Bought to Carry His Heir

by Jane Porter

  “Yes, the gift of life,” she shot back, tone defiant, blue eyes blazing. “But I’m not just any woman. I’m the one you wanted to be both egg donor and surrogate. There was a reason you picked me. You could have picked any woman, but you selected me, which means you have me, and I am not going to be pushed around. I don’t respect men who throw their weight around, either. You can have a conversation with me, but don’t dictate to me.”

  * * *

  For a long moment there was just silence.

  Georgia felt the weight of Nikos’s inspection. He wasn’t happy. At all. She wasn’t afraid, just alert. Aware. Aware of his intensity, and how energy seemed to crackle around him. He wasn’t moving, and yet she could feel the air hum.

  She’d never met anyone like him before. And if she weren’t here, trapped on an isolated island with him, she’d be intrigued. She’d be tempted to test the fire and energy, but she was trapped here, and the survivalist in her told her she needed to be careful, and she needed to get off the island. Soon.

  “Does no one else live on Kamari?” she asked, filling the taut silence.

  “Just my staff.”

  “Are there many?”

  “A half dozen or so, depending on the day and occasion.”

  “And do you ever leave here? Will we ever go anywhere?”

  His mouth quirked, his dark eyes narrowing. “You’ve only been here a few hours. Are you already so anxious to leave?”

  “I’ve never been to Greece.”

  “And here you are.”

  She smiled and glanced past him, her attention drawn to the blue horizon. “But I see other islands. They cannot be that far.”

  “The closest is Amorgós. It is twenty-six kilometers away.”

  “How do you get there?”

  “I don’t.”

  She allowed her smile to grow, stretch. “What if I wanted to visit?” she asked lightly.

  “And why would you want to do that?”

  “I might want to shop—”

  “You want to buy olives...bread...soap? Because that is all the shops have there this time of year. It’s not high season. In winter, Amorgós is not for tourists. It has a few small shops with meat and produce, but that is all.”

  “Surely there is more to the island than that.”

  His broad shoulders shifted. “There is a ferry, a hospital and a monastery—plus churches. Many churches. But no museums, no café culture, nothing that would appeal to you.”

  “You don’t know me. How do you know what would appeal to me?”

  “You are young and beautiful. Young, beautiful women like to have a good time.”

  She laughed, entertained. Or at least, it was what she’d have him think. The quickest way to lose control was to get emotional. “That is so incredibly sexist.”

  “Not sexist. I’m just honest. And before you think I am being unfair to the female gender, let me add that young, beautiful men like to have a good time, too.”

  “But not you.”

  “I am neither young nor beautiful.”

  “Are you fishing for compliments?”

  He leaned forward so that they were just inches apart and stared deeply into her eyes. “Look at me.”

  Oh, she was, and this close his eyes weren’t just dark brown, but rich chocolate ringed with a line of espresso. His lashes were black, thick, long, perfectly framing the rich brown irises. His black brows were strong slashes. “I’m looking,” she said calmly, her cool voice belying the change in her pulse, her heart beginning to race. She didn’t know what was happening, but it was hard to breathe. She was growing warm, too warm. It was no longer easy to concentrate. “And you are still young, and despite the scars, you are still beautiful.”

  The space between them, those precious inches, shimmered with heat and tension. Even the air felt charged. Georgia dragged in a breath, feeling feverish.

  “Is this a game to you?” he growled.

  “No.”

  “Then look again.”

  “I am. So tell me, what am I supposed to be seeing?”

  He reached up, and shoved his dark hair back from his temple, revealing the swath of mottled skin. “Now look at them.”

  “I am. They are burns,” she said, struggling to sound clinical and detached as she reached out and lightly traced the thickened scar tissue. “They extend three inches above your brow, into your hairline, and then follow your temple down to your ear and out to the top of your cheekbone.” Her fingers shook as she drew her hand back. She curled her hand in her lap. “How long ago did it happen?”

  “Five years.”

  “They’ve healed well.”

  “There were a number of reconstructive surgeries.”

  His words told her one thing, but his espresso eyes said something else. She was far too warm and unsettled to want to analyze what was happening.

  Too much was happening, and much too fast.

  She hadn’t come to Kamari prepared for any of this...

  For him.

  He was so overwhelming in every way. The sheer physicality of him—his height, his size, the width of his shoulders, the thick angle of his jaw—coupled with his electric energy was knocking her sideways, making it difficult to think.

  The next three and a half months would be impossible if she didn’t throw up some boundaries, get some control. Normally she wasn’t easily intimidated, but Nikos Panos was getting under her skin. She needed space and distance, fast.

  “I’m exhausted,” she said, rising. “I think I should return to my room.”

  “You need to eat.”

  “Then perhaps you’d be so kind as to send something to my room for me? I’m dying to eat and crawl back into bed.” She managed a small, tight smile. Seeing that he was about to protest, she added quickly, “I might as well sleep now, while I can. I understand it won’t be easy towards the end of this next trimester.”

  His brow furrowed. He didn’t seem happy with her decision, but after a moment he rose. “I’ll walk you back.”

  “No need.”

