why I don’t want you to have a locked door.”
“And I need you to understand why I want a lock on my door. I know it doesn’t make sense to you—most men don’t understand—but I won’t sleep if I don’t feel safe. And I don’t feel safe—”
“Even though there is nothing here that can hurt you?”
“Surely you have irrational fears. Surely you understand that it’s not about reality but about perception. Having a lock on my door gives me a sense of control, and that sense of control allows me to feel safer.”
“I am not belittling your fears. You know why I removed the lock. I must be able to reach you if there’s an emergency.”
“You managed to kick the door down last time.” Her lips curved, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “And I’m sure if there was a real emergency, you could do it again.”
“I was lucky that first day.”
She reached across the table and touched his hand. “Please.”
He flinched at the shock of her skin against his. Sparks shot through him, and his groin tightened. His gaze dropped to her hand resting on his. Her hand was pale against his skin, her fingers slender and narrow. He pictured stripping her tunic off, pictured the pale honey of her skin as she lay stretched naked in his bed.
He ground his teeth together, his molars clamped tight.
Georgia made him want things...made him want to do things...fierce, hard, hot. All the things that Elsa hadn’t wanted. All the things sweet, gentle Elsa had been afraid of. Sex. Passion. Skin.
Carefully he disengaged, drawing his hand free of Georgia’s. He struggled to organize his thoughts. She’d caught him completely off guard. And it wasn’t just the touch, but her fearlessness.
Artemis.
He ached from head to foot, throbbing with sensation, his body hot with desire, the desire so new after so many years of feeling nothing, feeling dead.
Maybe a locked door would be a good thing.
“You could have a key,” she added quietly. “In case of an emergency.”
He looked up at her, and she was watching him intently, her blue gaze unblinking. “But only you,” she added. “No one else. I trust no one else.”
He almost laughed. “You trust me?”
“You’re the father of my b—” She broke off, swallowed. “This baby. I have to trust you. Don’t I?”
* * *
The lock was installed that very night.
It was past midnight when Georgia finally went to bed, but she slept well. There were no bad dreams. There were no dreams at all, thank God.
But Nikos couldn’t sleep.
He spent hours castigating himself. He shouldn’t have brought her here. He should have waited until the very end of the pregnancy, and then arranged for Georgia to give birth in Athens. That would have been the way to go. That might still be the way to go. Have his plane come pick her up and send her to live at his house in Athens. His staff would care for her, and she’d be comfortable there—probably far more comfortable than here. She could shop and relax, attend the theater and eat good meals out.
But he wouldn’t be there, and he wouldn’t be able to keep an eye on her.
He wouldn’t be able to protect her if things went wrong.
Which was why he’d brought her to Kamari.
What he needed to do was smash the desire. He had to control the attraction, and he could, if he just kept Elsa in his mind.
He’d crushed Elsa. He couldn’t do that to Georgia.
* * *
The next morning when Georgia woke, she was grateful she’d slept well, but she couldn’t quite smash the little anxious voice inside her, the one that kept reminding her of what she’d almost said last night at dinner.
My baby.
She’d caught herself in time, and didn’t think Nikos had noticed the slip, or her swift substitution, but she had, and it was eating at her.
This was a problem.
Why had she even thought the words? My baby...?
Where had that possessive pronoun come from? It had never been her baby... It wasn’t ever going to be her baby. She didn’t even like referring to the child as a he, preferring the impersonal “it” as a way of keeping distance...remaining detached.
Now she worried she wasn’t quite as detached as she’d imagined.
Determined to silence the nagging voice, Georgia pushed the button that alerted the staff that she was awake. When one of the housemaids appeared at her door, Georgia asked for a light breakfast so she could start studying.
A tray arrived fifteen minutes later filled with bowls and dishes—thick, creamy yogurt, sliced fruit, warm pastries and an impressive silver pot of coffee.
Georgia ate at the little table in her living room, and then she set the tray aside and grabbed her books. She studied at the table all morning, and then at noon took a break to go to the pool to swim. She had swum yesterday and had managed thirty laps. Today she wanted to see if she could do forty, hoping the extra exercise would quiet her anxiety. She was right to have been worried about being here on Kamari for the third trimester. It wasn’t going to be easy. She didn’t feel calm or secure.
Hoping it was just hormones, she retrieved her goggles and kickboard from the pool house and began her swim.
She was halfway through her laps and paused at the wall to catch her breath. As she lifted her swim goggles, she spotted Nikos diving in the other end of the pool.
She caught only a glimpse of his body before he disappeared into the water, but he was in amazing shape—well built and tan, with hard, cut muscles everywhere.
He swam underwater halfway down the pool to finally surface on his back. Nikos did a couple of easy strokes, showing impressive form, before flipping over onto his stomach to continue down the pool, toward her.
Georgia felt a flutter of nerves and quickly pulled her goggles into place and set off down her lane. It was a big pool, and the white lane line divided the length into sides. He wasn’t in her side, he’d taken the empty lane, but that didn’t calm her down. Even though there was plenty of room for both of them, she felt increasingly self-conscious, especially when she could see him pass on the other side, his big bronze body slicing through the water.
He was a very good swimmer, a very strong swimmer. Gradually Georgia found herself watching him instead of continuing with her own laps.
He’d only just gotten in but he’d already swum six laps, making quick progress with his dark head down, his stroke smooth and steady. He had that kind of kick that was powerful without creating lots of splashing.
Each
