Bought To Carry His Heir

Held captive...

When Georgia Nielson is asked to be the surrogate for an enigmatic tycoon, she can’t afford to say no. Before she realizes that she’s struck a deal with the devil, she’s trapped on his isolated Greek island, with no escape from the brooding master who stalks its shores!

Carrying his child!

Scarred by the loss of his wife, Nikos Panos’s future rests on leaving behind a legacy. But Georgia’s constant presence threatens to unleash the powerful hunger he’s kept caged for so long. If he wants defiant Georgia to submit, he must confront the demons that haunt him...

The moment Nikos’s mouth touched hers, Georgia jolted, as if she’d stumbled into a live wire. Sensation rushed through her in electric waves, making her shudder.

Nikos deepened the kiss, his lips parting hers, and she shuddered again at the pleasure of his tongue stroking the inside of her sensitive lower lip and then finding her upper lip.

It had been ages since she’d kissed anyone. She couldn’t even remember her last kiss.

Nikos was in total control, drawing her close, his hard body pressed to the length of her as lips and tongue made her melt. She felt hot and explosive, her blood humming in her veins. She shuddered as his hand moved beneath her long hair to cup her nape and then moved down her neck, stirring every nerve-ending in her skin.

This was unlike any kiss she’d ever known.

This was shockingly electric.

Chemistry.

She fled. It was that or collapse in a puddle on the kitchen floor.

In her room, she locked the door and leaned against it, legs still shaking.

What had just happened?

She’d never felt anything so consuming...pleasure and hunger and something else... something so intense that it continued to ripple through her in hot, dizzying waves.

Desire. Lust. Need.

Georgia exhaled slowly, trying to get control, needing to clear her head, and yet all she could feel was the pressure of Nikos’s body against hers and the feel of his mouth...as well as his taste.

He’d tasted like heat and honey and liquorice. She’d never tasted anything like it. And, God help her, she wanted more.

New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author JANE PORTER has written forty romances and eleven women’s fiction novels since her first sale to Mills & Boon Modern Romance in 2000. A five-time RITA® Award finalist, Jane is known for her passionate, emotional and sensual novels, and she loves nothing more than alpha heroes, exotic locations and happy-ever-afters. Today Jane lives in sunny San Clemente, California, with her surfer husband and three sons. Visit www.janeporter.com.

Books by Jane Porter

Mills & Boon Modern Romance

The Disgraced Copelands

His Defiant Desert Queen

The Fallen Greek Bride

A Royal Scandal

His Majesty’s Mistake

Not Fit for a King?

The Desert Kings

King of the Desert, Captive Bride

The Sheikh’s Chosen Queen

Greek Tycoons

At the Greek Boss’s Bidding

Ruthless

Hollywood Husband, Contract Wife

Desert Brides

The Sheikh’s Disobedient Bride

A Dark Sicilian Secret

Duty, Desire and the Desert King

Visit the Author Profile page at

millsandboon.co.uk for more titles.

Bought to Carry His Heir

Jane Porter

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Megan, Maisey and Carol—

three gorgeous girls I adore.

Thank you for the love and encouragement when I needed it!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

IT WAS A cold February afternoon in Atlanta, but the law office of Lyles, Laurent & Abraham at One Atlantic Center on West Peachtree Street was even more frigid.

The prominent Atlanta attorney James Laurent fiddled with his glasses, his expression withering. “You signed the contracts, Miss Nielsen. They are absolutely binding in every country—”

“I have no problem with the contract,” Georgia interrupted, more annoyed than cowed by the attorney’s icy contempt, because she was absolutely committed to carrying the baby only to relinquish him. That was the job of a surrogate, and she took the job seriously. “The baby is his. But there is nothing in the contract that stipulates where I am to give birth, nor was anything ever communicated to me in advance about giving birth overseas. I wouldn’t have agreed to serve as Mr. Panos’s surrogate if that had been the case.”

“Miss Nielsen, Greece is not a third world country. You will receive excellent medical care in Athens before, during and after delivery.”

