by Jane Porter
Not Elsa, he grimly corrected, moving forward to meet her.
His Elsa had been quiet and gentle, even a bit timid, while this leggy blonde crossed the tarmac as if she owned it. He met her halfway, determined to slow her down. “Careful,” he ground out.
Georgia lifted her head and looked at him, brows pulling. “Of what?” she countered, a hint of irritation in her voice.
From afar she was striking. Close, she was astonishingly pretty. Even prettier than Elsa, maybe, if such a thing was possible.
And for the second time he thought this was a critical error, bringing her here, now, when there was so much time left before the baby’s birth. Not because he was in danger of falling in love with his late wife’s ghost, but because his relationship with Elsa had never been easy, and her senseless death had filled him with guilt. He hoped the baby would ease some of the guilt. He hoped that becoming a father would force him to move forward and live. And feel.
Elsa wasn’t the only ghost in his life. He’d become one, too.
“You could trip and fall,” he said shortly, his deep voice rough even to his own ears. He didn’t speak much on Kamari. Not even to his staff. They knew their duties, and they did them without unnecessary conversation.
One of her winged eyebrows arched higher. She gave him a long, assessing look, sizing him up—inspecting, cataloging, making a dozen mental notes. “I wouldn’t do that,” she said after a moment. “I have excellent balance. I would have loved to be a gymnast, but I grew too tall.” She extended her hand to him. “But I appreciate your concern, Mr. Panos.”
He looked down at her hand for what would probably be considered too long to be polite. He’d never been overly concerned about manners and niceties before the fire, and now he simply didn’t care at all. He didn’t care about anything. That was the problem. But the Panoses couldn’t die out with him. Not just because the company needed an heir; he was the last Panos. It wasn’t right that he allowed his mistakes to end hundreds of years of a family lineage. Surely his family shouldn’t pay for who he was...what he’d done...
The baby would hopefully change that. The child would be the future. God knew he needed a future.
Taking her hand, his fingers engulfed hers, his grip firm, her skin warm against his. “Nikos,” he corrected.
Then he lifted his head and turned his jaw from her to give her a good look at the right side of his face, letting her see who he was now. What he was now.
A monster.
The Beast of Kamari.
He turned his head back the other way and met her gaze.
She looked straight back at him without a flicker of horror or fear. Nor did she reveal surprise. Instead her blue eyes, with their specks of gray and bits of silver, were wide and clear. He found it intriguing that she didn’t appear discomfited by the burns on his temple and cheek.
“Georgia,” she replied, giving his hand an equally firm shake.
Like the proverbial Georgia peach, he thought, releasing her hand. Her name suited her. Too well.
Despite the long hours flying, despite the pregnancy—or maybe because of it—she looked fresh, ripe, glowing with health and vitality.
Nikos, who hadn’t wanted anything or anyone for nearly five years, felt the stirring of curiosity, and the dull ache of desire. He hadn’t felt anything in so long that the stirring of his body was as surprising as the questions forming in his mind.
Was the attraction because she resembled Elsa, or was he intrigued because she seemed fearless when confronted by his scars?
Touching her hand, feeling her warmth, made something within him uncoil and reach out to her, wondering just who she was, wondering what she looked like naked, wondering what she would taste like if he put his mouth to her skin—
And just like that, after years of feeling nothing, and being nothing, and living as if numb or dead, he hardened, his body responding to her despite whatever else was happening in his head.
And yet this was what couldn’t happen. And this was why he lived on Kamari, away from people. It wasn’t to protect himself, but to protect others.
Nikos ruthlessly clamped down on the surge of desire, smashing it by reminding himself of what he’d done to Elsa, and what Elsa’s death had done to him.
But she wasn’t Elsa, wasn’t his wife. And even though she wasn’t a wife, he still wouldn’t take chances. She carried his son. Her health and well-being were essential for his son’s health and well-being. And so he’d take excellent care of the surrogate, but only because she was the surrogate. She was nothing to him beyond that. Just help...a hired womb...that was all.
All, he repeated, looking past her to his flight crew. He gestured, indicating that her luggage should be placed in the back of the restored 1961 military Land Rover. It was the best vehicle for Kamari’s rugged terrain, handling the steep twisting roads with ease. It was also his preferred vehicle since he could drive in summer without the soft top. In winter he kept the soft top up, but there were no windows. No glass to trap him.
He started for the vehicle, and then remembered the American’s ridiculous footwear. “Those shoes are not appropriate for Kamari,” he said curtly.
She gave him another long look and then shrugged. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said before setting off, heading toward the passenger side of his green Land Rover with her careless, leggy, athletic grace, the wind catching at her bright hair, making it shimmer and dance.
Definitely not Elsa, he thought.
Nothing about Elsa shimmered and danced. But she had once, hadn’t she? She’d been happy once...before she’d married him. Before she’d come to regret everything about her life with him...
Nikos smashed his hand into a tight fist, squeezing hard, fighting the past that haunted him always. He prayed the baby would mean new life...not just for the child but for him, too. He prayed that if he were a good father, he’d find peace. Redemption.
Or was it too late for that?
