THE BRAVO BILLIONAIRE Page 12

  Jonas very carefully shut the closet door.

  He was absolutely furious. He'd been willing to compromise, damn it – within reason, anyway. She should have given him a chance.

  What the hell kind of game did she think she was playing? She knew that they had to live together for the entire year. She had agreed that they would live together.

  She had no right at all to move out on him. None. Zero. Zip. They were abiding by the terms of his mother's will and she was not going to be allowed to screw things up.

  Now, he would have to go out and find her and drag her back where she belonged.

  He strode to the door. Halfway down the hallway, he stopped.

  He really was furious. Maybe too furious.

  He needed to give himself a chance to cool off a little, before he went after his wayward wife.

  So all right. First, he'd pay a visit to the sprite. Being around Mandy always soothed him. He'd see his little sister, listen to her childish laughter, let her boss him around for a while, and when he went after Emma, he'd be calmer.

  Not so likely to wring her smooth white neck.

  * * *

  The door to the nursery stood open when he got there. And he knew. Before he went into the playroom, the bedroom, the nanny's room, the bathroom with its big white tub where Mandy liked to float her plastic boats…

  He knew that she was gone.

  He strode from one room to the next, charting the emptiness, telling himself to be calm, to think clearly, not to jump to conclusions.

  But the past was alive in him, all of a sudden, gnawing at him from the inside, a rat with big, sharp bloody teeth, chewing its way out of his chest.

  He dropped to the rocker in his sister's bedroom, let his head fall back, sucked in long, slow breaths through his nose.

  This was not real. He refused to believe it. It simply could not be happening again. No one had broken in. It was impossible. This wasn't thirty years ago. Now, his men prowled the grounds. No intruder could get through twice – to make his way in and to make good an escape.

  His sister had not been stolen. He had not lost her. He had not failed in his duty to keep her safe. She would not vanish from his life as if she had never been. It could not be. He would not allow it. He would not—

  His mind spun to a stop.

  He lifted his head, sat up straight, muttered one word. Her name.

  "Emma."

  Of course. Emma was behind this. She had not only run off when she had no right to do such a thing – but she'd also dared to take his little sister with her.

  Terror no longer gnawed away inside his chest. Now rage burned there.

  He was furious all over again. More furious than ever.

  At Emma.

  Palmer chose that moment to appear in the doorway to the hall. "There you are, sir."

  Jonas stood. "What is it, Palmer?"

  "Sir, your driver told me you'd gone in by the side entrance." Palmer stepped into the room. He carried a legal-sized envelope in his right hand. He held it out. "Ms. Emma asked me to see that you got this the minute you arrived home."

  Jonas took the envelope, tore it open and unfolded the note it contained.

  Jonas,

  In your mother's will, it says that I get to choose where we live. I have decided that I choose my own house. I'm taking Mandy there, and her nanny, too. Poor Claudia. She's real upset. She thinks you're not going to be too happy about this. But I told her not to worry. I told her I knew exactly what I was doing. I told Palmer the same thing. And what could either of them say? After all, I am your wife and I ought to know what's okay with you and what's not. Right?

  So we're waiting for you. At my house.

  See you soon and don't forget your toothbrush,

  Emma

  "Is … everything all right, sir?" Palmer asked. Jonas glanced up. The butler looked distinctly apprehensive.

  "Everything's just fine," Jonas said. "This letter tells me all I need to know."

  And it did. It told him where he had to go to get his hands on her.

  "Have my driver bring my car back around to the front, will you please, Palmer?"

  "Immediately, sir."

  * * *

  Chapter 13

  «^»

  Jonas descended on Emma's duplex at seven forty-seven. He beat on the door with his fist. When she didn't get there to open it fast enough for him, he started shouting.

  "Damn you, Emma! Open this door!"

