His heart contracted. He’d screwed up big-time. He wasn’t cut out for the father or husband thing. Even as he thought it he climbed the stairs and went into the children’s room to kiss them good night before turning resolutely to Emma’s room. He frowned, standing in front of it. The door was closed. As long as he’d known her, she’d never slept with the door closed all the way because she wanted to be certain of hearing the children. He put his hand on the doorknob and turned it. It was locked.

Fury swept through him, instant and ferocious, his temper ugly and black. She was angry with him and she dared to lock her door against him? He’d be damned if she started that.

8

EMMA pressed her face into the pillow to muffle the sound of her weeping. Although Susan was downstairs in one of the guest rooms, she didn’t want to chance her overhearing. She especially didn’t want the children to hear. She had thought herself all cried out after Andrew, but here she was, falling apart, feeling confused and alone and so upset without any real reason other than she’d accepted a date. Why had she done that? She didn’t want to go out with Greg Patterson.

For pride’s sake, of course. Jake had so casually dismissed her ability to be attractive to a man. So maybe no man had approached her since Andrew’s death, but she hadn’t really wanted them to. She’d been busy. Mourning Andy. Taking care of Kyle. Having babies. Keeping a large house. It had only been two years. Was she supposed to fling herself at the nearest man?

She turned over and wiped at her burning eyes. She hadn’t cried like this in months. Life with Andrew had been straightforward and easy. With Jake it seemed so complicated. She was in a world she didn’t always understand. As long as she stayed protected on the estate, far from people, she felt wrapped in a cocoon of safety. Jake had a strong personality, but she could deal with him if she just stayed on an equal footing. His acquaintances were another matter altogether.

His associates treated her like a piece of the furniture, or a servant—and technically, she was a servant. She was the housekeeper, not the mistress of the house. Jake gave her such free rein, she had grown complacent, believing that this house was her home. The petty meanness and raised eyebrows had never hurt until now—until she realized the precarious position she’d put not only herself in, but Andraya and Kyle as well.

She wouldn’t call the men and women who came to the house Jake’s friends. They were business associates, people looking for favors—or trying to get close to him. She could have told them, after watching him for two years, that Jake didn’t let anyone close. There was always a distance between him and everyone else—including the children.

Was that why she was weeping? She had waited as long as she could for Jake, and when it was apparent he wasn’t coming to his own birthday party, she’d let the children blow out the candles and eat. Quite a bit ended up in their hair and all over their clothes so she’d whisked them to their baths. As she washed the cake from their hair and skin she finally realized how alone she was—how alone they all were. They lived in the shadow of Jake’s presence, day in and day out, yet he hadn’t really made them a part of his life.

Jake listened when she told him of the children’s progress and related all the cute things they did as they grew and began discovering the world around them, but his face didn’t light up; he didn’t laugh the way he should. He held himself back from them—apart from them. She’d felt sadness for Kyle and Andraya as well as for herself. In that moment she’d realized there was no real hope for her and Jake. As much as she loved and respected him, as much as her body craved his, she would need much, much more than he was capable of or willing to give her. She’d put the children to bed and come to her room, locking the door so they wouldn’t walk in on her if they heard her unrestrained sobbing.

Now she had the added humiliation of her body burning day and night, desperate for Jake’s touch. She could barely face herself, remembering how she’d practically thrown herself at Jake, kissing him—kissing him. She touched her mouth, her lips, remembering the feel and shape of him, his taste and texture. She wanted to crawl into him, devour him, the urges so strong and overwhelming she didn’t trust herself near him. She was going to ruin everything she had. Or maybe she really didn’t have anything at all.

Great sobs wracked her body, tightened her chest and tore at her throat.

“Why the hell did you lock me out?”

Emma nearly jumped off the bed, her eyes going wide with shock, her heart slamming hard in her chest, then pounding fast as adrenaline poured into her body.

“Are you crazy?” she demanded. “Jake, you scared me.” She threw her pillow in the direction of his voice, unable to stop the aggression surging through her. “Get out.”

The missile didn’t slow him down. He stalked across the room to tower over her. She should have been intimidated, as was obviously his intent, but his behavior only made her angrier.

She shoved her hair back to glare at him. “You are such an ass. Don’t you have any boundaries? My door was locked. Locked. That clearly means don’t come in.”

Jake’s anger melted the moment he saw her sitting in the middle of her bed with her long hair tousled and unkempt as if she’d just been made love to. Her eyes were large, framed with thick lashes, staring up at him with sparks of fire radiating from them. She looked kissable, too kissable. He could barely resist leaning down and taking possession of her mouth. It was only then that he noted her face, pale with red splotches and traces of tears.