The Love Islands Collection. Jane PorterЧитать онлайн книгу.

       CHAPTER THREE

      IN HER ROOM at the villa, Georgia slept for hours, sleeping away the remainder of the day.

      She dreamed of Savannah, of her goodbye with Savannah yesterday, her younger sister’s emotional cry playing out in her dream.

      What do you even know about him?

      He could be dangerous...seriously deranged...

      Who will be able to help you when you’re on his island in the middle of nowhere?

      The dream was broken by the dull, but insistent, pounding on her bedroom door.

      Georgia heard it but didn’t want to wake, and for a moment she lay in the strange bed, heart racing, pulse pounding, late-afternoon sunlight slanting through wooden blinds, as she tried to cling to the last of the dream, missing Savannah already.

      But the knocking on her door wouldn’t stop.

      Georgia dragged herself into a sitting position and was just about to rise when her door crashed open and Nikos came charging into her room.

      “What on earth are you doing?” she cried, rising.

      “Why didn’t you answer the damn door?”

      “I was asleep!”

      “We’ve been trying to rouse you for the past hour.” He stalked toward the bed, his dark eyes glittering. “I thought you were dead.”

      She pulled on the hem of her cotton pajama top, trying to hide the skin gaping beneath. She was just starting to need maternity clothes. She hadn’t bought any maternity wear until recently, not wanting to spend money until absolutely necessary. “Not dead, as you can see.”

      “You gave me quite a scare,” he gritted out.

      She was still trembling with shock. She lifted a hand to show him how badly her hand shook. “How do you think I feel? You broke my door—”

      “It can be fixed.”

      “But who does that? I thought that was just cops in movies.”

      “I’ll have someone repair it when you come upstairs for lunch.”

      She wanted an apology, but it seemed she wasn’t going to get it. He really didn’t think he’d done anything wrong. Georgia glanced to the shuttered window with the late-afternoon sunlight stabbing through the gaps and cracks in the wood, trying to calm down and regain her composure. “I would think it’s dinnertime, not lunch.”

      “We don’t eat dinner until ten or later, so we’re having a late lunch for you now. Dress and come upstairs—”

      “Can you not send something to the room?” she interrupted, irritated all over again by his curtness. He lacked manners and the basic social graces. “After the long flight I would prefer to stay in my pajamas and just read a bit—”

      “Head straight up the stairs to the third floor, we’re on the second floor now, and then through the living room to the doors to the terrace,” he concluded as if she’d never spoken.

      She frowned, increasingly annoyed. “Mr. Laurent led me to believe that I would be able to have my own space and as much privacy as I desired.”

      “You have your own space. Three rooms, all for you. But once a day we will meet and visit and have a meal together, and we might as well begin tonight as it will help establish a routine.”

      “I don’t see why we need to meet daily. We have nothing to say to each other.”

      “That is correct, and I am in complete agreement. You and I have nothing to say to each other, but I have plenty to say to my son, and since he is inside of you, you are required to be present, as well.”

      She clamped her jaw tight to hold back the caustic comment that was tingling on the tip of her tongue, and then she couldn’t. “I am sorry you have to endure my dreadful company for the next three months, then.”

      “We both are making sacrifices,” he answered. “Fortunately, you are being compensated for yours.” He nodded at her and turned to leave.

      “I would like to shower first.”

      “Fine.”

      She had to hold back another caustic comment. “And you’ll have someone repair the door while I’m upstairs?”

      “I already said that.”

      * * *

      Leaving Georgia’s room, Nikos summoned Adras, the older man who oversaw the running of the villa, and told him that his guest’s bedroom door needed to be repaired. And then Nikos went up to the shaded, whitewashed terrace to wait for Georgia.

      The sun had shifted, deepening the colors of the sky and sea. The terrace was protected from the worst of the wind, with the most protection closest to the house. Nikos stood at the wall, looking out over the sea, and the wind caught at his shirt and hair. His hair was perhaps too long, but it helped hide the scars on his temple and cheekbone.

      It was easy to ignore the breeze as he was anticipating Georgia’s appearance. It was strange to have her in the house. He wasn’t used to having visitors. Kamari was his own rock, 323 acres in the northwestern Cyclades in the Aegean Sea. Amorgós was the closest island to Kamari, with a hospital, ferry, shops and monastery, but Nikos hadn’t been to Amorgós in years. There was no point. There was nothing good on Amorgós...not for him.

      Instead everything he needed was flown in from the mainland, and if he wanted company, he’d fly to Athens. Not that he ever wanted company. It’d been months and months since he’d left his rock. He had a home in Athens, along with his corporate headquarters. He had another place on Santorini, but that was the old family estate, a former winery that had once been his favorite place in the world and now the source of his nightmares.

      Nikos had lived alone so long that he couldn’t imagine being part of the outside world. His son would not need the outside world, either. He would teach his son to live simply, to love nature, to be independent. He’d make sure his son knew what was good and true...not money, not accolades, praise, success. But this island, this sky, this sea.

      But perhaps the years of living so isolated had made him rough and impatient. He felt so very impatient now, waiting for her. She wasn’t rushing her shower. She wasn’t hurrying up to meet him. She was taking her time. Making him wait.

      Finally the sound of the wooden door scraping the tumbled marble floor made him turn.

      Georgia stepped outside, onto the terrace, her expression wary. She was dressed in black tights, a long black-and-white knit jumper, high-heeled ankle boots, and her shimmering blond hair was drawn back in a high ponytail. Even though she was wearing no makeup, she looked far more rested than she had earlier, but her guarded expression bothered him.

      He didn’t want to be a monster. He didn’t enjoy scaring women. “You found it,” he said gruffly.

      “I did.”

      “Something to drink?” he asked, gesturing to the tray with pitchers of water and juice that had been brought up earlier.

      “Just water. Please.”

      He filled a tall glass and brought it to her. She was standing now where he’d been just seconds ago, looking out over the Aegean Sea. He wasn’t surprised. The view was spectacular from the terrace, and the setting sun had gilded the horizon, turning everything purple and bronze.

      “How are you feeling?” he asked.

      “Fine,” she said crisply, keeping her distance.

      He should apologize. He wasn’t sure where to begin, though. The