Burning Wild
Page 33
She pulled her hand away because he looked as if he might kiss her better, and her pulse began to hammer hard, first in her throat, then in her breasts, and finally in her most feminine core. Color swept up her neck. It was so humiliating to be out of control of her body when it had never happened before. He couldn’t know. She couldn’t give herself away to his sharp, probing gaze.
“Sorry, you have such fair skin, honey. I always forget that. What did Susan have to say?” he persisted.
She shrugged lightly, ignoring the strange sensations his nearness produced in her. “Only girl talk.” She kept her voice even but his touch had disturbed her so much she couldn’t meet his gaze.
He sighed, his golden eyes never leaving her face. “God, I’m tired. It’s been a long two weeks. You have any coffee made?”
She flashed him a quick smile. “Of course, you know I do. Want to eat?” She handed him a steaming mug. He did look tired, his hair tousled and unruly, just the way she liked it best.
He shook his head. “Coffee’s great. I’ve been dreaming about your coffee. Where are the little monsters?”
“Upstairs playing. I’m surprised they’re not down here already. They must not have heard you come in.” She watched him toss his coat aside and sink into one of the kitchen chairs. Without conscious thought, Emma reached out and pushed an unruly lock of hair from his forehead.
He tilted the chair, golden eyes on the pulse beating at the hollow of her throat. She moved with a curious, delicately feminine retreat. A crooked smile touched his mouth. He deliberately allowed his eyes a lazy exploration of her soft, curving body. “Have the kids been good?”
“They’re always good, although they missed you, if that’s what you’re asking.” Emma poured herself a cup of coffee and leaned against the sink, a small but relatively safe distance from him.
“And what about you? Did you miss me?” His voice was a soft whisper, like fingers skimming along her skin.
Faint color stole into her face. She loved the sound of his voice. “Of course I missed you. I always miss you.” And she did, as arrogant and bossy as he was. “I was hoping you’d come home today.”
“Why today?” He took another sip of coffee with an appreciative smile. “This is better than gold. I really miss your coffee when I’m away.”
“It’s your birthday.”
Jake narrowed his eyes, sitting up straighter, watching Emma cross the room to the overhead cupboards. She had to reach high, stand on her toes, but she managed to pull a large, flat package down. He tried not to react, to stiffen, to get up and walk out. It was a birthday present, no big deal, and he couldn’t very well tell her he didn’t want it, wouldn’t know what to do with it. Little kindnesses were too hard to accept. She had a look on her face that was a birthday present in itself, and more than he could ever want.
Emma had made his house a home. She always went that extra mile, always showing him in so many ways that he mattered to her. Like now. He set his coffee mug on the table, afraid his hands might tremble and give him away. He should have realized she would remember from two years earlier when she’d been in the hospital and he’d told her. She’d been barely conscious of anything, grieving and frightened, yet she remembered a trivial detail like his birthday.
She had insisted on celebrating Kyle’s birthdays, but that was different—far different with the spotlight on him. He stood up, the leopard in him restless at his sudden edgy mood swing—at the adrenaline surging through his veins.
“I made this for you.”
Her trip to town Joshua had reported. He’d scrambled to send bodyguards with her, men she wouldn’t realize were there to protect her. This was why. This package she held out to him. He took it from her hand, surprised at the weight of it. She looked anxious.
“The big question,” she teased, shifting from one foot to the other. “What does one get for the man who has everything?”
He set the package on the table, running his hand over the thin paper, the pads of his fingers absorbing the texture. His first ever birthday present. Some part of him still didn’t trust the feeling and wanted to run, but another part wanted to savor the moment, to draw out the anticipation of seeing what she got just for him.
He took a breath, let it out and tore off the paper. His own face stared up at him, half man, half leopard. The power of the leopard was in the eyes, golden and focused and staring at him from any angle. The painting was amazing, and captured stillness and a wild, untamed mystery. More than that, the painter seemed to know the subject, every line, every curve, the strength and remoteness, although each stroke of the brush conveyed a caress, a loving hand.
He couldn’t speak, his vocal cords paralyzed. Did she know? It wasn’t a capture of the change itself, more a picture of a dual personality. This was not the work of an amateur, although there was a certain rawness to the painting. She was good. Better than good.
“You don’t have to hang it if you don’t like it, Jake. You love leopards so much. I always notice you touching the bronze statue you have beside the stairway. And your office has amazing sculptures and paintings of leopards. I thought you’d like . . .”
His fingers settled around the nape of her neck, pulling her to him, his thumb under her chin, forcing her face upward toward his descending mouth.
Emma panicked, watching his brooding eyes go golden right before she felt his breath. Her heart stammered. His lips were velvet soft, firm, so warm and insistent. Butterfly wings fluttered in her stomach. His tongue stroked across the seam of her mouth and she couldn’t stop the sigh that escaped. His other hand fisted in her hair, controlling her head, turning to the perfect angle to give him access.
