her tongue was like a balm that made him forget the hell.

Sex made him forget, he reminded himself, kissing her just a little bit harder, for surely that was where this must lead, but she seemed to want more of a taste of him and, yes, he actually liked her tongue’s tentative exploration, liked the faint taste of their breaths mingled. Had it not been so delicious he would have taken her right there on the hillside, would have moved his hand from A to B and then a moment later a little lower again—would have worked the trusted formula that never failed. Had their kiss not been so unusually pleasing, he would have had her panties in his hand just about now, except all they were doing were kissing, and he did not want Charlotte bare-bottomed on a hill.

Oh, but he did, Zander thought as his mouth still moved hers and his ardor deepened as, not on formula but instinct, his hand moved beneath her waist to the low rise of her shorts. He wanted his fingers to slip in there, wanted where this could so, so easily lead, but he did not want her embarrassment afterwards. He resisted the lure of her zip and his fingers moved to the hemline, dug into her tender inner thigh as he attempted a rapid halt but it was she kissing him now, her tongue calling the shots.

She hadn’t been kissed in so very long, and never more thoroughly than now—so expert his tongue, so blissful his hands, so faint-making his scent, all she wanted was to give in to the press of his mouth and move backwards, to lie down under him, to relish the bliss of his hands—hands that slid from her arm to her waist. There was the faint brush of his thumb on her nipple and the sound of foreign birdsong, and so easily he took her away, so tenderly he removed each splinter on her mind, each shackle to her heart that with one kiss she forgot what she knew. With his kiss she lost the hurt and forgot to be wary.

His hands were near her bottom and then moving around to the front, the weight of him pinning her down, then the bliss of his fingers pressing into her thighs, climbing and then resting and then slowly climbing again as her mouth beckoned him on and, with his kiss, it was hard to remember she was here to work, here as Nico’s PA. Somehow, as his mouth dragged her under, as his kisses pressed her down to the mossy rock beneath, her mind fought its way to the surface, resisted delicious temptation and remembered the reason she was here.

‘Nico!’ He heard the word in his mouth and he almost spat it out, heard her say his twin’s name as he kissed her, and as her head pulled back, so too did his.

‘The name’s Zander!’ Black were the eyes that looked down at her, and the tone of his voice sent a chill through her.

‘I meant …’ Did he really think she had mistaken him, that in the throes of passion she had been thinking of Nico? ‘I forgot that I’m supposed to be at work.’ Surely she must have mistaken the ice in his voice and the anger in his eyes, for there was no trace of either now, just the familiar smile that warmed and a brief kiss to her lips as still he pressed on top of her that told her all was okay. ‘I don’t think I should be here.’

He actually agreed, for the mossy hillside was not where he wanted to sample Charlotte. He wanted her only in his bed now. He wanted her writhing and sobbing beneath him, wanted to ensure a future where it was his name she sobbed into Nico’s mouth.

‘Look.’ She aimed for confidence in her voice, even if she could not quite meet his eyes. ‘That should never have happened …’

‘That?’ Zander said, and his fingers gently stroked, crept up, just a little, but enough to remind her where they’d been heading. ‘Or this?’ He was still lying over her; she could feel his erection pressed into her hip, could feel his fingers at the hem of her shorts, and she felt as if the devil was beckoning.

It would be so much easier to simply kiss that mouth back, to deliciously resume; but the ease of her response to him unnerved her—and not for a moment could he comprehend how out of character this was, that the polished, sophisticated, well-travelled woman was, in fact, a ghost from her past, not the Charlotte she had now become. Neither would he understand that even the Charlotte of old would never have found herself half-naked on a hillside, that only with him had this wanton woman emerged.

‘None of it,’ she attempted, except it died on her lips, because back in London her only regret would surely be halting things.

‘Well, for what it’s worth …’ he kissed her cheek as he released her ‘… I’m glad that it did. Let’s get you back.’ It was Zander, slightly breathless as he stood, Zander who rearranged her clothes and then offered his hand. As she took it, she felt as if she was handing over her heart, felt for a giddy moment as if she’d found the one person who would take care of her. Damp night swirled in on Xanos, and her head was literally in the clouds as she walked down the hillside with him.

‘What is that bird?’ She could hear the same call that had danced in her mind as he had kissed her, its song following her now down the hillside and she craned her neck, her eyes scanning the trees to glimpse the bird that made the strange ‘po-po’ call.

‘It’s the hoopoe bird,’ Zander explained. ‘You rarely see them, you just hear them, but they are beautiful birds. They’ll be gone soon …’

Like you, Charlotte thought as they walked down the hillside, a rare beauty she had briefly glimpsed but could never hope to truly capture. She wanted to be back in his arms, wanted more of his kiss, but instead she held onto his hand as they walked and Zander talked.

‘They head to the Canary Islands for the colder months.’

‘It’s a strange call.’ She stood for a moment and listened, drank in the unfamiliar sound, wanted to remember the Xanos hillside for ever. ‘So relaxing.’

‘Not for the locals.’ Zander interrupted her thoughts. ‘They say when the hoopoe sings in the evening then soon there will be war. It’s just superstition.’ He smiled as her eyes widened. ‘The island is full of it.’ His hand was warm around hers, his smile reassuring. ‘You like birds?’

‘I guess,’ Charlotte said as they reached their scooters. ‘I think I like anything that can fly.’