  The Yorkies ran to the door and began barking at it frantically. Claudia came running down the hall. "It is him, Ms. Emma. It's Mr. Jonas. Ah, Dios mío…" She paused to make the sign of the cross and then to press her fingertips to her lips. "We are in big trouble now. He will kill us, I swear to you—"

  "Now you just relax," Emma said, proud that none of the apprehension she felt came through in her voice. Jonas went on pounding and the Yorkies went on barking.

  Emma took the nanny by the shoulders and turned her around so that she was facing the hall. "Go on. Go back to Mandy. She's probably scared out of her skin with all this racket going on."

  "But Ms. Emma, we can't—"

  "Emma! Now!" He pounded some more. The Yorkies yipped and ran in circles.

  "Don't you worry, just go on along now." Emma gave Claudia a gentle push. The nanny scurried back the way she had come.

  "Emma!" More pounding. It was a solid-core door, but it wouldn't hold up forever under such a brutal assault.

  "Stop that!" she shouted back at him. "I am coming! I want to put the dogs out! Just you hold on!"

  There was silence. The Yorkies had turned to stare at her, their big brown eyes saucer-wide behind the wispy fringes of brown fur that drooped from their foreheads.

  She slapped her thigh with authority. "Bob. Ted. Come." They scampered behind her to the sliding glass door that opened onto the patio. "Out." They went through and she shut and latched the door. Then she marched back to her small entrance area, slid back the dead bolt and pulled the door wide.

  He was standing on the other side and he did not look happy.

  Well, she wasn't very happy with him, either. "I hope you know you've probably scared your baby sister clean into next Tuesday. And poor Claudia. She was callin' on her maker, speakin' in Spanish, drawin' the sign of the cross. Dear old Mrs. Cowley, who owns the other half of this duplex, has probably already called 911. And besides all that, you have stirred up my dogs."

  He just looked at her, that burning look he could get now and then. Usually, he got that look when they were making love. She found it very arousing then. However, since there wasn't any lovemaking going on at the moment, the look made her more than a little bit nervous.

  She moved back. "All right. Come in."

  He stepped over her threshold. She shut the door behind him.

  "I expect you to act like a civilized human being," she warned. "And the minute you throw something, you are out of here. Understand?"

  He didn't bother to answer. His glance flicked over her living room and came back to settle on her. "Get your things. Get Mandy's things. And Claudia's. We are all going home. Now. You and I will have a nice, long talk after we get there."

  Emma folded her arms under her breasts. "I gave Palmer a note to give to you."

  "So?"

  "Did you get that note?"

  "Yes, I got that note."

  "Did you read that note?"

  "Yes, Emma, I did."

  "Well. Then you know very well that I'm not leavin' this house. I am the one who gets to make the choice about where we live. And I have decided that we will live here."

  He kept that burning gaze right on her – and he started walking toward her.

  "Wait," she said. "Stop. Just you stop right there." He kept on coming. She told herself to stand firm, but her legs seemed to move of their own accord.

  She gave ground – backing toward the kitchen, under the arch, across her red-tiled floor. He kept pace with her. It worked out fine until sh
e ran out of floor and into her refrigerator, which was thick with magnets in various animal shapes. She bumped a couple of them. They clattered to the floor.

  She glanced down at the magnets – a chicken and a Scottie dog – then back up at him. "Jonas…"

  Very carefully, sliding magnets out of his way to do it, he laid one big hand on either side of her head.

  She knew what to do, and she did it fast, too, bending her knees, bolting under his restraining arm.

  But he was faster. He blocked her escape by lowering that arm and extending his opposite knee until it met the refrigerator. More magnets fell.

  With great dignity, Emma straightened her legs again. "This is what happens when you're big and strong and rich, huh? You think it's your God-given right to push people around."

  "I am just trying to get your attention."

  "Well, guess what? You got it."

  "Good."

  "What happens now?"

  "Now, you listen."

  "Okay, fine. I am listenin'."

  "Are you sure?"

  She decided that question didn't deserve an answer. She waited, thinking that he was way too close, too big, too warm, too … everything. She wished he would back off.

