“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