Bought To Carry His Heir. Jane Porter

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.”