  And at the same time, she wished he would press himself against her, just grind himself right into her, let the magnets fall where they may.

  Oh, Deirdre was right. For a self-starting independent take-charge woman, she sure did a good impression of a sex toy.

  Finally, he spoke. "We cannot live here. It is impossible." He said each word slowly and softly, right into her face.

  She dredged up a scoffing sound. "Exaggerate a little, why don't you, Jonas? Of course, we can live here. There is a kitchen, three bedrooms, two bathrooms. A roof over our heads. Even a livin' room with a workin' fireplace and a twenty-seven-inch TV. It may not be Bel Air, but we can live here, I promise you that."

  "Why?"

  "Why what?"

  "Why the hell are you doing this?"

  "Because your house is too darn big and it's too easy for you to hide when you're there."

  That seemed to get to him. He dropped his imprisoning arms and stepped away from her.

  She waited for him to say something. He didn't. She looked down at the magnets around her feet. Kneeling, she gathered them up, the chicken, the Scottie, two cats and a frog. The frog had been injured in the fall – a crack right down the middle of its white belly.

  "Emma."

  She didn't answer. Instead, she straightened, turned and stuck the magnets back where they belonged.

  She felt rather than heard him move toward her again. All at once, he was right behind her. She tried to steel herself. It didn't do much good. Her midsection was melting. The blood in her veins pounded out his name.

  "Hide from what?" he whispered much too tenderly, his breath warm against her ear.

  "It's not a 'what,' it's a 'who,'" she replied, low and a little bit angrily. "And you know it, too."

  He put those big hands of his at her waist, very lightly. She was wearing toreador pants and a crop top, which meant he was touching bare skin – skin that warmed and softened and seemed to melt like the rest of her at his slightest touch.

  His lips were against her hair. "You mean it's a 'whom.'"

  She pressed her forehead to the cool freezer compartment door. The coolness didn't help. The rest of her was burning up – with wanting him. "Who, whom, what's the difference? It's me, Jonas. You are hiding from me."

  He pulled her, slowly, and so gently, back against him, tucking her into him, letting her feel that he wanted her as she wanted him. Then he loosened his hold a fraction and pressed his lips to her nape. She made it easy for him, bending her head, giving in to him – as she always did. All he had to do was touch her, speak to her in that low, private voice that seemed to be meant only for her. And she was a goner.

  Pathetic. Pitiful.

  It had to stop.

  She lifted her head. It was a start. He stopped kissing the back of her neck.

  "I have never even seen your bedroom, Jonas. I have not seen where you sleep, your private place. We are married and I haven't seen it."

  He let go of her waist – and put his hands on her shoulders instead. "You want to see my bedroom?" he whispered in her ear.

  She kept her back straight, her chin high. "Yes, I do." His hands were on the move again. They slipped beneath her arms. His fingers grazed the side swells of her breasts. She had to press her lips together to keep from letting out a hungry moan.

  "All right," he said. "Come home. I'll show you my bedroom."

  "You'll show it to me?"

  "That's right."

  "That's not enough."

  "You want more?"

  "I sure do."

  "Name it." He cupped her breasts. She moaned at that, but very softly – and then it occurred to her that this was not her room at Angel's Crest. This was her kitchen in North Hollywood and Claudia could come flying down the hall, Mandy in tow, any minute now.

  She turned in his embrace and captured those wonderful hands of his. "Not now…" She sent a glance toward the arch that led to the hall.

  He took her meaning and nodded. "You're right."

  She let go of his hands. He had the grace to move away a few steps.

  She told him what else she wanted. "I want us to share a bedroom, Jonas. I don't care whose bedroom, yours or mine. It doesn't matter. Just as long as we start spendin' whole nights together."

  Something changed in his face. It seemed to close against her. All at once, his eyes were looking right through her. Emma shivered as if a cold wind had blown through the room.

