‘You are mine,’ he said again, and this time she didn’t bother denying it. ‘For now, at least.’
CHAPTER NINE
HE DIDN’T WANT to be in his office.
He pushed up from the desk, pacing to the window, his mind full of Jemima. Full of her confession earlier that day.
‘I didn’t sleep with anyone else.’
Hell, he felt like he was floating. She was all his. He was the only man she’d been with. It shouldn’t have mattered—he hated that it did—and he knew he had to ignore the rush of pleasure that was pounding through him now. Two weeks had somehow whittled down to five nights. Soon he would let her go, watch her walk away and know it to be the end.
He looked around his office, a sombre expression on his face. He travelled often—it wasn’t as though he lived in this one single office—yet here in Rome was his headquarters, and it tethered him.
To take time off, to spend that time with Jemima, was foreign and unpalatable and yet his body craved her—he craved her. It wasn’t about wanting her, though, so much as about giving himself every opportunity to get her out of his system. Frankly, he was surprised that hadn’t already happened. Usually, two or three nights with the same woman was more than enough. The first flare of passion was met, answered, satiated and disposed of and then his interest waned.
He’d never wanted a woman like this.
He’d never woken up craving someone to the point of distraction. He’d never struggled to keep his mind on his day, his meetings, his work. He controlled his thoughts with ruthless determination, always, but this time it was harder. With Jemima, it was harder.
Damned near impossible, in fact.
He had to work harder, that was all. He compartmentalised all aspects of his life. Grief from the loss of his mother lived inside him, but tucked away in a small space he rarely accessed. So too did childish hurt from being made to feel as a young boy that he hadn’t been good enough. Wanting Jemima was simply another box he would have within him, and the same discipline he brought to all aspects of his life would mean he wasn’t beholden to it.
Not after this week was up.
It was a resolution that stayed with him all day until he returned to the penthouse, saw her and felt a rush of longing that refused to be shaped. It infiltrated every cell of his body and overtook him entirely.
She was standing in the middle of the kitchen, except it would be more accurately described as a disaster zone. Smoke filled the space, despite the fact the doors to the balcony were thrown wide open, a bag of something like flour had spilled over the bench top, there was a broken bowl at her feet and, when she lifted her gaze to his face, her cheeks were beautifully flushed, her eyes wide.
‘Don’t say a thing,’ she muttered darkly, words that were somewhat belied by the rueful smile on her lips.
His own mouth lifted in response. ‘Doing a little redecorating?’
She poked her tongue out at him and another wave of need assaulted his body.
‘For your information, this was a nice gesture,’ she muttered.
‘Burning my hotel down?’
Her head jerked towards his again. ‘Your hotel?’
He stepped farther into the room, shrugged out of his jacket and placed it neatly on the hook by the door. ‘You didn’t like the decor?’ he teased without answering her question.
She rolled her eyes. ‘I was making dinner.’ She eyed the bench in dismay. ‘I don’t know where I went wrong. I followed the recipe, but then I knocked the bowl, and while I was cleaning that up I neglected the oven and...’ She shook her head. ‘Stop smirking like that. I’ll have you know I’m actually a halfway decent cook in my own kitchen. I just couldn’t find anything and—’
‘Decided dropping a bag of flour would help in some way?’
She laughed, tossing her head back so her blonde hair fluffed around her face. He stood very still, watching her, imprinting the view of her like this in his mind. It was somehow contrary to every preconception he had of Jemima Woodcroft.
‘The flour had a mind of its own.’
‘Ah.’ He nodded sagely. ‘I have heard of spontaneous grain combustion.’
‘Right? It’s totally a thing.’
‘Naturally.’ He grinned, holding a hand out to her. She moved around the bench after a slight hesitation, putting hers in his. She was so petite. He felt like a giant compared to her, so big, broad and oversized.
‘I wanted to do something nice.’ She grimaced.