Jake was so absolutely self-assured. The sheer power of his personality was hypnotizing, mesmerizing, and she had been far more susceptible than she’d realized. She slid down the wall of the shower, curling into a small ball, letting the hot water pour over her sore body. She was definitely leaving. She wouldn’t be humiliated like that ever again. How could she face him now? She’d seen the contempt on his face, heard it in his voice, when he spoke to women on the phone, heard them begging and pleading to see him. She would not become another one of his cast-offs. And if she stayed, she would never be able to resist his seduction. Her body throbbed just thinking about him, and she was furious with him. What had she done? How stupid.

She wanted to scream at herself. She’d always acted rationally. She was rarely even attracted to men, and certainly didn’t feel the obsessive cravings she’d developed for Jake. When had that even started? He wasn’t her kind of man. Greg Patterson was. Andrew. Her beloved Andrew, with his sweet smile, and gentle touch, asking permission before he even kissed her.

How had she gotten trapped in Jake’s sexual web? She’d even watched out for it. She’d felt his allure, the deep pull of magnetism, but she’d warned herself from the beginning to see him as he really was, to not fall under his spell. Here she was, lying on the shower floor, with his seed in her and on her and her life crumbling around her.

Emma let herself cry until there were no tears left and she knew she had to face what she’d done. She sat up and slowly began to soap her body, feeling his possession with every movement, trying to wash him away, to wash her obsession with him away. She had to think carefully. Jake was different from other men. She saw the scars on his body—his thighs, his back, even his arms and belly. He trusted no one. He had a particular dislike of women getting close to him. He never spoke to his parents or allowed them near the children. The one time she’d met his mother had been a nightmarish experience.

She loved Jake, but not in the same way she’d loved Andrew. If she was truthful with herself, Andrew had been her first love, a child’s love, sweet and pure and perfect. Jake had never been a child. He didn’t know what love or trust was. She had come to love Jake over the past two years, watching him struggle to learn to be a father. Watching him provide for the broken souls around him. Her feelings for him were not all just sexual, and that made it even harder to accept his lack of emotion toward her—but she’d known what he was like. He struggled with gentler emotions. She let herself become attached because he treated her differently than he did others, but she’d never given him power over her. His control over her had always been an illusion—at least, she’d thought it had been. Maybe she’d been the one seeing the illusion all along.

She’d known she was letting him take over her life when she’d made the move to Texas and settled into his home. She even knew he was counting on her to love Kyle. Jake seemed hard as a rock to everyone around him, but to her he felt vulnerable. In need. And she responded to his need. In some ways she let him down just as much as she’d let the children and herself down by letting her hormones rule her head.

She needed time. If she went to her room, she knew Jake would come and want to talk. She didn’t have answers, and his personality—his pain—would overshadow all good sense. She needed time alone. He could deal with the children for once. She was going for a long drive, would maybe get a hotel room somewhere. She’d leave him a note and let him know she’d be back by the afternoon. She wasn’t changing all their lives without first thinking long and hard about it.

JAKE laid his palm on the bathroom door, measuring Em-ma’s height, dread filling him. He’d let the leopard control him and he’d pushed her too far. She may as well have been a virgin for all the experience she had, and the kind of sex he’d introduced her to had been too intense, too rough, too animalistic. Damn it. The last thing he’d wanted to do was destroy the trust he’d so carefully built up with her. Sometimes he’d even believed he’d changed enough to deserve her. But deep down, the beast always lurked, always snarled and demanded.

He smashed his fist into the door and stalked out, heading for the bathroom in his suite. He knew Emma, and he had to outthink her, had to figure out her next move and be one step ahead of her. She’d think about running. He saw the humiliation and self-loathing in her eyes. It hadn’t been directed at him; she’d already excused his behavior. It was her own she took responsibility for. She wouldn’t want to face him. She’d want to run.

He turned on the water as hot as he could stand it and stood under the scorching heat, wishing it would melt his skin off and burn the leopard, would let him feel what it was to hurt someone it—He caught himself abruptly. He didn’t know how to love. Love wasn’t even real. It was a word people used to trap one another. Emma thought love was important, but he knew better. Loyalty—that was what counted. He cared for Emma in his way. His body wanted hers, even needed hers. Sex was raw and elemental; sex was real. That was an emotion. He could give her loyalty and he could keep her body sated and happy. He had to find a way to convince her that the things that really mattered, like protection and devotion, he could do better than other men.

She didn’t trust him. A part of him was furious that she didn’t and the other part understood. She couldn’t know that, thanks to his leopard, his body hurt every minute of the day, hard and desperate for relief. She couldn’t know how so many women threw themselves at him. He’d never gone after a woman. Not ever, not before Emma. And he’d never taken an innocent. The women he’d been with had all wanted something other than his body—his money. They had no interest in his world or his children, only in the money and the pleasure his body could provide.