He forced his attention to Georgia. A footstool had been placed on the ground for her, making it easier for her to enter the lifted four-wheel drive vehicle, but she seemed amused by the stool, her full lips quirking as she stepped onto it and swung easily into the passenger seat.
He didn’t understand her smile. He didn’t understand such brazen confidence, either. She seemed to be throwing down the gauntlet. Challenging him.
He wasn’t sure he liked it. She’d only just arrived.
Fortunately he had his temper well in check. His pulse had quickened, but he was still in control. Once upon a time his temper had been legendary. But it was better now that he was older. He’d matured, thank God. He’d never really lost his temper with Elsa, but she’d been nervous around him. Skittish.
He shook his head, chasing away the memories. He didn’t want to think of Elsa now. Didn’t want to be haunted by the past any longer. It was why he’d hired the donor and surrogate. He was trying to move forward, trying to create a future where there hadn’t been one in far too long.
Climbing behind the steering wheel, he glanced at Georgia. She was fastening her seat belt and pale, gleaming hair spilled over her shoulders and down her back like a golden waterfall. Beautiful hair. Longer than Elsa’s had ever been.
Nikos felt a lance of appreciation, and then clamped down on the sensation, more than a little bit baffled by his attraction. He didn’t want to find Georgia Nielsen attractive. Didn’t want to find anything about her attractive. She was here as a surrogate...
A vessel.
A womb.
But his body had a mind of its own, and the heavy ache in his groin grew, his body tight with a testosterone-fueled tension that made him ruthless and restless. A tiger on the prowl. A beast out of the cage.
He didn’t like feeling this way. He didn’t like anything—or anyone—that tested him, challenging him, reminding him of his dark edges. He hadn’t known until he married Elsa that he had such a frightening personality. He hadn’t known until Elsa began hid
ing from him that he was such a beast...a monster...
Thirio.
Teras.
If he’d known who he was before he married, he wouldn’t have married. If he’d known he would destroy his beautiful wife with his temper, he would have remained a bachelor.
And yet he’d wanted children. He’d very much wanted to create a family. To have people of his own...
From the corner of his eye he saw Georgia cross one leg over the other, drawing his attention to her legs. The tunic hit high on her thigh and the boots stopped at her knee and her legs, in the gray tights, were slim and shapely.
“We’re about fifteen minutes from the house,” he said roughly, starting the engine, battling his thoughts, battling the desire that made him feel as if he had gasoline in his veins instead of blood.
“And town?” she asked, adjusting the belt across her lap.
His gaze followed, focusing on her waist. For the first time, he could see the gentle swell of her belly. She was most definitely pregnant. The cut of the cashmere tunic had just hidden the bump earlier.
The bump jolted him. His child. His son.
For a split second he couldn’t breathe. It was suddenly real. The life he’d made...his seed...her egg...
“Do you want to touch him?” she asked quietly.
He looked up into her face. Her cheeks were pale, and yet her gaze was direct, steady. “He’s moving around,” she added, lips curving faintly. “I think he’s saying hello.”
Nikos dropped his gaze to her hands resting at her side, and then back to the gentle curve of her belly.
“Isn’t it too soon for me to feel him moving?” he asked.
“It might have been a week or two ago, but not anymore.”
He stared at her bump for another moment, conflicted. He wanted to feel his son kick, but he couldn’t bring himself to touch her, not wanting to feel the tautness of her belly or the warmth of her skin. She wasn’t supposed to matter in any way, and yet suddenly she wasn’t this vessel, this hired womb, but a stunning young woman carrying his son.
“Not right now,” he said, fingers curling around the stick shift, changing gears, driving forward. His gut was hard, tight. Air ached in his lungs. What had he done bringing this woman to him? How could he have thought this would be a good idea? “But it is good to know that he’s moving and seems healthy.”
“He’s very healthy. I trust you’ve been getting the reports and sonograms from my checkups?”
“Yes.” But he didn’t want to talk about the baby. He didn’t want to talk at all. She was here now so she didn’t have to fly late in the third trimester, but he hadn’t brought her to Kamari to create a friendship. There would be no relationship between them. He needed her to be safe, but beyond that he wanted nothing more to do with her, and the sooner she understood that, the better.
“And town?” she repeated, catching a fistful of billowing golden hair.
He shifted gears as he accelerated. “There’s no town. It’s a private island.”
She was looking at him now. “Yours?”
“Mine,” he agreed.
“And the house? What’s that like?”
“It’s close to the water, which is nice in summer.”
“But not as nice in winter?”
He shot her a swift glance. “It’s an old house. Simple. But it suits me.”
Her hand shifted on her mass of hair. “Mr. Laurent referred to it as a villa.” She shot him another curious look. “Was he wrong?”
“In Greece, a villa is usually one’s country house. So, no, he wasn’t wrong, but I myself do not use that word. This is where I live now. It’s my home.”
She opened her mouth to ask another question but he cut her short, his tone flat and flinty even to his own ears. “I am not much of a conversationalist, Georgia.”
* * *
If Georgia hadn’t been quite so queasy, she might have laughed. Was that his way of telling her to stop asking questions?
