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Chapter Eight
FROM the instant Rose had come out on the balcony, Xerxes had felt her presence like the first burst of sunlight at dawn.
He’d pretended not to see her at first. He’d continued to pace as he spoke, as was his habit when he was making deals over the phone that were worth hundreds of millions of dollars. But as he discussed business with his vice president of the Novros Group in New York, Xerxes had secretly watched Rose with hooded eyes.
Her expression was in shadow, but he could see her body. Long, wavy blond hair now hung damply down her shoulders, over a thin top that clung to her full breasts and tiny waist. A knee-length skirt revealed impossibly long legs, slender and strong.
Looking up at her, his whole body had tightened painfully. There was something about this girl—except girl wasn’t the right word. Rose Linden was absolutely a woman. But there was something different about her, some quality of innocence that made her seem even younger than she was.
As he watched her, a strange need had trembled through his body that he’d never felt before. He did not like the feeling. He—Xerxes Novros—needed no one.
He barely knew her, and yet she had some power over him, a power his own body gave her. He understood, more and more, why Växborg had been willing to risk anything and defy anyone to possess her.
“Fine,” he bit out, finishing the call. He looked back up at the balcony, deliberately allowing his eyes to meet hers. She instantly jumped back as if she’d been burned, shrinking back into the shadows of the balcony.
So she felt it then, too, this strange connection between them.
Xerxes still remembered the way she trembled when he’d kissed her on the plane. He’d called her clumsy and it had been true. For a beautiful woman, she’d been astonishingly inept. He still recalled the way her lips had moved so tremulously against his own, as if she had no idea how to move her lips into a kiss. But clumsy was only part of it. He hadn’t told her the rest—that somehow, it had also been the most erotic kiss he’d ever experienced. He’d felt the passion of her brief surrender in a way that nearly brought him to his knees with the force of his own desire.
And then she’d slapped him.
He’d known from that moment that he would have her. Innocent or not, he would have her.
His promise not to kiss her until she begged for it was real, but it was strategic. He wouldn’t break his word. He wouldn’t have to. After that kiss, when he’d felt her passion and fire, he’d known it would be the easiest thing in the world to use her own sensuality against her and sweep her into bed.
In no time at all, she would beg him to kiss her. Just as every woman did.
Seducing Växborg’s mistress before Xerxes traded her would be the final twist of the knife against his enemy. Especially since he would make sure Rose enjoyed it beyond measure.
Xerxes snapped his phone shut. He looked back at the empty balcony, covered by twisting bougainvillea in shadows as rapidly moving clouds passed over the morning sun.
“Rose,” he said with a low laugh. “I can see you.”
A moment later, she stepped forward, blushing. “Oh, hello,” she said, visibly wincing. “I, er, didn’t see you there.”
Xerxes gave her a smile. “Come down,” he said. “I want to show you something.”
But she didn’t immediately move to obey, as any other woman would have done. She just blinked at him, tilting her head. “What?”
Truthfully, he wanted to show her his bed, his naked body, and how thoroughly he could arouse her with his tongue, but all that would have to wait. “My house,” he said smoothly. “You might be here for some time. You should know your way around.”
“Thanks, but I’ll just stay up here. In my room.” Where it’s safe, her tone seemed to imply.
He smiled up at her. “Come, Miss Linden. Your captivity doesn’t have to be a prison. There’s no reason you can’t enjoy yourself while you’re with me. Come downstairs.”
She hesitated, then shook her head, her cheeks a charming shade of pink. “No, thanks, really. I’ll, um, see you later,” she said, then disappeared back into her bedroom.
She was afraid to even be around him. He almost laughed aloud. Seducing her would be even easier than he’d thought. If he were exceptionally clever he might have her flat on her back before noon.
If she wouldn’t come downstairs, he would go to her. Whistling an old Greek folk song, Xerxes walked back inside his sprawling villa and went down the hallway toward the stairs. His cell phone vibrated and he answered, “Novros.”
“Let me talk to Rose,” Lars Växborg demanded.
At the sound of the man’s peevish, aristocratic voice, Xerxes veered from the hallway and went into his private office. He went to the far window with its magnificent view of the sea, and replied coolly, “Has your divorce been finalized yet?”
“Practically. I’m in Las Vegas. I’ve signed the papers. With all your influence and mine, it’s been expedited. It’s as good as done. Let me talk to her.”
“No.” Initiating a divorce meant nothing, as they both knew perfectly well. Until the final ruling, it could be canceled at any time. Xerxes sat down in his chair. “You can speak to Rose when we make the trade.”
