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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!”
