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On returning to London after their honeymoon. Jemma had found a new Volvo estate car waiting for her—a wedding present from Luke. He said he'd already noticed her car was well past its sell-by date. In the ten days he had spent in London before flying to the Far East he had managed to make friends with Liz and Peter. He had offered Peter a job in his company, and he hadn't stopped there. With Liz's enthusiastic support, he had advised them that Flower Power should take on at least two new assistants to cover the new contract they had won, and also that, as the owners, they should adopt a more hands-off position and work much fewer hours. Jemma's attempts to object ha
d been futile; Luke was like a juggernaut, driving everyone his way.
Her only success had been the house on Zante. It was being altered as she had suggested—but only because when Luke had returned from the Far East a week later he had whisked her back to Greece for a few days, insisting they both had to take Theo to Zante and get his agreement to her proposal. She had been relieved to see that the erotic bedroom had been stripped before they'd arrived. The house was now going to have a first floor, with four en-suite bedrooms, and was to be used as a holiday home.
'Home' was an emotive word, she mused, glancing around the bedroom now. Did she consider this apartment home? She didn't know. All she did know was that Luke didn't travel half as much as she had been led to believe.
As man and wife their sex was great, but on a personal level they were no closer now than they had been on their wedding day—and that was fine by her. No, that wasn't quite true. They had developed a friendship of sorts, she supposed.
Their Christmas holiday in Greece with Theo had been fun, and they had been back in London now for three days. On Saturday night Luke had presented her with a diamond bracelet and insisted that they celebrate their four-month anniversary with dinner and, surprisingly, a trip to the opera—which she liked, but knew he didn't—and sex, of course.
He was always buying her presents. She had more jewellery than she knew what to do with, and the same was true of clothes. He was incredibly generous, and would not take no for an answer, and she was finally beginning to realise how fabulously wealthy he was.
Personally, she didn't care about money as long as she had enough to live on, but she had a suspicion there would soon be someone else to consider. She hadn't told Luke yet, but her period was three weeks overdue.
Her original rosy plan of having his baby to bring up as she liked, because he would not be around that much to interfere, now seemed rather foolish. A slight frown marred her smooth brow. Luke had infiltrated into every aspect of her life, and she knew he would do the same with any child they had.
'Frowning? I'm flattered.' Jemma's head turned as Luke walked towards her. 'Dare I hope that you're going to miss me?' he drawled, silver eyes flaring for an instant as his glance swept her from head to toe. Belatedly she realised the sheet was around her thighs.
She drew in a startled breath, grasping the sheet and pulling it over her breasts, more flustered than his glance warranted. Luke had cured her of all her inhibitions in the bedroom, but she was off balance because the first thought that had popped into her head in answer to his question was yes, she would miss him.
He stopped by the bed, but she didn't trust herself to speak. Inwardly confused, she kept her gaze fixed on his body, rather than his face, but it wasn't much help. His exquisitely tailored navy jacket hung perfectly from his wide shoulders, a crisp cotton shirt covered his muscular chest and his long, elegant fingers, which had caressed every inch of her, were slipping a silk tie under the shirt collar. Dear heaven, she couldn't possibly miss him. She couldn't be falling in love with him. She wouldn't let it happen.
'You could come to New York with me—a phone call is all it would take, and I can delay leaving for the airport for half an hour to give you time to get ready,' he offered casually.
Jemma looked up in surprise. Luke always flew first class, and she had no doubt any airline would bump someone off a plane if they had to rather than say no to Luke Devetzi. But the fact that he had asked her to go with him threw her into a panic. 'No, I couldn't possibly; I have to go to work.'
'With the new staff your presence in the shop is hardly needed,' he pointed out. 'Humour me this time, hmm? I rather like the idea of showing you around New York.'
That he was asking her to humour him, travel with him, astonished her. The trouble was that for a moment she was seriously tempted, and it terrified her. 'No, travelling with you isn't part of our deal.'
'Of course it isn't.' Something bleak moved in the depths of his eyes, and then it was gone. 'How foolish of me to forget.' He leant down and pressed a brief, hard kiss on her lips. 'I'll be back in two weeks; try not to miss me too much…' he said mockingly, and, spinning on his heel, he left.
Jemma sat in the workshop feeling like hell. After Luke had left she'd been eating her breakfast when the phone rang. It had been Theo, for Luke, and when she told him he'd already left Theo had said, 'I only wanted to wish him a happy thirty-eighth birthday.' Jemma's laugh had been hollow. She'd told him she'd have to cut the conversation short because she was due at work.
'What's the matter with you?' Liz walked up to the bench and eyed Jemma with a worried frown. 'Are you missing Luke?'
'Something like that.' Jemma glanced up at her friend and decided to confide in her. Today is his birthday, and I forgot to wish him happy birthday before he left this morning.'
'Not good,' Liz said dryly. 'But not a complete disaster. Ring him up tonight and apologise, and then have telephone sex. That should do the trick—the man adores you.'
Jemma couldn't help smiling. 'I never realised you had such a salacious mind.'
'I didn't think you would appreciate it until you married a hunk like Luke.' Liz laughed, and Jemma frowned, the throwaway comment disturbing her a little.
Had her marriage to Alan not qualified her for the sexy wives' club? Suddenly she realised she had hardly thought about Alan in ages, and when she had, it had been with a sadness that he had died so young. The fond memories that she had of their marriage made her smile gently when she remembered them, rather than cry.
She thought of Luke and his request that she should accompany him to New York, and her refusal. She saw him in her mind's eye, standing by the bed, totally self-assured, his usual arrogant self. She felt again the brief, hard kiss and saw his mocking smile, the tension in his shoulders when he abruptly turned his back on her and left, and suddenly Jemma felt terribly guilty. What kind of wife was she not to have known it was his birthday—and he far too proud to tell her?
Luke rose from his desk, snapped his briefcase shut and glanced morosely around his office. For the amount of work he had done today he might as well have stayed at home. But where exactly was home? Anywhere his sexy wife was… He had grown to actively dislike the London apartment because it had slowly dawned on him that, although Jemma was there, she hadn't made the slightest effort to imprint her own personality on the place. Not a picture, not a flower had she added. The apartment was as stark as Theo had once suggested—nothing at all like the cosy house Jemma had shared with her first husband.
Luke sighed. As birthdays went, his had been a bummer. From the moment he had asked Jemma to come with him this morning—only for her to turn him down flat and remind him that travelling with him wasn't part of their deal—he had been in a black mood. He had hoped Jemma had got over the circumstances of their marriage, but obviously she hadn't.
Crossing to the bar, he poured himself a shot of Scotch into a crystal glass and with it in his hand he walked across to the window to stare moodily out over the New York skyline. He couldn't blame Jemma for the way she felt. He had made a deal to marry her, and she had stuck to it. If anyone had told him six months ago that he would marry and then fall in love with his wife, to the point where he neglected his work, he would have laughed in their face.
But the joke was on him. He had done everything in his power to get Jemma to care for him. He had sent her flowers from Japan the first time they were apart, and had been told on his return not to bother again because she owned a florist's shop. He had bought her jewellery, clothes—anything she wanted she could have. The trouble was she didn't want anything from him. Except sex.
Most men would be happy with an ever-willing wife, and yet even in that area he was getting increasingly desperate. In the physical sense she gave him everything, but slowly it had dawned on him that there was an intrinsic part of herself that she was keeping hidden from him.
