Читать книгу Modern Romance January 2017 Books 1 - 4 - Дженнифер Хейворд, Jane Porter - Страница 12
ОглавлениеIN 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 absolutely 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.”
“We both are making sacrifices,” he answered. “Fortunately, you are being compensated for yours.” He nodded at her and turned to leave.
“I would like to shower first.”
“Fine.”
She had to hold back another caustic comment. “And you’ll have someone repair the door while I’m upstairs?”
“I already said that.”
* * *
Leaving Georgia’s room, Nikos summoned Adras, the older man who oversaw the running of the villa, and told him that his guest’s bedroom door needed to be repaired. And then Nikos went up to the shaded, whitewashed terrace to wait for Georgia.
The sun had shifted, deepening the colors of the sky and sea. The terrace was protected from the worst of the wind, with the most protection closest to the house. Nikos stood at the wall, looking out over the sea, and the wind caught at his shirt and hair. His hair was perhaps too long, but it helped hide the scars on his temple and cheekbone.
It was easy to ignore the breeze as he was anticipating Georgia’s appearance. It was strange to have her in the house. He wasn’t used to having visitors. Kamari was his own rock, 323 acres in the northwestern Cyclades in the Aegean Sea. Amorgós was the closest island to Kamari, with a hospital, ferry, shops and monastery, but Nikos hadn’t been to Amorgós in years. There was no point. There was nothing good on Amorgós...not for him.
Instead everything he needed was flown in from the mainland, and if he wanted company, he’d fly to Athens. Not that he ever wanted company. It’d been months and months since he’d left his rock. He had a home in Athens, along with his corporate headquarters. He had another place on Santorini, but that was the old family estate, a former winery that had once been his favorite place in the world and now the source of his nightmares.
Nikos had lived alone so long that he couldn’t imagine being part of the outside world. His son would not need the outside world, either. He would teach his son to live simply, to love nature, to be independent. He’d make sure his son knew what was good and true...not money, not accolades, praise, success. But this island, this sky, this sea.
But perhaps the years of living so isolated had made him rough and impatient. He felt so very impatient now, waiting for her. She wasn’t rushing her shower. She wasn’t hurrying up to meet him. She was taking her time. Making him wait.
Finally the sound of the wooden door scraping the tumbled marble floor made him turn.
Georgia stepped outside, onto the terrace, her expression wary. She was dressed in black tights, a long black-and-white knit jumper, high-heeled ankle boots, and her shimmering blond hair was drawn back in a high ponytail. Even though she was wearing no makeup, she looked far more rested than she had earlier, but her guarded expression bothered him.
He didn’t want to be a monster. He didn’t enjoy scaring women. “You found it,” he said gruffly.
“I did.”
“Something to drink?” he asked, gesturing to the tray with pitchers of water and juice that had been brought up earlier.
“Just water. Please.”
He filled a tall glass and brought it to her. She was standing now where he’d been just seconds ago, looking out over the Aegean Sea. He wasn’t surprised. The view was spectacular from the terrace, and the setting sun had gilded the horizon, turning everything purple and bronze.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Fine,” she said crisply, keeping her distance.
He should apologize. He wasn’t sure where to begin, though. The words stuck in his throat. He wasn’t very good at this sort of thing, and he was certain that the apology would be rebuffed.
“Do you get carsick easily?” he asked, trying to find a topic that would help them move forward.
“Not usually. Everything is different when you’re pregnant, though.”
“My pilots did say it was a turbulent landing. We get very strong winds this time of year.” He hesitated. “I apologize.”
She arched an elegant eyebrow, her expression cool. “You can’t control the wind,” she said, taking a sip of the water before adding, “But you can control yourself. Don’t break down my door again. Please.”
Nikos wasn’t used to apologies, but he also wasn’t accustomed to criticism. His temper flared. He battled it back down. “I’ve assured you that the door will be fixed.”
“That’s not the point. Your use of force was excessive. I’m sure there must be an intercom or house phone you could use next time you wish to check on me.”
“Maybe you don’t lock the door next time.”
Her brows pulled. “I always lock my bedroom door.”
“Even in your own home?”
“I live alone. I lock doors.”
“Is Atlanta so very dangerous?”
“The world is dangerous.” Her voice was cool, almost clinical. “If I don’t lock my door, I can’t sleep.”
“You’re safe here.”
Her chin lifted, her smooth jaw firming as her gaze met his. “I’m not sure what that means.”
He was baffled by her response. “You can relax here. Nothing will hurt you here.”
“Does that include you?”
Nikos stiffened. He took a step away, glancing past her to the water, and yet all he could see was Elsa. Elsa, who had been afraid of everything he was.
“I wouldn’t hurt you,” he ground out, forcing his gaze back to Georgia. “The reason you are here now is that I want to ensure your safety. Your well-being is imperative to my son’s well-being. You will have only the best of care on Kamari.”
She stared back at him, blue eyes bright and clear, as well as thoughtful. She was weighing his words, assessing them for herself. “I don’t need care. I need space and respect.”
“Which you will have, along with proper care.”
