His hands ran up and down her arms, over her scorching skin, driving her temperature up even more.
"I'm just having a bad day, Jake. I have them sometimes. Everyone does." Her skin was so sensitive it almost hurt to have him touching her. The sensation had faded for a while earlier in the evening, but now it seemed to be returning with more force than ever. "I have to lie down. And the light has to be off. And I need to be alone."
Jake frowned and rubbed his face over hers, almost like a cat. "Maybe I should call a doctor, Emma. You feel a little feverish to me."
In spite of everything, she felt the urge to smile. Jake probably had never used the word feverish in his life before Kyle was born, and now he was throwing it around like an old pro. "I'm fine. Crying always makes a person hot and sweaty." She was too. And he smelled so good, fresh from a shower; she could always tell. His hair was damp and he smelled clean with a faint, elusive tang of wild.
"That's not good enough, Emma. Some women may just cry for no reason, but not you. Someone or something upset you. I intend to know what it was before I leave this room tonight." He allowed her to slip out of his arms.
She closed her eyes against the feel of the pads of his fingers sliding over her skin as she stretched out on the bed, giving him plenty of room so he wouldn't have to touch her. "I guess you really don't understand the concept of a locked door."
He shrugged, there in the near dark, rolling his broad shoulders in the casual way he always had. She was instantly aware of every muscle sliding under his skin. Emma squeezed her eyelids closed tighter. She drew in a breath and took him into her lungs.
"Locked doors are for everyone else, honey." He leaned over, brushed a kiss across her forehead and stretched out beside her.
She realized how completely natural it felt. She'd been married to Andrew five months. She'd been with Jake for two years. He'd been coming to her room every single night, from the very first day she'd moved to his home. He'd held her that first night when she'd awakened with a terrible nightmare, the stench of fire and the heat of flames still so raw and vivid. His every gesture was more familiar to her than Andrew's. When she remembered a man's touch, it was Jake's touch. When she burned at night for a man's body, it was Jake's body. When had that all started to happen? And why now? Why was she waking up now? She was terrified of the change, afraid she would lose everything.
"Tell me about your parents. You don't talk much about them," Jake said.
"My parents?" Emma echoed, startled. Her heart fluttered.
His hand slid against hers, his fingers tangling with hers. She ached inside as he brought their joined hands to his chest, right over his heart. He always did that--tied them together. She was tied to him by far more than the children.
"You do have parents, don't you?"
The rare amusement in his voice tugged at her heart-strings. She could feel his body, solid and warm right beside hers. She could count his steady heartbeats. "Of course I have parents. Do you think I crawled out from under a rock?"
He brought her fingers up to his lips and bit down on the ends. His mouth was hot and moist and his teeth strong, although the bite was gentle and sent little tingles of arousal teasing along her thighs and belly. "I think you don't want to tell me about your parents. Did you have a happy childhood?" He turned his head to look at her. "I just assumed that you did because you're such a happy person."
She found herself smiling at him. "I did. My parents were very loving. We traveled a lot. My father had a difficult time settling down and we moved often. He was always restless. I'd come home from a friend's house and we'd be packed up with everything already in the car. I rarely had time to say good-bye. We'd just leave."
"That must have been difficult."
"I wanted a home, you know, the traditional house with a yard like everyone else, and a regular school . . ."
"You didn't attend school?"
Her gaze jumped to his face. His voice had been carefully neutral and he was looking at her fingers, absently bringing them to his mouth, nipping at the tips. "I'm very well educated, thank you," she said, frowning, wary now.
Her frown was wasted on him. He bit at the ends of her fingers, his teeth scraping back and forth. The sensation was intensely seductive, sending lightning lashing through her bloodstream. Her breasts ached. It didn't help that she was ready for bed, without a bra, and the thin material of her pajama top rubbed against her nipples as they hardened into tight peaks. The look on his face was sensual but remote, as if sensuality was so inherent in his character that even when he wasn't paying attention, women couldn't help but feel his sexual heat.
He suddenly turned his head to look at her and her heart quickened, pounding hard, her breath catching in her lungs. His golden eyes held possession, mesmerizing her, robbing her of speech. Her mouth opened, but absolutely nothing came out.
"I know you're educated. I just always imagined you in school with other kids. I had private tutors. I always wondered what it was like to go to a school with other children."
Emma pressed her lips together, feeling them tingle. He was just so focused when he looked at her, so completely concentrated on her, that she felt threatened in some ways and completely exhilarated in others. "So did I," she managed to get out.
"Emma." His voice went soft, melting her. "You're so tense. Something happened tonight and I want to know what it is."
His thigh rubbed against hers as he turned onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow, his body curling around hers protectively. He was closer to her than ever, so close she could exchange breath with him. He was the most beautiful man she'd ever encountered, in a raw, sexual way. Each time he moved, ropes of muscles rippled and slid beneath his skin, a powerful, fluid, very sensual movement that heated her blood no matter how hard she tried not to notice.
