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Mikael said nothing for a long moment. “Even if it improves your situation?”
It was Jemma’s turn to fall silent.
“I’m aware your brother is the only Copeland who has any financial assets left,” Mikael added. “And the only reason he does, is because he lives in Europe, and his assets couldn’t be seized, but your government will go after him. What he hasn’t yet lost due to scandal, will soon be taken by your government.”
“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.”
“This is incredibly uncomfortable. Perhaps it’s time we discussed your body.”
Mikael grinned. Like his laugh earlier, it was the first time she’d really seen him smile, a real smile and his teeth flashed again, and a tiny dimple appeared on the right side of his mouth. It was astonishing. Not just because he’d smiled, but because of what it did to his face. The smile transformed his hard, fierce features. He looked so approachable, so appealing.
She sucked in a breath, dazzled. “You shouldn’t do that, you know.”
A hint of a smile lingered at the corners of his mouth. “Do what?”
“Smile.”
“Why not?”
“It makes you seem almost human.”
“I am almost human.”
“I had no idea,” she retorted, trying to ignore the thumping of her heart and the way he made desire coil inside her.
He smiled again, and his expression was so warm and playful that she suddenly wanted more of him.
Wanted him closer. Wanted him kinder. Wanted him to be good to her.
“I like how fierce you get,” he said.
“You deliberately provoke me.”
The dimple deepened at the corner of his mouth. “Maybe.”
In that moment she saw who he might have been had his life turned out differently. Or perhaps, this is how he might have been with her from the start, had she not been Jemma Copeland.
Maybe he really was warm and sexy, charming and engaging. Maybe.
“And my body is very fine,” he said, the smile still lingering in his eyes. “I appreciate your concern.”
Suddenly, she very much wanted to know more about him, who he was, and how he lived. Did he have lots of women in his life? Was he the kind of man who serial dated or did he prefer having a long-term relationship?
“Tell me about your body,” she said, trying to sound off-hand. “Does it see a lot of action?”
“I don’t think that’s appropriate.”
“I’m not asking you to divulge names or numbers. I just want to know you. I’m curious about you. It’s the sort of thing a woman wants to know about her man.” She held his gaze. “So, are you a player?”
“I used to be a player. I’m not anymore. I haven’t been for a couple years.”
“Why?”
“Age? Maturity? I just know that around thirty I started to get tired of the chase, and would have just one relationship at a time. How about you?”
“I like having a boyfriend, but don’t need to be in a relationship. I’m picky. I would rather be with no one than just anyone.”
“A woman with high standards.”
“A woman that prefers books to casual sex.”
“You might just be the perfect kidnapped bride.”
There was silence for a minute and Jemma felt a thousand different things.
But then from the first time she’d met Mikael, he’d made her feel a lot. And here, in this...pleasure palace...she’d begun to feel the whisper of a craving for something. She wasn’t sure what it was she wanted, but her dreams last night had stirred something within her and all day she’d felt a restlessness and an ache.
Like a craving for sensation.
Staring into his eyes, she was teased by the possibility. Teased by the suggestion of pleasure. It would feel so good to feel good again. To feel like a woman again. To feel close to someone again.
“If you’ve finished your dinner,” Mikael said rising. “It’s time to come with me.”
They climbed the stairs from the grotto’s secret room to the courtyard of fragrant white lilies and vines clinging to rock. White candles still glimmered against the walls and outlined the walkway. But now in the middle of the courtyard, between the waterfall and door to the Chamber of Innocence stood a narrow table covered in crisp white sheets.
