Page 49 of The Heir Affair

Why the hell not?

It was what he wanted to say, but he bit down on the retort.

‘Okay. I will not insist on marriage again. Until you’re ready,’ he forced himself to say. Ready to concede that much, even though having her take his name felt like the only way to give him the peace of mind he sought. But perhaps he shouldn’t have pressed for marriage so soon. He realised that, now he couldthink clearly again. Trying to railroad her into a commitment she wasn’t ready for had been a mistake.

He slid his hand under the sweater and the T-shirt beneath, to caress her stomach, addicted to the feel of her skin, his thumb drifting over her protruding belly button.

He felt the delicious shudder that always signalled her arousal, but when he kissed the pulse point in her neck, and grazed his hands around her waist to sink his fingers under her loose sweatpants and cup her bottom, she resisted him again. And pushed him back more firmly this time.

‘Stop, Xander. I can’t…we can’t…’ She squirmed and wriggled until she could wrench herself out of his arms.

‘Why can’t we? When I’ve missed you so much. And I can smell you’ve missed me too,’ he demanded, the familiar spice of her arousal filling his lungs and making the erection throb in his pants.

But instead of falling into his arms, of begging for release as he’d hoped, so they could take the pain away, together, she took another step back and folded her arms over her chest.

‘I shouldn’t have run away that night. You’re right, it was cowardly and selfish,’ she said, her voice shaking. ‘And if it’s any consolation, I’ve been miserable since, but I was scared…Youscared me.’

‘How?’ He blinked, the pain and sadness in her voice like pouring the icy rain outside over his rampant body.

‘The marriage proposal? The gift you tried to give me? How long were you planning all of that?’ she asked, the accusation in her eyes his undoing. ‘While at the same time refusing to talk about whatIwanted? WhatIneeded from our relationship?’

He cursed, in Greek, turning to thrust his hand through his hair and stare into the flames leaping in the fireplace, but which could do nothing to warm his chilled skin.

He didn’t want to talk about this. Didn’t want her to know how scared he’d been when she’d mentioned returning to England to find a job.

‘I told you I loved you, Xander. And you had nothing to say. Even though you wanted to marry me. That doesn’t make any sense.’ He flinched, hearing the sadness in her voice, the disappointment. But also the strength.

A strength he wasn’t sure he’d ever had, despite all the things he’d had to endure to survive.

As much as he wanted to sink inside her and make her come and come and come and come again, until he could persuade himself the last two weeks had never happened, a part of him knew she was right.

Because in his darkest moments over the last two weeks, when he hadn’t been sure if he would ever be able to find her—because there were about a thousand Poppy Browns in the UK and she appeared to be the only one under twenty-five without a digital footprint—all he’d felt was despair.

‘I need a moment,’ he rasped, his throat raw, his fear so huge now he could hardly breathe. Because he knew he had been a coward too. And now he was going to have to find the courage to admit it.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Five minutes later

‘Here, I hopeit’s strong enough for you,’ Poppy said as she handed Xander the cup of black coffee, and then went to sit on the armchair opposite him.

She folded her legs under her and blew on the mint tea she’d made for herself.

She tried to concentrate on the balloon of hope under her breastbone as she watched Xander take a gulp of the coffee—which had to taste like tar, but that was the way he preferred it. He set the mug on the occasional table by his sofa, his hands shaking.

He’d taken off the drenched coat, the figure-hugging black cashmere polo neck he wore beneath making her brutally aware of his impressive chest.

She’d been impossibly grateful for the chance to dash into the kitchen and make them beverages that she was far too worked up to actually drink. Because she’d needed time to process all the emotions threatening to choke her.

As soon as he’d appeared in her doorway, she’d known she had made a colossal mistake two weeks ago. She shouldn’t have run. She should have stood her ground, and demanded answers from him. Because it seemed so obvious to her now that, while she’d been panicking about whether or not he would ever loveher, she had somehow missed the obvious: that Xander had massive abandonment issues.

Was that why he’d found it so difficult to tell her how he felt about her? Why he’d demanded marriage, while at the same time wanting to keep her on Parádeisos, and visit her at his convenience? Because he was scared of committing to a real relationship that would leave him vulnerable too? But how could she know or understand his motivations if he wouldn’t talk to her?

They’d both been in the wrong. She shouldn’t have run, but he shouldn’t have shut her out the way he had. And if she let him get away with not talking about it again—they’d be right back where they started.

But as he sat opposite her, she could see the fear he’d struggled so hard to hide, and she knew it was not going to be easy for him.

Then her gaze caught the photo of her and her mum together on Parádeisos that summer, which she’d found in an old shoebox upstairs and placed on the mantel.