Page 5 of The Heir Affair

How typical, though, of a rich manipulative bastard like Caras to think he could buy her and Serge’s cooperation.

She’d opened her mouth to tell him where he could stick his gold credit card, when she spotted Serge’s hopeful expression.

She closed her mouth, forced to confront the ugly truth about this situation.

While her boss was determined to do the right thing, whatever it cost him, money was always tight for an operation like his. Even though he catered to a luxury clientele, when you factored in the cost of staff and supplies, not to mention the huge rates the principality charged for a prime location like this one, he’d be lucky to clear more than ten thousand euros in profit a week. One hundred thousand euros would be a major boon to his business.

‘I’ll… I’ll go with him, Serge. If you’re sure you can spare me,’ she said, untying her apron and dropping it on the bar withtrembling fingers, while trying not to reveal to her boss how anxious and frustrated she was with this outcome.

But the truth was, she didn’t have a choice. Caras hadn’t given her a choice. The rat. She didn’t want Serge to lose the money. Nor did she want Serge to risk losing his business—because who knew what a man with Caras’ connections might do if she defied him again?

Caras inserted his card into the reader rushed over by one of the bar staff. He barely blinked as he completed the transaction.

Poppy bit down on her frustration—and the surge of disgust. One hundred grand, just to get his own way.

Men like him would never understand the true value of money, because they had no idea what that amount of money meant to people who had to work for a living in menial jobs. Money to them represented power over the little people like her. It sickened her he’d been able to buy her time so easily. But as he tucked his credit card back into his wallet, she consoled herself with the knowledge they would have had to have this conversation eventually. So why not have it tonight, when Serge would be able to profit from it? And while Caras might have been able to buy her time tonight, he would never be able to buy her, because she wasn’t for sale.

She stepped away from him, intending to collect her stuff from the staff room.

But he grasped her upper arm. ‘Where are you going?’

‘I need to get my bag and coat…’ she said through gritted teeth, infuriated not just by his domineering behaviour but also by the unwanted reaction to his touch sprinting up her spine again, and making her breasts feel even more sensitive than usual.

‘Tell someone else to fetch them,’ he said, or rather demanded.

‘Let go of my arm and I’ll consider it.’ She ground out the words, her jaw locked tight. Determined not to let him win this round, too.

He glared at her, his eyes narrowing, the suspicion in them so galling it was a mammoth effort to keep her cool. But she managed it because, unlike him, she didn’t wish to drag any more of her colleagues into this mess.

He released her arm, reluctantly, but the warning in his voice was unmistakeable when he leant down and murmured, ‘If you try to run off, I’ll come after you.’

She stiffened, the feel of that gruff, accented voice so close to her ear bringing back more memories she didn’t need.

‘Why would I run off?’ she snapped back. ‘I’ve spent weeks getting here just to find you again.’

She pressed a hand to her belly, hating how vulnerable that sounded. And how vulnerable she felt with him so close to her. He had to be at least six feet three. She’d noticed his height before when she’d been clinging to him on the jet ski, those broad shoulders cutting out the sun, and protecting her from the waves… And at the island’s hidden cove, when they’d played a game of swim tag and he’d beaten her so easily… And then later… Much later, when he’d boosted her into his arms and carried her to the villa’s bedroom… When he’d held her hips and plunged deep…

She shivered, locking the unfortunate memory back where it belonged—in the box markedYou were seduced by a player.

Her workmate Isa arrived with her things from the backroom—her starry-eyed gaze landing on Caras. ‘Hi, Mr Caras,’ she said, clearly mesmerised.

‘Hello,’ Caras replied, but as Isa went to pass the coat and bag to Poppy, the infuriating man lifted both items out of her colleague’s grasp and tucked them under his arm. ‘Thank you. Let’s go, Poppy.’

Before Poppy had a chance to protest, he’d placed a controlling hand on her waist and marched her out of the bar, through the restaurant’s terrace tables and onto the cobblestone street by the wharf.

‘Will you stop it?’ she whispered, finally managing to shrug off his hold.

‘Stop what?’ he asked absently as he snapped his fingers at a passing taxi.

‘You know perfectly well what,’ she shot back, flustered now, as well as infuriated, which was somehow worse.

The cab screeched to a halt at the kerb.

He placed the proprietorial hand on the small of her back as he opened the passenger door. ‘Get in the car,’ he demanded, as if they weren’t already having an argument about his high-handed behaviour.

‘I’m sorry, who exactly made you the boss of me?’ she replied, determined to make a stand now. No matter what. He might be getting his way as regarded the timing of this conversation, but she was not his personal possession. And the sooner he figured that out, the better.

His gaze dropped to her waistline. When it met hers again, the furious light in his eyes made the prickle of sensation she couldn’t control become an inferno.