Burning Wild by Christine Feehan

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.

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.
    It was still hot. She had no business getting out of bed, going down the stairs and cooking a meal. He employed a cook. Damned if he ever saw her cook. Emma was already running his house from her bed, and the moment he went off to attend to business, she made her way downstairs. She claimed she stayed on the sofa, or sat in the plush kitchen chairs, but mostly she lied her little ass off and did what she wanted to do. Like now, having made certain he had a hot meal waiting when he came home.
    He was used to coming home to a silent house. It was rarely silent now. She loved music and almost always had it on throughout the house. He’d become used to hearing her laughter, soft and inviting, the low murmur of her voice when she talked to Kyle. The nurse he’d hired told him she might as well not be there, because Emma wanted Kyle with her all the time.
    The house itself was different. Everything was different. He hadn’t expected that. Candles. Scents. Cookies and fresh bread. The low sound of her voice. The knowledge of her presence. Emma was everywhere when he’d thought he’d confined her to a single room. The last doctor visit had been a disaster. The doctor had warned that the pregnancy and birth might be even more difficult than first suspected and that Emma was at risk as much as the baby. She’d been adamant against terminating the pregnancy and now he lived in fear of losing her. Sometimes, if he thought about it too much, he could barely breathe.
    Most nights when he came home he went to her room and spent the evening with her and the baby. She wasn’t supposed to lift the infant, so he would place Kyle in her arms and watch her stare down at the boy’s face with that look. The one he wanted for himself. One month and she was already crazy about the boy. She always looked up at Jake with a welcoming smile, pleased to see him, but he found he wanted more—he wanted that look. The look.
    He was drawn to her room, the pull so strong he was beginning to grow alarmed over it. Not tonight. Tonight he’d eat alone in the kitchen and pull back a little until he found his balance. It was essential that he remain in control, and somehow Emma always made him feel a little out of control.
    In spite of his resolve, he found himself on the stairs, and he paused, looking at the life-sized bronzed leopard statue at the base of the atrium where plants grew, stretching toward the skylight. “I really need more willpower,” he muttered aloud