Bought to Carry His Heir

by Jane Porter

  “Mr. Laurent said your exam was scheduled for late June. But isn’t that pushing it a bit, considering you’ll be delivering late May, or possibly early June?”

  “I should be fine. Provided I study.”

  He took her back then, past the pool, into the house and then down the stairs to the second floor, where their bedrooms were. They were silent as they walked, their footsteps ringing on the hard tumbled marble floor, passing through whitewashed halls with brief glimpses out the windows at the startlingly blue sky and sea. She felt Nikos’s mood change as they walked, and she darted a glance at him, wondering what had happened to make the silence feel dark and brooding.

  She needed to understand him, or the next three and a half months would be beyond miserable.

  “Why are you doing this?” she asked as they reached her bedroom door. “Surely there are better, easier, as well as cheaper, ways to become a father.”

  “I want a child, not a wife.”

  “Are wives such awful things?” She was trying to be light and funny but he didn’t smile.

  “I was married. Marriage isn’t for me.”

  “Maybe a different wife—”

  “No.” His expression hardened. “I’m not marriage material. I do not make a good husband.”

  “Your edges can be rough, but you’re not all bad. You’re quite protective, maybe overly protective—”

  “You haven’t seen the real me.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  She should have felt trepidation then, but she didn’t. Instead he’d simply made her curious. He reminded her of a puzzle or equation that wanted solving. “What is the real you like?”

  He hesitated a long moment. “Aggressive.” His dark eyes found hers and held. “Carnal.”

  His answer, in that deep, rough voice, sent a rush of heat through her. Carnal.

  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard anyone use that word. It was such a biblical word...

  Her mind scrambled to think of something to say even as her mouth went dry and her body grew hot, skin prickling, every inch of her suddenly painfully sensitive.

  Before she could think of an appropriate response, he nodded and was gone, heading back down the hall.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  NIKOS WALKED SWIFTLY down the hall, his right hand squeezed into a fist. He couldn’t get away from Georgia’s rooms fast enough.

  He knew why he’d told her those things about himself. It had meant to be a warning, to ensure she kept her distance, but his words hadn’t scared her.

  If anything, the warning had the opposite effect. She’d looked at him with her wide, thoughtful eyes, her expression intrigued.

  But she shouldn’t be intrigued. She needed to know who she was dealing with...what she was dealing with...

  He’d scarred Elsa—broken her—and he didn’t want to ever hurt another woman in the same way. He’d sworn off women. Sworn off love and passion. But he was determined to be a father, determined to break the curse, if there really was a curse...

  Maybe then the wounds would heal.

  Maybe there would be more. A future. New life.

  Three and a half months until his son was here. Three and a half months until he could close the door on the past. And Elsa.

  Once the baby was here, there would be no Elsa and no grief. There would be hope. And yet it hadn’t been easy getting to this point. There had been so many dark moments and endless nights.

  He might be the devil incarnate, but apparently even the devil could be a father. And he’d wanted to be a father since he was a boy. He’d wanted a family, maybe because he’d been so lonely as a boy. He’d married Elsa certain there would be children, but it hadn’t worked out that way.

  * * *

  Nikos kept his distance the next day, aware that she had her studies to occupy her attention and he had his business.

  But late in the afternoon he sent word to her room that he’d see her at five on the terrace for drinks and a lite bite, and then dinner would be at ten.

  She was already on the terrace when he arrived, dressed in peach-and-gray cashmere. Her long hair had been braided into a simple side plait, with a couple of long golden strands loose to frame her face. He glanced down at her feet. Gray ankle boots. Small one-inch heel.

  If he’d told Elsa no heels, she would have never worn anything but flats for the rest of their marriage. Clearly Georgia was no Elsa.

  He nearly smiled, not sure why he was amused. Maybe it was just the relief that Georgia wasn’t Elsa.

  But before he could greet Georgia or offer her a drink, she lifted her laptop from the couch and approached him with it. “I haven’t been able to figure out how to get on the internet,” she said. “I am hoping you know the trick, or maybe it’s password-protected.”

  “There isn’t a trick,” he said. “I don’t really have reliable internet. It’s satellite based, so imagine old-fashioned dial-up speeds and endless dropped file downloads, coupled with information darkness that lasts for hours, or worse, days.”

  He saw her jaw drop and eyes widen. “How do you go online?”

  “I don’t.”

  “At all?”

  “Rarely.”

  “How can that be? I live on the internet. I use it for everything.”

  He shrugged. “When you don’t have access to it, you learn to live without it.”

  “But in Athens you must have it.”

  “Yes.”

  “But why not here?”

  “Greece has over six thousand islands and islets, and only two hundred and twenty-seven are populated. And where we are, in the Cyclades, there are very few people living. The Greek government can’t afford to put in the cables and fiber optics needed for reliable and fast internet, and I’m certainly not going to pay for it, either.”

  “So how do you manage your business from Kamari without the internet?”

  “I have a phone for meetings and emergencies, and once a week mail arrives—more frequently if something is urgent—and I’m quite happy with that.”