She gave him a long look, hands relaxed on the arms of the leather chair, fighting to keep her temper in check. “I’m a med student at Emory. I’m not worried about my medical care. But I am disturbed by your condescension. If a mistake was made, it was your client’s...or yours. You were, after all, the one who drew up the papers for the surrogacy. You know what the agreement covered. And it didn’t cover me getting on a plane and flying five thousand six hundred and sixty-six miles to give birth.”

“It’s a citizenship issue, Miss Nielsen. The baby must be born in Greece.”

Georgia Nielsen glanced past the attorney to the huge map that had been framed and hung on the wall of Mr. Laurent’s office. It was an old map, a collector’s item, and from the boundaries and labels, she’d guess it was from the late nineteenth century, the 1880s or maybe 1890s, with Africa divided by European colonial claims. But even old and yellowed, Greece was identifiable...right where it had been for thousands of years, giving birth to Western civilization.

And right where she was expected to give birth.

If Georgia were in a better mood, she might find it ironic. She might even be amused. But she wasn’t in a good mood. She was furious and frustrated. From the start, she’d taken care of herself, paid close attention to proper health and the well-being of the baby. Her job as a surrogate was to bear a healthy baby, and she was doing her part. Eating right, sleeping as much as possible, getting lots of exercise and keeping stress to a minimum—not always easy when in medical school, but she had her priorities right. But going to Greece? And going soon? That was not on her agenda.

“The travel arrangements are being finalized as we speak,” Mr. Laurent added. “Mr. Panos will send his personal jet for you. As you can imagine, the jet is state-of-the-art and quite luxurious. You’ll have staff and a good rest, and before you know it, you’ll be there—”

“I haven’t even reached the third trimester. Seems to me that making travel plans now is incredibly premature.”

“Mr. Panos would prefer not to place undue stress on you or the baby. Specialists do not recommend international travel in the third trimester.”

“Yes, for high-risk pregnancies, but this isn’t one.”

“It is IVF.”

“There have been no complications.”

“And my client prefers to keep it that way.”

Georgia bit her tongue to keep from saying something she might regret. She understood that Nikos Panos’s concern was for the baby, his son. She understood, too, that her wants and needs did not factor in. She was a vessel...a womb...nothing more. As it should be until the very end, when she delivered a healthy baby and saw him placed in the arms of his protective father. That was when her job would be done. Then, and only then.

But that didn’t mean she wanted to leave Atlanta or the world she knew. Going halfway around the world would be stressful. Leaving her support systems would be challenging, especially as she neared the end of the pregnancy. This was a job, a way to provide for her sister, but she wasn’t totally naive. It was hard not to have any feelings for the life inside her, and those emotions were becoming stronger. Hormones were already shifting. She could only imagine how ambivalent she’d feel in another three and a half months.

But motherhood wasn’t her future. Her future was medicine, and her course was set.

For a long moment there was just silence in the office.

Mr. Laurent pressed his fingers together, creating a tense steeple. “What will it take to get you on that plane this Friday?”

Ridiculous. There was no way she could go so soon. “I have school. I have studies.”

“You have just finished the preclinical block. You are studying for the medical licensing exam, and you can study just as well in Greece as in Georgia.”

“I’m not going to leave my sister for three and a half months.”

“She’s twenty-one and lives in North Carolina.”

“Yes, she’s a senior at Duke University, but she’s financially and emotionally dependent on me. I am her only living relative.” Georgia met his gaze and held it. “I am all she has left.”

“And the child you carry?”

“Isn’t mine.” Her lips firmed. “Your client paid for the egg and the surrogacy, so if Mr. Panos wants to be present for the birth of his son, he can come to Atlanta. Otherwise, the baby’s nurse will take the infant to him. As agreed.”

“Mr. Panos is not able to fly.”

Georgia lifted her chin, air bottled inside her lungs. She was not going to engage. She refused to be drawn into this. A contract was a contract. “That is not my concern. Your client is not my concern. Once I give birth, the infant is not my concern. I have been paid not to care, and, Mr. Laurent, I intend to keep my end of the bargain.”

The attorney closed his eyes and rubbed at an invisible spot between his bushy gray eyebrows, bumping his glasses from his nose. For a moment the only sound in the room was the antique grandfather clock tick-ticking against the wall.