She shot him a swift glance, taking in his hard carved features and the black slash of eyebrows above dark eyes.
Just looking at him made her feel jittery, putting an odd whoosh in her middle, almost as if she were back on the plane and coming in for that rocky landing all over again.
He wasn’t what she’d expected. She’d imagined a solid, comfortably built tycoon in his early to midthirties, but there was nothing comfortable about Nikos Panos. He was tall with broad shoulders and long limbs. He had thick, glossy black hair, piercing eyes and beautiful features...at least on one half of his face. The other side was scarred around the temple and cheekbone. The scars were significant but not grotesque, but then she understood what they were—burns—and she could only imagine how painful the healing process must have been.
If one could look past the scars, he was the stuff of little girls’ fairy tales and teenage fantasies.
Correction, if you could look past the scars and brusque manner.
I am not much of a conversationalist, Georgia.
What did that even mean? Was there no one she would be able to talk to during her stay here?
Mr. Laurent had told her there was no Mrs. Panos. Mr. Laurent had said his client would be raising the child as a single father. Was this where the child would be raised?
On this arid volcanic island, in the middle of this sea?
“Where will you live?” she asked abruptly. “Once the baby is born?”
His black eyebrows flattened. “Here. This is my home.”
Georgia held her breath and stared out at the narrow road that clung to the side of the mountain. The road was single lane, barely paved, and it snaked down and around the hillside. She wished there was a guardrail.
She wished she was back in Atlanta.
She wished she’d never agreed to any of this.
Georgia fought her anxiety and practiced breathing—a slow, measured inhale, followed by an even slower exhale.
Why was she doing this? Why was she here?
The money.
Her chest ached with bottled air. She was doing it for the money.
Sometimes focusing on the two huge sums that had been wired to her bank account gave her perspective when her hormones and emotions threatened to overwhelm her, but it wasn’t working now.
Maybe it was the long flight or jet lag or just the relentless nausea, but Georgia’s stomach heaved once, and then again. “Please pull over,” she begged, grabbing the car’s door handle. “I’m going to be sick.”
CHAPTER THREE
IN HER ROOM at the villa, Georgia slept for hours, sleeping away the remainder of the day.
She dreamed of Savannah, of her goodbye with Savannah yesterday, her younger sister’s emotional cry playing out in her dream.
What do you even know about him?
He could be dangerous...seriously deranged...
Who will be able to help you when you’re on his island in the middle of nowhere?
The dream was broken by the dull, but insistent, pounding on her bedroom door.
Georgia heard it but didn’t want to wake, and for a moment she lay in the strange bed, heart racing, pulse pounding, late-afternoon sunlight slanting through wooden blinds, as she tried to cling to the last of the dream, missing Savannah already.
But the knocking on her door wouldn’t stop.
Georgia dragged herself into a sitting position and was just about to rise when her door crashed open and Nikos came charging into her room.
“What on earth are you doing?” she cried, rising.
“Why didn’t you answer the damn door?”
“I was asleep!”
“We’ve been trying to rouse you for the past hour.” He stalked toward the bed, his dark eyes glittering. “I thought you were dead.”
She pulled on the hem of her cotton pajama top, trying to hide the skin gaping beneath. She was just starting to need maternity clothes. She hadn’t bought any maternity wear until recently, not wanting to spend money until ab
solutely necessary. “Not dead, as you can see.”
“You gave me quite a scare,” he gritted out.
She was still trembling with shock. She lifted a hand to show him how badly her hand shook. “How do you think I feel? You broke my door—”
“It can be fixed.”
“But who does that? I thought that was just cops in movies.”
“I’ll have someone repair it when you come upstairs for lunch.”
She wanted an apology, but it seemed she wasn’t going to get it. He really didn’t think he’d done anything wrong. Georgia glanced to the shuttered window with the late-afternoon sunlight stabbing through the gaps and cracks in the wood, trying to calm down and regain her composure. “I would think it’s dinnertime, not lunch.”
“We don’t eat dinner until ten or later, so we’re having a late lunch for you now. Dress and come upstairs—”
“Can you not send something to the room?” she interrupted, irritated all over again by his curtness. He lacked manners and the basic social graces. “After the long flight I would prefer to stay in my pajamas and just read a bit—”
“Head straight up the stairs to the third floor, we’re on the second floor now, and then through the living room to the doors to the terrace,” he concluded as if she’d never spoken.
She frowned, increasingly annoyed. “Mr. Laurent led me to believe that I would be able to have my own space and as much privacy as I desired.”
“You have your own space. Three rooms, all for you. But once a day we will meet and visit and have a meal together, and we might as well begin tonight as it will help establish a routine.”
“I don’t see why we need to meet daily. We have nothing to say to each other.”
“That is correct, and I am in complete agreement. You and I have nothing to say to each other, but I have plenty to say to my son, and since he is inside of you, you are required to be present, as well.”
She clamped her jaw tight to hold back the caustic comment that was tingling on the tip of her tongue, and then she couldn’t. “I am sorry you have to endure my dreadful company for the next three months, then.”
