“Maybe it won’t happen,” she said, not really believing it herself.
He gave her a skeptical look. “Isn’t that the same thing you said about your mother’s home? And didn’t the government just take that?”
Jemma drew a short breath. It had been one thing losing the house on St. Bart’s and the lodge in Sun Valley, but it was painful losing one’s childhood home. Jemma had lived in the Greenwich house from the time she was six until she’d left for London. And maybe she didn’t live at home any longer, but it was still her home. It was where she liked to picture her mother, where they all came together to celebrate Christmas or a special occasion.
The government shouldn’t have taken the house a month ago. It was her mother’s, from the divorce. But apparently her father’s name was on the title, too, and that was all they needed to seize it.
“It’s not been easy for my mother, no,” Jemma said roughly, unable to look at him, the pain fresh and sharp all over again. “But she’s lucky she has a few friends who have stood by her. She’s relying on their kindness now.”
Jemma didn’t tell the entire truth.
Yes, a few friends had stood by her mother. But the rest had dropped her. The majority had dropped her. Just like most of Jemma’s friends had disappeared, too. It happened to her sisters as well. She had no idea if her brother, Branson, was abandoned. He’d never talked about it, even though he, too, lived in London. But then, Branson never revealed anything personal. He’d always been private and self-contained, so self-contained, that Jemma hadn’t been comfortable going to her brother this year and asking for help, or a loan, or even a friendly ear. Instead she’d struggled to handle it all—the shame from her father’s duplicity, and the pain of being rejected by the man she loved more than life itself.
She felt Mikael’s fingers on her cheek. She stiffened and drew back, then realized he’d touched her because he was wiping away tears. Her tears.
She hadn’t even realized she was crying.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, turning away to hide her face.
He turned her face back to him and gently swept his thumb across her right cheek, and then her left. His expression was troubled. Brooding. “Do you cry for your mother?”
“Yes.”
“Just your mother? Or, perhaps you are also still hurting from that spineless Englishman who calls himself a model?”
She made a soft, rough sound. “He’s a great model.”
“But a lousy man.”
She smiled despite herself, and then her smile faded. “My sister Logan said he did me a favor. She said it was better that I find out who he is now, before we married, instead of after.”
“Your sister is right.” His thumb slid across her cheekbone, and then down, along her smooth jaw, his attention fixed now on her mouth. He was going to kiss her. She was sure of it, she could tell by the expression in his eyes, and the way the air sparked and crackled around them, tense, and electric.
She felt raw and emotional. Confused. Everything was changing; the energy between them was different. He’d been so harsh and cold in the beginning but he was different now. He seemed as if he might care.
His head dipped. Her tummy flipped. Her pulse raced. His mouth almost touched hers, but didn’t. His breath caressed her lips. “I am sorry that spineless Englishman hurt you. I am also sorry that I add to your pain.”
Her heart squeezed. She struggled to catch her breath, feeling bruised.
“But I will make you happy, laeela. I promise.”
She stared into his eyes, lost, dazzled.
“You will enjoy being my wife.” He stroked her cheek again. “You will have riches beyond compare.”
Jemma exhaled hard, and sat back, the magic gone.
He didn’t understand her. He didn’t understand that what she wanted, needed, had nothing to do with wealth. “Money does not buy happiness. I’ve no desire for riches, or wealth. I’ve had both, and money can buy things, but not what my heart needs.”
“What about your body?”
“My body?”
His dark eyes gleamed. “What about what your body needs?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Who worships your body?”
Without wanting to, she thought of Damien. They’d had a good relationship, and great sex, but she wouldn’t say Damien ever worshipped her body. She’d never had a boyfriend who’d worshipped her body, and had begun to think after conversations with her girlfriends, that few men did. “No man worships a woman’s body.”
“I fully intend to worship your body.”