Mr. Laurent opened his eyes, fixed his gaze on her. “How much will it cost to get you on the plane on Friday? And before you say I’m not listening, I know everyone has a price. You do, too. It’s why you agreed to donate the egg and carry the fertilized embryo. You were satisfied with the compensation. So, let’s not bicker over the terms. Tell me what you need to get on that plane, and I will see that the money is wired into your account first thing in the morning.”

Georgia stared at the older man, her serene expression hiding her anxiety, as well as her frustration. Yes, money was tight, but she didn’t want more money. She just wanted to finish what she’d started. It had been a mistake to do this. She thought she’d manage as a surrogate, but lately she was finding it increasingly difficult to keep her emotions in check. But it was too late to back out now. There was no changing her mind, either. The contracts were binding. The child wasn’t hers. And, yes, she carried him, and each little flutter kick made her heart ache, but the baby was Nikos Panos’s, and she couldn’t forget it.

Which meant she had to move forward. It was her only option. And the moment she delivered, the moment the baby was whisked away, she’d black this year from her memory. Georgia never wanted to think about any of this again. It was the only way to survive something so challenging. Fortunately, she had practice in surviving challenging situations. Grief was a good teacher.

“Name it,” Mr. Laurent said quietly.

“It’s not about the money—”

“But it will pay bills, so pay your bills. Provide for your sister. I understand she, too, wants to attend medical school. Take advantage of the offer so you never have to do something like this again.”

That last bit hit home. Her gaze locked with his, and her short, filed nails curled into her palms.

Mr. Laurent was right. She could never do something like this again. It was breaking her heart. But she’d survived worse. And it wasn’t as if she was abandoning a child to a monster. Nikos Panos wanted this baby desperately.

Drawing a short, sharp breath, Georgia named an outrageous figure, a sum that would cover Savannah’s medical school and living expenses, plus some. Georgia made the sum deliberately high, intending to shock the old lawyer.

But Mr. Laurent didn’t blink. Instead he scribbled something down on a printed sheet of paper. “The addendum,” he said, pushing the paper across the desk toward her. “Sign here, and date there.”

She swallowed, shocked he’d so readily agreed to her “outrageous” demand. He must have been prepared for her to ask for even more. She probably could have asked for millions and he would have said yes. Stupid pride. Why couldn’t she be a proper mercenary?

“You’re agreeing to leave Friday,” Mr. Laurent said as she reached for the page. “You will spend the last trimester of your pregnancy in Greece, at Nikos Panos’s villa on Kamari, which is a short flight from Athens. After delivery, once you have been cleared to travel, my client will send you back to Atlanta, either on his private jet or first class on the airline of your choice. Any questions?”

“The money? It will be wired into my account first thing tomorrow?”

He handed her a pen. “It will be there by nine a.m.” He smiled as she signed.

“I’m so glad we were able to come to terms.”

Georgia stood, heartsick but too far in to see a way out. “As you said, everyone has a price. Goodbye, Mr. Laurent.”

“Enjoy your time in Greece, Miss Nielsen.”

CHAPTER TWO

IT WAS A long trip from Atlanta. Nearly thirteen hours, which meant that Georgia had plenty of time to sleep, study and even watch a movie or two when she was too tired to read one more sample question from the test.

The movies helped occupy her mind. She didn’t want to think. If she wasn’t going to sleep, she needed entertainment and diversion to keep from replaying her goodbye with Savannah, who’d driven down from Duke to see her off.

Or more accurately, who’d driven down to beg Georgia not to go.

Savannah had been beside herself, alternating between tears and anger, asking repeatedly what Georgia knew about this Greek tycoon in the first place.

What do you even know about him? And who cares if he’s a billionaire? He could be dangerous, seriously deranged, and who will be able to help you when you’re on his island in the middle of nowhere?

Savannah had never been the practical one, but in this instance, she was right.

Georgia had researched Nikos Panos—and, yes, he was a Greek billionaire, and he’d turned his family’s struggling company around with shrewd investments, and he’d done it at a young age, taking over the helm of the company while in his midtwenties—but she didn’t have any references on him. Nothing on his morals or his character. She just had the attorney and the payments for services rendered.