  “You are a guest here, and you’ve only just arrived. I’ll see you to your room. It’ll give me a chance to check your door, make sure it has been repaired.”

  She couldn’t argue with his logic, and if she was going to survive here, she’d need to acquiesce now and then. She might as well allow him to win small victories.

  They went down a flight of stairs, passing through the gleaming white living room and then out into a whitewashed hall that reflected gold-and-red light from the row of windows overlooking the sea.

  Rays of burnished gold fell on Nikos, highlighting the width of his shoulders and haloing his dark head with light. With the sunset illuminating his strong profile he looked like an oil painting come to life, or perhaps a page lifted from a book on the Greek gods. One of Zeus’s immortal sons here on earth...

  “My room is just down there,” he said, nodding to a corridor. “Should you need anything later.”

  “I won’t need anything,” she said.

  “But if there’s an emergency.”

  “There won’t be.”

  He stopped outside her room. Her door was closed. He gave a twist to the door handle. It opened soundlessly. He closed it again. It closed smoothly. “It seems to be working properly.”

  She stepped past him and checked the door herself. It opened and shut, but the paint was scraped clean in a spot. A bit of hardware was missing.

  The lock had been removed.

  Georgia turned to face him. “This is not all right.”

  “The door shuts.”

  “You had the lock taken off. I told you—”

  “And I told you that I need to be able to reach you should there be an emergency,” he ground out, silencing her. “If you cannot sleep without a locked door due to anxiety or fear of being attacked, then I will sleep in your room with you—”

  “No. That will not happen.”

  “Then deal with an unlocked door, because tho
se are your options.” He towered over her, features hard. “I will have a tray sent to you now, and I will see you in the morning for the tour of the house and gardens.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  IT TOOK FOREVER for Georgia to fall asleep.

  She’d only been in Greece a few hours and yet she was already wishing she’d never agreed to travel to Kamari. The money wasn’t worth it—

  She stopped herself there.

  The money would be worth it, if she calmed down and focused. Getting upset wasn’t going to help. She’d been through many difficult experiences in her life and she could handle this one.

  With that said, it would have been better to have known more about Nikos Panos than she did. Mr. Laurent had told her a little bit about the Panos family when she’d been selected for the surrogacy. He’d explained that the Panos family’s fortune was fairly recent, only since the end of World War II, and that they’d made their money rebuilding war-torn Europe, then branched from construction into shipping and from shipping into retail.

  She did a little more research on her own at that point. The Panos story wasn’t all sunshine and roses. The company had floundered during the past decade, poor investments and too much expansion in the wrong direction. Teetering on the brink of bankruptcy, son and heir Nikos Panos took the helm and turned the floundering company around.

  Nikos’s success had reassured her. She’d assumed he was successful and stable. She needed to learn not to make assumptions.

  Or perhaps she needed to stop thinking about Nikos. Maybe she needed to practice detachment. And not just about Nikos, but the pregnancy, too.

  She’d lost so much when her parents and sister and grandparents died. And now she had to be careful she didn’t get her heart broken again. He wasn’t her baby. He wasn’t her son. Nor would he ever be.

  Georgia finally fell asleep, but the morning came far too quickly. Waking, she frowned at the bright sunshine. She was not ready for the tour or more time with him.

  Boundaries and distance, she told herself, showering and then dressing, choosing skinny jeans and an oversize gray cashmere sweater and gray ankle boots. The sky was clear, but her room was cold and outside the wind howled, buffeting the stone villa.

  Boundaries and distance, she repeated when Nikos knocked at her bedroom door a few minutes later, coming to collect her personally for the morning tour.

  It was a shock seeing him in the windowless hall, cloaked in shadows. He was wearing black trousers and a black shirt, and although she was tall, he towered over her, his broad shoulders filling the doorway, consuming space.

  His dark gaze swept over her before focusing on her feet. “Please change the boots to something more practical.”

  She choked on an uncomfortable laugh, thinking he was joking, but he didn’t laugh or smile. Her brows lifted, unable to believe they were starting a new day this way. “You’re serious?”

  “That’s the third pair of boots. Heeled boots—”

  “These are practically flats. The heel is maybe an inch tall.”

  “They are two inches or more, and you’re not going to wear them and risk twisting an ankle or breaking your neck.”

  “I don’t know what clumsy women you dated in the past—”

  “We are not on a date. You are a surrogate. Change your shoes.”

  She laughed. She couldn’t help it.

  From the darkening of his expression, he hadn’t expected that response, which made another bubble of laughter rise. She struggled to smash this one, too, but the sound escaped, and she bit the inside of her lip, trying to muffle her amusement and failing miserably.

  Did he really expect her to jump to his bidding? Was he accustomed to women bowing and scraping?

  Clearly he had no idea who he was dealing with. The Nielsen sisters were not pushovers. Neither Savannah nor Georgia were known to be quiet, timid, pliable women. The daughters of Norwegian American missionaries, they’d grown up overseas, moving with their parents from mission to mission, before losing their family in a horrific assault four years ago. Georgia and her sister had battled through the grief together and had emerged stronger than ever.

  And Nikos should know that.

