"Don't go yet," Emma said and patted the bed beside her as she slid back down, wincing as she moved her injured leg. "Stay with me for just a little while so I don't get paranoid about going with you to Texas."
He rarely stayed with anyone longer than absolutely necessary, and Emma got under his skin with her haunted eyes and fragile vulnerability. On top of that, his son was sleeping peacefully in the palm of his hand. If he sat on the bed, he would be trapped by the two of them, by their vulnerability and need for protection. The wildness in him stirred every time he got close to Emma, rising up like the untamed creature it was, recognizing her in some mysterious way he didn't understand or trust. Swearing under his breath, he sank down beside the small, broken woman.
She pushed at his arms, forcing him to bring Kyle close to his chest so that infant lay nestled tightly against his heart. "Like that. Babies sometimes get a sense of falling and they fling out their arms, frightened. When the blanket is tight around them or they are in close to your body, they feel safe. He can hear your heart beat and feel your warmth." She raised her guileless gaze to his. "When you hold someone, don't you feel safe and warm?"
His gaze shifted from hers. Hell. No one asked him those kinds of questions, not in all of his thirty-three years. He looked down at his son. The baby's face was relaxed, tiny, so pink and naked. He slept peacefully, his breath so light Jake could barely feel his chest rise and fall.
Jake swallowed hard and slipped his finger against the tiny palm. The boy had paper-thin fingernails, so small they were barely there. A lump rose in his throat, threatening to choke him. The little hands were perfect, all the fingers, lines and whorls, knuckles, everything. The small fingers wrapped around his bigger one and Jake held up his other, much larger hand to study the two together. "Look at that, Emma. I swear, my hands must have looked like that when I was a baby."
"You should get his handprints now and then again each year to compare them. Put yours right next to his. It will be fun for you to watch him grow. I planned on doing that when my baby was born."
"Plan," Jake corrected gently.
She kept her head down.
"Emma. Look at me." He used his velvet no nonsense voice.
Her head jerked up, her gaze meeting his, tears turning the aquamarine eyes to a deep, vivid, shimmering green. He slid his hand under her chin to hold her captive, his thumb feathering along her trembling mouth. "When your baby is born, you plan on keeping records of handprints," he repeated.
She swallowed hard. Tears tracked down her face.
Jake wiped them away with the pad of his thumb. "Say it, Emma. When the baby is born. You aren't going to lose it. Say it out loud."
She swallowed again and nodded. "When the baby's born." Her voice came out in a whisper.
He smiled and leaned in to brush his mouth over the top of her head. "That's my girl. You're tired. Go to sleep and forget about everything. Thanks for helping me figure out how to hold him."
He resisted the urge to stay with her, the silent plea in her eyes. She was having more of an effect on him than he had counted on. Sighing, he closed the door behind him.
OVER the next few days, Jake brought Kyle to Emma's room and set up a command post on the small desk by her bedside. The hospital's IT administrator installed a network drop for his laptop, and he ran his business from her room while she grew stronger and the baby put on more weight. Jake occasionally fell asleep in the chair, but most of the time he rarely slept.
He learned to awkwardly change Kyle's diapers and give him a bottle, surprised that the boy seemed to recognize him. Kyle obviously preferred Emma, with her soothing voice and gentle rocking. Jake placed the child into her arms the moment she asked for him, wanting the bond to grow strong. When the hospital began to make noises about Emma being discharged, he brought up the subject of traveling with him to Texas again.
"Emma. You are coming home with us, aren't you?" He kept his voice very gentle and matter-of-fact, as if it didn't matter and it was wholly up to her. In reality, she had nowhere else to go and no money, and she desperately needed care. He had sprung the trap and she was well and truly caught.
Emma looked very confused and somewhat ashamed, but a little helpless. He knew he had won the moment he saw her face. He patted her shoulder and gave her a smile. "I'll arrange everything."
He had won the first battle just as he had known he would. And he would win the entire war. He was a master strategist; Emma Reynolds had no hope of defeating him.
