Page 14 of The Heir Affair (Claimed by a Greek #1)
‘ How did you get all these scars, Alex?’
‘Why do you want to know? It is not important…’
‘It is to me. They look…scary.’
‘I guess they were, at the time…’
Poppy jerked awake, the scent of salt and suncream swirling through her consciousness, the vivid dream rich with memory… Deep blue eyes, guarded and wary, a low voice tight with tension. Her heart thundered in her ears, compassion squeezing her ribs again and making it hard to breathe.
It took her several deep breaths to orientate herself, and recognise where the luxury scent of new leather, the whisper of silk against her sensitive skin, and the heavy weight of loss were coming from.
She rolled over, to stare blankly at the cabin’s expensive furnishings as the details from last night flooded back…
Alex, so tall and indomitable in the restaurant, the journey across the water, his enormous yacht, the angry words, the confusing emotions knotting in her stomach… The force and fury of his kiss.
She gazed at the ceiling, the expensive polished mahogany, inlaid with lights.
And struggled to haul herself the rest of the way out of the arresting dream—not a dream, a memory of the conversation they’d had beside the pool that day, when she’d finally got up the courage to ask him about the many nicks and cuts she’d noticed in the sunlight…
Funny to think that of all the things they’d talked about, she would remember that conversation so vividly. Because for one split second she’d seen the tough exterior he wore like a shield dropping, to reveal the vulnerability beneath.
Except what had that conversation really revealed?
He was probably just clumsy which was why he had so many scars.
And like everything else about him, she’d tried to romanticise it.
Casting Alex as some kind of wounded boy, zealously guarding his secrets, instead of a rich, ruthless man who had lied to her deliberately.
Not Alex. Xander, you ninny.
She slid her hands over her stomach, but then she noticed the familiar need to pee.
She sat up, intending to forget the silly dream, only to notice the rumble of background noise that hadn’t been there when she’d fallen asleep.
She climbed off the bed and walked to the cabin’s picture window then pressed the button to lift the shutter. She stared at the vast expanse of sea—and the shoreline at least a mile away across the water… The moving shoreline!
‘What the hell?’ she screamed, so shocked her mind went completely blank.
Why was the yacht moving? In fact, it wasn’t just moving, it was powering along at a rate of knots. She was still cursing as she dashed for the toilet, struggling to stay upright when the boat slapped a wave.
Once she’d relieved her full bladder, she washed her hands, then rushed back to the bedroom, to peer out—still struggling to get her mind to engage with what was happening.
Where was Port Gabriel? Where was the bay? The shore was much further away, but from the mountainous topography of the coast rushing past, she knew they weren’t in the same location as the night before.
When had they left Galicos? And how far had they travelled? Had Xander Caras kidnapped her during the night?
It took her five full minutes of searching the cabin to discover her pencil skirt and the fitted shirt she wore for work had gone AWOL too.
Her mobile was dead, so she grabbed the onboard phone by her bed, planning to call Meghan and demand to know where the heck the boat was going and what had happened to her clothes.
But before anyone picked up, she slapped the handset down again. Having a go at Meghan was pointless. This wasn’t Meghan’s fault. She would have been following her boss’s orders.
Locating a silk dressing gown in the wardrobe, she slung it over the skimpy negligee she’d slept in.
And stormed to the cabin door, stupidly relieved when she discovered it wasn’t locked.
But after she’d wrenched it open, it occurred to her her kidnapper didn’t need to lock her in the cabin when he had her trapped on his yacht, travelling to who knew where?
Fury edged out her panic.
She bumped into one of the crew on the stairs, carrying a tray laden with a silver pot and a delicious-looking breakfast platter.
‘Miss Brown, you’re awake, I was just coming to serve you breakfast,’ the fresh-faced young man said with an eager smile. ‘My name is Nicholai. I will be your personal steward for the duration of our journey.’
‘That’s fabulous, Nicholai.’ She tried not to spit the words out—it wasn’t poor Nicholai’s fault either that his boss was a kidnapper. She grabbed a slice of bacon, suddenly ravenous—as she always was in the mornings now. ‘But I need to find Mr Caras.’
And demand he turn his damn boat around and take me back to Galicos.
The high-handed bastard. How dared he take off without consulting her?
‘Do you know where I can find him?’ she asked as she wolfed down the crispy bacon.
