Page 19 of The Billionaire’s Siren (S.E. Smith Signature Romance: Heart & Soul #1)

Twelve

A low, familiar voice tugged Dani from the depths of sleep.

It was gravelly and deep, laced with warmth and quiet strength—the voice that had read her bedtime stories, taught her to tie knots, and always made her feel safe.

Her lips curved into a weak smile.

Gramps.

She shifted—and pain lanced through her arm, shoulder, and side.

The voice stopped mid-sentence.

“Dani?” Stuart’s voice now carried a distinct note—concern, sharp and immediate.

She forced her eyes open, blinking against the dull light. Her grandfather was already by her side, sliding his phone into his pocket. Relief flooded his features when their eyes met.

“There she is. There’s my beautiful girl,” he said softly, his crooked smile creasing his weathered face.

Tears welled in her eyes and blurred her vision as she reached out her good arm toward him.

He didn’t hesitate. Stuart leaned over and wrapped his arms gently around her, mindful of her injuries. His embrace was warm and familiar, enveloping her like a shield against the nightmare that had almost swallowed her whole.

She inhaled deeply, letting the scent of his aftershave—woodsy and clean—settle over her. He pulled back after a minute, his hand brushing her tangled hair from her face.

“You’re here,” she whispered, her voice hoarse with emotion.

“Of course I am. Where else would I be?” he murmured, taking her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.

A watery smile tugged at her lips. “And still a fashion icon, I see. Is that your favorite moth-eaten sweater from the ‘90s? And a wrinkled shirt you probably yanked from the laundry basket?”

Stuart huffed a laugh and rubbed his nose. “Don’t sass your elders when you’re busted up in a hospital bed.”

Her smile wobbled. “I love you.”

He cleared his throat, glanced away, and gave a small sniff. “Love you too, sweetheart. You gave your gramps a bit of a scare this time.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He shook his head and sank back into the chair beside her bed, brushing a hand through his graying hair. Dani pressed the controls, lifting the bed slowly into a sitting position. She gritted her teeth as her bruises protested the movement, but she didn’t stop.

“Ain’t nothing for you to be sorry about, Dani. It was that jackass who took you that’s to blame. He’ll never hurt you again.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly, her eyes fixed on his. “For encouraging me to wear the tracker. You were right—like always. It did come in handy.”

His expression crumpled at the edges. “Dani…”

Tears slipped down her cheeks, warm and silent. Stuart reached into the side drawer, pulled out a tissue, and handed it to her without a word.

She wiped her eyes and nodded. “What happened?”

He exhaled long and low. “It was Zayan.”

She nodded, her breath catching. “Yeah, I know.”

“He recognized you; thought he saw an opportunity and took it.”

“He wanted revenge,” she murmured. “He was going to?—. ”

Her voice faltered. She closed her eyes, breathed, and pushed her fear away. Zayan would never harm her again.

Stuart looked down at his hands before he gazed back at her, his expression grave.

“I should have seen it coming. I knew what he was years ago. I pulled the security back when I shouldn’t have. I… I got too comfortable.”

“No,” she said firmly, reaching for his hand again. Her grip was weak, but her voice wasn’t. “Zayan made his own choices. We didn’t do this. He did.”

His eyes flicked up to hers, moist but grateful.

She gave him a small, tearful smile.

A shift in the air made her glance toward the doorway—and her breath hitched.

Alexandros stood there…

His eyes locked on hers with such intensity, such raw emotion, it made her chest ache.

He looked wrecked—and beautiful. His dark hair was tousled, as if he had been running his fingers through it. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows and the top buttons of his shirt undone. He looked like a man who hadn’t slept, hadn’t stopped, hadn’t breathed until he saw her open her eyes.

Before she could speak, her grandfather abruptly stood and stretched, bones cracking in protest. He yawned dramatically.

“Well,” Stuart said, patting his belly. “Next shift’s here.”

She blinked. “Wait, what?—?”

He leaned down, kissed her temple, and whispered, “I’ll see you later, honey. Be kind to him.”

Then he turned toward Alexandros with a knowing look, murmured, “Good luck,” and strolled out like he hadn’t just dropped a brick of implication on the room.

The door clicked softly shut behind him.

Dani’s gaze flicked back to Alexandros.

He stepped forward, silent, purposeful .

Her heart stuttered as he neared her bed, his eyes never leaving hers.

She sat straighter, suddenly breathless—not from pain this time, but from the heat building in the air between them.

Whatever storm had passed… another was about to begin.

