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Zoe Turner definitely doesn’t belong in my world. Not even close. I don’t usually trouble myself approaching the women I’m interested in. It only takes a look to get everything done, and now, as I walk with her insideLa Sagrada Familia, I wonder what the fuck I’m doing here.
In the daylight, the woman looks even younger than I first thought, and for a moment, I consider backing off because it’s obvious she’s inexperienced. The thing is, Zoe has been on my mind since the moment she ran out yesterday.
No, she had my full attention the second I saw her perfect, long legs balancing on an ugly pair of shoes.
“Is this your first time in Spain?”
“My first time out of Boston,” she replies, turning to look at me.
And in that second, I understand why there’s no way I’m going to back down. She’s so beautiful.
“Is the name Xander Megalos Greek? Don’t laugh if I’m talking nonsense, but it sounds Greek.”
“Yes, it is,” I reply without elaborating further.
When I introduced myself, I purposely gave her my middle nameand mother’s last name because I’m well-known around the world. As I wasn’t sure if this could turn into something more, I chose to remain anonymous.
But after five minutes, I think it was a silly move. Zoe probably knows nothing about high society, which only makes her more attractive to me.
“Was I out of line for asking that?”
“What?”
“I’m not very sociable, so I’m not really sure how to start a conversation.”
“Is that what we’re doing? Being sociable?”
She shrugs. “You were willing to visit the church with me, so I thought . . .”
“I’ve already visited this church. I’m here because I want you. It’s the same reason I sent someone to find out if you were getting off the ship today.”
I see her throat move as she swallows hard. “That’s a little scary.”
“Probably.”
“But flattering, too. Thanks.”
Is she thanking me for wanting her? Zoe doesn’t have a mirror at home?
“Let’s have brunch. Today is Sunday, the day you Americans do it.”
Again, she evades my question. “How did you get a ticket to get in here? I bought mine a while ago; it’s not that easy to get one.”
“Everything has a price. Money, contacts—it’s all about knowing what the other wants and you can get anything.”
“That sounds a bit cold.”
“Straightforward, I would say. I always prefer honesty. Cards on the table.” We’re almost at the exit now, and I have a feeling we haven’t made any progress. “What time do you have to go back to work?”
“The ship is not leaving until five, so I must be there at three. But I need to go; I have to buy some souvenirs for my mother.”
“Come with me to my yacht.”
“Thanks for the invitation, but I don’t know you. Then again, I would be delighted if you joined me for a cup of espresso.”
I look at her to see if she’s playing with me, but her innocent expression tells me she’s serious. “I have a counterproposal.”
“Is this a negotiation?” she asks with flushed cheeks, and finally, I see that she’s just as interested in this as I am, but maybe she doesn’t know how to show it.
