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Luke felt like strangling her, he was so furious, but instead he had to escort the architect off the property, promising he would be in touch later. By the time he had walked to the top of the cliff and then made the descent back to the beach Luke had had plenty of time to think, and his temper had cooled somewhat.
He was an astute man, he had made a fortune reading the stock market, and he brought the same sharp intelligence to bear now in reading Jemma. She was sexy as hell, but she was also a sweet, lovable, loyal woman. It was obvious in the way she behaved with everyone she met. The staff in the hotel adored her—he had caught her this morning asking the porter how his new baby was. She had the capacity to be at ease with anyone, and, although Luke had given her no choice but to marry him, she had accepted it and without too many arguments more than fulfilled her part of the deal.
He had never had such mind-blowing sex with a woman in his life, and still he couldn't get enough of her. In fact, the force of his feelings frightened him; it wasn't just the physical connection with Jemma, but almost a mental connection. He loved her, and he had never felt anything like it in his life.
Which was why he knew it was not in Jemma's nature to react so furiously over something so simple as a sketch suggesting an extension to the house. His grey eyes narrowed and he glanced around the cove, his gaze lingering on the garden. So what was so important about the garden that it upset her so badly?
Stripping off his clothes to reveal black Speedo trunks, he walked towards the water. Like Aphrodite rising from the waves she stood up, flicking the long length of her hair over one shoulder as she bent her head and wrung out the excess water, then straightened up. He saw her tense the moment she spotted him, and then reluctantly begin to walk towards him.
They met at the water's edge. His grey eyes darkened momentarily. God, she was gorgeous! But he shook his head; sex wasn't the answer this time. He wanted to know what had made her behave so out of character just now.
'Paul has left, and he won't be back until you say so.' He reached for her hand and linked his fingers through hers. 'You and I need to have a talk.'
'That sounds ominous.' She tried to laugh, but he put a silencing finger over her mouth. He led her to where the towel was spread on the sand and sitting down, pulled her down beside him, clamping her to his side with an arm around her waist. 'Really, Luke. I need to dress—you said yourself I've had too much sun.'
'You're not going anywhere until you tell me why you were so adamant that the garden couldn't be built on.' She looked up into his eyes, hers frankly wary. 'I know this house was given to your aunt by the man she was having an affair with, but what I don't understand is why you care what happens to the place. By your own admission this is only the second time you have visited the house, so it has to be your aunt's secret you're protecting.'
Jemma shuddered; Luke was practically naked, and though she had lost a lot of her inhibitions in the last week—inhibitions she hadn't even known she had until Luke became her lover—she was having enough trouble breathing, never mind trying to think up a plausible lie for her earlier behaviour.
Steel-grey eyes sought hers. 'Don't even bother to try,' Luke said, his lips quirking at the corners in a smile.
Your eyes give you away every time. Try trusting me instead.'
Trusting Luke… That was a novel concept, and not one she had ever considered.
'I promise your secret will be safe with me,' he added.
Oddly, she believed him. Although he was an extremely powerful tycoon, renowned for the ruthlessness that had made him a multimillionaire before he was thirty, and with enough sexual charisma to seduce any woman on the planet, Jemma sensed an incorruptible air of inner strength about him.
Something he had inherited from his grandfather maybe? she thought. Or perhaps that was just wishful thinking on her part. Because with his arm protectively around her waist and his faint male scent surrounding her senses she had an incredible urge to confide in him. For over a year she had been the sole guardian of her aunt's secret, and it weighed heavily on her.
Luke looked down at her, his eyes gleaming silver-grey beneath his thick lashes. 'You have an English saying, no? "A trouble shared is a trouble halved?"' He read her mind. 'And I am a very good listener,' he said persuasively.
'You're never going to let this rest, are you?' She sighed, and, clasping her hands together, she told him.