She continued to hold his gaze. “I am not sure your idea of proper care and mine are the same thing. In fact, I’m sure it’s not. For me, proper care would have been remaining at home, close to my sister and obstetrician. I would have felt healthier and safer with my doctor and family nearby.”
“I have hired the best obstetrician and pediatrician in Greece. Both will attend the delivery, and the obstetrician will see you once a month until you are close to delivery.”
“I would have been happier at home, though.”
“Once the newness wears off, I think you will find it quite restful here.”
A spark flickered in her eyes. Her lips compressed. “I don’t think you’re understanding what I’m saying. When I agreed to the surrogacy I never expected spending time here, with you. That wasn’t part of the initial agreement. Indeed, I wouldn’t have agreed to the surrogacy if I’d known that I had to spend the final trimester here. I’m not happy being here. This isn’t good for me.”
“You’ve been compensated for coming to Kamari, generously compensated.”
“But money isn’t everything.” Her chin notched up. “And I am not going to have you throwing money in my face. It’s rude and demeaning.”
“But you chose to be a donor and surrogate for the money.”
“I needed to pay for medical school for my sister and me, but I also wanted to do something good. And I have. I’ve created life. You can’t put a price on that.” Her voice suddenly cracked, and she looked away, her lower lip caught between her teeth.
He studied her beautiful profile, saw a hint of moisture in her eyes and wondered if they were real tears or if this was perhaps part of a game. He didn’t trust tears, and it crossed his mind that she could be trying to manipulate him. It was possible. Elsa had taught him that.
“And you have no qualms about giving this precious life up?” he asked, unable to mask the ruthless edge in his voice. He was not the same man he’d been before Elsa. He doubted he’d ever be that man again.
Georgia made a soft, rough sound, and when she spoke again, her voice was husky. “It’s your son, not mine.”
“Your egg. Your womb.”
Her lips curved faintly, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I am little more than a fertile garden. The soil doesn’t weep when you sow or reap.”
An interesting answer, he thought. She was an interesting woman. “The soil isn’t a young female, either. Nurturing...maternal—”
“I’m not maternal,” she said, cutting him off, her tone almost icy.
“And yet you’re doing this to help provide for your sister.”
“That’s different. She is my family. She is already my responsibility. But I have no desire to ever have children of my own. No desire to add to that family, or assume more responsibilities.”
“You may feel differently later.”
She leaned forward, her expression intent. “Do you want me to feel differently later?”
He was shocked, not just by her words but by the way she moved in toward him. No one invaded his space. No one wanted to be near him. He intimidated women. He made people uncomfortable. And yet she leaned in, she challenged him, and after the shock faded, he understood why.
She wasn’t timid. She wasn’t weak. She was strong, and she was going to give him as good as he gave her.
He admired her boldness and her confidence. He admired strength and courage, but what she didn’t realize was that her challenge just whetted his appetite.
He wasn’t about to move back and give her distance and breathing room. He was going to move in. Get closer. Crowd her.
Not because he wanted to scare her, but her energy and resistance were waking him up, making him feel things he hadn’t felt in forever. And yet what was good for him wouldn’t necessarily be good for her.
He was troubled by his response to her. She fascinated him. And, yes, she looked like Elsa, but her personality was nothing like Elsa’s. While Elsa had needed to be shielded, protected, Georgia charged at him, refusing to shy away from conflict.
He found her stimulating.
Refreshing.
But he should warn her. He ought to tell her that she was stirring the beast, rattling his cage. He should let her know that she wouldn’t like it when he woke...that it was better, safer, smarter to keep him leashed, caged, dormant.
“Of course I don’t want you to feel differently later,” Nikos said now. “He is my son.”
“Good. I am glad we are in complete agreement on that.” She walked away from him then, heading to the sitting area under the thatched roof and taking a seat on the white slipcovered bench against the house.
He watched her cross her legs and sit back, the picture of calm and cool, but her air of calm, that cloak of control, jolted him. A shot of adrenaline. Another shot of hunger. But he needed to smash the desire, not encourage the response. Hungry wasn’t good. Hungry would hurt her.
He walked slowly toward her, studying her expression. From across the terrace she exuded serenity, and yet as he neared he saw a flicker in her eyes. She wasn’t sleepy or lazy. She was alert and very much on guard.
He dropped into a chair across from her, his long legs extending, taking some of her space. “In the car you asked me where I was going to raise my son.” Nikos paused a moment, his gaze skimming her stunning features, dropping from her full pink lips down the elegant throat to the pulse he could see beating at the base of her neck. She was not as calm as she pretended to be. Not by a long shot. “Why did you ask?” he added.
Her shoulders twisted. “Curious.”
“Curious about the life he’ll live, or curious about me?”
She shrugged again, even more carelessly than before. “I was just making conversation. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”
“I wasn’t at all uncomfortable. I love Kamari, so it was easy to answer. I will raise my son here. We will live here, and I will teach him about his family, his lineage, and make sure he is prepared to inherit the Panos business and fortune. He is my legacy. He is the future.”
For a moment after he’d finished speaking there was just silence. It wasn’t an easy silence. She was very much processing every word he was saying. Georgia Nielsen was no intellectual lightweight.
