He spent another hour in the apartment, not really understanding why, but he couldn’t pull himself away. He was a man who needed freedom and open space. He was intensely sexual, drawing women and bedding them whenever, wherever he wanted. He’d never considered having a woman of his own, yet looking around that tiny nothing apartment made him feel as if all the money in the world, all the political clout, all the secrets of what he was and who he was, all of it was nothing compared to what Andrew Reynolds had had.

Jake closed and locked the door. Someone had to look at him that way—not just someone. Emma. He couldn’t walk away and leave her. The thought of another man finding her, possessing her, sent rage careening through his mind. Inside, he roared a protest. Emma should have been nothing to him, but he couldn’t get the sight or scent of her from his mind.

He wanted the damned fairy tale. He could be patient. He was methodical and completely ruthless. Once set on a course of action he was implacable, unswerving. No one, nothing, stayed in his way for long. A grim smile touched the slightly cruel edges of his mouth. He played to win, and he always did. It never mattered how long it took. He always won. He wanted what Andrew had. He wanted Emma Reynolds—not some other woman; Emma—and he would have her. Nothing, and no one, would stand in his way.

3

“I’M thirty-three years old today, Emma,” Jake announced as he walked into her hospital room. He placed the items he’d brought from her apartment on the small table near her bed. He’d deliberately waited three days before visiting, although he made certain she heard his voice in the hall. Chelsey had expressed concern several times that Emma wasn’t eating and seemed very upset.

Emma’s gaze jumped to his face, her fingers plucking at the sheet covering her.

“It’s a hell of a thing to be my age and have a baby I don’t know how to take care of. I’ve studied all kinds of things and speak several languages, but I never thought to learn how to change a baby’s diapers. They’re going to release him in another few days and then what am I going to do?”

Jake picked up her brush and crossed the room to her side. “You look a little pale to me. Are they still giving you pain medication?”

Emma moistened her dry lips, drawing his attention to her mouth. He dug through his pocket and held the lip balm out to her, expecting her to take it. “I found this in your bathroom and figured you might want it.”

Emma took the tube from him, her fingers brushing his palm. She was trembling. He waited for her to coat her cracked lips before he spoke again. “Can you scoot up or do you need for me to help you?”

Emma looked startled, frowning at him. “Why?”

“I’m going to brush your hair. I’m probably not any better at that than changing diapers, but it might make you feel human again.” Jake poured authority into his voice, acting very matter-of-fact, as if he brushed her hair every day.

She swallowed and looked around a little helplessly, as if she didn’t quite know what to do. He gave her no choice and reached across the bed to gently lift her body into a sitting position before he slid in behind her and seated himself on the bed. His thighs wrapped around her hips. A sense of haunting familiarity washed over him, as if he’d done this a million times. His fingers slid into the mass of tangled hair and that too felt familiar.

Jake took a breath and drew the scent of her into his lungs, the woman—who belonged to another man—that he meant to keep for himself, to steal. “Emma?” His voice took on an inquiring tone. “Are you all right?” He dropped his hands to her shoulders.

Emma shook her head.

“Tell me.” He ran the brush through her long hair, careful not to pull. He’d never brushed a woman’s hair in his life, yet it felt as if he had. Instinctively he held the silken strands above the knots so it wouldn’t pull on her scalp as he brushed. He knew she had a tender scalp, and for a moment he heard her laughing explanation, as if she had spoken aloud, that the curls made her sensitive. They’d never once talked about brushing hair, but the memory was in his mind, clear and vivid.

Emma felt his hands in her hair and she closed her eyes, realizing she’d been waiting for him, needing him, needing his strength. It upset her that she needed anyone, and she was ashamed that she couldn’t seem to cope on her own. She couldn’t get out of bed, couldn’t face her apartment without Andy, and now . . . Her chest ached. Her heart felt so heavy she was afraid she’d choke with the need for air.

“Emma.” His voice held an edge, a command. “Tell me.”

“The doctor said the baby is at risk and I have to be on bed rest.”

There. She’d said it aloud. Finally faced the terrible news because he was there. A complete stranger. Why had she been waiting for him? She’d been angry and hurt that he’d stayed away so long. She’d barely been aware of the doctors and nurses bustling around her, trying to be cheerful, but she’d been acutely aware of him each time he’d been in the hallway outside the nursery looking at his baby. And she’d overheard the nurses gossiping endlessly about how sexy and hot he was.

She didn’t want to cry anymore. She wasn’t even certain she could. All day long, all night, all she could do was think of Andy, miss him, pray he’d died quickly, without pain. Now she was terrified of losing his child, of not having a way to take care of herself or the baby. She had no one to help her. She was completely and utterly alone in the world.