Page 21 of The Heir Affair

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…howdareyou?’ she sputtered, her hands balling into fists. ‘You had no right to contact Serge. He’smyboss, not yours. I need that job.’

‘You do notneedthat 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 accepthis 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.

She tired quickly, a single tear seeping over her lid as her breathing became ragged and her struggles ceased.

‘Let me go,’ she said wearily. ‘I—I won’t punch you… Even though I want to.’