by Jane Porter
They left the hotel and walked to a nearby restaurant. It was quite early still, and the restaurant was deserted.
“They will think we are American tourists,” he grumbled as they were seated by the window overlooking the town square.
“Well, I am an American tourist, and you can pretend to be a Greek tourist.”
“No.”
She grinned. “You don’t want to be a tourist?”
“No.”
Georgia couldn’t stop smiling.
Nikos noticed. “What’s happened to you? You are all giggles and laughs today.”
“I’m having a good time.” She reached across the table and captured his hand. “And I hope you are, too.”
He attempted a scowl. “You’ve become overly affectionate, as well.”
“I think somewhere in your hard little heart, you like it.”
His jaw shifted, expression easing, and his dark eyes glinted. “Maybe just a little bit.”
She squeezed his hand. “I thought so.”
Over dinner of grilled lamb and fish and flavorful salads they talked about what they’d seen that day and the austere but mystical monastery. Georgia shared that she loved all the bright blue accents—the doors, the windows, the church cupolas—that turned simple Spartan villages into charming postcards.
“We know I’ve had a great time,” Georgia said. “But have you?”
“I have, actually. I enjoyed the day.”
“And you don’t resent me for forcing you to have an adventure? I know how much you cherish your time on Kamari.”
“And now I think you’re trying to provoke me.”
“Keeping it exciting,” she said.
“Mmm. A rebel, aren’t you?”
She mulled this over, then nodded. “I guess I am. No, I know I am. But in the end, it’s what saved my life. Leaving my family, leaving Africa. If I hadn’t insisted on returning to the States, I would have died with them. Savannah, too.”
“You weren’t worried about going to a big university in America?”
She shook her head. “I wanted a big American school and wanted to do all the things I’d only read about. College football games, parties, movies, dates, fun.”
“And was it fun?”
She nodded. “I loved it. So much. And I pushed Savannah to do the same. I told her she could always go back to Africa, but she owed herself the chance to be just a normal American girl for four years. Take four years, experience what everyone else your age experiences, and then decide what you want to do for the rest of your life.” Georgia looked away and exhaled slowly, remembering the day she’d heard about the attack that took place at the church, at the end of a Sunday service. She’d heard it on the news, not even realizing that the missionaries killed were her own family until hours later when Savannah got ahold of her.
The day everything changed.
She changed.
Her inner rebel, that wild, free spirit, died the day her family did, and she matured overnight, becoming the person Savannah needed. Someone strong and fearless. Someone confident and focused. Georgia promised Savannah that everything would be okay. She promised her sister that they’d make it through, assuring the eighteen-year-old that there was no reason to worry about anything but graduating from high school, because Georgia would take care of the rest...and Georgia had.
She’d found an apartment for both of them to live in near the high school Savannah would attend. Georgia paid bills—which often meant using her credit card for everything, putting them deeper into debt—but she wouldn’t tell Savannah or deny Savannah what was left of her adolescence.
“I became a donor because I thought it was the right thing to do,” she said quietly, filling the silence. “I knew it would be hard, but it seemed to be the most practical way to provide. It’d pay the bills, and there were a lot. But surrogacy...that’s something else.”
“Tell me.”
She shook her head. “Let’s talk about something else. I’m getting sad. I don’t want to be sad. This is supposed to be a holiday. Let’s focus on happy things, okay?”
CHAPTER NINE
NIKOS PAID THE BILL, and they left the restaurant just as it began to fill up. The night was cool but not cold, and they wandered through Chora’s narrow streets, getting glimpses of families relaxing at the end of the day. Men stood outside smoking together. Boys kicked a ball despite the shadows spilling into corners. Loud voices came from one house. A dog barked in another.
As they returned to the town center, heading for their hotel, they passed a couple with a stroller. Georgia and Nikos both looked down at the toddler, who was sitting up, taking in the world with wide, dark eyes as he contentedly sucked his thumb.
“I told you why I became a donor and a surrogate,” Georgia said to Nikos as they stepped back to let the couple with the baby pass. “But why did you decide that this was the right way to start a family?”
For a moment she didn’t think he was going to answer her, and then he leaned over and picked up a small coin he spotted next to the curb. He rubbed it between his fingers, cleaning it. “An American penny,” he said, handing it to her.
She looked down at the penny he’d placed in her palm. Smiling, she chanted the rhyme, “Find a penny, pick it up and all day you’ll have good luck.”
He smiled faintly. “Should we call it a night?”
Georgia nodded, hiding her disappointment. She wasn’t ready to go to bed, and she wanted to hear more about his marriage and why he’d chosen a surrogate, but she knew better than to push. He’d tell her if and when he was ready to talk. And if he didn’t, well, she had to respect that, too.
Upstairs on the second floor, Georgia started to unlock her door. She was aware of Nikos behind her, and she kept hoping he’d invite himself in or suggest they have an after-dinner drink, even if her drink was just the bottle of mineral water next to the side of the bed.
“It wasn’t a good relationship,” Nikos said abruptly. “My marriage was strained from the start. Elsa was unhappy most of our marriage, and she thought a baby would fix things. I thought a baby would only make things worse.”
