Page 25 of The Heir Affair (Claimed by a Greek #1)

But that fear felt somehow juvenile and silly—and cowardly too—in this stunning place.

She had chosen to have this man’s child.

That decision would bind them always, no matter her feelings or his.

And being here again made her even more aware of how fleeting life could be, how unreliable and insecure.

And she suspected he knew that, too, from the small insights he’d given her into his past.

Xander Caras guarded his secrets jealously, his emotions even more so, probably because he’d once been so vulnerable.

He’d lied about who he was that day, plus he still hadn’t really explained why he’d decided not to tell her the truth.

She wasn’t buying the excuse he’d only been adhering to her wishes that they remain anonymous, given that he must have known there was no chance of them being accused of trespassing.

But did his silence that day, the decision not to admit he was the billionaire who had purchased her precious island, mean nothing else they’d shared that day had been real either?

Had the intimacy, the connection she’d felt so strongly, when they’d mucked about together and then made love, and he had listened to her dreams, all been a lie too?

And how would she ever discover the answer to that crucial question, if she didn’t have the courage to see where their time together here might take them?

Didn’t she owe it to her baby, their baby, to find out if they could have a future together as more than just its parents?

And didn’t she also owe it to that fanciful pre-teen, who had once lain on this beach with her mum and spun silly dreams that had seemed so close five months ago with the brooding beach bum who had turned out to be a billionaire?

He dumped the bag on the ground, pulled out two scraps of red spandex. And dangled them from his finger, just out of her reach.

‘You look hot,’ he murmured, the provocative smile making it clear he wasn’t just talking about the sweat dampening her neck.

‘The water is perfect at this time of year, cool and refreshing but not too cold.’ His saturnine features darkened, making need gush between her thighs.

‘Say please, and I may let you have the bikini.’

It was another dare, pure and simple. So, why not up the stakes?

She began unbuttoning the front of her dress. She’d already lost this round, but she intended to lose it in style.

Two can play at that game, buster.

His eyebrows rose, the colour slashing across his cheekbones as she tugged the dress over her head then kicked off her sandals.

Standing before him in nothing but her bra and panties, she could see she had surprised him—even as desire turned his gaze to a deep cobalt, even more vivid than the sparkling turquoise sea.

‘You can keep the bikini,’ she announced as she reached behind her back to unsnap her bra, then flung it away. Her tender breasts felt swollen and heavy, the nipples tightening as his gaze—possessive and hungry—raked over them.

He groaned and cursed in Greek as the bikini in his fingers dropped to the sand. But when he reached for her, she darted away, a laugh bubbling out.

Why had she denied herself the chance to make him ache, the way she ached for him?

Another schoolgirl error, Pops! Time to turn up the heat.

Power rushed through her as she sprinted towards the sea, aware of him cursing as he struggled to undress as fast as was humanly possible. She waded into the crisp, clear water, then dived under the surface, letting the coolness revitalise her skin.

When she came up for air, he was striding into the waves, gloriously naked, his expression fierce with determination.

His tanned skin gleamed in the sunshine.

The sculpted muscles of his pecs were dusted with hair that trailed into a thin line between washboard abs.

Lean hips, long legs and broad shoulders completed the picture of a man in his prime.

She took the opportunity to look her fill, while her breathing accelerated and the knot in her throat dropped to pound between her thighs.

He was spectacular, like the mock-ups she’d admired as a girl of the Colossus of Rhodes, the bronze statue that had once stood in the ancient harbour, although… Her gaze edged down his happy trail to his groin, where dark hair bloomed around his impressive cock.

Already semi-erect.

Her breath caught as she studied him.

Who knew? Xander Caras was even more magnificent—and intimidating—than an artist’s impression of one of the seven wonders of the ancient world…

She stood her ground, determined not to hide any longer from the hunger that bound them both.

She smiled as he stalked towards her, feeling like the sirens the cove was named for, luring him to her, aware of his gaze riveted on the tight nipples already begging for his attention.

She just hoped he couldn’t tell how shaky her knees were under the water or sense the liquid heat turning her belly into an inferno.

Power rushed through her as he reached her, and grasped her round the waist, to drag her against him.

Her pregnant belly butted against the strident erection, not diminished in the least by the cool water as he lowered his head and with a hungry growl closed his mouth over one aching breast.

She bowed back, thrusting the tip into his mouth.

Threading her fingers into his hair, she pulled him closer as the exquisite sensations threatened to send her over too soon.

