Page 7 of The Heir Affair (Claimed by a Greek #1)

His company, and his career, his success in business was the thing he was most proud of in his life…

That through hard work, single-mindedness and taking sometimes insane risks he had lifted himself out of the poverty and the insecurity that had marred so much of his childhood.

Being driven and determined, with his eyes always squarely on the prize of financial security, was how he had finally buried that unwanted, neglected, brutalised boy who had woken up one morning to find his father gone, and his brother crying with fear and hunger.

And he would be damned if this girl would make him feel ashamed of what he had done to protect them both again.

Nor would he let her stop him from protecting his own child.

‘Are you refusing to take me back to the wharf?’ she asked, her voice determined.

But then he noticed the tremor in her body as she wrapped her arms around her waist. And knew she was not as calm and collected as she was pretending to be.

Well, good, because he was no longer calm or collected either. And it was all her fault. She had provoked him, deliberately, and insulted him. But if she thought he was going to let her make him lose his cool, she was very much mistaken.

‘You’re not going anywhere until we get one thing straight,’ he edged out the words, still not yelling, even though he was shouting inside his head. ‘Either you do as I tell you, or I will sue for custody once the child is born.’

She stiffened, as if he’d slapped her. ‘But you can’t do that. I’m its mother.’

‘Watch me.’ His gaze coasted down her figure again, aware of how much thinner she looked now than she had in April, despite the bump.

How long had she been working in that bar?

What had the pregnancy been like? He swallowed down the spurt of panic.

She should have come to him sooner. While he might be hard to contact, he was not impossible to contact and if any of his assistants had mentioned a communication from a woman called Poppy he would have immediately replied.

‘No judge will look favourably on a mother who deliberately rejects the support she needs out of some misplaced sense of superiority and self-righteousness. My money is as good as any man’s and it is clear you need my financial support, or you would not be working all night in a bar and living in a hostel. ’

Poppy stared, so shocked by his outburst, she didn’t know what to say. But right behind it was the niggle of guilt. And the prickle of fear.

‘My money is as good as any man’s.’

She hadn’t meant to insult him. Not about his wealth anyway. Or not specifically. But from the brittle light in his eyes, and the flags of colour on his skin it was clear she had hit a nerve she hadn’t been aiming for.

The truth was, his determination to support his child, though, surprised her.

And maybe it shouldn’t have. But what concerned her more was the realisation he might be able to take her baby away from her.

The thought terrified her. Had she been na?ve, contacting him at all?

She’d believed it was the right thing to do, but now she wasn’t so sure.

He had wealth and power, why hadn’t she even considered that he might use it against her?

Perhaps because her own father had been so uninterested in her as a child, she had foolishly assumed Xander Caras would be the same.

A gust of sea air blew through the thin cotton of her work blouse and made her shiver.

He draped her coat across her shoulders, his gaze still locked on hers.

She clung to the coat, suddenly feeling desperately vulnerable.

And hating it. Because that feeling dragged her back to the days after her mother’s death.

She’d been powerless then too, when her father had appeared at the hospital to collect her, called by social services. A man she hadn’t seen in years.

‘Come,’ Caras murmured. ‘We will discuss this inside where it is warmer.’

Perhaps she should have resisted, shrugged off that controlling arm yet again, but as he led her into the yacht, she felt too listless and confused—and frankly panicked—to object.

They entered a lavishly furnished lounge area, but instead of stopping he directed her to the end of the space and pressed a button. A metal door swished open revealing a mirrored elevator.

‘You’ve got a lift on a boat?’ she murmured, dumbstruck again, as she stepped inside with him.

He glanced at her, the quirk of amusement on his lips strangely incongruous.

Nothing about this situation was funny. But the light in those brooding blue eyes made the nerves in her stomach relax, a fraction.

‘There are four storeys on the yacht and the starboard terrace is on the top.’ His gaze darkened, gliding down to her stomach.

‘I did not want to over-tax you in your condition.’

The doors closed, confining them in the narrow space, and making her far too aware once again of his size.