He made the necessary calls to the lawyer, ensuring she would have no finances available to her for several months, knowing things could be delayed much longer, if necessary. He made the calls to the ranch, setting up a nursery and a room for her. He personally supervised the movers, hating to save reminders of Andrew Reynolds, but knowing he had to. The doctors were on his side and helped him arrange for an ambulance to take Emma to his waiting private jet. Weak, pregnant and penniless, with no family to aid her, and already attached to his son, Emma Reynolds allowed Jake Bannaconni to take over her life.
4
FOUR MONTHS LATER
AFTER seventy-two hours without sleep, Jake moved wearily through the kitchen when he spotted the light on the coffeepot and the plate of food with a lid over it.
"Damn it, Emma," he snapped through clenched teeth, but he stalked to the long granite countertop and lifted the lid over the plate.
It was still hot. She had no business getting out of bed, going down the stairs and cooking a meal. He employed a cook. Damned if he ever saw her cook. Emma was already running his house from her bed, and the moment he went off to attend to business, she made her way downstairs. She claimed she stayed on the sofa, or sat in the plush kitchen chairs, but mostly she lied her little ass off and did what she wanted to do. Like now, having made certain he had a hot meal waiting when he came home.
He was used to coming home to a silent house. It was rarely silent now. She loved music and almost always had it on throughout the house. He'd become used to hearing her laughter, soft and inviting, the low murmur of her voice when she talked to Kyle. The nurse he'd hired told him she might as well not be there, because Emma wanted Kyle with her all the time.
The house itself was different. Everything was different. He hadn't expected that. Candles. Scents. Cookies and fresh bread. The low sound of her voice. The knowledge of her presence. Emma was everywhere when he'd thought he'd confined her to a single room. The last doctor visit had been a disaster. The doctor had warned that the pregnancy and birth might be even more difficult than first suspected and that Emma was at risk as much as the baby. She'd been adamant against terminating the pregnancy and now he lived in fear of losing her. Sometimes, if he thought about it too much, he could barely breathe.
Most nights when he came home he went to her room and spent the evening with her and the baby. She wasn't supposed to lift the infant, so he would place Kyle in her arms
and watch her stare down at the boy's face with that look. The one he wanted for himself. One month and she was already crazy about the boy. She always looked up at Jake with a welcoming smile, pleased to see him, but he found he wanted more--he wanted that look. The look.
He was drawn to her room, the pull so strong he was beginning to grow alarmed over it. Not tonight. Tonight he'd eat alone in the kitchen and pull back a little until he found his balance. It was essential that he remain in control, and somehow Emma always made him feel a little out of control.
In spite of his resolve, he found himself on the stairs, and he paused, looking at the life-sized bronzed leopard statue at the base of the atrium where plants grew, stretching toward the skylight. "I really need more willpower," he muttered aloud to it, then carried the plate up the stairs and walked to her room, cursing every step of the way.
A small nightlight was the only beacon, but he stepped inside the spacious room and moved unerringly to the chair. He could smell her scent. All Emma. There was a wildness to her fragrance he could never quite figure out, the outdoor air, clear and crisp after a summer rain, the faint scent of peaches mingling with an exotic spice. But it was the strange, honeyed, very elusive wild flavor he could almost taste that drove him crazy.
Emma sat up on the bed, her eyes lighting up, a quick welcoming smile on her face that made his heart stumble.
"You look so tired," she greeted softly, running her fingertips over his arm. "You work too hard, Jake."
His belly knotted. It did that a lot around her. The sound of her voice wreaked havoc on his senses, yet there was a strange peace he found in her presence.
He took a bite and regarded her sternly over the plate. "You aren't supposed to be up. What am I going to have to do to keep you in bed?"
"You worry about everyone but yourself."
His gut clenched hotly at that. A protest. He worried about himself first, always moving pawns around on a chessboard to suit him, directing lives--directing her life. Yet she believed his "great dad and loving provider" act. He got up at night with Kyle and brought him to her, staying in the room while she fed the boy. She thought it was because he loved his son so much. And afterward she always put the infant in his arms, expecting him to rock Kyle back to sleep. And he did, but not because he wanted to do it. Not because he enjoyed holding a baby in his arms, although sometimes he questioned whether he secretly was beginning to look forward to that time with his son. No way. He almost shook his head violently at his thoughts. He wanted Emma to see him showering Kyle with attention; that was his only reason.