Georgia slowly turned around, key forgotten. “So you refused to have a baby with her?”
“No.” He folded his arms over his powerful chest. “But you have to sleep together to conceive. Elsa wouldn’t let me come near her.”
“Why not?” And then she shook her head. “You don’t have to answer. I’m sorry that I ask so many questions.”
“I’m happy to talk, but I think somewhere more private would be better. We’ll go to my room. It has that little balcony. We can open the doors and get fresh air.”
But once inside his room there was no getting past the bed without noticing there was a bed. Georgia suddenly felt shy, which was odd considering she was pregnant with this Greek tycoon’s baby.
Nikos opened his bottle of water and filled the two glasses on the dresser. “Cheers,” he said.
She lightly clinked the rim of her glass to his. “To a great day with my new friend, Nikos Panos.”
He flashed her a lazy smile, a smile that didn’t strike her as particularly platonic. “Sit here. It looks like the more comfortable chair.” He in turn sprawled on the bed.
It wasn’t a huge bed, either. It reminded her of a bed in children’s rooms in America. She’d read that many of the European hotels were small, and so beds were small, too, but it didn’t seem like a proper size for a man Nikos’s size.
“Are we really friends?” Nikos said, studying her from beneath heavy lids with long black lashes.
“I think we should be. It’d make this attraction seem more logical.”
“You feel it now, then?”
“The chemistry between us?”
He nodded.
“I felt it all day,” she answered honestly. “I don’t even have to look at you and I can feel you. And we can be laughing about something, but I know that if you touched me, or kissed me, I’d be done for. I
’d just want more kisses.”
“Hmm.” He dragged his nails across the plain white coverlet on the bed. “You are nothing like her.”
The words were spoken so softly Georgia wasn’t even sure they were meant for her. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him to explain, but then he looked at her, dark eyes piercing, and said, “She didn’t like it when I touched her. She didn’t want me to touch her. Elsa was uncomfortable making love...or at least, with the way I made love.”
Carnal. Aggressive.
Georgia was beginning to understand. “She was the one who made you question yourself.”
“It was no longer making love, but sex, and then the sex no longer felt consensual.”
“What happened then?”
“We stopped sleeping together. She moved into her own room. I had mine. We lived like that for almost a year.”
“Was it that way before you married?”
“We married very fast. I was respectful. We kissed and did things, but she wanted to wait until we married to have sexual intercourse, so we did.”
“And then you married and she didn’t want to do it?”
“I thought she needed time. I thought it was because it was all so new. But she said no—it was me. I was always angry and yelling and scaring her.”
Georgia frowned. “Were you?”
“I became frustrated as time went on. And I may have yelled once or twice, but I was never cruel. I never said mean things to her. I never treated her badly. But I wouldn’t release her from the marriage vow, and this I know now was the mistake. I should have let her go. I should have divorced her. It would have been better. In hindsight, I know it would have been the right way to go. But at the time I was young. Twenty-six, twenty-seven. I had a beautiful wife. I was proud of my wife. I was not going to just give up.”
“Many people would think you were being a good husband, fighting for your marriage.”
He shrugged. “I fought for it too long. I should have set my pride aside and let her go.”
“Or had the baby?” Georgia looked at him, troubled. “Would that have helped?”
“I don’t regret that decision. It was the right decision. I wanted a family. Elsa and I discussed children before we married, and she knew I wanted them, but I could not see raising a child as we were. I wanted to wait until our relationship improved. I hated how toxic it was. Wasn’t healthy and it wouldn’t have been healthy for a child. And then she was gone, and I wasn’t just grieving the loss of my wife but the loss of the family we’d never have.”
“Wouldn’t it have been easier to just marry again? Start over?”
“I didn’t want to marry again. I still don’t. But I did want to be a father, and I’m looking forward to being a father.”
“Marriage doesn’t have to be bad,” she said gently. “My parents had a good relationship and a solid marriage. They were still very much in love until the end.”
“How do you know they were in love?”
Georgia closed her eyes, picturing them. It had been almost six years since she’d last seen them. Four years since they died. And yet it felt like forever.
“They were affectionate and warm,” she said after a moment. “They were kind towards each other. My father was protective of my mom, but also respectful. My mother wasn’t shy about telling us girls that we’d be lucky to find a man as good and kind and loving as my father. She adored him. And he made her laugh, which always fascinated me since Mother was quite serious at heart. She rarely laughed with us girls, but my father could make her giggle—” Georgia broke off, lost for a moment in time, seeing her mother at the kitchen stove, making dinner, and then turning as Father entered the kitchen, her mother’s face lighting up.
“They were friends,” she continued after a moment. “And obviously lovers, too, but their friendship and respect for each other was at the heart of their relationship, and that’s what I’ve always wanted. Someone who would like me and respect me and treat me as an equal.”
“It sounds so very American,” Nikos said.
“The desire to be treated as an equal?”