Four weeks.

Twenty-eight days.

Six hundred and seventy-two hours.

…And she was this close to yanking out Alexandros’s hair by the roots. Or better yet, her grandfather’s. Or both. Possibly at the same time.

Dani sat cross-legged in the warm sand, the sun brushing her skin like a lazy cat.

A salty breeze curled around her, teasing the ends of her messy braid and carrying the faint sound of waves kissing the shore.

The private beach on Alexandros’s family island was paradise—powder-soft sand, a view straight off a postcard, and absolute serenity.

Too much serenity.

She was going stir-crazy.

The villa perched above her like a watchful chaperone, and she swore one of the staff probably had binoculars trained on her right now to report back to the Overprotective Greek Coalition—aka her grandfather and Alexandros.

She dug her toes into the sand and muttered under her breath, “I survived a plane crash, a kidnapping, a stab wound, and a lunatic with a vendetta… only to be smothered by two Greek mother hens the size of marble statues.”

She could still hear their voices echoing in her head from the hospital:

“You need to stay one more night.”

“The doctor said?—”

“Don’t argue, koutaváki mou , your stitches?— ”

Ugh. The stitches.

She hadn’t even realized she’d been stabbed until the doctor explained they’d had to go in and close the wound properly. Apparently, in the middle of her adrenaline-fueled escape, Zayan had used the knife he had brought to cut the damn straps on her instead.

But that was weeks ago.

The stitches were out. The bruises had faded. She was stronger. Healing.

Physically, anyway.

The nightmares were another story.

But even those, she could’ve handled—if not for the emotional whiplash of waking up to find Alexandros holding her during the night, only to roll over again in the morning and find nothing but empty sheets. Every. Damn. Time.

She was going to combust.

She wasn’t even sure it was sexual frustration anymore—it was existential.

How could one man radiate that much smolder and still refuse to touch her?

Every time he looked at her, it was like she was the center of his universe. His gaze stripped her to the soul. And yet, every time she reached out, he pulled back with that tortured ‘I can’t risk breaking you’ look.

As if she were made of glass.

Newsflash: she was not.

She snorted, resting her chin on her knees and glaring at the horizon. The trawler bobbed just off the coast; the sun glinting off the rusting metal and peeling paint as if it was winking at her.

She could swim that far. With desperation and frustration on her side, she could swim twice that distance.

Her gaze narrowed.

The urge to flee twisted in her gut like a rip current.

That boat was freedom. No expectations, no wedding talk, no mysterious secret Greek family alliances that suddenly had her grandfather and Alexandros’s mother and father chatting about guest lists and floral arrangements like they were co-planning the Royal Wedding.

Eleni had been absolutely glowing ever since Dani arrived. She mothered her like her own, brought her special tea for sleep and sweets for energy, and cooed every time Dani so much as coughed. There were three words to describe Alexandros’s mother: Sweet. Endearing.

And terrifying.

Especially when the words “spring wedding” and “off-the-shoulder lace” had floated out of her mouth last night at dinner.

No.

No, no, no.

Did she want to sleep with Eleni and Christos’s obscenely sexy youngest son?

Hell yes.

Did she want to marry him?

Hell no.

She was only twenty-one, still trying to figure out who she was without a wrench in her hand or saltwater in her hair. Marriage felt like a chapter she hadn’t even read the prologue for yet. Maybe in five or ten years—but not now. Not like this.

She bit her lip, still eyeing the trawler.

Could she do it? Swim out there? Before security caught her? It wasn’t that far…

She pictured herself climbing aboard, taking the wheel, disappearing around the bend like a sea ghost.

Just her and the horizon.

No overbearing Greek men. No pressure. No?—

With a dramatic groan, she flopped onto the sand like a beached starfish, limbs splayed, dignity optional.

The villa loomed above. The trawler rocked gently offshore.

Stay or run.

Want or need.

Her arms covered her face as she groaned into them. “I am losing my freaking mind. ”

Because as much as she wanted to run…

As much as she needed to breathe…

She also wanted him.

Alexandros.

And she wasn’t sure which would break her first—running from him…

Or staying and never touching him.

The indistinct murmur of voices behind him barely registered.

His father and Stuart were deep in discussion—numbers, projections, empire-building.

The merger between Kallistratos and Bouras was monumental.

The seismic shift that would send tremors through global markets, realign power structures, and make headlines around the world.

Alexandros didn’t care.

Not about the company. Not about the legacy. Not about fortune.

Not when she was out there.