'Twenty years ago my aunt was expecting a baby by her lover. She was five months pregnant when they sailed into Zante for a lovers' tryst, as they had done countless times before, but she slipped and fell when stepping off the boat. She miscarried the baby within the hour. It happened too quickly to get help—not that it would have done any good. The baby was a girl, and she and her lover buried the poor mite at the base of the cliff and put a few stones there to mark the spot. Aunt Mary told me that there was nothing illegal about what they did. If it had happened in a hospital in those days the child would have simply been discarded. But to my aunt her baby was real, a symbol of her lifelong commitment to her lover. She really wanted a gravestone, but that wasn't an option, so instead I built the rockery as a memorial, and I also promised to preserve the baby's resting place.' Jemma's eyes filled with moisture as she remembered her aunt's pain-racked face as she had told her the story.
Luke was not a sentimental man, but even he could understand why the house had been left in trust the way it had—the woman hadn't been able to leave it to her own child, so she'd left it to Jemma's children, and to her children's children… Whether it was fair to Jemma, he wasn't so sure. He saw the sadness in her expressive face and slid the fingers of his free hand gently through the tangled mass of her hair and turned her to face him. Then he saw the tears in her eyes, and he drew in a deep breath. 'Don't say any more, sweetheart, I understand.' Brushing his lips across her brow, he tightened his arm around her waist and hugged her close, stroking his other hand up and down her back in an age-old gesture of comfort.
Held in the warmth of Luke's arms, relief at having shared the burden was Jemma's primary emotion. 'Do you really understand, I wonder?' she murmured softly. 'You don't believe in love, and maybe that's the best way to be; it only causes pain.' She barely noticed Luke's hand fall from her back, and she didn't see the sudden tightening of his lips.
'My aunt spent her whole life loving a man she could never have and wanting a family that was never to be. Instead she had to make do with a few weeks a year with her lover. How tragic is that?' Jemma glanced around the bay. 'This place is an absolute Eden, but perhaps there's a serpent here somewhere.'
'Now you're just being fanciful,' Luke reprimanded with a wry smile. 'Your aunt chose her lifestyle, and it wouldn't have mattered where she was.'
His smile was beguiling, as was the warmth of his body. But Jemma knew Luke's view on choice all too well; it was the reason she was sitting here, married to him. And here she was telling him all her innermost secrets!
'Believe what you like.' she said, panicking at her own weakness in confiding in him. Twisting out of his hold, she rose to her feet. 'But I just have this feeling that the house is unlucky. I mean, it wasn't lucky for Aunt Mary, and it didn't bring much luck to Theo either, did it? He had to leave it when your mother got pregnant, and then she died very young. Now there's only you and Theo left—not much of a family, really.'
Luke got to his feet and stared at her for long tense seconds, the line of his jaw taut. Some emotion she didn't recognise darkened his eyes, and then he made a visible effort to relax and smile. 'Forget about the house for now. You and I are going to get off this island and spend the rest of our holiday cruising on my yacht and working on expanding my woefully small family.'
The sound of the shower running woke Jemma from a deep sleep. She stretched and yawned and pulled the fine cotton sheet up over her breasts. She glanced at the clock on the bedside table and groaned: it was barely six a.m. Then she remembered it was Monday—Luke was taking an early-morning flight to New York. Given the time difference, it meant he would be in New York in time for a business lunch. He'd been going to leave last night, but had changed his mind, and her body's well-used muscles reminded her why.
The door of the en-suite bathroom opened and Jemma's gaze automatically turned to her husband of four months. He was naked except for a towel slung low around his lean hips. His thick black hair was still damp from the shower, and a stray droplet of water was easing its way down his strong throat. He was six feet plus of pure masculine perfection, thought Jemma, taking a sudden, much-needed breath of air as she belatedly realised she'd stopped breathing when he'd entered the room.
'I know that look. Jemma.' Grey eyes met hers. 'But I have to be in New York by noon and you've delayed me once already.' With that remark, he disappeared into the dressing room.
Jemma stirred restlessly on the bed, punching the pillows and sitting up to rest against them. She should be happy that Luke was leaving—one of the reasons she had married him was because he'd agreed to her demand to stay in England, and she had counted on him not being around much. Except that it hadn't worked out quite as she'd expected.
