Burning Wild
Page 22
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“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.
“I want you to do as your doctor says, Emma. Stay in bed. You have to think of your baby, not whether or not I have dinner. We have a cook for that.”
Emma studied the lines in Jake’s face. He looked far more tired than usual. Something wasn’t right. “The cook goes home after four. You always work late and some of the boys get hungry so I like to have something ready on the stove. And the doctor hasn’t put me on full bed rest yet, Jake, so stop worrying so much. All I do is lounge around.”
Jake’s strange golden eyes blazed down at her. He reached across to capture her chin and hold her facing him, his grip strong, fingers biting a little at her. “I know exactly what you do, Emma, and I wouldn’t call it lounging. Would you like to tell me why I employ a nurse and a cook, when you do all the work?”
He was chastising her. She pushed down a smile, knowing he wouldn’t appreciate her strange sense of humor. Everyone seemed afraid of Jake with his gruff manner and hard, piercing eyes, but she found him compelling and at times even tender, taking care of those who lived on his ranch with a fierce protectiveness. Even his men. There was his crew of roughnecks that occasionally came to the house, the oil drillers that scattered to the four winds when they weren’t working and the cowboys who took care of his cattle and fields who lived on the ranch in houses or the bunk-house. They often came up to the main house to talk to Jake, and she got into the habit of making fresh bread and pastries for them.
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.
“I want you to do as your doctor says, Emma. Stay in bed. You have to think of your baby, not whether or not I have dinner. We have a cook for that.”
Emma studied the lines in Jake’s face. He looked far more tired than usual. Something wasn’t right. “The cook goes home after four. You always work late and some of the boys get hungry so I like to have something ready on the stove. And the doctor hasn’t put me on full bed rest yet, Jake, so stop worrying so much. All I do is lounge around.”
Jake’s strange golden eyes blazed down at her. He reached across to capture her chin and hold her facing him, his grip strong, fingers biting a little at her. “I know exactly what you do, Emma, and I wouldn’t call it lounging. Would you like to tell me why I employ a nurse and a cook, when you do all the work?”
He was chastising her. She pushed down a smile, knowing he wouldn’t appreciate her strange sense of humor. Everyone seemed afraid of Jake with his gruff manner and hard, piercing eyes, but she found him compelling and at times even tender, taking care of those who lived on his ranch with a fierce protectiveness. Even his men. There was his crew of roughnecks that occasionally came to the house, the oil drillers that scattered to the four winds when they weren’t working and the cowboys who took care of his cattle and fields who lived on the ranch in houses or the bunk-house. They often came up to the main house to talk to Jake, and she got into the habit of making fresh bread and pastries for them.
