Held captive...

When Georgia Nielson is asked to be the surrogate for an enigmatic tycoon, she can’t afford to say no. Before she realizes that she’s struck a deal with the devil, she’s trapped on his isolated Greek island, with no escape from the brooding master who stalks its shores!

Carrying his child!

Scarred by the loss of his wife, Nikos Panos’s future rests on leaving behind a legacy. But Georgia’s constant presence threatens to unleash the powerful hunger he’s kept caged for so long. If he wants defiant Georgia to submit, he must confront the demons that haunt him...

The moment Nikos’s mouth touched hers, Georgia jolted, as if she’d stumbled into a live wire. Sensation rushed through her in electric waves, making her shudder.

Nikos deepened the kiss, his lips parting hers, and she shuddered again at the pleasure of his tongue stroking the inside of her sensitive lower lip and then finding her upper lip.

It had been ages since she’d kissed anyone. She couldn’t even remember her last kiss.

Nikos was in total control, drawing her close, his hard body pressed to the length of her as lips and tongue made her melt. She felt hot and explosive, her blood humming in her veins. She shuddered as his hand moved beneath her long hair to cup her nape and then moved down her neck, stirring every nerve-ending in her skin.

This was unlike any kiss she’d ever known.

This was shockingly electric.

Chemistry.

She fled. It was that or collapse in a puddle on the kitchen floor.

In her room, she locked the door and leaned against it, legs still shaking.

What had just happened?

She’d never felt anything so consuming...pleasure and hunger and something else... something so intense that it continued to ripple through her in hot, dizzying waves.

Desire. Lust. Need.

Georgia exhaled slowly, trying to get control, needing to clear her head, and yet all she could feel was the pressure of Nikos’s body against hers and the feel of his mouth...as well as his taste.

He’d tasted like heat and honey and liquorice. She’d never tasted anything like it. And, God help her, she wanted more.

New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author JANE PORTER has written forty romances and eleven women’s fiction novels since her first sale to Mills & Boon Modern Romance in 2000. A five-time RITA® Award finalist, Jane is known for her passionate, emotional and sensual novels, and she loves nothing more than alpha heroes, exotic locations and happy-ever-afters. Today Jane lives in sunny San Clemente, California, with her surfer husband and three sons. Visit www.janeporter.com.

Books by Jane Porter

Mills & Boon Modern Romance

The Disgraced Copelands

His Defiant Desert Queen

The Fallen Greek Bride

A Royal Scandal

His Majesty’s Mistake

Not Fit for a King?

The Desert Kings

King of the Desert, Captive Bride

The Sheikh’s Chosen Queen

Greek Tycoons

At the Greek Boss’s Bidding

Ruthless

Hollywood Husband, Contract Wife

Desert Brides

The Sheikh’s Disobedient Bride

A Dark Sicilian Secret

Duty, Desire and the Desert King

Visit the Author Profile page at

millsandboon.co.uk for more titles.

Bought to Carry His Heir

Jane Porter

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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For Megan, Maisey and Carol—

three gorgeous girls I adore.

Thank you for the love and encouragement when I needed it!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

IT WAS A cold February afternoon in Atlanta, but the law office of Lyles, Laurent & Abraham at One Atlantic Center on West Peachtree Street was even more frigid.

The prominent Atlanta attorney James Laurent fiddled with his glasses, his expression withering. “You signed the contracts, Miss Nielsen. They are absolutely binding in every country—”

“I have no problem with the contract,” Georgia interrupted, more annoyed than cowed by the attorney’s icy contempt, because she was absolutely committed to carrying the baby only to relinquish him. That was the job of a surrogate, and she took the job seriously. “The baby is his. But there is nothing in the contract that stipulates where I am to give birth, nor was anything ever communicated to me in advance about giving birth overseas. I wouldn’t have agreed to serve as Mr. Panos’s surrogate if that had been the case.”

“Miss Nielsen, Greece is not a third world country. You will receive excellent medical care in Athens before, during and after delivery.”

She gave him a long look, hands relaxed on the arms of the leather chair, fighting to keep her temper in check. “I’m a med student at Emory. I’m not worried about my medical care. But I am disturbed by your condescension. If a mistake was made, it was your client’s...or yours. You were, after all, the one who drew up the papers for the surrogacy. You know what the agreement covered. And it didn’t cover me getting on a plane and flying five thousand six hundred and sixty-six miles to give birth.”

“It’s a citizenship issue, Miss Nielsen. The baby must be born in Greece.”

Georgia Nielsen glanced past the attorney to the huge map that had been framed and hung on the wall of Mr. Laurent’s office. It was an old map, a collector’s item, and from the boundaries and labels, she’d guess it was from the late nineteenth century, the 1880s or maybe 1890s, with Africa divided by European colonial claims. But even old and yellowed, Greece was identifiable...right where it had been for thousands of years, giving birth to Western civilization.

And right where she was expected to give birth.

