Carol Marinelli - One Summer Night

‘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.’

They rode back to the hotel, and only as she climbed off the scooter in such gorgeous surroundings did she realise how grubby and unkempt the day had made her, but she felt as if she was wearing a ballgown as he offered his arm and they walked inside.

‘We will meet for dinner,’ Zander said, for he would not take no tonight. ‘I’ll call for you in an hour. What is your room number?’ He was so direct, so all-assuming. Again she reminded herself that Nico was her boss. She had to somehow wrestle control back, for around Zander she had virtually none.

‘I haven’t said yes yet.’

Oh, you just did, Zander thought, for he could see her pulse leaping above her collarbone, could almost smell the want that was in the air.

‘Fine,’ Zander said, and as he had last night he made as if to leave it, even turned his back and went to walk away, so positive was he she would call him back, but he was caught off guard by her words.

‘Perhaps I should offer to take you to dinner,’ Charlotte said, and he turned his head. ‘I am sure Nico would expect no less.’

She saw his eyes shutter, for a moment thought she might have offended him, but when she looked again he was smiling, and she must have imagined the flash of darkness.

‘I’ll meet you in the foyer,’ Charlotte said, not sure she wanted this stunning man knocking at her hotel-room door, not sure at all that she could resist him.

‘I’ll look forward to it’ was all that Zander said.

And so too would she.

She rang the nursing home and, as advised, spoke not to her mother but to the staff and was informed that Amanda had settled in a little better, which should have reassured her, but she didn’t quite believe it was true.

‘If she does get upset,’ Charlotte said, ‘please remind her that this is just temporary, that I’ll be home in a couple of days.’

It might bring comfort to Amanda, but it brought little to Charlotte. She truly didn’t know if she missed her mum, if she even wanted to get back to her real life. There was guilt with the realisation, guilt that seemed to layer on guilt, but she quashed it. She was determined to just enjoy her time her on Xanos, to go back a better daughter for the temporary reprieve.

He was a reprieve, Charlotte told herself, a brief indulgence that she could handle, dinner and perhaps one more kiss.

As she undressed in the bathroom, slipped her freshly foiled hair into a hotel shower cap, she felt more like the old Charlotte than she ever had—felt like the jet-set woman she once had been, a woman who could handle a man like Zander Kargas.

It was bliss to sink into the bath, and more to step out of the bathroom and to see the pulled curtains, to resist the temptation to open them. It was heady and dizzy but she felt as if his eyes could burn through the fabric as she massaged her skin with oil, felt as if he was watching her as she dressed slowly.

For him.

Somehow he made the fantasy real.

Made her feel special enough to take that extra care.

She was used to doing her hair quickly, so she stood in the marble bathroom and smoothed it out with her trusty straighteners, but it needed something more so she skilfully spun thick, heavy ringlets, over and over again, each one, Charlotte thought, for Zander. With each curl, she imagined his fingers through it later, and then told herself there could be none of that.

She told herself he was a guest of Nico’s tonight, if only to help herself behave.

There wasn’t really much decision as to what to wear. She had brought her faithful travel wardrobe of old, which consisted of a black evening dress, a touch slinky with spaghetti straps, and a small wrap, or another more demure dress, a soft brushed velvet in chocolate brown with a cowl neck.

She settled for the brown.

Hoped the demure cut of the dress might calm her but, even slipping it on, the sex in her mind brought the dress to life; the fabric seemed tighter around her bust and more clingy over her hips. Her eyes glittered in anticipation and her cheeks glowed at the very thought of Zander. She begged herself to reel it in. She had to keep her head for one night, one night only, for tomorrow the secret would be out. Tomorrow she could fall into his arms, as she now so badly wanted to.