The Love Islands Collection. Jane Porter

so dry she had to dampen her upper lip with the tip of her tongue.

      “You’re playing with fire now,” he answered, his voice just as husky as hers.

      A shiver raced through her. Excitement...anticipation. But she was nervous, too. She didn’t want to take him on, wasn’t trying to provoke him or challenge him. She just wanted to be closer to his heat and energy. It was electric. It made her heart race and her blood warm, and it felt so good to feel something strong and powerful, but the desire was also treacherous. It masked their true selves. It confused reason.

      It confused her.

      She had to remember why she was here. She had to remember who they were and what was happening... There were consequences for everything.

      “You’re not sure, are you?” he said, reaching for her, taking her by the arm and pulling her against him, into the circle of his arms.

      She didn’t provide much resistance. Truthfully she wanted him to kiss her again. Wanted to see if he still tasted of licorice and honey and him. And standing so close, his body pressed to hers, she felt the hard, taut muscles of his body and his warmth penetrating her clothes and she ached for more skin, direct heat. She longed to lift her top and peel his shirt up and let them touch, skin to skin. But if that happened, there would be no stopping them. She knew that.

      Not because he’d force her, but because she’d beg him to touch her and taste her and take her.

      She’d never wanted a man the way she wanted Nikos. It didn’t make sense... There was no reason she should want him as much as she did. Maybe it was the pregnancy hormones. Maybe—

      And then there was no more thought as he tipped her head up and kissed the corner of her mouth so lightly that her skin prickled and tingled all over. “You haven’t answered me,” he said, kissing the other corner, and then the bow-shaped upper lip. “Which makes me think you aren’t sure this is a good idea.”

      “No,” she answered, struggling to speak as pleasure streaked through her. The light kisses were maddening and delicious. She didn’t want him to stop, but she couldn’t lie to him, either. “Not sure at all.”

      He stroked her hair back from her face, his thumb caressing the high sweep of her cheekbone. “That’s smart. Glad someone is thinking.”

      “Not clearly, though.”

      His dark eyes bored into her, the deep cocoa mesmerizing. “Which makes me think we should not be doing this. I will never take advantage of you.”

      “You’re not.”

      “I’m not convinced.” He stepped away. “We should go back.”

      She didn’t know how he did that. Turn the heat on and off. She was still turned on. She couldn’t quite find her off.

      It made her want to hate him. Instead she silently walked next to him as they returned to the house.

      Nikos left her at her door without a word, and she went inside and locked the door, not to keep him out but to keep herself in.

      She practically threw herself onto the bed and grabbed a pillow to pull over her face to muffle the sound of her crying. She didn’t even know why she was crying, but something inside her was cracking, changing, trying to break free.

      Emotion. Control. Fear. Grief.

      She was losing her mind. He was making her crazy. She couldn’t remember any other man ever getting under her skin this way, and she wanted to think it was because he was arrogant and insufferable, but it wasn’t that at all.

      It wasn’t his looks.

      It wasn’t the chemistry.

      It was him.

      The tough, fierce alpha who’d been terribly wounded somewhere along the way and was determined to live alone...apart...

      It wasn’t right. Nikos deserved better. And the baby deserved better, too. The baby deserved a family...a mother...

      The baby...

      Her hand went to the bump, and she stroked the curve of her belly, soothing him. Poor baby...

      Her eyes burned all over again, stinging with fresh hot tears. She blinked and blinked again, but the tears were spilling.

      What had she done?

      * * *

      She didn’t go upstairs for drinks or dinner. She couldn’t. She was still so upset, so heartsick.

      Everything was coming undone.

      She was coming undone.

      She’d started feeling, and now she couldn’t stop thinking, and it was overwhelming her reality.

      She’d signed dozens of agreements and contracts. Everything had been completely binding. And she’d said she understood, over and over. She said she was prepared, that she was comfortable signing away her rights, comfortable because she was doing something good, she was helping someone become a father.

      But now she knew who that father was, and she knew he had struggles and pain and he suffered...

      At ten thirty a tray arrived at her door, even though she hadn’t asked for anything.

      She left it outside her door, not hungry. But she did go to the bathroom and shower and rinse her face. The shower didn’t hide the puffiness at her eyes or how red they were from crying.

      Georgia put on pajamas and crawled into bed with her books. She had to divert her attention or she’d never be able to sleep.

      Half an hour later there was a pounding on her door. Only one person would pound on her door. Aware that he could very well force his way in, she opened the door to save him the trouble.

      But opening the door to him was just opening herself to more heartache. Her heart did a free fall as she opened the door.

      Just looking at him and her heart did another dizzying nosedive, the emotion wild and overwhelming.

      He lifted a brow. “You look terrible,” he said, his gaze sweeping over her.

      She hated that he filled the narrow hall so well. Hated that he looked intimidating and sexy all at the same time in his wardrobe of black and black. “Thank you.”

      “You’ve been crying.”

      “Buckets.” She gave herself permission to examine him as thoroughly as he looked at her, and she allowed her gaze to sweep slowly, leisurely taking him in from head to toe. “And why is it you wear black all the time? Are you a rebel or an outlaw?”

      He ignored her jab. “You haven’t eaten your dinner.”

      “I’m not hungry.”

      “Maybe not, but the baby is.”

      “No. The baby is fine.”

      His jaw tightened. “Don’t do this.”

      Her own chin lifted a fraction. “I’m not doing anything but trying to survive here, Nikos. It isn’t easy. You’re not easy—”

      “Never said I was.”

      “Thanks. That is really helpful.”

      He lifted the tray, carried it into her room and put it on the table. “Eat,” he said, pointing to the chair before the tray.

      She remained at the door, heart thudding. “I don’t want to eat. I won’t be able to eat.”

      His mouth compressed. His chest seemed to widen. “I’m not asking you. I’m telling you, Georgia.”

      “That’s not going to help!”

      “Then what will?”

      “I don’t know, but you playing the heavy won’t. It’ll just make me angrier.”

      “Can’t have that.”