If Georgia were in a better mood, she might find it ironic. She might even be amused. But she wasn’t in a good mood. She was furious and frustrated. From the start, she’d taken care of herself, paid close attention to proper health and the well-being of the baby. Her job as a surrogate was to bear a healthy baby, and she was doing her part. Eating right, sleeping as much as possible, getting lots of exercise and keeping stress to a minimum—not always easy when in medical school, but she had her priorities right. But going to Greece? And going soon? That was not on her agenda.

“The travel arrangements are being finalized as we speak,” Mr. Laurent added. “Mr. Panos will send his personal jet for you. As you can imagine, the jet is state-of-the-art and quite luxurious. You’ll have staff and a good rest, and before you know it, you’ll be there—”

“I haven’t even reached the third trimester. Seems to me that making travel plans now is incredibly premature.”

“Mr. Panos would prefer not to place undue stress on you or the baby. Specialists do not recommend international travel in the third trimester.”

“Yes, for high-risk pregnancies, but this isn’t one.”

“It is IVF.”

“There have been no complications.”

“And my client prefers to keep it that way.”

Georgia bit her tongue to keep from saying something she might regret. She understood that Nikos Panos’s concern was for the baby, his son. She understood, too, that her wants and needs did not factor in. She was a vessel...a womb...nothing more. As it should be until the very end, when she delivered a healthy baby and saw him placed in the arms of his protective father. That was when her job would be done. Then, and only then.

But that didn’t mean she wanted to leave Atlanta or the world she knew. Going halfway around the world would be stressful. Leaving her support systems would be challenging, especially as she neared the end of the pregnancy. This was a job, a way to provide for her sister, but she wasn’t totally naive. It was hard not to have any feelings for the life inside her, and those emotions were becoming stronger. Hormones were already shifting. She could only imagine how ambivalent she’d feel in another three and a half months.

But motherhood wasn’t her future. Her future was medicine, and her course was set.

For a long moment there was just silence in the office.

Mr. Laurent pressed his fingers together, creating a tense steeple. “What will it take to get you on that plane this Friday?”

Ridiculous. There was no way she could go so soon. “I have school. I have studies.”

“You have just finished the preclinical block. You are studying for the medical licensing exam, and you can study just as well in Greece as in Georgia.”

“I’m not going to leave my sister for three and a half months.”

“She’s twenty-one and lives in North Carolina.”

“Yes, she’s a senior at Duke University, but she’s financially and emotionally dependent on me. I am her only living relative.” Georgia met his gaze and held it. “I am all she has left.”

“And the child you carry?”

“Isn’t mine.” Her lips firmed. “Your client paid for the egg and the surrogacy, so if Mr. Panos wants to be present for the birth of his son, he can come to Atlanta. Otherwise, the baby’s nurse will take the infant to him. As agreed.”

“Mr. Panos is not able to fly.”

Georgia lifted her chin, air bottled inside her lungs. She was not going to engage. She refused to be drawn into this. A contract was a contract. “That is not my concern. Your client is not my concern. Once I give birth, the infant is not my concern. I have been paid not to care, and, Mr. Laurent, I intend to keep my end of the bargain.”

The attorney closed his eyes and rubbed at an invisible spot between his bushy gray eyebrows, bumping his glasses from his nose. For a moment the only sound in the room was the antique grandfather clock tick-ticking against the wall.

Mr. Laurent opened his eyes, fixed his gaze on her. “How much will it cost to get you on the plane on Friday? And before you say I’m not listening, I know everyone has a price. You do, too. It’s why you agreed to donate the egg and carry the fertilized embryo. You were satisfied with the compensation. So, let’s not bicker over the terms. Tell me what you need to get on that plane, and I will see that the money is wired into your account first thing in the morning.”

Georgia stared at the older man, her serene expression hiding her anxiety, as well as her frustration. Yes, money was tight, but she didn’t want more money. She just wanted to finish what she’d started. It had been a mistake to do this. She thought she’d manage as a surrogate, but lately she was finding it increasingly difficult to keep her emotions in check. But it was too late to back out now. There was no changing her mind, either. The contracts were binding. The child wasn’t hers. And, yes, she carried him, and each little flutter kick made her heart ache, but the baby was Nikos Panos’s, and she couldn’t forget it.

Which meant she had to move forward. It was her only option. And the moment she delivered, the moment the baby was whisked away, she’d black this year from her memory. Georgia never wanted to think about any of this again. It was the only way to survive something so challenging. Fortunately, she had practice in surviving challenging situations. Grief was a good teacher.

“Name it,” Mr. Laurent said quietly.

“It’s not about the money—”

“But it will pay bills, so pay your bills. Provide for your sister. I understand she, too, wants to attend medical school. Take advantage of the offer so you never have to do something like this again.”

That last bit hit home. Her gaze locked with his, and her short, filed nails curled into her palms.

Mr. Laurent was right. She could never do something like this again. It was breaking her heart. But she’d survived worse. And it wasn’t as if she was abandoning a child to a monster. Nikos Panos wanted this baby desperately.

