‘Why don’t you go downstairs and investigate while I have a shower?’ she suggested sweetly.
Xanthos left the room without another word, blotting out images of her standing in a steamy cubicle and lathering soap over those magnificent breasts. He made his way down the echoing flight of stairs to the hotel entrance, past several glass counters in the foyer which—bizarrely—were displaying root vegetables for sale. There was also a large Christmas tree—big and bushy and hung with rudimentary paper decorations which had obviously been crafted by children. Compared to its glitzy counterpart which sparkled outside the Rockefeller Center in his native New York every year, it was about as humble as you could get—yet there was something about the simple decorations which made him linger for a moment, before shaking his head with impatience and quickly walking away.
He passed a large dining room, in which several women were hanging swathes of festive greenery and chattering happily in their own language. The small bar was empty but eventually he found someone to serve him, then sat nursing a glass of malt whisky, until he heard the sound of people arriving in the main foyer, clearly in celebratory mood.
Finishing off the final mouthful, he made his way unenthusiastically back upstairs, wondering if he could plead a headache and spend the evening working, but these thoughts slid from his mind when he found Bianca dressed, her hair a glimmer of shiny waves set off dramatically by her black dress. Indignation vied with desire and indignation won. Wasn’t it enough he had lain there like a rock during the long night when she had snuggled into his arms? Was shetryingto test his resolve still further? To elevate his heart-rate to dangerous levels and make him ache for her with frustrated longing?
Steadying his suddenly erratic breathing, he tried telling himself that no way could her dress be described as provocative. Not when it was buttoned all the way down the front and hung in modest folds to her knees. So why this kick of lust so potent that it was making him unable to think about anything other than how much he wanted to touch her? Actually, he wanted to do a lot more than touch her. He wanted to be inside her. To shudder out his seed and fill her until he was empty and dry.
His body tensed.
Why the hell was he thinking like some kind of caveman?
‘You don’t like it?’ she croaked.
Dragging himself out of his erotic daze, he stared at her uncomprehendingly. ‘Don’t like what?’
‘My dress.’ She shrugged. ‘The way I look.’
‘Why are you asking me that?’
‘Because...’ Bianca swallowed down the lump which had risen in her throat. His face had grown so incrediblytense. Golden olive skin was stretched taut over the high definition of cheekbones and his mouth had hardened into a forbidding slash. Her lawyerly articulation seemed to have deserted her in her time of need, as she struggled to find the right words. Or were they the wrong words? Wouldn’t the wisest thing be to keep her mouth shut and not stray into the dangerous territory of the personal? But she couldn’t seem to hold back her curiosity and, after the night they’d shared, surely she should be able to speak frankly to him. ‘Because you’re staring at me as if you couldn’t...as if you’ve never seen me before. As if you don’t know me.’
‘Because I don’t,’ he asserted harshly into the brittle silence which followed. ‘Just like you don’t know me. And that’s the way I would prefer it to stay, Bianca. We were trapped on a mountainside but it’s over. We have a few more hours to get through and then we can go our separate ways and need never see one another again. So if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and wash up.’
As the bathroom door closed behind him, Bianca told herself he was rude and cold and positively obnoxious and she couldn’t wait to be rid of him. Looking around for something to distract herself with, she picked up her phone to text her mother and sister again, this time to wish them a happy Christmas. And, even though she was on her honeymoon, Rosie’s dramatic reply came winging straight back:
What do you think of Xanthos???!!!!
Bianca was certain her sister would derive little comfort from her opinion that she found him brave and strong and yet extremely hurtful. And that, bizarrely, she really wanted to have sex with him.
She kept her reply vague.
Very capable in an emergency! Enjoy your honeymoon. B xx
Putting the phone back down, she stared out of the window at the Christmas tree in the snowy village square below, thronging with people enjoying the festivities. Did children hang up stockings in Vargmali? she wondered, when the bathroom door opened and Xanthos walked into the room.
Perhaps if she had been prepared for his sudden appearance she might have been able to do something about her reaction but, as it was, she could do nothing to prevent the lurch of her heart or sudden shivering of her skin. He had changed into dark trousers and a pale silk shirt left open at the neck, revealing a tantalising triangle of gleaming skin. He looked utterly irresistible, she acknowledged reluctantly, every pore in her body unfurling into sensual life as he raked his fingers back through his still damp hair. Their eyes met. Their gazes held. She could almosthearthe crackle of sex and danger in the air and suddenly she was glad they were going downstairs to eat—anywhere but staying up here, cocooned in this bedroom and susceptible to the ever-present temptation he represented.
‘Ready?’ she questioned briskly, with a quick glance at her watch. ‘They said they’re starting the meal at seven-thirty.’
‘I can hardly wait.’
She turned to him. ‘You’re not going to be in a foul temper and ruin the night for everyone, are you?’
‘No, Bianca. I give you my word. I will be diplomacy personified.’
‘That will be a first.’
They made their way downstairs and as they entered the dining room and everyone looked up, Bianca suddenly realised that she felt like part of a couple—which had never happened before. Wasn’t that a sad indication of how insular her life had become? At her all-girls school she’d worked hard to get the grades she needed and had kept to that same rigorous pattern all through uni. And yes, of course she had dated along the way, but no close bond had ever been formed. Her single-minded goal of independence had always seemed more important than being with a man.
But she could never remember feeling morealivethan she did as Dr Druri’s smiling young wife—who was called Ellen—handed them both some mulled wine and introduced them to the other guests. It was a mixed gathering and everyone was fizzing over with yuletide merriment. There were little children and teenagers. Long-married couples and a pair of newly-weds. A babe-in-arms and a very old man who lovingly kissed the forehead of his wife, as she sat in her wheelchair. Most people spoke a smattering of English but Bianca quickly realised the effectiveness of sign language and it transpired that Xanthos could speak fluent Italian, on which the Vargmalian language was based, so was able to give a succinct account of their plane crash.
She looked around the dining room, taking in the way it had been decorated—inexpensively but beautifully. In fact, she couldn’t remember ever seeing anything quite so lovely and she whispered as much to Xanthos. Fragrant fresh greenery was looped around the window frames as well as along the top of the stone fireplace, where an enormous log fire crackled. More greenery was wreathed in startling contrast against a snowy-white tablecloth, where tall red candles lit the room with their golden and flickering glow. It was old-fashioned and simple. It was like Christmas was supposed to be and suddenly Bianca found herself overcome by a great yearning for...
What?
There was absolutely no evidence of luxury or vast amounts of money here. It was a world she didn’t really recognise, yet somehow it felt real.More real than anything she could ever remember.