He took the lip balm from the nightstand and ran his index finger through it, applying it to her sore mouth. “Kyle’s asleep. How’d you do that? When I hold him after he eats, he squirms around and usually spits up everywhere.” He said it more to distract her than to find out the information. He didn’t intend to be feeding the kid, let alone holding him after he ate, but he couldn’t imagine that she’d let him get away with applying lip balm.
Jake wanted her used to his touch. He had seven months—maybe even longer, after her baby was born—to get her accustomed to his close proximity. He didn’t want her thinking about it, or being at all aware of him until it was too late. He made certain no touch seemed sexual, only comforting. The more she accepted his touch and got used to him, the more she relied on him, the easier it would be to take over her life. He would teach her to accept him without her knowing what was happening. By the time she was ready to accept another relationship, her life would be tightly, irrevocably bound to his.
“I told you,” Emma’s soft voice sounded faintly amused. “His tummy will get upset and he’ll never go to sleep if you hold him out away from your body. You have to hold him close to you, up against your chest.” Her eyes went soft and more green than blue. “Are you afraid to hold him close?”
If it was possible, he might have flushed a deep red. He wanted to shake her again. He wasn’t afraid. The kid was just small. Jake was enormously strong. If he closed his fingers too tightly, he might injure the baby—that was all. It wasn’t fear. He wasn’t afraid of anything.
Emma extended her arms toward Jake, holding out the baby to him. Jake let out his breath and reached for the boy, intending to leave, to hand him over to a nurse.
“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.