His palm cupped the side of her face, his thumb sliding gently over her cheek to the corner of her mouth. "Honey, I swear to you, I had every intention of being home tonight. Something came up that was unavoidable. I'll make it up to the kids. I'm trying to be better about being involved with them. Believe me, I know I leave them with you more than I should." He was stabbing in the dark, trying to get her to open up. He wished it was just the party she was upset about. He could make up for that. But no, there was something far deeper, and he had a bad feeling about the direction her thoughts were taking her.
Emma closed her eyes to block out the sight of him, but her other senses immediately became heightened. Liquid heat rushed, dampening between her legs, her blood pounding with need. She had always secretly condemned Jake for his sexual exploits with women. He never hid the fact that women found him attractive. She knew they visited him at his office in the city and she knew why. Maybe all along she'd been jealous and had never identified her own attraction to him. But it was horrible to feel like one of those women.
She didn't want to be one more woman standing in line, vying for his attention, begging to be noticed, discarded the moment she serviced his needs. How could she tell him that she couldn't have him in her bed anymore because all she thought about was climbing on top of him? Why did everything he do seem so sexual right now, when he'd been doing the same exact thing for the past two years and she'd never once reacted? She must have been the one who had changed. A fresh wave of tears flooded her eyes.
"That's it," Jake snapped, his hands framing her face, thumbs under her chin, brushing seductively. He bent his head to hers and stole her breath. "You have to stop. Do you hear me, Emma? You have to stop or I'm going to do something neither of us will ever be able to take back."
She pressed her forehead to his. "I don't know what's wrong with me, Jake, but I hate it. I feel like I'm climbing out of my skin."
He stroked his hand down her face. "You've gone through a lot in two years. Losing a husband, bed rest, taking care of a baby, having another one, taking over the reins of this house--which, if I haven't told you, you've done an amazing job with. I think you're entitled to
a meltdown. You've only left the ranch to do a little shopping, and even then, most things are delivered. You never take time off for yourself."
Mothers didn't take time off. She didn't think of herself as the housekeeper; she was Kyle's and Andraya's mother. But this wasn't really her home. Kyle wasn't her son. She had a job. It was a job. "We've never talked about time off." Is that how he saw what she did? A job?
She felt numb inside, and thank God, the burning inferno was cooling, the sensitivity of her skin lessening. The craving for him didn't lessen, but at least it wasn't so raw and biting that she was afraid of attacking him.
He blinked. The golden eyes nearly glowed. A faint rumble, much like a growl, emanated from deep in his chest. "You want time off?"
She frowned. "Isn't that what you just said? That I don't take time off?"
"I made a statement. I didn't ask a question."
Emma thumped her head against the pillow. "What did you mean? I thought you meant I should go on vacation or have a night or two off."
"If you went on vacation or took a few nights off, I'd have to hire a stranger to take your place. I don't want strangers running around in my home or around the children. And we'd need more bodyguards. I meant read a book. I told you I bought a horse for you. I'll take you riding. Those are the sorts of things I meant."
"You didn't say you bought me my own horse."
He scowled at her. "A vacation? You want to go on a vacation? You have to tell me these things in advance, Emma, so I can take the time off. We'll have to find a place where it will be easy to look after the children. I can have one of the secretaries start researching for us. And I did tell you that I bought a horse."
She had the beginnings of a headache. It might have been from all the tears, but more likely it was Jake driving her crazy. He wasn't making any sense. "You told me you bought the horse," she admitted, using her most patient voice, "but you forgot to say you bought it for me. It was during one of the short, informative calls in the middle of the night."
"I always call you late. I don't sleep like other people."
She knew that was true. He was in her room every night, pacing or stretching out beside her on her bed, in the dark, plying her with questions. "When was the last time you slept?"
He rolled back over onto his back and laced his fingers behind his head. "I don't remember. A few days ago. I sleep better when I'm home."
She didn't know when. Most nights he stayed in her room until two or three in the morning. Sometimes he paced back and forth in the children's rooms like a caged animal. Jake was so complicated, and he just plain wore her out sometimes. She kept trying to figure him out when he never talked about his childhood. She'd only met his mother the one time and it hadn't been pleasant. She knew there was a standing order to keep his parents from the property, and Kyle and Andraya were guarded at all times.
As if reading her mind, Jake turned the tables on her. "Tell me about your parents."
She glanced at him. "Like what?"
"Did you ever travel outside the States? Where were they from originally? What did your father do for a living?"
She frowned up at the ceiling. "We always had money, but you know, I don't know what my father did in terms of a job. We didn't have tons of money, not like you--but then you own just about half of the United States. Still, we never wanted for anything."
"You never asked your father what he did for a living?"
"No. I don't know why. I wasn't around a lot of other children so I guess it never came up. The last couple of years before he died, he spent a great deal of time on his laptop, and I know he often went to Internet cafes when he traveled. I assumed he needed to do so for work."
"And your mother?"
"She looked after us. She painted. She was a wonderful artist." Emma kept her answers brief, and worked to keep wariness from her voice. She'd been taught never to discuss her parents, and although they were dead, the rule still held.
"So that's where you get your talent."
Emma was pleased that he thought her talented and pointed out something in her that was like her mother. "She drew all the time on sketchpads and I did the same in the car. We used to pass the charcoals back and forth, and when we stayed at a place for any length of time, almost the first thing she did was set up a room we could paint in."
