Kate Hewitt - Rising Stars & It Started With… Collections

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.

She was dizzy with lust as she sprayed fragrance not just on her wrists and neck but the backs of her knees too. She imagined his mouth there on the tender flesh and she knew she must not, that tonight somehow she had to resist him, that tomorrow, after tomorrow, when he and Nico were reconciled, when things were more ordered, then she could think about them.

Except she could only think about him.

Could only shiver at the memory of his kiss.

It wasn’t a date. It was not a date, she told herself, but it felt like it was as she glossed her lips and had one final check in the mirror.

Zander was absolutely potent and she had to keep her head tonight, had to see how things went with Nico and Zander before she did anything. She almost doubled up then, stunned at the possibilities her mind lurched to, for he made her feel rash, dizzy, to want .

Zander too smiled as he looked into the mirror.

Tonight would be such an unexpected treat.

He had enjoyed flirting with Charlotte on the phone, getting her to open up a little, and though last night he had more intended to loosen her tongue with fine wine, the stakes were raised now. He had not anticipated the rare beauty of her, that she might live up to the voice he had enjoyed these past weeks.

Now he wanted her.

Wanted her to sob his name into his brother’s mouth. How sweet was delayed revenge, for he wanted everything his brother had and then some more, but the thought of her with another made him churn in a way he never had before. As he stared into the mirror he chose not to shave, just splashed on cologne. Then his thoughts were darker, his intent deeper, for he would leave Nico with nothing, as he had been left with nothing, and his mind was made up. It was not a cruel decision, Zander told himself as he headed down to meet her. He might be misleading her but soon she would come to understand.

Tonight he would have Charlotte in his bed.

Tomorrow she would be in his life.

CHARLOTTE had worked long enough with Nico to know how he liked things, and what he expected from her when dealing with clients. She knew as she arrived before their arranged time that, despite the butterflies in her stomach, despite the thrill of an evening with Zander, she was, even if Nico was unaware, working for her boss tonight.

She did as Nico would expect of her—arriving in the foyer a full fifteen minutes early, she whiled the time away till Zander arrived looking into the boutique windows at the bags and purses with leather so soft they seemed to beg her to go in and stroke them. She wandered to the jeweller’s, blinked at the most stunning of necklaces, thick with rubies and diamonds. She had possibly never seen anything so lovely.

‘It would look good around your neck.’

She heard his words, heard his greeting, smelt the freshly washed male scent of him. It felt as if not the necklace but Zander was around her throat, for it was so tight as she turned to greet him.

Oh, he had once looked like Nico, but now, to Charlotte, all he was was Zander. There could be no mistake ever again. It wasn’t just that Zander’s hair was a little longer, his strong jaw shadowed, his eyelids slightly heavier lidded, his skin a touch darker. With Zander she felt far from safe, for each parting meant a new greeting and each time the stakes seemed raised. She registered the flare of danger that ignited whenever he approached, acknowledged that he took her, without asking, completely out of her usual bounds. It was Sunday night in Xanos, the dress code smart casual, and Zander wore it incredibly well—black dinner trousers with a white fitted shirt that showed his toned body. His hair was tousled but gleaming yet there was an edge to him, something in the unshaven jaw and black gypsy eyes that set him apart, a statement made without words, something that warned he had never been and could never be tamed.

‘Have you been waiting long?’ Zander asked.

‘Not at all,’ she tried, even if it was a little late to do so, to sound professional, to make things clear, to draw a safe line. ‘Anyway, you’re my guest.’

‘Had you been mine,’ Zander pointed out as the maître d’ suggested they take a seat at the bar and their table would be ready in a few moments, ‘our table would have already been ready.’

Not used to waiting, especially in a hotel he owned, Zander did not actually mind, for instead of the clean white linen and neat order of the restaurant they were led to a dark sultry bar that was to be their holding pen. He had seen the designs, the finished product on the computer, had even been in here last night, but had not really appreciated it till now.

Zander suppressed a smile as she sat down, her bottom lower than her knees on the extremely low couches, revealing a stretch of thigh. It was not his fault, of course, that he sat just an inch too close, that the soft plush of the sofa rolled his body in just a little, till the fabric of his black trousers almost melted as it encountered her flesh. He felt her attempt a discreet wriggle away as she tried not to touch him, but there was nowhere to go.

‘I’m sorry about this.’ She tried a smile that was supposed to come out professional and businesslike, tried to pretend that it was Nico for whom the table was not waiting, because with him she could talk, could laugh and yet reveal nothing. ‘The table shouldn’t be much longer.’

‘I’m more than happy to wait,’ Zander said as their drinks were delivered.

As she sat too close to this dangerous image, this sexy version of her boss, Charlotte felt as if she was in some erotic dream, some wild, vivid dream, where she would be unable to look at Nico in the morning thinking of the terrible, reckless, depraved things she had done with his twin, for how could a mouth look so divine just biting into the lime of his gin? How could a finger look so sexy and dark and debauched as it stirred the ice though his drink?

There was no lack of manners, he was not being rude, but it was sex and she knew it. He melted the ice with his finger as he was melting her now.

‘Where were we?’ Zander said, and she struggled to remember whatever it was she’d been saying, struggled to keep her head in the most oppressive environments.

‘About to have dinner,’ Charlotte said, her eyes pleading for the waiter, for the summons to their table, for she could feel the length of his thigh against hers, remembered the press of him on the Xanos hillside. She had been a fool to think she could handle this, that for a moment she could resist the potent force of him.