Bound By Deception Freed By Love

A naked woman was in his shower. And it wasn't even someone he knew, It was a stranger, stripped naked just as the day she was born while having a blast in his shower.

Xander McQueen was clueless about her identity. At the very least, he didn't believe he had previously seen any of the flesh he was gaping at from the transparent glass door of his shower.

With his heart thumping and his thoughts still hazy from sleep, he froze, wide-eyed in between the bedroom and bathroom floor of his elegant apartment in Kensington, London.

He ran a hand through his tangled brown hair and mumbled to himself, "You're dreaming."

He must have pressed the snooze button one too many times the previous night.

That had to be it! Or what else could explain this? No sober man would wake up to the sound of running water and a tall, curvy blonde singing off-key in his shower.

But then, why wasn't he enjoying it if it was indeed a dream? Because he felt a tight coil of distrust tightening in his gut instead of excitement.

He wasn't daydreaming. He was making calculations in his head. He was thinking of possible escape paths. Domestic weapons. Backup. Phone…. in that sequence.

However, his curiosity soon took the best of him. He took a step towards her. She appeared as a silhouette of sun-kissed skin and her long, damp hair was only a little blurry through the frosted glass.

Completely relaxed, as though she were supposed to be there, she swung here and there while cleaning.

Xander gave a blink. But not at all, he wasn't dreaming. She was still there. Still naked. And the situation was still a total mystery to him.

How on earth had she entered? The locks were the latest in technology. Cams for security. The floor had a private elevator. No one just wanders into the penthouse in Kensington.

However, she had.

And now, as if this were a spa commercial, she was soaping herself and singing about daisies.

Ready to pick up his phone and dial security, he pivoted on his heel.

But just then, the bathroom glass door whoosed open and she walked right out. Dripping. Grinning while still naked.

As if this were coffee and pastries on a patio, she remarked brightly, "Good morning, Xander, hon. Had a good sleep?"

Having stopped in his tracks, he blinked. "You know my name?"

"I certainly do, hon." She tossed a strand of damp hair over one shoulder. "I take it you don't remember me." Her tone was overly upbeat. Her big, blue eyes were too delighted. And her smile? An unadulterated mayhem encased in silk.

He cautiously remarked, "I don't think we've met," before snatching up a towel from a nearby stand and thrusting it towards her.

She didn't recoil. She simply chuckled. "Calm down. Don't look at me as I'm insane. I'm not.”

"Arguable." Xander muttered under his breath, his hand still holding the clean towel.

With a dramatic sigh, she accepted the towel and wrapped it over herself as if she were doing him a favor. “It's me. Zara Blake. From the Westmark Hotel's gala. We did a dance. You said I had eyes like summer lightning….” She chuckled again, seductively fiddling with a strand of her hair. “That they were beautiful.”

Xender's eyes narrowed, trying to recollect. "I said that?"

"Yes, you did. You meant it, too.”

He racked his memory. He did attended a gala at the Westmark Hotel. There were socialites, champagne and cameras. A dance. Perhaps two.

However, that was no reason for a lady to break into his apartment to take an early shower uninvited.

Zara left a trail of attitude and water as she padded barefoot into the bedroom. She plopped on the edge of his bed and stated, "I called a locksmith. I told him I had left my keys behind. When I smile this way….” She tilted her head to the side and flashed off a smile that ought to have been prohibited. “Guys do whatever I want.”

"That's... illegal," Xander countered, crossing his arms over his chest.

"In a technical sense," she shrugged. “But romantic, isn't it? I heard you were lonely, which is why I came and had to go to all this trouble. “

He gazed hard at her. "What? I'm not lonely. What gave you that—"

“Yes, you are, hon. But you're attractive. Thus…” The towel slipped dangerously as she strained unnecessarily while talking. "I reasoned that I could take a shower and try my hand at shooting my shot instead of waiting for fate."

"You broke into my house, " Xander snapped.

She cocked her head. "You're not angry. You're interested.”

She wasn't entirely mistaken, he was getting interested. But he wasn't sure if her strength came from lunacy or confidence.

Who was this movie-star-smiling, boundary-less woman? Why in the world was she staring at him as if she had known him for ages?

She got back up and moved closer, meeting his gaze. Something changed in the air between them. It became Charged. "You don't recall how you held me on that dance floor, do you?" Her voice was nearly a whisper when she spoke.

He didn't respond.

"You told me that my laughter restored your humanity. A rhythm. Or perhaps you were simply intoxicated."

Now she was so near. He was close enough to smell her skin's subtle fragrance. Vanilla. Or perhaps peaches. His heart pounded more vigorously.

Her blue eyes were unexpectedly vulnerable as she stared up at him. "You know you don't have to pretend you don't want me? I've already been told that you're lonely and you're ready to settle down into a meaningful relationship." She remarked with a casual shrug.

Xander came to a complete halt, his eyes sharp. "You heard what?"

"That you're desperate to find a wife," Zara continued. "It is so cute, you know, that a hot guy like you would be so shy when it comes to approaching a lady," she laughed coyly.

She went on when Xander only stared at her, confused. “You've always been so attractive and a catch too, and I'm not dating anyone anyway. So I thought, why not do us both a favor and give the hottie, poor Xander, a dream come true?" She stretched out her two hands in opposite directions, laughing once again.

“Oh my God." Xander rubbed his head and moaned. "Where did you hear this?"

“From the table tennis club where I play, The Petals Parrish. I heard Eleanor, the snooty daughter of Ms. Petals, telling her cousin and her friend in the ladies room that your mother had informed her that you were in a desperate search for—”

"What? My mom said I was desperate?” Xander's voice was one of pure shock. He should have known, though.

Alexandra McQueen, his mom, the most difficult and cunning mother in the world. And he had her all to himself.

He really ought to have known. His mother had to be at the center of any rumors that he was searching for a "meaningful relationship."

He raked a hand through his hair. Then, he stared at her for a minute, towel, smirk and all. He scoffed and muttered under his breath. “Great. First a naked stranger in my shower... now a rumor I’m auditioning for a wife. What’s next—matching monogrammed towels?”

It seemed like he was going to have a long day although it was hardly morning yet. He wished he could just boot Zara out of his space and get on with it already.

But how does one handle a lady who had been made to believe he was desperate for a woman?