“We don’t think of marriage that way in Greece. It’s not about equality but about fulfilling your role. To be a good husband. To be a good wife. It’s easier to do that than asking, demanding, that men and women be equal.”
“And your wife knew this was your viewpoint?” Georgia asked.
His broad shoulders shrugged. “We didn’t talk enough about the important things. Elsa loved fashion and shopping, and she was eager to set up our home. My job was to work and provide—”
“You know that, or you expected she would?”
“She did not want to work. She wanted to be taken care of. And she knew I had the ability to take care of her.”
“Was she beautiful?”
Nikos hesitated. “Yes.”
“What did she look like?”
Another hesitation. “Tall, slender, blonde.”
“Greek?”
“No. Scandinavian.”
Like me, Georgia thought. But she couldn’t just leave it at that. She had to ask, had to get his reaction. “Is that why you wanted an egg donor who was tall, slender, blonde?”
“Yes.”
Georgia had to ponder this, as it struck her as odd that he’d want an egg donor similar to his wife and yet he wouldn’t have a baby with her. He must have loved her very much, and it was on the tip of her tongue to ask him, but somehow she couldn’t bring herself to put the question to him.
Or maybe it was because she didn’t want to hear him say the words.
Elsa was gone and not here, so why introduce her? Why make her part of their night? Because this was their night... It was an escape...an adventure. Georgia was determined to protect the adventure.
As well as the romance.
Because there was something here between them, and it felt good. Special. And for tonight that was enough.
“I think we’ve talked about my marriage enough,” Nikos said, sitting up. “Let’s talk about something far more interesting. Let’s talk about you.”
“I’m not that interesting.”
“I disagree.” He was sitting on the edge of the bed now, his muscular legs extended in front of him. He gestured to her, indicating she was to come to him.
Georgia, who’d wanted to be close to him all day, suddenly felt a spike of panic. Her heart jumped, pulse quickening. It was one thing to anticipate seduction; it was another to be seduced.
He noticed her hesitation. “Have you come to your senses? Realized what a mistake this would be?” There was a hint of mockery in his voice, and yet tension rolled from him in waves.
She could feel his intensity from where she sat. He was suddenly very big and very male, humming with a primal energy that reminded her of a great cat on the prowl.
“You’re making me a little nervous,” she admitted.
“Why?”
“Because the kisses are always so good, but I’ve learned with you there’s a price for such pleasure.”
“We’re not doing that anymore. I’m not doing that anymore. I’m not going to hide myself from you anymore. You will see me as I am. You will see more for who I am. Good. Bad. Ugly.”
“Not bad, not ugly,” she said.
“You don’t know that yet.”
“My gut is rarely wrong.”
The corner of his mouth lifted and he gestured for her again. “Come, gynaika mou—I want to kiss.”
“Just kiss?”
“I shall leave that up to you. You control this. You are in charge. If you just want to kiss, we kiss. If you want me to put my mouth on you, and make you come, I will. If you want my body filling you, then I will do that. I am yours to command. So come. Now. I am impatient for you.”
She slowly stood, finding him utterly compelling and seductive. “But I thought I was in charge. I thought you are mine to command.”
He leaned forward, caught her wrist, drew her to him. “After the fir
st kiss. Let me kiss you properly, as I’ve wanted to kiss you all day, and then you shall be in charge.”
He pulled her down between his legs, so that she was half kneeling at his feet. His hands clasped her face. His thumbs stroked her hot, flushed cheeks.
“So beautiful, my woman, agapi mou,” he murmured, lowering his head to hers, his lips brushing hers.
The kiss was soft, almost sweet, and she leaned into it, kissing him back, and that was all it took for her lips to burn and her tummy to flip. She shivered as he deepened the kiss, parting her mouth to drink the air from her lips.
Hot, sharp darts of sensation rushed through her, making her head spin. She reached for him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He lifted her from the floor, kissing her as he stretched her on the bed next to him.
As he kissed her, his hand went to her waist and then slid up her rib cage to cup the softness of her breast.
She arched into his hand, groaning as he circled a nipple, tugging on it to make it even harder.
“You know my body too well already,” she murmured as he dropped his head to kiss her nipple through her blouse and bra. His mouth was warm. His teeth found the tip, gently biting. She gasped.
“Too much?” he asked, lifting his head.
She stared up into his eyes, which were so beautiful and dark, and she shook her head, feeling wanton and yet good. “No. Not even.”
“You want more?”
“I want everything.”
“Perhaps we keep it to kissing for now, make sure you don’t change your mind.”
“I won’t.”
“We’ll see,” he said, lifting her long skirt and pushing the knit fabric over her knees. His mouth followed, his lips and tongue cool and then hot against her heated flesh. She was wearing small white satin-and-lace bikini briefs that sat low on her hips, below the curve of her bump, and his fingers brushed her, over the panties, over her mound and down between her legs where she was wet.
He stroked again, pushing her knees farther apart until he had her open to him. Despite the white satin-and-lace panties, she felt so very naked and exposed. His hands were at her thighs, and he ran his palms down from her hips to her knees and then up again. Every place he touched burned. Every place he looked melted.
