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From the moment he’d boarded the plane in Houston, it had occurred to him that he was worried about leaving her to her own devices. Her inability to understand the limitations of her energy and strength irritated him. In the last glimpse he’d had of her before leaving on this trip, he’d seen that Emma was driving herself toward exhaustion.
Until he’d surprised her over lunch, he’d assumed that the only work she’d been doing had been at his condo, but seeing how pale she’d become since he’d moved her out of her loft, he’d gotten her to admit that she spent her nights crafting her designs.
Things were going to change when he got back. He was going to convince her to move in so he could keep an eye on her and make her slow down. It was past time she started accepting that her future was with him. Once they were married, she wouldn’t need to make jewelry or worry about money. He would take care of her the way she deserved to be cared for.
Eight
“You have to eat something,” Nathan said, standing bare-chested before her worktable, his dark hair wet from the shower. Worn denim rode low on his hips, and he’d brought the scent of lavender into the spare room.
He’d returned home from his business trip an hour ago, more grim than she’d ever seen him, and commenced badgering her to take a break as soon as his overcoat hit the hall closet.
Avoiding Nathan’s gaze, Emma eyed the plate he held. Although the fat strawberries tempted her, her stomach shifted uncertainly. She hadn’t been interested in food lately. She blamed it on anxiety. Progress was much slower than she’d anticipated, due to the intricate nature of her newest designs. Of course, the finished product made the extra hours worthwhile, but she was overwhelmed with the amount of work still to be done.
“I ate before you came home.” Fatigue threatened to tip her off the stool. She’d been perched on it so long her behind had gone numb.
“What time?” he demanded.
“What time is it now?”
Nathan glowered at her. “Seven o’clock.”
That meant she’d been sitting at her worktable for twelve hours straight with only bathroom breaks and a quick snack sometime around one. For the last three days, she’d been practically living in this room, taking advantage of his absence to execute one piece of jewelry after another. Never in her life had she put so much effort into anything. It was as exhilarating as it was exhausting.
She’d jump for joy if she could summon the energy.
“A couple hours ago.”
“You are many things, Emma Montgomery, but a skillful liar you are not.”
“I’ll eat in a minute.” In truth, she was afraid to stop working. Afraid, because she was so exhausted, that she might never start again. The long hours were taking their toll on her mind as well as her body, but she had a significant inventory of jewelry to show for all her effort. Yet, so much remained unfinished and with the clock ticking down, her nerves were stretched as thin as onionskin.
“You keep saying that and yet you don’t.” Radiating frustration, he arched his eyebrows at her. Crossing his arms over his chest made his biceps bulge. “I’m not leaving here until I see you eat every bite of that sandwich.”
“Which I’ll do as soon as I finish this ring.” Her hands trembled as she struggled to fix a tiny diamond into place on the platinum band she was working on. She hissed a curse. “I promise.”
Tears gathered in her eyes. If the stupid diamond didn’t settle into the cradle she’d crafted for it, she was going to scream.
The ring blurred. She blinked away the weariness eating into muscle and bone. Just a couple more hours, and she could knock off for the night. A couple more hours and she could stumble back to Addison’s couch.
All too aware of Nathan’s keen watchfulness, she clenched her teeth against a yawn. The struggle was brief, and in the end, she lost.
“Enough. You’re dead on your feet.” He circled the worktable, handed her the plate and plucked her off the stool as easily as if she’d been a child.
“Put me down.”
Her stomach growled while she glared at him. “I don’t have time for this. I need to work.”
“You need to eat and rest.” He swept her out of the room and strode down the hall, passing the guestroom he’d repeatedly offered.
Her heart bounced fretfully in her chest as he passed the living room and kept going. “Where are you taking me?”
“Bed.”
“Not your bed.”
His answer was a slow smile.
She made her displeasure known by spouting objections and shoving the heel of her palm against his steely shoulder, but despite her resistance, desire awakened and banished her earlier tiredness. How could she continue to want him with such intensity when he acted like such a domineering oaf? Yet, even as she fought for independence, the heat of his skin penetrated her annoyance and a sensual longing defused her protests.