  He’d selected her from thousands of egg donors and potential surrogates. Mr. Laurent told her that Nikos had examined her profile in great depth as he was very specific about what he wanted—age, birth date, height, weight, blood type, eye color, natural hair color, education, IQ.

  “You laugh,” Nikos said grimly.

  “Yes, I did, and I will again if you continue to act as if you’re a barbarian. I might be your paid surrogate, but I’ve a good brain, and I don’t need you telling me what to do every time I turn around.”

  “Then your good brain and your common sense should tell you that wearing impractical shoes is asking for trouble.”

  “They are ankle boots, with a tiny stacked heel.” She held up her fingers, showing him a sliver of space between her thumb and pointer finger. “Tiny.”

  His sigh was heavy and loud. “You are as exasperating as a child.”

  “I don’t know how much experience you’ve had with children, but you do seem to be an expert in belittling women—”

  “I’m not belittling women in general. We’re discussing you.”

  “You might be surprised to discover that I don’t want your attention. I don’t want your company, either. You are insufferably arrogant. I completely understand why you live on a rock in the middle of the sea. Nobody wants to be your neighbor!”

  “And I think you enjoy fighting.”

  “I don’t enjoy fighting, but I’m not about to bow and scrape. I don’t like conflict, but I won’t let you, or anyone, bulldoze over me.” She was breathing fast, and her hands knotted at her sides. “You started this, you know. You talk to me as if I’m feebleminded—”

  “I’m helping you.”

  “You’d help me more by staying out of my business. I don’t tell you how to eat or exercise. I don’t tell you how to dress or what shoes to wear—”

  “I’m not pregnant.”

  “No, I am—that’s correct. And when I’m upset my blood pressure goes up and my hormones change and the baby feels all of it. Do you think it’s good for your child when you get me all worked up? Or maybe since he is your son he enjoys a good fight.”

  Nikos scowled at her. “I don’t enjoy a fight, and nor does he.”

  “Then if you don’t enjoy a fight, don’t provoke one.”

  “Maybe you are the one that needs to compromise.”

  “I am. I have. I’m here!” Georgia gestured to the room, the window, the view beyond. “I left my home to be your guest for three and a half months, and I’ve given up everything to make you happy. You can try to make me happy, Nikos.”

  He stretched out his arms, putting an elbow on either side of the plastered doorway, his shoulders forming a thick, muscular wall. He drew a slow, deep breath, his dark eyes burning, revealing his chaotic emotions. “We are not going to do this for the next three-plus months,” he growled as a lock of his thick black hair fell forward, half hiding one dark eye, concealing the scars at his temple. “This is my home, my sanctuary. It’s where I live to be calm and in control—”

  “And would it hurt you so much to give up a little control?” she interrupted furiously. “Is it impossible for you to back off and just give me breathing room?”

  “You only just arrived.”

  “Exactly. And yet you’ve already broken down my door—”

  “Which I apologized for.”

  She snorted. “You didn’t apologize. You just fixed it. But that’s not an apology. And now you’re hanging from my door, your giant body blocking my room, as you lecture me about calm and control while you act like a crazed werewolf—” She broke off, gulped air. “Mr. Laurent should have told me the whole story. He shouldn’t have sold me on how smart and successful you were. He shouldn’t have portrayed you to be this brilliant Greek tycoon. He should have to
ld me the truth. You’re a nightmare!”

  Georgia knew immediately by the flare of hot white light in his eyes that she’d gone too far, said too much. But she was also in too deep, her emotions too stirred up to do anything but end the conversation as fast as she could.

  “You’re right,” she added breathlessly. “This isn’t working. Let’s forget the tour. I’ll find my way around. I think it’s best if you just do your thing and let me do mine.” And then she slammed the door shut, praying that as the door scraped shut, it didn’t take off his face.

  For a split second after Georgia closed the door, she felt wildly victorious. The rush of adrenaline was pure and strong, and she praised herself for handling the situation—and him—without revealing cowardice or weakness.

  Perhaps he’d learn from this, she mentally added, heading toward the sitting area, where she’d piled her books. Perhaps he’d realize that his controlling boorish behavior was detrimental to the well-being of them all—

  And then her door flew open, and he stormed across the threshold. Georgia’s heart tumbled to her feet. All self-congratulating ended when she saw his livid expression.

  She backed up a step, and then another as he continued to charge across the room. “What are you doing?” she cried, praying he didn’t hear the wobble in her voice. “Get out! This is my room—”

  “No, gynaika mou, it seems you are in need of a little lesson. This isn’t your room. It’s a room in my house that I am allowing you to use,” he gritted out, marching toward her. “So to repeat, so we can be absolutely clear, this is my house. My room. You are my surrogate carrying my son.”

  Her heart drummed double time as he bore down on her but she wasn’t about to retreat. “It might be your house, and the baby might be your son, but I am not your surrogate. I do not belong to you, and I will never be any man’s possession.”

  “You took my money—”

  “Not that again!”

  “So until you give birth, you are mine.”

  “Wrong.” She threw her shoulders back. “Not yours. I will never be yours. In fact, I’d like to call Mr. Laurent right now. I think it’s time he and I had a little conversation and sorted things out.”