Page 4 of The Heir Affair (Claimed by a Greek #1)

The clean-shaven dashing man who smelled of expensive sandalwood cologne before her now could not have been more foreign to her, or more different from the beachcomber with a day-old beard, and sun-drenched skin, the delicious scent of salt and sweat clinging to him.

But then his brows lowered ominously again over those pure blue eyes that had once captivated her. Not brooding now but burning with fury—all of it directed at her.

‘You will come with me, or I will make you come with me… It is your choice,’ he said, his voice so low she doubted anyone else could hear it.

‘Go ahead, then, make a scene.’ She forced the bitterness to the fore to cover the hurt.

This wasn’t Alex. The rough, edgy, mostly silent beachcomber had never existed. This man was just an arrogant billionaire playboy who thought everyone had to bend to his will. No way would she let his arsy behaviour upset her.

‘I’m not sure your royal girlfriend will appreciate you getting caught on camera dragging a pregnant lady out of a waterfront bar in her principality right before you announce your engagement.’

Something flickered in his eyes that looked almost like admiration—and not at all like panic—when her manager and the bar’s owner, Serge, interrupted their stand-off.

‘Excuse me, sir. Is everything okay?’ her boss asked, slanting Poppy a look that said, loud and clear, Don’t worry. I’ll handle this bozo for you.

Serge was a terrific boss who lived by the adage ‘the customer doesn’t always know best, we just let him think he does’.

He’d hired her two weeks ago when no one else had wanted to employ an obviously pregnant woman and been impossibly sweet and accommodating when she’d struggled to get through her first couple of shifts, still exhausted from her travels and her heartache, and the demands of her pregnancy.

Serge was one of the good guys, unlike the man standing in front of her, generating a tidal wave of controlled irritation. But just as Poppy’s spine began to dissolve with relief, Caras reached into his jacket and pulled out his wallet.

‘I need you to give your waitress the rest of the night off,’ he demanded as he tugged out a gold credit card.

Poppy blinked, struck dumb by his arrogance. And her own stupidity.

Seeing him now—the aura of dominance and command emanating off him like a forcefield—how on earth had she ever persuaded herself this guy was a freewheeling beach bum living by his wits in Rhodes who owned nothing more than a much-loved jet ski?

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ Serge replied patiently. ‘We’re rammed tonight and short of staff so—’

‘I will pay one hundred thousand euros…’ Caras interrupted as he slapped the gold card onto the bar. ‘To compensate you for the inconvenience.’

Serge’s face flushed. But Poppy wanted to hug him when he directed his gaze to her, then back to Caras.

‘As it is Poppy’s time you seek, Mr Caras,’ he said, making it clear he had recognised their irate customer, ‘it must be her choice to leave with you.’

Serge’s bravery and integrity helped to restore Poppy’s faith in humanity… Or rather the humanity of the non-super-rich. Because offering to protect her against a man who was destined to become Galicos royalty was not an easy choice.

‘And she should be compensated too,’ her boss added.

She stiffened. ‘That’s okay, Serge.’

The last thing she wanted was any of Xander Caras’ billions.

That wasn’t why she was here. Whatever suspicions Caras might have, she had come to Galicos only to let him know about the pregnancy, and then she planned to leave—as soon as she’d earned enough to give her some financial headroom when she returned to the UK.

How typical, though, of a rich manipulative bastard like Caras to think he could buy her and Serge’s cooperation.

She’d opened her mouth to tell him where he could stick his gold credit card, when she spotted Serge’s hopeful expression.

She closed her mouth, forced to confront the ugly truth about this situation.

While her boss was determined to do the right thing, whatever it cost him, money was always tight for an operation like his.

Even though he catered to a luxury clientele, when you factored in the cost of staff and supplies, not to mention the huge rates the principality charged for a prime location like this one, he’d be lucky to clear more than ten thousand euros in profit a week.

One hundred thousand euros would be a major boon to his business.

‘I’ll… I’ll go with him, Serge. If you’re sure you can spare me,’ she said, untying her apron and dropping it on the bar with trembling fingers, while trying not to reveal to her boss how anxious and frustrated she was with this outcome.

But the truth was, she didn’t have a choice. Caras hadn’t given her a choice. The rat. She didn’t want Serge to lose the money. Nor did she want Serge to risk losing his business—because who knew what a man with Caras’ connections might do if she defied him again?

Caras inserted his card into the reader rushed over by one of the bar staff. He barely blinked as he completed the transaction.

Poppy bit down on her frustration—and the surge of disgust. One hundred grand, just to get his own way.

Men like him would never understand the true value of money, because they had no idea what that amount of money meant to people who had to work for a living in menial jobs.

Money to them represented power over the little people like her.

It sickened her he’d been able to buy her time so easily.

But as he tucked his credit card back into his wallet, she consoled herself with the knowledge they would have had to have this conversation eventually.

So why not have it tonight, when Serge would be able to profit from it?

And while Caras might have been able to buy her time tonight, he would never be able to buy her, because she wasn’t for sale.

She stepped away from him, intending to collect her stuff from the staff room.