  Clearly she wasn’t happy with the news. Her brows flattened, and she pursed her lips and studied him as if he were a dinosaur...or worse.

  “I thought Mr. Laurent warned you,” he said. “I asked him to prepare you. You were to have brought textbooks and whatever you could download onto your computer’s hard drive—”

  “I did do that.”

  “So you can study.”

  “Yes, but so many resources are online.”

  He shrugged again. “I guess you will have to do it the old-school way.”

  Her blue eyes blazed. “This isn’t a game. This is serious.”

  “I’m not mocking you. I’m stating a reality. There is no internet. You need to rely on hard copies of everything.”

  She turned away from him, eyes closing for a moment, and then she drew a slow breath, as if trying to compose herself. “I also noticed you don’t have TV or radio,” she said quietly. “Is that true, or did I just miss seeing where you’d stashed them?”

  “You are correct. I do not have TV or radio here.”

  Georgia walked to the white slipcovered couch and sat down, cradling her laptop against her. “You have nothing here for diversion.”

  She looked so stricken that he almost felt sorry for her. “I don’t need it,” he answered. “I like my thoughts. I read. I work.”

  “You’re a hermit.”

  “I like the quiet, yes.”

  Georgia hugged the laptop closer to her. “It’s rather frightening how isolated you are.”

  “It’s not frightening, and you know I have a satellite phone when I need it.”

  He went to the tray with the pitchers of water and juice. “Want something?”

  “Yes. A ticket to Athens, please.”

  His brow quirked. “Is that a name of an American cocktail?”

  She gave him a long look. “You know it’s not.”

  “What can I pour for you?
”

  “I’m not thirsty.”

  “You’ll feel better if you stay hydrated, and this one is really good.” He filled a tall glass and carried it to her. “Pomegranate juice and something else.”

  She took the glass from him and set it on the table next to her without drinking. “And you really never leave here?”

  “Haven’t in a year.”

  “What about when you...did your part...to make the baby?”

  “The medical team came here.”

  “And what about when I need a checkup? In Atlanta, I saw the obstetrician once a month, just to make sure the baby was doing well. Will I really have that here, or are you just placating me?”

  “Not placating you. The doctor will come here every four weeks to check on you, and the baby.”

  “You can afford to fly your doctor in, but you can’t afford internet?”

  “Laying fiber optics can cost millions to billions of dollars. Having a doctor make a house call is a lot less.” He studied her a long minute. “Is it really so tragic not having access to the internet? Does it feel like a punishment to be so far removed from society?”

  She was silent even longer, and then she reached for her juice glass and took a sip, and then another. “This is good,” she said. “And unlike most American girls, I grew up without internet and TV and radio. We were lucky just to have electricity sometimes. There aren’t many bells and whistles when you’re the daughter of missionaries.”

  “So you can survive here without.”

  “Of course I can. The lack of internet will not break me. It’s more of an issue of do I want to be without the internet? And the answer is no.”

  “You’ll get used to it.”

  “Just like people get used to jail.”

  It was his turn to look at her hard. She blinked at him, wide-eyed innocence, and then smiled.

  And her smile was not at all innocent.

  * * *

  It had been quite the day. Georgia practically drooped as she ate dinner. She wasn’t hungry. She was too exhausted and numb to be hungry. But she couldn’t call it a night until she’d exacted a promise from Nikos.

  She wanted the lock put back on her door.

  Was she afraid that Nikos would attack her in the night?

  No.

  But she wasn’t yet comfortable in the old villa and she would feel better with a door that locked. It’d give her a sense of security here, as well as a feeling of control.

  She’d given up her world to come to Greece. How could he not make this concession for her? And Georgia didn’t know if it was a birth-order thing, or just a survivor thing, but control was important to her. It was why she’d agreed to be a donor... She felt as if she was the one with control.

  The surrogacy was another matter.

  In hindsight it was a terrible mistake, but she was too tired tonight to go there and think about that. The only way she’d get through this last trimester was by just living one day at a time.

  * * *

  Nikos watched Georgia from across the dinner table, taking in the way the flickering candlelight illuminated her face, creating arcs of gold light as well as mysterious shadows and hollows.

  It had been a tense cocktail hour, but dinner ended up being surprisingly relaxed. There wasn’t a great deal of conversation during the meal, but Nikos didn’t think Georgia minded the quiet. She didn’t strike him as a woman who needed to constantly be chattering. He wasn’t sure if that was because of the way she was raised or her own personality, but either way, he was grateful. He wasn’t one who needed endless talk and conversation.

  Early in his marriage, Elsa had somehow interpreted his silence to mean he was angry or upset. It created tremendous friction between them, and he’d tried to explain that he’d been a loner since he was a young boy, an only child in a small, strict family.

  Unlike traditional Greek families, with lots of cousins and aunts and uncles, it was just his parents and him, and a grandfather even less inclined to talk than his father, forcing him to learn how to entertain himself, teaching him how to be his own friend. By the time he was a teenager, he was comfortable with his thoughts. The quiet gave him a chance to sort out problems—like how to help save the family business. His father wasn’t a born leader, nor a savvy businessman, and when Nikos was still young, his father took bad advice from the wrong people and made a series of horrible decisions.