‘Absolutely, Miss Brown.’ Nicholai’s eager smile didn’t falter. ‘He is in the dining salon on the aft deck. He asked that I escort you to him once you were ready.’
Oh, did he, now? The wave of outrage left her breathless. So that was the deal: he was going to pretend she was a guest on his yacht, when she was a prisoner.
‘If you give me a moment,’ Nicholai offered, looking for somewhere to place the tray, ‘I can assist—’
‘It’s okay, take the tray to my suite. The food looks delicious, by the way,’ she interrupted him. ‘If you could just give me directions to the salon, I’ll come back and eat the meal in a bit.’
She got lost twice in the vast ship trying to follow Nicholai’s directions, which did not help with her mounting temper. But she finally found the yacht’s dining area.
Xander sat at the far end, at the head of a long glass table.
The view of the coastline they were powering past—without her consent—was displayed through the sun deck behind him.
A breeze whipped at his dark hair as he sipped his coffee, his attention buried in a business newspaper, the remnants of his own breakfast laid out before him.
Her fury surged. So kidnapping her hadn’t ruined his appetite any!
The bastard.
Even in the casual outfit of sky-blue shirt and loose-fitting linen trousers, his feet bare, the dark stubble on his jaw proof that he was now in holiday mode, he looked like a king. Relaxed and in control of all he surveyed.
She stormed into the space, her bare feet silenced by the powerful hum of the engines and the wind whipping off the water.
‘You arrogant bastard…’ she yelled, her outrage all but choking her as his head rose.
Damn, but she is magnificent.
Xander had to purse his lips to stop from smiling at the sight of Poppy striding towards him, her honey-brown hair loose now and flowing over her shoulders, her chestnut eyes bright with indignation.
The negligee clung to her subtle curves.
The matching robe was undone, giving him an unencumbered view of generous breasts, pert nipples and the mound of her pregnancy barely covered by blue silk.
When she stopped in front of him, her usually open face was taut with fury. She slapped her hands on the table, making him aware of her unfettered breasts swaying under flowing silk.
‘Where the hell are you taking me?’ she demanded.
He folded his paper and stood up, regaining the height advantage. Then swallowed, because his mouth had dried to parchment.
‘I trust you slept well, Poppy,’ he said, his voice husky enough to pull a bobsled as he forced his gaze to her face.
From this vantage point he could see far too much of her.
And the vivid recollection of exploring the line of freckles across her cleavage with his tongue five long months ago made the heat he was trying to suppress pound in his groin.
‘Don’t patronise me, Caras,’ she snapped back, her face now rigid with anger. ‘Where are we? And how long will it take to get me back to Galicos?’
‘We are not returning to Galicos.’
Her eyes narrowed to slits as her chin lifted, taking on a stubborn tilt. ‘Yes, we are. I have a shift starting at four.’
So, they were back to this nonsense again. His own temper spiked as his patience began to fray.
‘No, you do not,’ he replied. ‘My assistant in Galicos has informed your boss you will not be returning and has found a replacement, whose wages Caras Shipping has agreed to pay for the next month.’
Instead of her being grateful for his intervention though, and his generosity towards her former employer, the flush of outrage on her cheeks spread across her collarbone… Drawing his gaze back to her cleavage, annoyingly.
‘H-how…how dare you?’ she sputtered, her hands balling into fists. ‘You had no right to contact Serge. He’s my boss, not yours. I need that job.’
‘You do not need that job, or any other,’ he replied, no longer prepared to pander to her misplaced pride. ‘Do you believe I would allow the mother of my child to work as a waitress and be hounded by the tabloid press?’
‘A-allow!’ She raised her arms, but he grasped her wrists before her fists could connect with his chest. ‘Y-you arrogant son of a bitch.’
He held her off—far too easily—as she struggled against his hold. But he could see the sparkle of angry tears turning her chestnut eyes to gold, and the fierce sense of injustice on her face, and regretted provoking her.
He should not have allowed their argument to get so far out of control. He had worked out a strategy during the past two hours as he had waited for her to wake up. Why had he forgotten it the moment she had strode towards him looking like an avenging Valkyrie?
Perhaps because of the brutal reaction he was struggling to control even now.
And because her determination not to accept his protection made him feel helpless—which triggered his greatest fear…
A fear he had lived with since childhood, that he would not be strong enough, not be good enough to protect the people who relied on him to keep them safe.