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Loving her had weakened him. He had neglected his business to a large extent already. Ordinarily
he would not have spent more than a couple of weeks in London over the last four months, and instead he had spent most of his time there—with Jemma…
The sex was addictive, and he didn't want to give it up, wasn't even sure he could… But now he knew that love was even more addictive, and it was time he made a decision. To carry on as he was, but reorganise his workload to centre on London. Maybe buy a bigger house there and be content with what he had—or cut and run. Straightening his shoulders, he saw his face reflected in the window and grimaced. God, he was becoming maudlin—and why? Because his wife had forgotten his birthday.
No, Jemma hadn't forgotten, he amended. She didn't know when his birthday was because she had never cared enough to ask. But he could have told her this morning—except that his pride hadn't let him. How infantile was that?
A knock on the door broke into his mood of introspection. Who the hell was that? Everyone had left for the evening…
'Surprise, surprise!' Davina Lovejoy appeared in the doorway, waving a bottle of champagne. 'Happy birthday, darling.'
'Thank you,' he replied. She looked as beautiful as usual, but knowing the artifice involved in achieving that look was more than a bit off-putting. But at least she knew it was his birthday.
'Open this.' She placed the hand with the bottle in it against his shirtfront and smiled up at him. 'We can have a celebratory drink as old friends, and then I can wish you a happy birthday properly.'
There was nothing remotely proper about the invitation in the smiling eyes she lifted to his. He ignored the invitation, but was too much of a gentleman to refuse the drink. Taking the bottle, he popped the cork and crossed to the bar to find two glasses.
The phone on his desk rang. 'Shall I get that?' Davina asked, and without bothering to wait for a response lifted the receiver. 'Luke Devetzi's office, Davina here. Can I help you? Who did you say you were? Luke's wife—?'
'Jemma!' Luke tore the receiver from Davina's hand. She'd never called him before—something must have happened. 'What's wrong?'
'Nothing—nothing at all,' came the reply, and he felt a complete sense of euphoria when she added, 'Sorry to disturb you, Luke. I'm only ringing to wish you a happy birthday. I didn't know it was your birthday until Theo rang this morning to speak to you, and I feel awful I didn't get you a present. But I'll get you one before you come back. I thought perhaps a new briefcase or something. Or whatever you want. You can decide.'
Luke had never known Jemma to babble on like this, and she hadn't finished yet. But just to hear her voice was a pleasure, and his earlier worries faded like snow on a fire.
'Or maybe I should just surprise you; would you prefer that? Look, I'll ring off now; you're obviously busy at the moment,' she finished with a rush.
'No, I'm not. My PA just surprised me with a celebratory glass of champagne.' He glanced at Davina and gestured with his hand for her to leave. 'But she's leaving now.' Luke settled himself in the chair behind his desk, mouthing the word 'out' at Davina, who shrugged and left, slamming the door behind her. 'She's gone now, and I'm finished for the day. I was just about to leave.'
'Oh, well, I'll not keep you.'
'Yes, you will. Don't you dare put the phone down,' he ordered. 'I'm delighted you called to ask me what I want for my birthday. You naked in bed would be a good start.' He heard her gasp and let his imagination run riot as he told her exactly what he wanted and where.
Jemma had worried over ringing Luke all evening, and it had been almost midnight when she had picked up the phone and dialled his number. But allowing for the time difference she knew it was still early evening there. Overcome with nerves, she knew she had been babbling like a lunatic. But now, listening to Luke murmuring sexy suggestions in her ear, she was shocked.
'Luke—please,' she said breathlessly. 'You shouldn't say things like that on the telephone!' But it didn't stop her temperature rising and heat pooling in her belly. 'It's late, and I'm going to bed now.'
'To think of me, I trust,' he prompted, and she heard the smile in his voice.
'Yes, I think you can safely say that's a foregone conclusion after your very descriptive flights of fantasy,' she quipped, and heard him laugh.
'Good, because I'm destined to spend all evening in a cold shower! I'll try and get back sooner than two weeks, even if it's only for a day. In the meantime, perhaps you could check out the housing market. I've thought of something else I want. I know you don't really like the apartment, so I want you to look around for a house out of town with a large garden; that would suit you much better.'
For a moment Jemma was silent as the full import of his suggestion sank in. He wanted them to move to the country and settle down, and the idea thrilled her. She heard him say her name, ask if she was still there. She placed a hand on her stomach and said, 'Yes, Luke, I'll do as you say. Goodnight.' And she put the phone down.
Across the Atlantic Luke grinned and poured himself a glass of champagne. With the sound of Jemma's voice lingering in his head, his birthday had improved one hundred per cent.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
On Thursday afternoon, Jemma turned the key in the lock, opened the door, and walked into her old home in Bayswater carrying a cardboard box. It had the empty feel and the cold smell of a house no longer lived in. Not surprisingly, as she had only visited a couple of times before Christmas while Luke was abroad.
She shrugged off her coat and then wandered around the silent rooms for the last time. She had made the decision on Tuesday morning, after a sleepless night tossing and turning in the huge bed thinking of Luke. Jemma had taken a long hard look at herself, and she hadn't liked what she'd seen. She'd accepted the hope of a baby and great sex as a basis for marriage and consciously avoided any deeper commitment. She'd been so determined not to get involved with Luke on anything other than a superficial level that she hadn't even known it was his birthday. It wouldn't have hurt her to have asked him when it was, she realised guiltily.
When had she become so afraid of emotional involvement? With hindsight, she could see it had started after her mother had died. She hadn't made much of an attempt to get close to her stepmother and stepsister, preferring to cling to Aunt Mary and Alan. When she had lost Alan she'd been devastated, and losing her aunt the following year had simply compounded her problem. She was naturally a compassionate, caring person, but she had avoided developing deeper relationships with people and never dated men. She'd pushed away anyone who might pierce the wall she'd deliberately built around her deeper emotions. Anyone like Luke! She had been too frightened to allow him to get close, too scared of the pain that might follow if she lost him as well.
As dawn was breaking Jemma had finally realised that she had to let go of the past, let go of her fear, and not allow it to blight what could be a great future with Luke. She might very well be pregnant, and her child deserved a whole woman for a mother, not an emotional cripple.
Yesterday she had sadly discovered she wasn't pregnant, but it didn't change her mind. She had to move on, with hope for the future. She had already consulted an estate agent to enquire about a house in the country, as Luke had suggested, and to finally put her own house on the market. The valuer was coming around tomorrow, and she had nipped out from her shift at the shop this afternoon to collect the personal items she held dear—family photos, pictures from her childhood with her parents, her aunt and Alan—a photographic tapestry of her life so far. Hopefully one day she would have a baby and be able to show her child the family it belonged to.
