Page 45 of The Heir Affair

‘And our wedding, tomorrow morning,’ he added.

The sparkle of desire in his eyes was so intoxicating, the planes and angles of his face bathed in silvery moonlight so breathtakingly hot, and the bubble of hope pressing against her ribs so huge, it took her a moment to register the words.

‘Ourwh-what?’ she said as her flute dropped to the table, and the giddy excitement became sharp and discordant.

Had she heard that correctly?

He placed his own flute back on the pristine tablecloth and gave a heavy sigh, before reaching across the table to clasp her trembling fingers and squeeze.

‘Do not look so shocked, Poppy. Surely you know this is the only solution for us, for our baby.’

Her whole hand started to tremble, so many conflicting emotions rushing through her—hope, excitement, panic, fear—she wasn’t sure how to process any of them.

Of course, she wanted to be with him, so much. She loved him. And she wanted her baby to have a father who was present and involved in its life, the way her father had never been, and never wanted to be. And even in the short space of time they had been together here, she had seen so many facets to this man that she adored. Not just his ability to give her pleasure beyond her wildest dreams, but his playfulness, his purpose, his protectiveness, even that fierce possessiveness whenever he held her late at night, or talked about their baby. The truth was his focussed attention had always been intoxicating and validating.

But marriage?Tomorrow morning!

It felt like way too much, way too soon, when he hadn’t even been willing to discuss where she would live up to now.

Plus, was it even a proposal? Because he hadn’t exactly asked her, he’d told her, making the wedding sound like a fait accompli—the decision already made, without her input—the patient demand reminding her of the day her mother died, when her father had appeared and taken all her choices away from her.

‘I didn’t know you wanted to marry me,’ she said.

Even saying it out loud felt scary. But why did it? He wanted to make a commitment, the ultimate commitment, to her and the baby. Shouldn’t that make her feel good? Instead of terrified?

He nodded. ‘Well, now you do.’ He tugged her hand back, lifted her fingers to his lips, to buzz a kiss across her knuckles.The familiar shiver of sensation reached into her sex, pulsing, persuasive, but the instant, unstoppable arousal felt scary now too. Because it was stopping her from thinking clearly.

She tugged her fingers free and buried her hand in her lap. The warm breeze off the water did nothing to soften the knot of anxiety forming like a fist in her chest.

‘Butwhydo you want to marry me?’ Would he tell her now, the words she needed to hear to make this less terrifying? Perhaps that was the real problem, not that he seemed so certain about marriage, but that it felt as if there were so many more steps they needed to take—together—before they could possibly make such a huge commitment.

He frowned, as if the question made no sense. Then let out a harsh laugh.

‘Poppy, you are having my child. And you fascinate and excite me, beyond measure. Is this not enough?’ he asked, but his tone was flat and devoid of emotion. As if her objections were a problem that needed to be managed, rather than the conversation about their future that she had been anticipating.

But what about love?

The thought echoed in her head, but she didn’t want to sound too needy, because she already felt too exposed, so she settled for something a bit more pragmatic: ‘No, that’s not enough, not for a marriage,’ she managed.

His brows rose, but then a muscle in his cheek tensed, reminding her of the man she had met almost three weeks ago, who had stormed into Serge’s restaurant and demanded she leave with him.

‘Perhaps the wedding gift I have for you will persuade you…’ he said, before reaching into his jacket.

He pulled out an envelope and handed it to her across the table.

She opened the crisp ivory paper, embossed with some kind of official seal. Inside was a stack of legal documents—written in Greek. The final page had her name typed across the top—as Poppy Brown Caras—and his signature scrawled across the bottom. ‘What is this?’ she asked, feeling clueless now, as well as scared.

‘It is a deed of ownership to this island. The land and all the property built on it. Parádeisos will become yours, as soon as we are wed. So, you may live here always, with our child.’

He wanted to give her this island? She dropped the papers on her empty plate, shocked, not just by the gesture, but also by the way it made her feel.

Terrified.

‘But that’s… It’s too much, Xander,’ she said, but her voice sounded as if it were coming from a million miles away—hollow and confused and unsure. ‘I—I can’t possibly accept it.’

The brittle smile became genuine, and all the more disturbing for it, the intensity in his expression making his blue eyes shine like diamonds in the torchlight. ‘Yes, you can, Poppy. It would be your due as my wife. And the mother of my heir.’

‘But, Xander. You can’t just give me an island.’