clearly melting his brain!
He’d come to the Maldives yesterday filled with optimism, after his chief bodyguard had told him Laetitia had been sighted here. He’d known if he could find her on his own and get her safely to good medical care, he would have no need to deal with Växborg. Once Laetitia was well, she could divorce him herself. And Xerxes—he could keep Rose for himself.
But after almost a year of repeated sightings that proved false, Xerxes should have known better than to hope. The small hut at the end of the dusty road on the other side of the island had been deserted. Talking to the neighbors, they discovered that someone who looked like Laetitia had indeed been there. But she’d been moved just two days before, and they did not know where she’d gone. Her caretaker, a toothless old woman who spoke no English and had no medical training, had been paid in cash. The woman said that the young sleeping woman still lived. That was all she knew.
Returning alone to the honeymoon cottage, Xerxes had been furious and angry—at Växborg, but even more at himself.
Why couldn’t he find Laetitia?
Why couldn’t he save her?
Why did he keep failing?
When Xerxes had seen Rose sleeping peacefully at the table on the beach, he’d stopped on the sand. She was alone beneath the sunset, ethereally sexy in those little gauzy robes over a bikini. And he’d suddenly known how he would take out his frustration. How he would take both his solace—and his pleasure.
Before he’d reached out his hand to shake her awake, he’d already decided that he would possess her. He wouldn’t force her. He just wouldn’t leave her any other choice.
No woman could resist a seduction as gentle as a question. Once secure in the false belief that she held all the power, a woman always surrendered. Power was a heady aphrodisiac.
And last night, Rose would have surrendered as well. If he hadn’t let her go.
Why? He rubbed his forehead wearily. Why had he done it? Because he liked her? Because she had a good heart? Because he admired her?
He thought again of her beauty. Of her luscious body. And his eyes narrowed.
Next time, he would be ruthless.
“Did you really sleep out here all night?”
At the sound of her shy voice, he looked up to discover Rose standing awkwardly beside the hammock. She was wearing a little white cover-up of eyelet cotton and flip-flop sandals. Her face was bare and lightly tanned, her blond hair wavy and tumbling down her shoulders. She looked very young.
“Yes,” he said shortly.
“You didn’t have to do that, you know. You could have slept on the couch.” She gave him a tremulous smile. “I don’t bite.”
“Maybe I do.”
“I’m not afraid of you.”
At her shining smile, an ache filled his chest that felt like pain.
Morning had dawned over the beach, streaking pink across the sky over the crystalline waves. A fresh breeze blew through the palm trees overhead, causing tendrils of her blond hair to curl across her beautiful face.
And it was then that he saw it in her face, bright as day. Rose actually cared about him.
The realization jolted him like a kick in the gut. He climbed out of the hammock so quickly that he nearly fell.
“Are you all right?”
“Fine.” He straightened, irritated.
“Why did you leave like that last night?” she persisted, in spite of the clear signals. He didn’t wish to discuss it.
“For your own good,” he muttered.
“What?”
Angrily, he whirled on her. “Just leave it alone. Trust me. You slept better last night without my company.”
She stared at him.
“No,” she said in a low voice. “You’re wrong. I didn’t sleep at all.” Her beautiful face was heartbreakingly angelic as she whispered, “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
Their eyes met, and he couldn’t look away.
He wanted her so badly that his whole body thrummed with it. Painfully. Single-mindedly.
He wanted to take her right here on the deserted beach, to rip off her white cover-up in the pale pink morning, to push her naked body against the sand and kiss and suckle and taste every inch of her skin. He wanted to push himself inside her, to fill her completely, to ride her until she forgot every other lover, until she screamed his name.
Standing before her in yesterday’s T-shirt and jeans, Xerxes held himself still. His hands clenched with the effort it took not to kiss her. “Why were you thinking about me?”
“You try to pretend you’re selfish and cruel,” she said softly. “But I keep thinking about you and coming to one conclusion. You’re a good man.”
He gave a low laugh, like thunder reverberating across the dark sky. “I am not good.” Something snapped inside him and he reached for her shoulders, looking down into her eyes searchingly as he whispered, “But you…you are.”
“Oh.” She blushed. “I’m not so very good. I’ve been feeling quite stupid, actually, driving you away from your bed. The couch, I mean.”
She was stammering, embarrassed. As if she had anything to feel guilty about, when it had been Xerxes who deliberately rented the honeymoon cottage to set the stage for easy seduction! “Don’t worry about it.” He looked down at his clothes, no longer dusty but now stiff from dried seawater. “A night beneath the stars is just what I needed.”
She bit her lip. “Still, I feel badly. No more sleeping outside, all right? Come inside. I’ve made you some breakfast.”
“You did?” He paused, then added dryly, “Is that supposed to be consolation, or punishment?”
“I know how to cook!” she said, sticking out her tongue. “The spaghetti was not my fault. I thought the rice noodles would work.”
He could feel the warmth off her body as he looked down at her. The smile slid from her face as their eyes locked, burning through him.
“Are you sure you can trust me?” he said roughly. “To be alone with you in the cottage?”
Looking up with big eyes, she nodded.
“How do you know?”
“I can feel it. Besides—” she suddenly gave him a cheeky grin “—you gave me a promise.”
She headed toward the cottage. He stared at her for a moment, then followed her, admiring the sweet curve of her backside with every step. She was starting to fill out a bit, he noticed with satisfaction. He would enjoy continuing to fatten her up. He had the sudden image of Rose, rounded and pregnant with his child.
Oh, my God. Sucking in his breath, he stopped in place, nearly slapping himself on the skull. What the hell madness was this?
“This way,” she called. He hurried through the cottage, barely noticing the perfectly swept floors and gleaming kitchen as he hurried past the bedroom door and out onto the lanai. The shadowed patio was still cool in the early morning. He saw she’d set up the little table for two. Next to the coffeepot was a plate with buttered toast and a carefully cut bowl of fruit beside the flowers.
She gave him a grin. “See? I know how to cook.”
“Fruit and toast?”
“I wanted Mrs. Vadi to stay home until her daughter was well.” She looked at him anxiously. “That’s all right, isn’t it? This is what I know how to make.” She gave a sudden giggle. “I know I’m a wretched cook, but I’m actually