She started to rub her tummy. Her bump was becoming increasingly pronounced. Her skin was sensitive, and warm, and even when she didn’t want to think about the pregnancy, or the surrogacy, she was aware of the life inside her.

And not just a life, but a boy. There were no boys in her family. Just girls. Three sisters. Georgia couldn’t even imagine what it’d be like to raise a little boy.

But she wouldn’t go there. She never let herself go there. She wasn’t going to let herself become invested.

But as the jet made its final descent into what looked like an endless sea of blue, the baby did a flutter kick as if recognizing that he was almost home. Georgia held her breath, fighting panic.

She could do this. She would do this.

The baby wasn’t hers.

She wasn’t attached.

She’d been paid not to care.

She wouldn’t care.

But those fierce admonishments did little to ease the wave of grief and regret washing through her heart.

“Just three and a half months,” she whispered. Three and a half months and she’d be free of this horrific thing she’d agreed to do.

* * *

Three and a half months, Nikos Panos told himself, standing at the far end of the landing strip, narrowed gaze fixed on the white Dassault Falcon jet. It had been a rough landing owing to the windy day, which wasn’t unusual for this time of year in the Cyclades. But the jet was safely parked and the door was open, revealing twenty-four-year-old Georgia Nielsen.

From where he stood, she appeared very slender and very blonde in a soft-knit apricot tunic, dark gray tights and high-heel boots that covered her knees. He frowned at the height of the heels on her boots, baffled as to why a pregnant woman would wear boots with heels four inches high. Her boots were a problem, and so was her dress. Her tunic’s knit hem hit just above midthigh, revealing a lot of leg.

Nikos knew from her profile that Georgia Nielsen would be pretty, but he hadn’t expected this.

Standing at the top of the stairs with the blustery wind grabbing at her hair and the sun haloing the bright golden mass, she looked so much like Elsa that it made his chest tighten and ache.

He’d wanted a surrogate that looked like Elsa.

But he didn’t want Elsa.

In that moment, he wondered if he’d made a terrible mistake. He had to be more than a little bit mad to search the world for a woman that looked like his late wife, and certifiably insane to bring that doppelgänger here, to Kamari.

The American surrogate must have spotted him because she suddenly straightened, and, lifting a hand to her hair, held the billowing golden mane back from her face as she came down the jet’s stairs quickly. It wasn’t quite a run, but definitely with speed, and purpose.

Not Elsa, he grimly corrected, moving forward to meet her.

His Elsa had been quiet and gentle, even a bit timid, while this leggy blonde crossed the tarmac as if she owned it. He met her halfway, determined to slow her down. “Careful,” he ground out.

Georgia lifted her head and looked at him, brows pulling. “Of what?” she countered, a hint of irritation in her voice.

From afar she was striking. Close, she was astonishingly pretty. Even prettier than Elsa, maybe, if such a thing was possible.

And for the second time he thought this was a critical error, bringing her here, now, when there was so much time left before the baby’s birth. Not because he was in danger of falling in love with his late wife’s ghost, but because his relationship with Elsa had never been easy, and her senseless death had filled him with guilt. He hoped the baby would ease some of the guilt. He hoped that becoming a father would force him to move forward and live. And feel.

Elsa wasn’t the only ghost in his life. He’d become one, too.

“You could trip and fall,” he said shortly, his deep voice rough even to his own ears. He didn’t speak much on Kamari. Not even to his staff. They knew their duties, and they did them without unnecessary conversation.

One of her winged eyebrows arched higher. She gave him a long, assessing look, sizing him up—inspecting, cataloging, making a dozen mental notes. “I wouldn’t do that,” she said after a moment. “I have excellent balance. I would have loved to be a gymnast, but I grew too tall.” She extended her hand to him. “But I appreciate your concern, Mr. Panos.”

He looked down at her hand for what would probably be considered too long to be polite. He’d never been overly concerned about manners and niceties before the fire, and now he simply didn’t care at all. He didn’t care about anything. That was the problem. But the Panoses couldn’t die out with him. Not just because the company needed an heir; he was the last Panos. It wasn’t right that he allowed his mistakes to end hundreds of years of a family lineage. Surely his family shouldn’t pay for who he was...what he’d done...

