Page 4 of The Billionaire’s Siren (S.E. Smith Signature Romance: Heart & Soul #1)
Two
The wind cut sharp and chilly across the open water, drying the salt against his skin and slicing through his soaked clothing, but Alexandros barely noticed.
His attention was fixed on the woman beside him—the one who had punched him in the groin, hurled caviar at his face, and leapt off a mega-yacht to escape him.
She sat huddled like a shipwrecked goddess, tangled in a crimson gown that she had somehow tied around her waist during her exploits.
He should loathe how intrigued he was by her.
He should question her sanity, yet he couldn’t help but admire her guts, her creativity, and her humor.
He should be fighting the urge to touch her again under the guise of practicality. Instead, he wanted to wrap himself around her. Or better yet, feel her wrapped around him.
He’d had models, heiresses, and movie stars clinging to his arm like designer handbags. But none of them had ever looked at him the way she did—like she was trying to decide whether to throw him overboard or use him for fish bait.
His gaze flicked to her sodden boots. She had miraculously not lost them during her dangerous and daring escape. They were still tied around her waist with the stubborn loyalty of a sailor clinging to her tools.
She looked half-drowned, half-feral, and completely out of place among the ultra-polished members of his world.
His desire for her was a primal urge, a physical ache that overshadowed all logical thought, a raw, visceral need.
He saw her almost like a beautiful mermaid, her mysterious allure captivating him with every graceful movement and enigmatic smile.
She was wild, elusive, and determined to escape him.
In a world of materialistic women, she stood out—a unique and precious gem, untouched and undiscovered, sparkling with a purity that was both captivating and unexpected.
Although she didn't fit the classical mold of beauty, there was a raw, captivating energy about her that was undeniably attractive. Her beauty wasn't the kind that wilted under close examination; instead, it intensified, revealing hidden depths and captivating details like a fine painting.
Her round face was soft and full, with a gentle curve to her cheeks.
Her startlingly green eyes, a little too big, held an expression of innocent curiosity.
Her tiny, exquisitely formed nose was pert, delicate, and perfect for her face.
Her nostrils were flaring slightly, as if she was debating returning to the water—or worse, attacking him again.
She looked more like a drowned pixie than a person. Her body was compact, not petite. She had a toned physique, suggesting regular exercise, but lacked the sharp muscle definition typical of weightlifters.
She was a natural beauty—one who didn’t need diamonds, designer dresses, or makeup to turn heads.
No, he thought, letting his gaze drift over the black sports bra clinging to her skin. She is a wildcat, fierce and untamed, with a mouth that could cut steel, and she packs a powerful punch—literally.
To his astonishment, he realized that she was probably exactly what she claimed to be.
A mechanic.
And something far more dangerous—unapologetically herself .
Alexandros turned to Demetrius, his head of security, who sat stone-faced at the console like a statue carved out of wind and duty.
“Have a car waiting at the dock,” he said over the engine hum. “And have warm and dry clothing delivered from the yacht for my guest and myself.”
“Nothing for me—thanks. I won’t be hanging around once we get to shore,” she said.
“Do you plan on leaving in your undergarments?” he bit back.
She shrugged her slender shoulders and pulled her legs up as far as she could while retaining her death grip on her boots. He shook his head and muttered a low curse.
Demetrius’s lips twitched, but he gave a curt nod and tapped his earpiece.
Alexandros turned back to the woman beside him.
Her fingers were pale and trembling despite the warm weather.
Her hair was a mass of wet curls that stuck to her forehead, her jaw, her neck.
He wasn’t sure if her hair was black or brown.
The temptation to reach out and rub it between his fingers made him grit his teeth.
The night air hit cold and sharp against his soaked skin, a jarring contrast to the molten heat still coiling low in his stomach.
Mikrouli mou, he thought, the endearment rising unbidden. What the hell just happened? What is it about her? he groused, his temper simmering like a bed of hot coals.
He sighed when she shivered again.
He glanced down at his own arms, wet and useless. Harold—one of the younger security crew—held out a thick towel.
Alexandros took the plush towel without a word and turned back to her. He hesitated for a fraction of a second. She could bite, he was sure of it—but he couldn’t leave her shivering.
She was watching him through her lashes, warily, like a cat ready to scratch.
He didn’t speak. He just lifted the towel and motioned for her to lean forward.