She panted, her hands fisting, the water doing nothing to cool the inferno building inside her as he devoured her breasts—sucking, licking, nipping.

Devastating desire arrowed down to her aching core.

He lifted his head, tugging his hair from her grip, to stare into her eyes while his hand slid into her panties.

She sobbed, already close to cresting, as he parted the swollen folds, slick with her juices. But instead of caressing the perfect spot, he thrust one finger, then two inside her. Stretching her tender flesh, but not doing the one thing that would take her over.

‘Xander, I—I need more,’ she moaned, frustrated, impatient, rocking against his hand, clinging to his shoulders, desperate to find the friction she craved, to end the torment.

He laughed, the deep rumble strained but thick with masculine satisfaction—and she realised he was tormenting her on purpose.

‘You deny me for three days, and yet you expect instant gratification…’ Clasping her head with his other hand, he captured her lips, his tongue tangling with hers in a dance of dominance and submission.

She kissed him back but choked out a sob when he removed his hand from her panties. Before she had the chance to beg, he scooped her into his arms, strode out of the surf, and across the sand until they reached the sofa under the trees.

Placing her on her feet, he kneeled to hook his thumbs in the wet panties.

She had to steady herself on his shoulder as he lifted one foot then the other to strip them off.

When he stood, towering over her, she could see the ruthless desire in his face, feel it in the rigid erection pressing against her belly.

But as she reached to circle his neck, he grasped her wrists and turned her away from him, folding his arms around her, the erection now nestled against her back.

‘I want to take you so deep you will feel me everywhere,’ he murmured against her neck, his low voice guttural with tension, but also rough with desire. ‘But I don’t want to hurt the baby.’

‘Y-you won’t,’ she managed as emotion bloomed alongside the visceral heat, the concern in his voice touching something deep inside her.

Memory swirled as she recalled their first time, and the care with which he’d eased inside her, aware of his size.

‘Good,’ he murmured, but then he bit into her earlobe. Raw sensation pulsed in her sex, focussing her attention back on the pleasure that he had denied her.

Taking her hands, he placed them on the back of the sofa, forcing her to kneel on the seat, the strident erection brushing her bottom.

‘Tell me if it is too much,’ he groaned.

Awareness shimmered through her as he held her hips, the huge head pressing against her entrance from behind. He slid deep, in unbearable increments, her slick flesh easing his way, until he was seated to the hilt.

She sobbed, her muscles clenching, and releasing, struggling to adjust to the thick intrusion, the stretching feeling overwhelming. But then he cradled the mound of her pregnancy, caressing the tight skin, and whispered into her hair.

‘I love what my child has done to you,’ he murmured, his voice husky with need. ‘You are mine now, always, in the only way that counts,’ he finished, the words so low it was as if they had been wrenched from his soul.

The emotion rushed back, pressing against her ribs like a boulder, wrapping around her heart—the connection she had sensed all those months ago like a band now around her chest, restricting her breathing.

He pulled out, then rocked back, again and again—faster, harder—until he had established a firm, unstoppable rhythm. Her fingernails dug into the sofa cushions, her body shaking as the vicious climax barrelled towards her, each thrust so deep it felt as if he could touch her heart.

His grunts matched her moans, the pleasure building, drawing, tightening like a vice, until his hands moved from her belly to caress the perfect spot at last.

The orgasm—hot, basic, delirious—tore through her body. She cried out, the fierce pleasure exploding in unstoppable waves, like the tide slapping against the rocks.

He shouted out his own pleasure behind her, his body covering hers as they plummeted into the beautiful, bright oblivion together.

But as he pulled out of her, her knees buckled. He yanked her back, cradled her against him, turning so she collapsed on top of him on the sofa.

They lay, together, spent, drained, her body shimmering with the vicious afterglow, her skin slick with sweat, her mind drifting.

He shifted, to press a kiss to her cheek, then spread his hands over the place where their baby grew.

‘Okay?’ he asked softly.

She nodded, unable to speak as the boulder resting on her ribs rose up to choke her.

And the words he’d said in the heat of passion reverberated in her heart.

You are mine now, always, in the only way that counts.

Did he mean that? Did she really matter to him now, the way she hadn’t mattered to anyone for so long…?

She tried to contain the desperate surge of hope. But the wave of emotion pressing against her ribs felt too huge, too wonderful to be cautious.

So she basked in it, let it warm her heart, while the sun warmed her skin.

She closed her eyes, and gave herself up to the foggy feeling of blissful exhaustion… While the dreams she had convinced herself she needed to forget flooded back in again, regardless.