His gut clenched. He caught her chin and tipped her face up to his. “You’ve been crying.”

She jerked back, turning her face away from him. “Hence the locked door and the need for privacy. Now please go and leave me to it.” She wiggled her fingers toward the door dismissively.

“No.”

Her head snapped back around, hair flying in all directions. “Jake. I’m clearly upset. Could you just for once have a little respect and let me be tonight?”

“I’m not leaving you alone when you’re upset.” He sank down onto the bed, forcing her to scoot over a little to give him sufficient room. “I’m sorry about the birthday party. My absence was unavoidable.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

He could see it made her even angrier that she had automatically moved over for him. So often in the past two years he’d come to her room and they’d lain side by side, talking when neither could sleep, and he counted on that familiar closeness.

“I’m not crying because of you or the fact that you didn’t show up to your own birthday party. Although selfish, it wasn’t entirely unexpected.”

He winced at her accurately delivered punch. Emma sat with her knees drawn up, rocking back and forth in obvious distress. He doubted if she even knew how upset she was. She was curled up as small as she could make herself, her eyes drowning in tears. Jake reached over and scooped her up easily, cradling her against his body, holding her close to him.

“If it wasn’t me that upset you so badly, what was it? I’ll take care of it, but you have to tell me what’s wrong first.” He brushed a trail of kisses from her temple to the corner of her mouth and back up, stealing every tear with his lips.

Emma buried her face against his chest. She couldn’t look at him. The moment his mouth slid over her skin, electrical charges raced from her breasts to her belly. She didn’t dare look up—she might start kissing him, and then what would happen? She had no doubt that Jake would be willing to have sex with her. He was always willing to have sex with someone. She could feel him, hard as a rock, against the backs of her thighs, but she wasn’t made for one-night stands or passionate flings that burned out fast. She had two children she loved and a home she wanted to stay in. Giving in to sexual desire would momentarily satisfy her, but would ultimately cost her everything. Jake just couldn’t—or wouldn’t—make an emotional commitment.

“Talk to me, honey. You can tell me anything, Emma.”

His hands ran up and down her arms, over her scorching skin, driving her temperature up even more.

“I’m just having a bad day, Jake. I have them sometimes. Everyone does.” Her skin was so sensitive it almost hurt to have him touching her. The sensation had faded for a while earlier in the evening, but now it seemed to be returning with more force than ever. “I have to lie down. And the light has to be off. And I need to be alone.”

Jake frowned and rubbed his face over hers, almost like a cat. “Maybe I should call a doctor, Emma. You feel a little feverish to me.”

In spite of everything, she felt the urge to smile. Jake probably had never used the word feverish in his life before Kyle was born, and now he was throwing it around like an old pro. “I’m fine. Crying always makes a person hot and sweaty.” She was too. And he smelled so good, fresh from a shower; she could always tell. His hair was damp and he smelled clean with a faint, elusive tang of wild.

“That’s not good enough, Emma. Some women may just cry for no reason, but not you. Someone or something upset you. I intend to know what it was before I leave this room tonight.” He allowed her to slip out of his arms.

She closed her eyes against the feel of the pads of his fingers sliding over her skin as she stretched out on the bed, giving him plenty of room so he wouldn’t have to touch her. “I guess you really don’t understand the concept of a locked door.”

He shrugged, there in the near dark, rolling his broad shoulders in the casual way he always had. She was instantly aware of every muscle sliding under his skin. Emma squeezed her eyelids closed tighter. She drew in a breath and took him into her lungs.

“Locked doors are for everyone else, honey.” He leaned over, brushed a kiss across her forehead and stretched out beside her.

She realized how completely natural it felt. She’d been married to Andrew five months. She’d been with Jake for two years. He’d been coming to her room every single night, from the very first day she’d moved to his home. He’d held her that first night when she’d awakened with a terrible nightmare, the stench of fire and the heat of flames still so raw and vivid. His every gesture was more familiar to her than Andrew’s. When she remembered a man’s touch, it was Jake’s touch. When she burned at night for a man’s body, it was Jake’s body. When had that all started to happen? And why now? Why was she waking up now? She was terrified of the change, afraid she would lose everything.

“Tell me about your parents. You don’t talk much about them,” Jake said.

“My parents?” Emma echoed, startled. Her heart fluttered.

His hand slid against hers, his fingers tangling with hers. She ached inside as he brought their joined hands to his chest, right over his heart. He always did that—tied them together. She was tied to him by far more than the children.

“You do have parents, don’t you?”

The rare amusement in his voice tugged at her heart-strings. She could feel his body, solid and warm right beside hers. She could count his steady heartbeats. “Of course I have parents. Do you think I crawled out from under a rock?”