Her lips parted as if she was about to argue. She glared at him, but surprised him when she released an exhausted sigh and relented. She leaned closer, cautious but not flinching.
Good. He wasn’t sure he could handle it if she flinched.
He wrapped the towel around her shoulders, tucking it around her with far more care than he’d used on a living human being in years. It gave him an excuse to draw her closer. She hesitated, her body rigid. He sensed that she didn’t give her trust easily.
The warmth of the towel and his body was enough to lure her for a second, just a second, into feeling safe.
He liked that. He liked that a lot. Resting his chin against the top of her head, he breathed in her scent—the faintest trace of jasmine from her shampoo and salt from the water.
The combination of her body pressed against his and her scent hit him harder than he’d expected.
His arms tightened protectively around her when she continued to tremble. Exhaustion, cold, and probably shock layered thick around her, but she still clutched those boots like armor.
He couldn’t help it—he smiled.
Not a smirk. A real, honest smile. When was the last time that had happened? Hell, when was the last time he cared whether he had smiled?
“What’s your name?” he asked quietly.
She let out a soft breath, her lips slightly blue. “I would tell you it was Helga, but Vito already blasted it to everyone on board. It’s Dani.”
“Dani,” he repeated, tasting the sound of it. “Short for Danielle?”
She shrugged against him. “Just Dani.”
No explanation. No attempt at charm. No flirtation. Just a shrug. Like his name, his yacht, his perfectly tailored world didn’t impress her in the slightest.
“I’m Alexandros,” he offered. “Alexandros Kallistratos.”
She blinked up at him. “Uh-huh.”
That was it. No wide eyes. No breathy repetition of his name. Just another shrug, like she’d met ten billionaires before breakfast and didn’t have time to be dazzled today.
The Zodiac slowed as it approached the dock, the gentle lapping of waves breaking the quiet.
Alexandros realized he hadn’t been breathing properly since he had pulled himself out of the water.
It had nothing to do with his chase or swim.
He suspected it had everything to do with the woman in his arms. Every moment with her had been sharpened to a knife-edge, he realized. And he didn’t want it to end.
Harold jumped out, landing lightly on the dock, and moved to tie off the bowline and stern. His onshore security team moved with their usual precision—efficient, silent—but Alexandros barely noticed. His world had shifted, and all of it now centered on one dripping, defiant woman.
But, Dani noticed. His lips curved into a grin when she muttered under her breath, ‘It’s like living in a glass jar’ , and rolled her eyes.
She uncoiled slowly, untying the gown from around her waist and holding it out to him like a dead jellyfish. He took it without a word as he tried to shield her body from his security detail. She ignored him and everyone else, tugging the towel from around her shoulders.
“Turn around,” he ordered harshly in Greek, scowling at the men who quickly followed his order.
“It’s a little late for modesty. Besides, my underwear cover more than most of the dresses at that fancy party you’re throwing,” she drawled as she wrapped the damp towel around her waist and secured it with a firm tuck. “See, all better.”
It wasn’t. Her nipples strained against her top, hard pebbles that made him grit his teeth.
He unfastened his dress shirt and yanked it off.
She started when she realized what he was doing.
She was even more startled when he took her boots from her and slid her arms into his shirt before buttoning it up.
“You’ll be cold,” she muttered, her voice husky.
He swallowed a low groan when she ran a slender finger down his sternum. His jaw clenched when she wound a finger in his chest hair and tugged it.
“Yep, you’ve got goosebumps,” she teased, her finger trailing lightly down his chest. “Even your nipples are hard.”
Self-combustion. That’s what is about to happen to me, he thought, his gaze locking with her teasing ones .
He stroked her cheek. “You are playing with fire, mikroula mou, ” he warned.
“Just making sure you didn’t suffer any injuries from your adventure,” she teased.
He swallowed when she bent, her head moving down as if to?—
He groaned at his wayward thoughts and watched with glittering eyes as she picked up her boots. Her waterlogged footwear landed with a thud on the dock before she used Demetrius’s turned shoulder as support and climbed out of the boat ahead of him.
Before he could follow, she spun to face him, planting her feet like she was defending sacred ground. The towel slipped a little, so she cinched it again around her waist. Her cheeks heated when he followed her movements. She shot him her best, fierce expression.