He gestured to her already nearly empty glass. “More water, Georgia?”
“I’m fine.”
Yes, she was. She was actually more than fine, and it would be a problem if he didn’t check his interest immediately. What they needed were boring topics. Safe subjects. And distance. “We Greeks like our water. We serve water with coffee, water with dessert. It’s often the beverage of choice—” His voice was drowned out by the roar of an engine.
He fell silent as the white Falcon that had brought Georgia to the island flew directly overhead. Georgia’s head tipped, and she watched the plane take off, soaring up into the sky.
“Your plane doesn’t stay here?”
“No. The hangar’s in Athens.”
She was still watching the jet. He watched her, appreciating the elegant lines and delicate angles of her face. The gold of her hair. The cool blue-gray of her eyes. Her complexion wasn’t pink but palest cream with just a hint of gold.
Elsa’s complexion hadn’t been honey, but pink and cream. Roses and porcelain. The blue of her eyes had been more violet. Her lips were smaller, her eyes set a little wider. Doll-like.
Georgia was nothing like a doll.
She turned her attention from the sky back to him. “Why Athens?”
“It’s where I keep all of my planes.”
“You have more?”
“Yes. Helicopters, too.”
“Any boats?”
“Of course. I live on a remote island.”
She pushed a blond tendril back from her brow. “Is it too late to tour the island now?”
“The sun will be setting in the next hour. It’s better to wait for the morning. I’ll show you the gardens, the walking paths and the pool. I imagine you’ll want to get your exercise in.” He rose and went to get the water pitcher and refill her glass. “Mr. Laurent said you exercise regularly. Is that still the case?”
“I walk, swim and cycle and lift weights—”
“No more weights.”
She laughed, amused, the sound soft and husky. “We’re not talking Olympic moves here.”
“No weights,” he repeated. “I don’t think it’s necessary to stress you, or the baby, that much.”
She opened her mouth to protest but closed it, shrugged.
“The pool is heated,” he added. “I think you’ll find it quite pleasant.”
She leaned all the way back against the cushion and extended her long legs. “Will it be this way for the next three and a half months?”
“What does that mean?”
“Will you be supervising my nutrition along with my exercise?”
He heard the mockery in her voice, and it didn’t anger him as much as stir his senses. She had no idea how appealing he found her. He should warn her. If not for her sake then his. “Yes,” he answered smoothly. “It will be this way.” There was no point denying it. She was here so he could monitor the pregnancy and make sure the third trimester went well.
Her lips curved faintly. Amusement lurked in her eyes. “Then we have a problem.”
“Not if you’re compliant.”
She gave him another long look, one perfect brow lifting. “And is that how Mr. Laurent described me? Docile...sweet...compliant?”
The air was suddenly charged, crackling with tension and resistance.
No, he couldn’t imagine her ever being described as any of those, and he hadn’t been throwing down a challenge, either, just setting forth his expectations. But she was turning his expectations into something more.
Heat rushed through him, hot and heavy in his veins. His body ached. His blood hummed. He was waking up. It felt far too good.
“I don’t believe that was ever Mr. Laurent’s description,” Nikos replied gently, aware of the dance they were being drawn into. “I think my attorney used words like intelligent, gifted, successful, ambitious.”
Her blue gaze held his. She was looking so deeply, so directly, that he wondered what she was thinking...seeing. She didn’t appear threatened. Didn’t seem the least bit uneasy. If anything she radiated confidence. Control.
For being just twenty-four, Georgia Nielsen struck him as a powerful woman in her element.
Not the surrogate he’d expected. Not the surrogate he wanted.
But just possibly a woman he wanted.
Careful, he told himself. Do not be stupid...do not complicate things...
“I’m not accustomed to being told what to do,” she said, her voice pitched low and firm. “And I might be your guest here for the next few months, but I am my own person.”
And he wasn’t accustomed to negotiating with anyone, certainly not a woman. But he found it exciting. She was exciting. “Can you not think of it as care and concern for the well-being of my son?”
A light flickered in her eyes. “I have taken excellent care of him so far.”
“I appreciate that. But as his father, I expect you to respect my wishes.”
She stared back at him, unrepentant.
There was definitely a power struggle taking place. He hadn’t anticipated that, either. She was carrying his son. She was hired to carry his son. All she had to do was heed his wishes. But it appeared that Georgia either couldn’t, or wouldn’t, and her resistance was like gasoline to a flame.
He wasn’t angry. Not in the least. But his heart was thudding, and blood was drumming in his veins.
Nikos placed her glass on the corner table and sat back down across from her. “I think we have a misunderstanding.” His tone was pleasant. There was no need to snarl. He knew just how dangerous he was...just how dangerous he could be. “Maybe it’s a language barrier. Maybe it’s cultural—you are American, I am Greek—but business is business. You entered into an arrangement with me, and I have met my end of the agreement. I have paid you, handsomely, for your service—”
“We are discussing my body. I am not a shipping container or a maritime vessel. I am not your employee, either. I am a woman who is giving you a gift—”
“Providing a service,” he interrupted. “We have to call it what it is.”
“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 those 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.”
