By late afternoon, they had arrived via private jet to an island in the crystal blue waters of the Indian Ocean. Above a white, sandy beach, palm trees swayed in the hot breeze.
“Where are we?” Rose stammered, yawning from her nap as they climbed out of the SUV.
“The Maldives,” he said simply. She turned to stare at him in shock.
“How many islands do you own anyway?” she said faintly.
He gave a hearty laugh. “I don’t own this one. We’re at a resort owned by a friend of mine, Nikos Stavrakis. He’s assigned a full-time housekeeper to this cottage exclusively for our stay. The bodyguards will be at the gatehouse a mile down the road.”
Taking her hand, Xerxes escorted her into a small yellow cottage on a private, secluded beach. Inside the main living area, a fan moved the air from the high wooden ceiling. Through the wall of windows, she saw a private pool and veranda beside the white beach and azure waters, beneath swaying palm trees.
Rose had read about Stavrakis resorts. They were swanky hotels for rich people, the kind of glamorous places she read about in celebrity gossip magazines. Utterly out of reach of a regular person like her.
She glanced around the cottage. Cozy as it was, on a private beach with devoted housekeeper, she still wouldn’t be surprised if it cost ten thousand dollars a night.
And they would be sharing this intimate space alone. She looked back at Xerxes, and the cottage suddenly seemed a little smaller.
“There’s no television,” he said. “But I don’t think you’ll miss it.”
She licked her lips. “Why not? What will we be doing?”
“A selection of new books and magazines has been provided for you. The housekeeper will prepare delicious meals and clean and do anything else you need. You’ll have nothing to do but sit on the beach and work on your tan.”
She stared at him. Then she scowled. “Meaning—I can’t leave.”
“You have no need to.”
But it meant she couldn’t sneak into the local village to look for an Internet café or try to telephone her family. She looked around her. There wasn’t even a phone here, much less a computer with a modem.
“Do you like the cottage?”
She glared at him. “Sure. It’s lovely—for a prison.”
“If you wish to regard it that way.”
“How else should I see it?”
“You could call it a vacation.” Lifting a dark eyebrow, he gave her a wicked half smile. His eyes traced her body. “It’s a pity we had no time to pack in Greece. Fortunately I’ve arranged a new wardrobe for you here.”
He pushed open the sliding doors to reveal the bedroom. Walking to a closet, he opened the doors.
Peering past him, Rose saw an arrangement of bikinis and several little beach cover-ups, scandalizingly short robes of thin cotton lace or translucent gauze. That was it. There was nothing else to wear. Her eyes widened. Leaning back, she put her hands on her hips and scowled at him. “Where’s the rest?”
“Oh. Is there nothing in there but bikinis for you?” he said innocently.
But it was worse than that. She sucked in her breath as, looking further inside the closet, she saw men’s T-shirts and shorts. A sinking feeling went through her heart. “Why are your clothes in my closet?”
He came behind her, not touching, but close enough that she could feel the warmth from his body. “This is a honeymoon cottage. There is only one bedroom. And only one bed.”
The honeymoon cottage.
“Oh,” she managed to say with suddenly dry lips. She jerked away, choking out, “I’ll take the couch, then.”
He looked down at her. “You will take the bed.”
“That wouldn’t be fair.” Even as she told herself that he was her captor and deserved to suffer, she felt guilty about kicking him to the couch. He’d promised he wouldn’t touch her and she was starting to believe him. Hesitantly, she said, “I suppose we could share….”
“No,” he cut her off roughly.
“Why?”
“Being close to you when I am forbidden to touch you…There’s only so much a man can take. Unless you actually want to make me suffer?”
Their eyes locked, and for an instant, she forgot to breathe. Then she blinked. “A little suffering on your part might be nice, yes,” she said with an impish smile.
His returning smile rose slowly across his face, and without realizing what she was doing, she leaned forward on her toes.
“Sir.” A bodyguard entered the front room with a loud rap at the door, and they both whirled toward him. Exhaling, Xerxes gave him a quick nod. “Excuse me,” he said, turning back to her. “I must leave you now.”
“But we just got here!”
“I have something urgent to do. I will return later.” He stroked her cheek. “I’ve arranged for the housekeeper to serve dinner on the beach.”
Squeezing her hand, he left. Rose stared after him in shock.
After he left, she walked along the beach and explored the lush grounds behind the cottage. It was strange to be so alone in this beautiful place. Crossing through a tropical garden, she stopped as her jaw dropped when she saw two large weeping rose trees.
Pink fairy roses. Xerxes’s favorite flower. Growing wild on this island in the Indian Ocean, thousands of miles from Greece.
Resolutely, she turned and walked away. Then, after five steps, she stopped. Whirling, she went back to the nearest rose tree. Careful not to pierce her fingertips with thorns, she picked one of the tiny pink blooms. Returning to the cottage, she carefully put it in water in a tiny bud vase she found in the stocked modern kitchen.
Hours of sunshine later, she finally put aside the novel she was reading on the lanai in the deepening afternoon. She’d been alone all day long at a luxury beach house. She’d had a lovely lunch served to her by the housekeeper. Reading a fabulous novel and watching the sunlight sparkle across the blue waters of the Indian Ocean, kidnapped or not, she should have been having a decent time.
But she wasn’t. She was missing something. Or someone.
The thought brought her up short. She couldn’t miss Xerxes’s company. Ridiculous. He was her captor! If she occasionally found him amusing or entrancing she was merely making the best of a bad situation, that was all.
But they’d spent the long flight here talking. He’d sat right beside her, plying her with Greek dishes, asking her interested, sympathetic questions about her family and home.
She’d answered in monosyllables at first, giving him one tart reply after another. But instead of being offended, he’d seemed to enjoy the repartee. And his undivided attention had been strangely…pleasurable.
She’d felt his arm along the back of the white leather sofa behind her, so close to her body, and she’d trembled. Every time he looked at her, the intensity and heat of his dark gaze turned her inside out.
Rose didn’t want to think about it now. Or why she’d not only noticed his favorite flower in a lush garden, but she’d also picked a rose for him and placed it in water.
Looking up from her book, she noticed the dark-haired, plump young housekeeper struggling to carry a table across the beach to a spot overlooking the surf. Relieved to leave the lanai and lounge chair and all her disconcerting thoughts behind her, Rose got to her feet and hurried down to the beach. “Wait! Can I help?”
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