The baby would hopefully change that. The child would be the future. God knew he needed a future.

Taking her hand, his fingers engulfed hers, his grip firm, her skin warm against his. “Nikos,” he corrected.

Then he lifted his head and turned his jaw from her to give her a good look at the right side of his face, letting her see who he was now. What he was now.

A monster.

The Beast of Kamari.

He turned his head back the other way and met her gaze.

She looked straight back at him without a flicker of horror or fear. Nor did she reveal surprise. Instead her blue eyes, with their specks of gray and bits of silver, were wide and clear. He found it intriguing that she didn’t appear discomfited by the burns on his temple and cheek.

“Georgia,” she replied, giving his hand an equally firm shake.

Like the proverbial Georgia peach, he thought, releasing her hand. Her name suited her. Too well.

Despite the long hours flying, despite the pregnancy—or maybe because of it—she looked fresh, ripe, glowing with health and vitality.

Nikos, who hadn’t wanted anything or anyone for nearly five years, felt the stirring of curiosity, and the dull ache of desire. He hadn’t felt anything in so long that the stirring of his body was as surprising as the questions forming in his mind.

Was the attraction because she resembled Elsa, or was he intrigued because she seemed fearless when confronted by his scars?

Touching her hand, feeling her warmth, made something within him uncoil and reach out to her, wondering just who she was, wondering what she looked like naked, wondering what she would taste like if he put his mouth to her skin—

And just like that, after years of feeling nothing, and being nothing, and living as if numb or dead, he hardened, his body responding to her despite whatever else was happening in his head.

And yet this was what couldn’t happen. And this was why he lived on Kamari, away from people. It wasn’t to protect himself, but to protect others.

Nikos ruthlessly clamped down on the surge of desire, smashing it by reminding himself of what he’d done to Elsa, and what Elsa’s death had done to him.

But she wasn’t Elsa, wasn’t his wife. And even though she wasn’t a wife, he still wouldn’t take chances. She carried his son. Her health and well-being were essential for his son’s health and well-being. And so he’d take excellent care of the surrogate, but only because she was the surrogate. She was nothing to him beyond that. Just help...a hired womb...that was all.

All, he repeated, looking past her to his flight crew. He gestured, indicating that her luggage should be placed in the back of the restored 1961 military Land Rover. It was the best vehicle for Kamari’s rugged terrain, handling the steep twisting roads with ease. It was also his preferred vehicle since he could drive in summer without the soft top. In winter he kept the soft top up, but there were no windows. No glass to trap him.

He started for the vehicle, and then remembered the American’s ridiculous footwear. “Those shoes are not appropriate for Kamari,” he said curtly.

She gave him another long look and then shrugged. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said before setting off, heading toward the passenger side of his green Land Rover with her careless, leggy, athletic grace, the wind catching at her bright hair, making it shimmer and dance.

Definitely not Elsa, he thought.

Nothing about Elsa shimmered and danced. But she had once, hadn’t she? She’d been happy once...before she’d married him. Before she’d come to regret everything about her life with him...

Nikos smashed his hand into a tight fist, squeezing hard, fighting the past that haunted him always. He prayed the baby would mean new life...not just for the child but for him, too. He prayed that if he were a good father, he’d find peace. Redemption.

Or was it too late for that?

He forced his attention to Georgia. A footstool had been placed on the ground for her, making it easier for her to enter the lifted four-wheel drive vehicle, but she seemed amused by the stool, her full lips quirking as she stepped onto it and swung easily into the passenger seat.

He didn’t understand her smile. He didn’t understand such brazen confidence, either. She seemed to be throwing down the gauntlet. Challenging him.

He wasn’t sure he liked it. She’d only just arrived.

Fortunately he had his temper well in check. His pulse had quickened, but he was still in control. Once upon a time his temper had been legendary. But it was better now that he was older. He’d matured, thank God. He’d never really lost his temper with Elsa, but she’d been nervous around him. Skittish.

He shook his head, chasing away the memories. He didn’t want to think of Elsa now. Didn’t want to be haunted by the past any longer. It was why he’d hired the donor and surrogate. He was trying to move forward, trying to create a future where there hadn’t been one in far too long.