“Sorry, you have such fair skin, honey. I always forget that. What did Susan have to say?” he persisted.
She shrugged lightly, ignoring the strange sensations his nearness produced in her. “Only girl talk.” She kept her voice even but his touch had disturbed her so much she couldn’t meet his gaze.
He sighed, his golden eyes never leaving her face. “God, I’m tired. It’s been a long two weeks. You have any coffee made?”
She flashed him a quick smile. “Of course, you know I do. Want to eat?” She handed him a steaming mug. He did look tired, his hair tousled and unruly, just the way she liked it best.
He shook his head. “Coffee’s great. I’ve been dreaming about your coffee. Where are the little monsters?”
“Upstairs playing. I’m surprised they’re not down here already. They must not have heard you come in.” She watched him toss his coat aside and sink into one of the kitchen chairs. Without conscious thought, Emma reached out and pushed an unruly lock of hair from his forehead.
He tilted the chair, golden eyes on the pulse beating at the hollow of her throat. She moved with a curious, delicately feminine retreat. A crooked smile touched his mouth. He deliberately allowed his eyes a lazy exploration of her soft, curving body. “Have the kids been good?”
“They’re always good, although they missed you, if that’s what you’re asking.” Emma poured herself a cup of coffee and leaned against the sink, a small but relatively safe distance from him.
“And what about you? Did you miss me?” His voice was a soft whisper, like fingers skimming along her skin.
Faint color stole into her face. She loved the sound of his voice. “Of course I missed you. I always miss you.” And she did, as arrogant and bossy as he was. “I was hoping you’d come home today.”
“Why today?” He took another sip of coffee with an appreciative smile. “This is better than gold. I really miss your coffee when I’m away.”
“It’s your birthday.”
Jake narrowed his eyes, sitting up straighter, watching Emma cross the room to the overhead cupboards. She had to reach high, stand on her toes, but she managed to pull a large, flat package down. He tried not to react, to stiffen, to get up and walk out. It was a birthday present, no big deal, and he couldn’t very well tell her he didn’t want it, wouldn’t know what to do with it. Little kindnesses were too hard to accept. She had a look on her face that was a birthday present in itself, and more than he could ever want.
Emma had made his house a home. She always went that extra mile, always showing him in so many ways that he mattered to her. Like now. He set his coffee mug on the table, afraid his hands might tremble and give him away. He should have realized she would remember from two years earlier when she’d been in the hospital and he’d told her. She’d been barely conscious of anything, grieving and frightened, yet she remembered a trivial detail like his birthday.
She had insisted on celebrating Kyle’s birthdays, but that was different—far different with the spotlight on him. He stood up, the leopard in him restless at his sudden edgy mood swing—at the adrenaline surging through his veins.
“I made this for you.”
Her trip to town Joshua had reported. He’d scrambled to send bodyguards with her, men she wouldn’t realize were there to protect her. This was why. This package she held out to him. He took it from her hand, surprised at the weight of it. She looked anxious.
“The big question,” she teased, shifting from one foot to the other. “What does one get for the man who has everything?”
He set the package on the table, running his hand over the thin paper, the pads of his fingers absorbing the texture. His first ever birthday present. Some part of him still didn’t trust the feeling and wanted to run, but another part wanted to savor the moment, to draw out the anticipation of seeing what she got just for him.
He took a breath, let it out and tore off the paper. His own face stared up at him, half man, half leopard. The power of the leopard was in the eyes, golden and focused and staring at him from any angle. The painting was amazing, and captured stillness and a wild, untamed mystery. More than that, the painter seemed to know the subject, every line, every curve, the strength and remoteness, although each stroke of the brush conveyed a caress, a loving hand.
He couldn’t speak, his vocal cords paralyzed. Did she know? It wasn’t a capture of the change itself, more a picture of a dual personality. This was not the work of an amateur, although there was a certain rawness to the painting. She was good. Better than good.
“You don’t have to hang it if you don’t like it, Jake. You love leopards so much. I always notice you touching the bronze statue you have beside the stairway. And your office has amazing sculptures and paintings of leopards. I thought you’d like . . .”
His fingers settled around the nape of her neck, pulling her to him, his thumb under her chin, forcing her face upward toward his descending mouth.
Emma panicked, watching his brooding eyes go golden right before she felt his breath. Her heart stammered. His lips were velvet soft, firm, so warm and insistent. Butterfly wings fluttered in her stomach. His tongue stroked across the seam of her mouth and she couldn’t stop the sigh that escaped. His other hand fisted in her hair, controlling her head, turning to the perfect angle to give him access.
