Page 30 of The Heir Affair

She looked wary and tense, the bright, playful smile gone, the paper bag of figs clutched in her fist.

He swore softly.

‘You haven’t even told me where we’re supposed to be going, Xander,’ she added, the wary tone shaming him for the second time in one day—which had to be a record.

But beneath the wariness he didn’t hear the resistance he had heard before. She had asked him to include her in his decision making. And while that was a much bigger ask than she probably realised for a man who had built an empire on never taking no for an answer, perhaps all that was really required here was more finesse.

He nodded. ‘We can discuss the details of our journey while we eat,’ he offered, tightly. ‘Before we return to the yacht.’

As much as he would like to drag her back to his cabin now and ravish her again, he could see it would not get him any closer to his goal. While he could not give her a choice over whether she accompanied him or not—because he had no intention of leaving her in Sorrento—he could at least attempt to solicit her consent first.

He had been in difficult negotiations before—especially in the early days of setting up his business, when he hadn’t had the power and financial clout he had now. He knew how to coax andcajole, even if those skills were rusty… All he had to do now was suppress his more basic urges and be patient.

‘How about we discuss whether I’m actually going to go on this journey with you, first?’ she countered.

Clasping her hand, he brought it to his lips and kissed her knuckles.

She shuddered deliciously, and the kick of irritation at her rebellion faded.

You’ve got this, Xander, because she wants you too.

‘As you wish,’ he said, but he couldn’t control the smile as he led her through the narrow cobblestoned streets towards their waiting car and felt her shiver.

Suppressing this feral need was going to be a struggle, but then she was fighting the same losing battle. So why not use this incendiary attraction to fight his corner…and show her that a trip to Parádeisos would have some delicious advantages.

Poppy inhaled an uneasy breath as she sat on the private clifftop terrace in the penthouse suite at the Grand Hotel Excelsior Vittoria. The sprawling city of Naples could be seen thirty miles away along the rocky coastline against the hulking shadow of Vesuvius, with the ancient ruins of Pompeii visible inland. Capri and Ischia rose out of the vivid blue waters ahead of them, completing the breathtaking view from this vantage point, gilded by September sunshine.

But the view was not as breathtaking as the man sitting opposite her, his tanned face set in stark lines of determination.

‘When you mentioned eating, I thought we’d be having pizza in a local trattoria, not a five-course meal in a private suite in one of the most famous hotels on the Amalfi Coast,’ she murmured, trying for amused, rather than overwhelmed.

The hotel itself—its grandiose fin-de-siècle architecture a throwback to a bygone era of elegance and exclusivity—had been a sight to behold perched on the cliffs overlooking the port as they’d driven through the streets in the chauffeur-driven car that had appeared on the quay that morning when they’d disembarked. Discovering Sorrento, with Xander as her guide, had been exhilarating, the bustling streets and alleyways both picturesque and yet buzzing with life. And with the summer season over, the locals had started to outnumber the tourists.

She’d loved browsing the artisan shops and stalls selling everything from hand-painted ceramics to the finest extra virgin olive oil. And the weather was still warm enough for the stylish summer dress she’d found in a second-hand boutique. Xander had made a face about her paying for the dress herself, of course, and she’d ignored him.

But as their car had arrived at the gates of the opulent hotel and the hotel’s manager had rushed out to greet them personally, the panic caused by their almost-kiss in the market had begun to ramp up again. As the older man escorted them through a secret garden of citrus and orange groves, then staterooms decorated with impressionist art and antique furniture and crystal chandeliers, before guiding them up a sweeping staircase to this enormous private suite, Poppy had begun to wonder if she’d been thrown back in time, too.

She knew luxury hotels such as the Excelsior Vittoria existed, but she’d never even worked somewhere this exclusive, so the idea of being a guest made her stomach clench. The view from the suite’s wide terrace and the table elegantly set for two only made the experience more overwhelming.

Imposter syndrome, much?

If Xander was trying to intimidate her again he was doing a very good job.

‘We needed privacy for our conversation,’ he said, with typical pragmatism. ‘But I am sure pizza may be arranged,’ he added. ‘If that is what you wish to order.’

She smiled at his puzzled expression, and her panic receded, even as the hot blush climbed into her cheeks.

Apparently he wastryingto be a bit less intimidating.

‘If it’s not too much trouble, that would be great.’ Perhaps putting a slice of pizza on the gold-rimmed plate would make her feel less like a scullery maid playing dress-up… Enough that she might actually be able to swallow some of it.

Xander was extremely wealthy. She needed to deal with her inferiority complex because that wasn’t going to change.

And what exactly was so intimidating anyway? Maybe she wasn’t rich in money, but she had rebuilt her confidence from the ground up since her mother’s death, and there was no need to feel threatened just because he could afford a suite in a place like this. She was his equal, but only if she didn’t allow his wealth to intimidate her.

‘I’ve never had real Neapolitan pizza,’ she added, filling the silence a little desperately, because the brooding look as he studied her was starting to make her feel like a bug under a microscope. ‘I’ve heard it’s amazing.’

Plus pizza was much more her vibe than cordon bleu cuisine.