Drawing a short, sharp breath, Georgia named an outrageous figure, a sum that would cover Savannah’s medical school and living expenses, plus some. Georgia made the sum deliberately high, intending to shock the old lawyer.

But Mr. Laurent didn’t blink. Instead he scribbled something down on a printed sheet of paper. “The addendum,” he said, pushing the paper across the desk toward her. “Sign here, and date there.”

She swallowed, shocked he’d so readily agreed to her “outrageous” demand. He must have been prepared for her to ask for even more. She probably could have asked for millions and he would have said yes. Stupid pride. Why couldn’t she be a proper mercenary?

“You’re agreeing to leave Friday,” Mr. Laurent said as she reached for the page. “You will spend the last trimester of your pregnancy in Greece, at Nikos Panos’s villa on Kamari, which is a short flight from Athens. After delivery, once you have been cleared to travel, my client will send you back to Atlanta, either on his private jet or first class on the airline of your choice. Any questions?”

“The money? It will be wired into my account first thing tomorrow?”

He handed her a pen. “It will be there by nine a.m.” He smiled as she signed.

“I’m so glad we were able to come to terms.”

Georgia stood, heartsick but too far in to see a way out. “As you said, everyone has a price. Goodbye, Mr. Laurent.”

“Enjoy your time in Greece, Miss Nielsen.”

CHAPTER TWO

IT WAS A long trip from Atlanta. Nearly thirteen hours, which meant that Georgia had plenty of time to sleep, study and even watch a movie or two when she was too tired to read one more sample question from the test.

The movies helped occupy her mind. She didn’t want to think. If she wasn’t going to sleep, she needed entertainment and diversion to keep from replaying her goodbye with Savannah, who’d driven down from Duke to see her off.

Or more accurately, who’d driven down to beg Georgia not to go.

Savannah had been beside herself, alternating between tears and anger, asking repeatedly what Georgia knew about this Greek tycoon in the first place.

What do you even know about him? And who cares if he’s a billionaire? He could be dangerous, seriously deranged, and who will be able to help you when you’re on his island in the middle of nowhere?

Savannah had never been the practical one, but in this instance, she was right.

Georgia had researched Nikos Panos—and, yes, he was a Greek billionaire, and he’d turned his family’s struggling company around with shrewd investments, and he’d done it at a young age, taking over the helm of the company while in his midtwenties—but she didn’t have any references on him. Nothing on his morals or his character. She just had the attorney and the payments for services rendered.

She started to rub her tummy. Her bump was becoming increasingly pronounced. Her skin was sensitive, and warm, and even when she didn’t want to think about the pregnancy, or the surrogacy, she was aware of the life inside her.

And not just a life, but a boy. There were no boys in her family. Just girls. Three sisters. Georgia couldn’t even imagine what it’d be like to raise a little boy.

But she wouldn’t go there. She never let herself go there. She wasn’t going to let herself become invested.

But as the jet made its final descent into what looked like an endless sea of blue, the baby did a flutter kick as if recognizing that he was almost home. Georgia held her breath, fighting panic.

She could do this. She would do this.

The baby wasn’t hers.

She wasn’t attached.

She’d been paid not to care.

She wouldn’t care.

But those fierce admonishments did little to ease the wave of grief and regret washing through her heart.

“Just three and a half months,” she whispered. Three and a half months and she’d be free of this horrific thing she’d agreed to do.

* * *

Three and a half months, Nikos Panos told himself, standing at the far end of the landing strip, narrowed gaze fixed on the white Dassault Falcon jet. It had been a rough landing owing to the windy day, which wasn’t unusual for this time of year in the Cyclades. But the jet was safely parked and the door was open, revealing twenty-four-year-old Georgia Nielsen.

From where he stood, she appeared very slender and very blonde in a soft-knit apricot tunic, dark gray tights and high-heel boots that covered her knees. He frowned at the height of the heels on her boots, baffled as to why a pregnant woman would wear boots with heels four inches high. Her boots were a problem, and so was her dress. Her tunic’s knit hem hit just above midthigh, revealing a lot of leg.

Nikos knew from her profile that Georgia Nielsen would be pretty, but he hadn’t expected this.

Standing at the top of the stairs with the blustery wind grabbing at her hair and the sun haloing the bright golden mass, she looked so much like Elsa that it made his chest tighten and ache.

He’d wanted a surrogate that looked like Elsa.

But he didn’t want Elsa.

In that moment, he wondered if he’d made a terrible mistake. He had to be more than a little bit mad to search the world for a woman that looked like his late wife, and certifiably insane to bring that doppelgänger here, to Kamari.

The American surrogate must have spotted him because she suddenly straightened, and, lifting a hand to her hair, held the billowing golden mane back from her face as she came down the jet’s stairs quickly. It wasn’t quite a run, but definitely with speed, and purpose.

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 hiding 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 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.”

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