The Love Islands Collection. Jane Porter

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      She didn’t like him, but clearly some part of her liked his touch. Pleasure rippled through her.

      She didn’t know if he’d heard her gasp, or felt her shiver, but his gaze focused on her mouth, and his fingertips lightly stroked her neck, as if intent on discovering just how she’d been wired.

      The problem was, she’d been wired very well. She’d always been a little too physically sensitive. A little too aware of pleasure. And pleasure coursed through her. She gasped again, no longer connected by muscle and bone, but by nerves and sensation. Shocking to think that some twisted part of her enjoyed his touch.

      “You are not the surrogate I believed I was getting,” he said, drawing his hand back, but not before his fingertips grazed her collarbone, sending another little flurry of sparks shooting through her.

      She longed to fall back, needing air and space and oxygen, but her feet felt leaden and her brain was fuzzy. “I will change those shoes,” she said faintly. “Shall I meet you outside?”

      “I’ll wait by the door.”

      “Nikos, I’m not going to fall as I change my shoes.”

      “And I’m not taking chances.”

      * * *

      The villa was a large, broad three-story square building that appeared to be attached to the mountain, as if it had grown from the volcanic rock jutting from the sea. The foundation of the villa went all the way down into the water, and each of the three floors above the foundation had access to a different outdoor terrace.

      Georgia could tell that someone, at some point, had attempted to turn the collection of rooms into habitable space with a slap of plaster and a wash of white paint. The worn plaster might have had more charm if so many of the rooms weren’t cold. There were moments during the tour that Georgia was certain that it was warmer outside than inside. Clearly, this was not the Greece of travel brochures. Or at least, not modern Greece.

      “Originally this was a fortress and then a medieval merchant’s warehouse and then, during the Renaissance, a monastery. Now it is just my home,” Nikos told her as they left the formal dining room and entered what had to have been a chapel and was now a room lined with bookshelves. The soaring vaulted ceiling gave the room a spaciousness that was lacking elsewhere. “My library,” he said. Then adding, “You’re welcome to study here.”

      She appreciated the offer, thinking she would enjoy studying here, and not just for the room’s beauty but for its comfort. The large ceramic-glazed heater in the corner was making the library toasty warm.

      After leaving the house, Nikos showed her the gardens. There weren’t many shrubs and plants in the ground, as there was little rainfall in this part of the Cyclades, just a half-dozen potted bougainvillea close to the house and a scattering of gnarled cypress trees farther away, dotting the numerous walking paths.

      Nikos escorted her on the various paths, wanting her to be comfortable with each. Some of the paths were laid with stones, others were packed with crushed gravel. Nearly all had a bench somewhere, providing a place to sit and enjoy the stunning views of the sea, dotted with distant islands.

      Georgia would never tell Nikos, but she was glad he’d had her change into proper walking shoes, and it felt good to walk and stretch her muscles and breathe in the fresh, brisk air.

      Twenty minutes after setting off, they returned to the villa, passing through a different walled garden on the third level to reach the house. She’d expected more benches, or perhaps a table and chairs, but instead there was an enormous outdoor pool, the water a sparkling aquamarine, glinting beneath the sun. The pool had lane lines for lap swimming as well as broad steps in a corner of the shallow end. Padded lounge chairs flanked both ends and pots of lemon trees dotted the courtyard, while a burst of red bougainvillea clung to one dazzling white wall.

      It was lovely and so inviting. It was the kind of pool one would see at a very exclusive resort and yet Nikos had it all to himself. “You said last night that you keep it heated,” she said.

      He nodded. “I love the water and like to swim year-round.” He walked her to the little whitewashed, tiled-roof pool house at the far end. “Towels, robes, shower and a sauna,” he said. “Although the sauna is off-limits for you.”

      She shot him a reproving glance. “You don’t need to do that. I am very much aware of what I should and shouldn’t do during a pregnancy.”

      “Because you’re a med student?”

      “Because I’ve been reading all the books and researching what I don’t know, and listening to what my doctor tells me. Most of it is common sense anyway.” She dug her hands into the back pocket of her jeans. “But speaking of medical school, I do need to get some studying done. I tried during the flight but wasn’t very successful.”

      “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 СКАЧАТЬ