Page 31 of The Heir Affair

His frown relaxed and his lips curved. Which unfortunately drew her gaze to his mouth… She shivered involuntarily at the memory of those same lips sucking the fig juice off her fingertips in the market square.

Hmm, perhaps the wary tension in her tummy wasn’t just about the exclusivity of their venue, and also about the far too vivid memory of him sucking her fingers earlier—which had almost made her spontaneously combust in front of a few hundred tourists and local market-goers.

‘Real Italian pizza is indeed delicious,’ he said, his gaze darkening again as it had during Fig Gate, making her wonder if they were still talking about their menu options.

Apparently, Xander’s wealth wasnotthe most intimidating thing about him. Not even close.

‘Although it is not as delicious as freshly made souvlaki from Nico’s in Piraeus,’ he finished.

‘Piraeus, that’s in Athens, right?’ she asked, trying to redirect the conversation to something less incendiary… But also intrigued by the affectionate tone.

He didn’t strike her as a sentimental man but clearly he had fond memories of the restaurant he’d mentioned.

‘Piraeus is the city’s port and the largest passenger port in Europe, yes,’ he replied. ‘It is where Caras Shipping’s container business is based.’

‘And Nico’s is a restaurant there? That you frequent?’ she prompted, keen to get him to talk about himself.

Other than the incident he had mentioned with his father, she really knew very little about him. During their day together in April she had done nearly all the talking because he’d encouraged it, apparently fascinated to hear about everything, from her holidays in Greece with her mum, to her taste in music. And while she’d talked incessantly, basking in his attention, Xander, or rather the man she had known as Alex, hadn’t really told her anything about himself, except that he was from Athens originally. She had realised how dopey she had been not to get more information out of him that day when she had discovered the pregnancy. When she had found out his true identity, she had convinced herself he had been deliberately evasive. But now, seeing his expression tense at her questions, she wasn’t so sure. Perhaps his reticence to talk about himself had a much deeper root than just the desire to keep his identity a secret from that smitten girl.

He stared at her for the longest time, saying nothing, even though her question had been innocuous. She could almost sense him weighing up whether he would be giving away too much information if he answered her. But then he shrugged.

‘Nico’s wasn’t a restaurant, it was a stall, on the docks. Nico sold souvlakis to the dockworkers.’ The warm expression softened the harsh planes and angles of his face. ‘My brother and I would celebrate with souvlaki whenever we had extra coin to spend—and Nico always gave us extra, probably because we were both so skinny.’ He sighed. ‘Nico was also one of our first investors—he lent us money to buy our first tugboat. It is a good memory.’

Her stomach muscles clenched at the wistful tone. And the suspicion that most of his childhood memories were not good ones.

‘You grew up in Athens?’ she prompted, keen to push for more. She wanted to ask about his father, about what had happened to him and his brother after the terrifying night he had described. But she sensed the shutters lowering again. And heard the careful distance in his voice when he replied.

‘Yes. I was born there,’ he said, stiffly, as if he was bracing himself for more intrusive questions.

‘What happened to you and your brother, after your father left?’ She made herself ask the question that had been bugging her since that morning, despite the frown reforming on his brow. ‘How did you survive? And stay together?’

‘Why do you wish to know these things?’ he countered, not answering the question. ‘When it is ancient history now?’

Ancient?She didn’t think so. Not when he was so reluctant to talk about it.

‘Don’t we need to know more about each other? To build trust,’ she replied.

Why beat about the bush? She had given him so much of herself that day on Parádeisos, while he had kept so much of himself hidden, which put her at a huge disadvantage now. ‘Isn’t that why you wanted to have lunch on neutral territory?’ she added. ‘So we could talk in private? About our plans for the future? But how can we plan what happens next when we’re virtual strangers?’

He let out a rough chuckle. ‘I wanted to return to the yacht and lick fig juice from your breasts. Eating here was my idea of a compromise,’ he countered. The brazen statement and the intent in his gaze sent erotic shivers through her body she did not need. The memory of Fig Gate was still far too fresh. The breasts in question then puckered into tight points, almost as if he had his lips on them already.

She crossed her arms over her chest, but when his gaze darkened she had the awful thought he had already seen her reaction.

The blush burned her cleavage, which suddenly felt far too exposed in the light summer dress, and she was reminded all over again how her innocent offer of a bite of her fig had turned into a moment charged with passion.

But then pretty much everything Xander did and said was passionate, and seductive. The man was a walking sex machine.

Reaching across the table, he held one of her wrists and gently unfolded her arms.

‘There is no need to hide your reaction, Poppy,’ he said, the sensual smile making it clear she had not been wrong about his powers of observation. ‘I am already aware of how responsive your nipples are. And how much you enjoy having my mouth on them.’

‘Xander!’ The blush exploded into her cheeks. ‘Would you please stop trying to derail everything with sex?’ she added, exasperated now, and far too aware her nipples were pressingagainst the bodice of her dress like torpedoes ready to launch. What she wouldn’t do right now for a padded bra. Or better yet an armour-plated one. ‘And don’t think I’ve forgotten that completely inappropriate thumb suck in the piazza,’ she continued, then felt annoyed he’d made her sound like a prude. ‘Which I did not appreciate at all.’

‘Did you not?’ he questioned, the sensual smile widening. Still holding her now clenched fist, he drew it towards him, then prised open her fingers—far too easily. ‘And there I was thinking that purring sound you made—like a cat begging to be petted—meant you enjoyed my attentions very much.’

He drew his thumb across her palm in lazily circles, his gaze hot on her now burning face.

She ought to tug her hand free, ought to call him a liar. But she was powerless to do anything but stare, and tremble, as he lifted her palm to his mouth. He bit lightly into the flesh under her thumb. Sharp, heady sensation geysered up from her core and the sob of arousal that rumbled out sounded exactly like a purr.The bastard.