‘I can walk up a few flights of stairs,’ she muttered, determined to believe it even though her knees were rapidly turning to jelly.

Unfortunately, the fragile feeling wasn’t just because of his nearness, and the threats he’d made, but also because those few words had struck something inside her, however unintentionally. It was a long time since anyone had cared about her welfare, except herself.

She locked her knees and clutched the coat tighter, refusing to allow the sentimental thought to soften her attitude towards him.

Xander Caras didn’t care about her. He’d proved that five months ago by withholding his identity on a technicality. And disappearing the next day. They hadn’t made a connection. She’d simply been an easy conquest.

How he must have been laughing at her when she’d told him all about her mum, and sounded off about the man who had bought their special island, not realising she’d just made love to him.

Resentment surged.

Maybe Caras cared about the baby. But even that seemed doubtful, when he’d threatened to take it away from its mother, as if it was a possession he wanted to own, rather than a person who deserved to be nurtured by the woman who had chosen to give it life.

She cradled her belly beneath the coat as the elevator’s doors opened silently to reveal another lounge area.

This one, though, wasn’t as open to the elements.

Glass walls looked across the bay towards the lights of Port Gabriel on the headland.

A six-person hot tub stood on the outside deck surrounded by luxury leather seating, steam rising from it in the night air.

‘Shouldn’t that be covered?’ she asked, without thinking. ‘It’ll cost you a fortune open to the elements like that.’

She realised how ridiculous that sounded when he chuckled.

‘Fortunes are relative,’ he said. ‘And I prefer it left available for use until I retire for the night. It is one of the ways I use to relax most evenings.’

‘Oh,’ she said, aware of the new wave of heat hitting her cheeks at the thought of him lounging in the tub, all those muscles and sinews sheened with steam and sweat.

One of the ways?

She blinked and turned, to find him watching her. Arousal swelled and pulsed in her abdomen on cue.

Why did the throwaway comment feel so intimate?

And that dark look in his eyes, which she remembered far too well from their day together.

She’d misunderstood it then. He hadn’t been looking at her with admiration or fascination or even any real interest in her as a person.

All he’d really been thinking about was how to seduce her, so he could relax himself with some extra-curricular sex—which she’d been far too willing to provide, after a day spent under that torrid gaze.

‘Sit,’ he murmured, indicating the leather couches that lined the space, the command tempered by the fact the muscle in his jaw had stopped clenching. It felt like a concession of sorts. ‘Would you like anything to drink?’

The offer seemed oddly polite, given their argument, but also strangely conciliatory.

Their conversation had got out of control on the lower deck.

Keeping things civil made sense, however hard it was for her.

He was right about one thing, whatever had occurred five months ago was in the past, and she needed to get over that sense of betrayal—and loss—so she could deal with what happened next.

She’d totally underestimated how complicated this situation was going to be. But adding all those foolish emotions to the mix—which had been based on dreams that had never been real—was just going to make dealing with this man, and her current reality, that much tougher.

She cleared her throat, which was so dry it could give the Sahara Desert a run for its money, and nodded. ‘Umm, yes, thanks, a glass of water would be great.’

He nodded. Producing a pricey bottle of mineral water from the fridge behind the bar, he filled two crystal tumblers and added ice and a slice of lemon to each. He brought both glasses over to where she had perched herself on the butter-soft leather.

She shrugged off the coat and took one. Their fingers brushed. The jolt of reaction rippled through her. She took a big gulp of the icy water, in the hope it might cure her dry throat and cool the now radioactive blush.

He relaxed into the seat next to her, crossing one ankle over his knee, and making the fabric of his trousers stretch over his thigh muscle.

She jerked her gaze to his face, stupidly aware again of how easily his presence could make her think of that day. Those hours they had spent together.

She took another long swallow of her water. Was he waiting for her to say something? Or just trying to unnerve her? Because it was totally working.

As she tried to formulate something coherent to say that wouldn’t make the whole situation worse, he cleared his throat.

‘Have you suffered from any sickness?’ he asked. ‘You have lost weight, despite the pregnancy.’