Page 4 of The Heir Affair

She’d wanted to have this conversation face to face, but had never expected it to actually happen, fairly sure after the lies he’d told her already he’d have no interest in the news he had fathered a child. No doubt he’d done this before to other women—after all, he’d been so good at it. Inhabiting the persona ofa gruff, moody beach bum, cleverly using her own innocence and positivity against her when she’d insisted they remain anonymous to make their adventure more romantic.

One thing was for sure, she certainly wasn’t ready to have this conversation tonight. And she’d be damned—after the emotional wringer he’d put her through in the past five months—if she’d have it at his convenience and on his terms, instead of her own. She’d been on her feet since noon. She was worn out and seeing him again—having him touch her again—was more than enough to contend with for one night.

Never for a moment would she have expected him to spot her, or to confront her. From the suspicion shadowing his eyes, though—reminding her of the moody, watchful guy she’d first met that day—she suspected his decision to confront her had more to do with him wanting to get her out of Galicos on the eve of his high-profile engagement party and nothing whatsoever to do with the discovery he was going to be a dad. So why shouldn’t she let him stew, for tonight at least, while she got some sleep and prepared for tomorrow’s confrontation?

‘Are you insane?’ he snarled, as if he were the injured party. His burning gaze seared across her midriff again. ‘You are carrying my child. I will not wait to have this conversation a moment longer.’

The anger in his tone only ignited her own.

How dared he behave as if this were her fault? She wasn’t the one who had pretended to be someone she wasn’t. Nor was she the one who had made herself impossible to contact for a month.

‘Well, tough, because I don’t care what you want,’ she fired back. ‘We’ll have this conversation when I’m good and ready and not a moment before.’

His dark brows shot up his forehead—as if no one had ever said no to him before… They probably hadn’t, she thought, resentfully. She prided herself on being the first. It helped tostrengthen the tremor in her knees that had started the minute she’d turned to see him standing there by the bar. So tall, so indomitable. His face familiar… But nothing else.

In the expertly tailored designer suit, which hugged his muscular physique like a second skin, he couldn’t have looked more different from the man she’d clung to at the back of that jet ski, in old swimming trunks and a soaked cotton shirt, or the man who had gradually come out of his shell that day as they’d roamed the island and he’d listened to her endless chatter without saying much. His watchful presence had made adrenaline surge every time she’d caught him staring at her with that sheen of confused fascination in his eyes—as if he hadn’t understood her, but he’d wanted to.

The clean-shaven dashing man who smelled of expensive sandalwood cologne before her now could not have been more foreign to her, or more different from the beachcomber with a day-old beard, and sun-drenched skin, the delicious scent of salt and sweat clinging to him.

But then his brows lowered ominously again over those pure blue eyes that had once captivated her. Not brooding now but burning with fury—all of it directed at her.

‘You will come with me, or I willmakeyou come with me… It is your choice,’ he said, his voice so low she doubted anyone else could hear it.

‘Go ahead, then, make a scene.’ She forced the bitterness to the fore to cover the hurt.

This wasn’t Alex. The rough, edgy, mostly silent beachcomber had never existed. This man was just an arrogant billionaire playboy who thought everyone had to bend to his will. No way would she let his arsy behaviour upset her.

‘I’m not sure your royal girlfriend will appreciate you getting caught on camera dragging a pregnant lady out of awaterfront bar in her principality right before you announce your engagement.’

Something flickered in his eyes that looked almost like admiration—and not at all like panic—when her manager and the bar’s owner, Serge, interrupted their stand-off.

‘Excuse me, sir. Is everything okay?’ her boss asked, slanting Poppy a look that said, loud and clear,Don’t worry. I’ll handle this bozo for you.

Serge was a terrific boss who lived by the adage ‘the customer doesn’t always know best, we just let him think he does’. He’d hired her two weeks ago when no one else had wanted to employ an obviously pregnant woman and been impossibly sweet and accommodating when she’d struggled to get through her first couple of shifts, still exhausted from her travels and her heartache, and the demands of her pregnancy.

Serge was one of the good guys, unlike the man standing in front of her, generating a tidal wave of controlled irritation. But just as Poppy’s spine began to dissolve with relief, Caras reached into his jacket and pulled out his wallet.

‘I need you to give your waitress the rest of the night off,’ he demanded as he tugged out a gold credit card.

Poppy blinked, struck dumb by his arrogance. And her own stupidity.

Seeing him now—the aura of dominance and command emanating off him like a forcefield—how on earth had she ever persuaded herself this guy was a freewheeling beach bum living by his wits in Rhodes who owned nothing more than a much-loved jet ski?

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ Serge replied patiently. ‘We’re rammed tonight and short of staff so—’

‘I will pay one hundred thousand euros…’ Caras interrupted as he slapped the gold card onto the bar. ‘To compensate you for the inconvenience.’

Serge’s face flushed. But Poppy wanted to hug him when he directed his gaze to her, then back to Caras.

‘As it is Poppy’s time you seek, Mr Caras,’ he said, making it clear he had recognised their irate customer, ‘it must be her choice to leave with you.’

Serge’s bravery and integrity helped to restore Poppy’s faith in humanity… Or rather the humanity of the non-super-rich. Because offering to protect her against a man who was destined to become Galicos royalty was not an easy choice.

‘And she should be compensated too,’ her boss added.

She stiffened. ‘That’s okay, Serge.’

The last thing she wanted was any of Xander Caras’ billions. That wasn’t why she was here. Whatever suspicions Caras might have, she had come to Galicos only to let him know about the pregnancy, and then she planned to leave—as soon as she’d earned enough to give her some financial headroom when she returned to the UK.