  "I sleep alone, Emma." He said it flatly, as something that was beyond discussion or dispute.

  "Oh," she said. "Well, that sounds pretty final."

  "It is."

  Emma felt like a blind person who'd run up on a wall, just squashed herself flat against it with no prior warning.

  She tried not to sound as disconcerted as she felt. "Okay," she said cheerfully. "As I said a few minutes ago, there are three bedrooms here. Claudia and Mandy have two of them. I've got the master. And you are very welcome to share my room with me any time you get tired of sleepin' on the sofa."

  He looked at her as if he doubted she had any brains at all. "I told you. We cannot stay here."

  "That's right, you told me. But you didn't bother to say why."

  "You know damn well why. It's not safe. There's no security."

  "Sure, there is. I have an alarm system."

  "A box, by the door and a couple of sensors in the windows? Come on, Emma. Any idiot could get through a system like yours. To even call it a system is pretty damn ludicrous."

  "Jonas. This is your paranoia speaking, that's what this is."

  "If I'm paranoid, I have my reasons. And you know damn well what they are."

  Emma blinked. It was the first time in their entire acquaintance that he had referred of his own accord, even indirectly, to the tragedy of thirty years ago. Could this be called progress?

  "Yes," she said carefully. "I do know. And what happened thirty years ago is not going to happen now."

  He turned his head away from her, so he seemed to be studying the cabinets above the stove. "If you'd asked my parents back then, they probably would have said the same thing – that it couldn't happen. It wouldn't happen. To them. But it did. It happened to them. To me. To my brother." He looked at her again – or at least, he looked in her direction. His eyes were worlds away. "We never found him."

  She wanted to say something wise and comforting and helpful, but all that came out was, "I know. Oh, and I am so very sorry…"

  "It killed my father. He had a heart attack, but we all knew what caused it. To lose a son like that, to have him stolen from my father's house, right out from under his nose. My father was a man who believed, with some reason, that he had a certain degree of power in the world. But then he was forced to learn the true meaning of p
owerlessness. It killed him, that's all. And my mother, well, you know all about what happened to her."

  Emma nodded. She felt she didn't dare speak. Though she had heard it all before, from Blythe, it still hurt, to hear these hard things. How much more it must hurt him, to say them.

  Jonas said, "I have a detective agency, the best in the city, on retainer. I've had one agency or another on retainer ever since I was old enough to hire a damn agency. They not only check out individuals for me, they keep an open file on my brother's kidnapping. They've come up with leads, now and then. Leads that go nowhere. The fact is, we still don't have a clue where my brother went, who took him, if he's long dead and buried in some shallow grave somewhere – or if he's alive, a grown man now. Walking the earth somewhere, not knowing who he really is, where he came from, who his people are…"

  His eyes were focused on her again, determined and so sure. "That's why we cannot stay here. You are not just Emma Lynn Hewitt anymore. You have married the Bravo Billionaire. And you will put all of us at risk if you continue to insist that we live with you here, where I can't guarantee that you and Mandy will be safe."

  He straightened from the counter, came close again, put both big hands gently on her shoulders. "Now. I want you to go and pack up whatever needs packing. As soon as you're ready, we can go."

  Emma stared up at him. She felt warm all over, a new kind of warmth. A warmth from more than the promise of great sex. It had happened. For the first time.

  Jonas had talked to her. Maybe, at last, they were getting somewhere – and it was a good thing, too. They had such a long way to go.

  "Oh, Jonas," she said. "No. We are not going back to that mansion of yours. Do what you have to do to make this house safe. Put in a state-of-the-art alarm system. That's fine with me. Get all those bodyguards of yours to hang around outside in the pyracantha bushes, ready, willin' and able to jump anybody who tries to threaten us. Whatever. But we are stayin' here for a while."

  He dropped his hands from her shoulders. "Didn't you understand a word of what I just told you?"

  "I did. I understood, but—"

  "And yet you'd put us all in jeopardy anyway?"