"When I went to your apartment the first time, I found an old sketchpad. I thought it looked important so I brought it to you. Your mother's?"
She swallowed the sudden lump clogging her throat and nodded.
He shifted enough to tug at strands of her long hair, wrapping them around his finger as he talked. "The movers packed some paintings. Why don't you have them up in your room?"
She was silent for a few moments, turning the question over and over in her mind. He wasn't going to like the answer, and when he didn't like something he could be very unpredictable. "At first I was grieving and not paying too much attention to anything. When I thought about the paintings and wanted to see them, maybe for comfort, I was on bed rest and couldn't go rummaging through boxes."
He tugged hard enough on her hair for her to give a little yelp. "You should have told me. I would have gotten them put up for you. After the bed rest?"
She shot him a small scowl but he wasn't looking at her and it was completely wasted. "Stop pulling my hair." He didn't let go, but began rubbing the strands back and forth between his fingers almost absently. She sighed and let it go, knowing she was stalling. "After Andraya was born I was tired all the time, adjusting to two babies and a house to run. By the time I got to bed at night I was exhausted."
"You had a lot of nightmares," he pointed out.
She couldn't deny it. He'd often sprinted to her room to make certain she was all right and stayed to talk until she fell asleep again. "That's true," she admitted. "After that, I just wasn't certain if I was going to stay or not. I thought I'd give it some time while I figured out what I was going to do after the money came in from the settlement."
Beside her, Jake went very still. "You think about leaving me quite a bit, don't you?"
Was there hurt in his voice? She was usually quite adept at reading the emotional nuances in people's voices, but Jake was different. He always sounded casual, his voice soft and mesmerizing no matter the subject. Even when he was angry, he lowered his voice rather than raise it. "I don't think about leaving you." It was absurd--the way they were talking, they might have been in a relationship. "I didn't know if the job was going to work out. Things would change if you married someone. You can't pretend they wouldn't."
"You can put your mind at ease about my getting married. The women I know are treacherous bitches and I wouldn't allow them anywhere near my money, my home or you. Certainly not my children. So I think I can safely say that marriage to any of them is out."
"You just let them near your body."
She pressed her lips together, hating the mixture of emotion in her voice that made him turn his head to look at her, his gaze suddenly speculative. She hadn't realized until that moment that she was angry with him. She hadn't even known that she was jealous. She didn't want Jake as her lover or anything else. Any kind of relationship other than the platonic one they had would be a disaster. Jake wasn't easy to live with as a boss. As a lover or a husband, he'd rule with an iron fist.
"We can't all be perfect little saints, never enjoying the pleasures of the flesh."
She curled her nails into her palm, hard enough to hurt. The tips of her fingers ached. "Get out of my room. I mean it. You're being insulting and I've had a bad enough day without putting up with a lot of crap from you. Get out."
He didn't budge. "Why is that an insult? Basically you pointed out that I was a sinner. What's wrong with me pointing out that you're a saint?"
"You're being deliberately insulting and you know it." She flung her arm across her eyes. "I'm so tired, Jake. I wanted today to be a good day for you. I looked forward to you coming home and tried to make things spec
ial for your birthday. I don't know what went wrong, but I just want to crawl under the blankets and try again tomorrow." Her throat clogged with tears again and that made her want to weep just for being such an idiot. What was wrong with her lately?
Jake turned on his side, one hand sliding through her hair. "You did make my birthday special, Emma. I've never had a present or a cake before. I'm never going to forget what you did for me. And tomorrow morning I'll open the presents with Kyle and Andraya. We can have cake for breakfast."
She tried not to laugh. "No, you won't. They can't have cake for breakfast."
"Why not?"
He sounded innocent enough, but she knew him better than that. The moment he'd had a son, he'd probably researched every fact he could find about nutrition and health care. More than likely he'd consulted every leading authority he could find. He had a mind for facts and details, and she doubted if he ever forgot anything he read.
"You know very well why not. We can't take a chance on spoiling them too much, Jake. Andraya is already showing signs of being a little princess."
"She is a princess."
"In her own mind."
Jake wrapped a length of her hair around his hand and brought the silken strands to his face. "In my mind as well. But if you say no cake for breakfast, no cake it is. You're the boss."
She nearly snorted. "Since when? No one ever bosses you, Jake." He ran his home and the ranch in the same way he ran his business. He didn't trust anyone enough to give them much room. Drake, Joshua and perhaps her, were the few he gave a little leeway to, but not much. He would be hell to live with. He would want complete control. Why that made her want to cry all over again, she didn't know. But tears burned on the ends of her lashes, further humiliating her.
"I'm sorry, Jake. I honestly don't know what's wrong with me. I don't. It isn't you. I'm just falling apart. I wasn't even like this when I was pregnant."
His hand slipped over her shoulder and down her arm to nudge under the hem of her shirt and splay across her belly as if he could feel a child growing there. "I think you just need to have someone hold you while you fall asleep. Remember when you had your nightmares." He bent his head to hers and brushed a kiss along her temple. "I held you and you went to sleep."
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