Page 20 of The Billionaire’s Siren (S.E. Smith Signature Romance: Heart & Soul #1)

He stood at the window of the villa’s study, his hands curled in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the woman seated on the sand below.

Dani sat cross-legged, her back to the house, a stubborn line to her shoulders as the wind tousled her hair.

Her profile was etched against the horizon, silhouetted by the glow of the late afternoon sun.

She was beautiful. Wild. Untamed.

And slipping away from him.

He clenched his jaw, his fingers twitching with the need to touch her.

Every part of him ached with frustration.

He had thought asking Stuart for Dani’s hand in marriage was the hard part.

He hadn’t expected the man to show up uninvited at their family home and announce the news over coffee like it was already done.

His mother had immediately lit up like a chandelier, her joy filling the villa, her wedding planner on speed dial before Alexandros could even finish his next breath .

But none of that mattered.

He hadn’t asked her yet.

And Dani didn’t belong to anyone.

She had remained silent, but he had felt her growing restlessness. She wouldn’t accept him—unless she chose to.

And right now, she wasn’t choosing him.

Every night since she had come home from the hospital, he had held her.

She hadn’t asked. She hadn’t needed to.

The first night, her screams ripped through the silence like a blade.

Crashing through the connecting doors of the bedrooms, his heart pounding, he’d found her tangled in sweat-soaked sheets, thrashing like a cornered animal.

He’d climbed into bed beside her and wrapped her in his arms. Her wild sobs had turned into soft hiccups, her trembling into calm.

He had stayed until the sun crept over the horizon, then slipped out before she woke.

It had happened again.

And again.

Until sneaking into her bed became his ritual. His necessity. He held her like a lifeline, but never crossed the invisible line between need and permission. He buried the hunger, the heat. Night after night, he left her untouched—and it was breaking him.

She curled against him like she was home—like she needed him—even so, he didn’t touch her the way he dreamed of touching her. He didn’t kiss her. He didn’t take what his entire body ached for.

He wouldn’t—couldn’t—until she was ready. At first, it had been because her body needed to heal. Now, it was her mind.

But the past week… The past week was testing every ounce of restraint he had.

There were moments he would wake before her, watching her sleep with one hand tangled in the hair on his chest, her breath feathering across his throat—and it took everything in him not to whisper her name and wake her with a kiss.

To cover her body with his and sink into her like a dying man searching for the elixir of life.

Her scent was on his skin. Her warmth had wrapped its way around his body until he couldn’t tell where she began and he ended. They were destined to be one—whether she accepted that truth yet or not.

But what he saw now from the window chilled him more than all the nights after he had left her bed aching.

She stood up.

From his vantage point, he could see her staring at The Gentle Breeze —the battered old trawler rocking gently on the turquoise sea. Her trawler. Her escape.

He saw it happen in slow motion—her gaze drifting over the waves, her body leaning forward, drawn like the tide.

His gut clenched as she took a single step toward the water.

She looked small from this distance, a lone figure poised at the edge of a choice.

His fingers tightened around his phone; he was ready to text Demetrius, who he knew was watching the same scene unfold.

Run or stay.

He could feel an invisible pull inside her. The need to flee. To reclaim her sense of self, her freedom. She was a storm caught in a glass bottle, and the pressure was building.

She turned away, just slightly, and his heart stuttered in relief.

But then she stopped again.

Her head tilted. Her shoulders hesitated. It was like some part of her heart was still tangled in the sea, whispering that it wasn’t too late. That she could still run before she was shackled. Before her name was printed on wedding invitations she hadn’t approved.

He wanted to curse. To shout. To race down to the beach and drag her into his arms.

But he didn’t move.

And then—she looked up.

Their eyes met across the distance, a heartbeat suspended in time.

The wind tossed her hair, the light caught her eyes, and Alexandros saw everything in that one glance—her longing, her defiance, her confusion, her need. And buried beneath it all, a question: Will you come after me, or will you let me go?

Something inside him snapped .

Not with anger.

Not with lust.

With resolve.

He would not lose her.

He couldn’t.

She might think she needed to find herself before she could give herself.

But what she didn’t understand—what she hadn’t yet let herself feel—was that with him, she didn’t have to give up anything.

He didn’t want to tame her. He didn’t want to trap her.

He just wanted to be the man she could run to—not from.

And tonight, before she vanished like sea foam, he would claim her.

He would go to her, not to hold her like a broken doll, but to love her like a woman who set him on fire every time she breathed.

She was his mermaid.

And tonight, before she slipped through his fingers like sea foam, he would claim her.

Not out of dominance.

Not out of fear.

But because they both needed it.

He turned from the window, fire in his chest and purpose in his steps.

It was time.