Climbing behind the steering wheel, he glanced at Georgia. She was fastening her seat belt and pale, gleaming hair spilled over her shoulders and down her back like a golden waterfall. Beautiful hair. Longer than Elsa’s had ever been.

Nikos felt a lance of appreciation, and then clamped down on the sensation, more than a little bit baffled by his attraction. He didn’t want to find Georgia Nielsen attractive. Didn’t want to find anything about her attractive. She was here as a surrogate...

A vessel.

A womb.

But his body had a mind of its own, and the heavy ache in his groin grew, his body tight with a testosterone-fueled tension that made him ruthless and restless. A tiger on the prowl. A beast out of the cage.

He didn’t like feeling this way. He didn’t like anything—or anyone—that tested him, challenging him, reminding him of his dark edges. He hadn’t known until he married Elsa that he had such a frightening personality. He hadn’t known until Elsa began hiding from him that he was such a beast...a monster...

Thirio.

Teras.

If he’d known who he was before he married, he wouldn’t have married. If he’d known he would destroy his beautiful wife with his temper, he would have remained a bachelor.

And yet he’d wanted children. He’d very much wanted to create a family. To have people of his own...

From the corner of his eye he saw Georgia cross one leg over the other, drawing his attention to her legs. The tunic hit high on her thigh and the boots stopped at her knee and her legs, in the gray tights, were slim and shapely.

“We’re about fifteen minutes from the house,” he said roughly, starting the engine, battling his thoughts, battling the desire that made him feel as if he had gasoline in his veins instead of blood.

“And town?” she asked, adjusting the belt across her lap.

His gaze followed, focusing on her waist. For the first time, he could see the gentle swell of her belly. She was most definitely pregnant. The cut of the cashmere tunic had just hidden the bump earlier.

The bump jolted him. His child. His son.

For a split second he couldn’t breathe. It was suddenly real. The life he’d made...his seed...her egg...

“Do you want to touch him?” she asked quietly.

He looked up into her face. Her cheeks were pale, and yet her gaze was direct, steady. “He’s moving around,” she added, lips curving faintly. “I think he’s saying hello.”

Nikos dropped his gaze to her hands resting at her side, and then back to the gentle curve of her belly.

“Isn’t it too soon for me to feel him moving?” he asked.

“It might have been a week or two ago, but not anymore.”

He stared at her bump for another moment, conflicted. He wanted to feel his son kick, but he couldn’t bring himself to touch her, not wanting to feel the tautness of her belly or the warmth of her skin. She wasn’t supposed to matter in any way, and yet suddenly she wasn’t this vessel, this hired womb, but a stunning young woman carrying his son.

“Not right now,” he said, fingers curling around the stick shift, changing gears, driving forward. His gut was hard, tight. Air ached in his lungs. What had he done bringing this woman to him? How could he have thought this would be a good idea? “But it is good to know that he’s moving and seems healthy.”

“He’s very healthy. I trust you’ve been getting the reports and sonograms from my checkups?”

“Yes.” But he didn’t want to talk about the baby. He didn’t want to talk at all. She was here now so she didn’t have to fly late in the third trimester, but he hadn’t brought her to Kamari to create a friendship. There would be no relationship between them. He needed her to be safe, but beyond that he wanted nothing more to do with her, and the sooner she understood that, the better.

“And town?” she repeated, catching a fistful of billowing golden hair.

He shifted gears as he accelerated. “There’s no town. It’s a private island.”

She was looking at him now. “Yours?”

“Mine,” he agreed.

“And the house? What’s that like?”

“It’s close to the water, which is nice in summer.”

“But not as nice in winter?”

He shot her a swift glance. “It’s an old house. Simple. But it suits me.”

Her hand shifted on her mass of hair. “Mr. Laurent referred to it as a villa.” She shot him another curious look. “Was he wrong?”

“In Greece, a villa is usually one’s country house. So, no, he wasn’t wrong, but I myself do not use that word. This is where I live now. It’s my home.”

She opened her mouth to ask another question but he cut her short, his tone flat and flinty even to his own ears. “I am not much of a conversationalist, Georgia.”