The Love Islands Collection. Jane Porter

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      Georgia told herself that she shouldn’t have been surprised that he’d pulled away. It was the pattern now. But that didn’t make the rejection any easier.

      And the closer she and Nikos became, the more the distance hurt.

      What had happened in her bedroom was intense—physically, emotionally—and part of her felt raw and rejected, but another part of her told her that Nikos was struggling even more.

      She didn’t know why intimacy was so difficult for him, but there was obviously an issue. He lived alone in the middle of the ocean, refusing to even visit the Greek mainland for medical appointments, insisting everyone come to him.

      So, yes, she felt rejected, abandoned, but he was also wrestling with demons, and after two days of silence and distance, Georgia had had enough.

      She found him on the top of the mountain, running sprints. He didn’t see her there, not at first, and she watched him for almost five minutes, seeing him tear across the tarmac at full speed, running as if the devil himself was at his back.

      Her heart ached. He was so tortured. His suffering baffled her.

      What had happened? And why?

      Obviously he blamed himself.

      But this kind of self-abasement wasn’t healthy. The way he handled stress worried her. Was this how he’d raise the baby? Would he handle problems as a father with the same punitive attitude?

      She walked onto the tarmac, crossing the broad warm asphalt until she stood right where he was running.

      Nikos dragged himself to an abrupt stop. He pulled out his earbuds, let them fall onto his shoulders. She could hear loud, pulsating rock music. It was the percussion-heavy, guitar-blazing, head-banging kind.

      He was sweating profusely. His olive cheeks had a dark, dusky glow.

      He looked past her, and then returned his focus to her. “How did you get here?”

      “I walked.”

      “It’s a long, steep climb.”

      “I took my time.” She folded her arms over her chest, chilled by the wind. It was a blustery day. She’d been fine while walking, but standing still, she was cold.

      Nikos just looked at her, distant, detached. There was no light or warmth in his eyes. She was reminded of the day she’d arrived. He was that Nikos Panos. Icy. Authoritative. Slightly hostile.

      Her upper lip curled. It was smile or she’d cry. When she realized he wasn’t going to speak, she did. “I’m worried about you, Nikos.”

      “There is no need to worry about me. I am not your concern.”

      “The nightmares were worse last night.”

      His head jerked up, and he gave her a sharp look. “Am I part of the nightmares?”

      “You were last night, yes.”

      “What did I do?”

      Her chest tightened. It hurt to breathe. “Nothing.” She saw he didn’t understand. “You did nothing, and that was the problem. The baby cried and cried, and you wouldn’t hold him or pick him up and I couldn’t get there and I couldn’t help him—”

      “So this wasn’t about your family or you. This was about me and my son?”

      Her heart did a painful double beat. “I’m worried about you, and how it will be when I leave. You can’t just run away from things, Nikos. You have to face them—”

      “I don’t need the lecture, gynaika.”

      She’d found out from the cook what that word, gynaika, meant. It was woman. I don’t need the lecture, woman.

      She exhaled in a little puff of sound. He was positively medieval, and when he glowered at her—as he was now—scary as hell, but she couldn’t back down. She had to do this, if not for his sake, then for the child they’d created.

      “I am concerned. And you need to know that I’m troubled by what I see. You have moments where you are present and attentive, but then there are times like now, where you’re so detached it’s frightening. Nikos, this isn’t the life I imagined for the baby.” She saw his expression darken, the set of his mouth becoming grim. “It is one thing for you to retreat and detach if you have a wife and family, but you don’t. You will be a single father, and you are so isolated here. The baby will be so isolated here. It’s worrying.”

      “Worrying?” he repeated.

      She heard the edge in his voice. Her pulse quickened in response. She had to be careful; she was walking on dangerous ground. “You must admit that is not going to be a conventional upbringing, living here on Kamari with just the two of you.”

      “I have staff.”

      “That is fine, then, if you are comfortable with them becoming extended family...grandparents, uncles, aunts—”

      “They are staff.”

      She swallowed around the lump in her throat. “Don’t you want your son to have more? Don’t you want him to be loved and have family?”

      “I will love him.”

      “Love is being present and accessible. But when confronted by something difficult you retreat...withdrawing for days. The child will suffer.”

      “You can’t project what is between you and me onto him.”

      “Why not?”

      “Because it will be different.”

      “Maybe. But maybe not. And because I know what I’ve seen here, and felt personally, I worry that when you need time alone, the child won’t have enough love. I worry that he’ll be...lonely. He should have others, Nikos, others in his world, others who will love him, too.”

      “I wasn’t raised in a big, traditional family. My son will not miss anything.”

      She didn’t say anything. What could she say?

      His black eyebrows flattened. “You don’t believe me.”

      She shrugged, trying to contain her frustration. “Children need community. They need to feel secure and loved—”

      “I will do that.”

      “But what if something happens to you? Who will be there for him?”

      “Nothing will happen to me.”

      “You don’t know that! You’re not God. You’re mortal—”

      “I think it’s time you took a step back, Georgia. I am not sure why you are making my business yours. The child is mine, not yours.” He stared at her, expression brooding. “Are you having second thoughts?”

      She almost laughed. Second thoughts? Oh, yes, second СКАЧАТЬ