  Those horrible decisions resulted in Nikos’s father overextending the company, investing in the wrong things and threatening to bankrupt them all when the entire country’s economy crumbled.

  If it hadn’t been for Nikos’s aggressive plan, Panos Enterprise would have been carved up and sold off to the highest bidder, leaving the family embarrassed and broke.

  Nikos was twenty-four when he took over at Panos. Twenty-six when he married Elsa, and a widower at twenty-eight.

  After Elsa’s death he’d retreated here to Kamari, and he’d been living in virtual isolation for the past five years. He hadn’t attended a wedding or a social occasion since Elsa’s death.

  He’d stopped traveling, too, as his burns drew attention and he didn’t want to be stared at, didn’t want to hear the whispers that would accompany his appearance somewhere. Once a year he forced himself to show up at the Panos headquarters in Athens, but the rest of the time, he flew his management in for meetings on Kamari.

  There were no women in the upper management of his company, and that was deliberate, too, as he never wanted to be accused of forcing himself on women, nor did he want women whispering about his face.

  He knew he was scarred.

  He knew what people said about him.

  Beast. Monster. Animal.

  Werewolf. Lykánthropos.

  Georgia’s words came back to haunt him. He swallowed quickly and glanced past her, looking to the dining room window with the view of the moonlight reflecting off the sea.

  Lykánthropos. That was a new one. He’d have to remember it and one day share a good laugh with his son.

  “Nikos.”

  Hearing his name, he turned his attention back to Georgia. She was leaning toward him, her silken hair spilling over her shoulders, gleaming in the candlelight.

  “Yes?” he said, sensing that all the calm was about to change.

  “I want a lock for my door, Nikos.” Her voice was quiet and steady but at the same time determined. She wasn’t asking a question. She wasn’t pleading. She was making a statement. A demand.

  He tensed, his ease vanishing. So there was going to be drama after all.

  He groaned inwardly, wishing Mr. Laurent had been more honest with him. The Atlanta attorney had made Georgia out to be a paragon of female intelligence and beauty, a combination of Athena and Aphrodite. Mr. Laurent had it wrong. Maybe he didn’t know his goddesses, because Georgia was more like Artemis than Athena or Aphrodite. Artemis was the most independent spirit, and was known as the goddess of the hunt, nature and birth.

  “We discussed this yesterday,” he said, rolling the heavy silver napkin ring between his palm and the table. “You know why I don’t want you to have a locked door.”

  “And I need you to understand why I want a lock on my door. I know it doesn’t make sense to you—most men don’t understand—but I won’t sleep if I don’t feel safe. And I don’t feel safe—”

  “Even though there is nothing here that can hurt you?”

  “Surely you have irrational fears. Surely you understand that it’s not about reality but about perception. Having a lock on my door gives me a sense of control, and that sense of control allows me to feel safer.”

  “I am not belittling your fears. You know why I removed the lock. I must be able to reach you if there’s an emergency.”

  “You managed to kick the door down last time.” Her lips curved, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “And I’m sure if there was a real emergency, you could do it again.”

  “I was lucky that first day.”

 
She reached across the table and touched his hand. “Please.”

  He flinched at the shock of her skin against his. Sparks shot through him, and his groin tightened. His gaze dropped to her hand resting on his. Her hand was pale against his skin, her fingers slender and narrow. He pictured stripping her tunic off, pictured the pale honey of her skin as she lay stretched naked in his bed.

  He ground his teeth together, his molars clamped tight.

  Georgia made him want things...made him want to do things...fierce, hard, hot. All the things that Elsa hadn’t wanted. All the things sweet, gentle Elsa had been afraid of. Sex. Passion. Skin.

  Carefully he disengaged, drawing his hand free of Georgia’s. He struggled to organize his thoughts. She’d caught him completely off guard. And it wasn’t just the touch, but her fearlessness.

  Artemis.

  He ached from head to foot, throbbing with sensation, his body hot with desire, the desire so new after so many years of feeling nothing, feeling dead.

  Maybe a locked door would be a good thing.

  “You could have a key,” she added quietly. “In case of an emergency.”

  He looked up at her, and she was watching him intently, her blue gaze unblinking. “But only you,” she added. “No one else. I trust no one else.”

  He almost laughed. “You trust me?”

  “You’re the father of my b—” She broke off, swallowed. “This baby. I have to trust you. Don’t I?”

  * * *

  The lock was installed that very night.

  It was past midnight when Georgia finally went to bed, but she slept well. There were no bad dreams. There were no dreams at all, thank God.

  But Nikos couldn’t sleep.

  He spent hours castigating himself. He shouldn’t have brought her here. He should have waited until the very end of the pregnancy, and then arranged for Georgia to give birth in Athens. That would have been the way to go. That might still be the way to go. Have his plane come pick her up and send her to live at his house in Athens. His staff would care for her, and she’d be comfortable there—probably far more comfortable than here. She could shop and relax, attend the theater and eat good meals out.