But he grasped her upper arm. ‘Where are you going?’

‘I need to get my bag and coat…’ she said through gritted teeth, infuriated not just by his domineering behaviour but also by the unwanted reaction to his touch sprinting up her spine again, and making her breasts feel even more sensitive than usual.

‘Tell someone else to fetch them,’ he said, or rather demanded.

‘Let go of my arm and I’ll consider it.’ She ground out the words, her jaw locked tight. Determined not to let him win this round, too.

He glared at her, his eyes narrowing, the suspicion in them so galling it was a mammoth effort to keep her cool. But she managed it because, unlike him, she didn’t wish to drag any more of her colleagues into this mess.

He released her arm, reluctantly, but the warning in his voice was unmistakeable when he leant down and murmured, ‘If you try to run off, I’ll come after you.’

She stiffened, the feel of that gruff, accented voice so close to her ear bringing back more memories she didn’t need.

‘Why would I run off?’ she snapped back. ‘I’ve spent weeks getting here just to find you again.’

She pressed a hand to her belly, hating how vulnerable that sounded.

And how vulnerable she felt with him so close to her.

He had to be at least six feet three. She’d noticed his height before when she’d been clinging to him on the jet ski, those broad shoulders cutting out the sun, and protecting her from the waves…

And at the island’s hidden cove, when they’d played a game of swim tag and he’d beaten her so easily…

And then later… Much later, when he’d boosted her into his arms and carried her to the villa’s bedroom…

When he’d held her hips and plunged deep…

She shivered, locking the unfortunate memory back where it belonged—in the box marked You were seduced by a player .

Her workmate Isa arrived with her things from the backroom—her starry-eyed gaze landing on Caras. ‘Hi, Mr Caras,’ she said, clearly mesmerised.

‘Hello,’ Caras replied, but as Isa went to pass the coat and bag to Poppy, the infuriating man lifted both items out of her colleague’s grasp and tucked them under his arm. ‘Thank you. Let’s go, Poppy.’

Before Poppy had a chance to protest, he’d placed a controlling hand on her waist and marched her out of the bar, through the restaurant’s terrace tables and onto the cobblestone street by the wharf.

‘Will you stop it?’ she whispered, finally managing to shrug off his hold.

‘Stop what?’ he asked absently as he snapped his fingers at a passing taxi.

‘You know perfectly well what,’ she shot back, flustered now, as well as infuriated, which was somehow worse.

The cab screeched to a halt at the kerb.

He placed the proprietorial hand on the small of her back as he opened the passenger door. ‘Get in the car,’ he demanded, as if they weren’t already having an argument about his high-handed behaviour.

‘I’m sorry, who exactly made you the boss of me?’ she replied, determined to make a stand now. No matter what. He might be getting his way as regarded the timing of this conversation, but she was not his personal possession. And the sooner he figured that out, the better.

His gaze dropped to her waistline. When it met hers again, the furious light in his eyes made the prickle of sensation she couldn’t control become an inferno.

Not good.

‘I’ve just paid a hundred grand for the privilege of your company,’ he said, his voice so low she could barely hear it above the sound of the tourists milling around them enjoying the nightlife, unlike her.

But she could hear the outrage just fine.

Apparently, he hadn’t been completely unmoved by the cost of that transaction after all.

Definitely good.

‘You need to get into this cab before I lose what’s left of my temper,’ he finished.

She wasn’t scared of him. Or his threats. Nor did she feel remotely guilty he’d been forced to pay such an exorbitant amount to get his way. But as the feral heat seemed to crackle between them in the warm evening air, the need to defuse the situation occurred to her.

The conversation they needed to have would require maturity.

And common sense. And having a massive pissing contest in public would not make it any easier.

Especially as she could already see some of the tourists nearby had noticed them together and recognised who he was, from the way they were staring so avidly.

As much as she despised this man, she genuinely hadn’t come here to upset his plans or his life any more than was necessary. She’d simply come here to do the right thing for her child. Because every child deserved to have their father know they existed.

Of course, when she’d decided she had to tell him, she’d assumed he wouldn’t want to know, or would accuse her of lying that he was the father.

She had not anticipated his furious reaction, so this situation was already more complicated than she had expected.

But she didn’t plan to complicate it further.

Nor did she plan to give him any ammunition for the suspicions she could already see swirling in those furious blue eyes by drawing more attention to their meeting than was necessary.

‘Fine, I’ll get in the cab,’ she said, shrugging off that controlling hand again . ‘But FYI, you’re not the boss of me, no matter how much you had to pay Serge. Understand?’

His jaw tensed, but he gave a curt nod. ‘Noted.’

She got into the car, then scooted across the leather seat so fast she almost got whiplash, while Caras reeled off directions to the driver.

But as he folded his tall frame in next to her, and buckled himself in, she realised two unfortunate facts.

Firstly, his presence was so dominating, no matter how far she scooted he still seemed to take up all the available oxygen in the car.

And secondly, she had been so busy scooting, she hadn’t paid attention to the directions he’d given the driver.

So, when the car sped off into the night, she had absolutely no clue whatsoever where he was taking her.

Definitely not good.