Page 20 of The Heir Affair

‘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’dfinally 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 thecoast 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.’