The Billionaire's Christmas Baby (10 page)

Chapter Nine

“So much for gratitude,” Jackson grumbled, and limped outside.

“I
knew
you were mentally unbalanced!” Hannah hissed. The cold winter air felt good on her flaming cheeks as they stood facing each other on the sidewalk. Shoppers passed by them, the sound of Santa’s ringing bell could be heard, but the only thing Hannah could focus on was the memory of Jackson telling Jean they were getting married tomorrow. He was totally nuts.

“Earth to Jackson Pierce!” She focused on him, trying to figure out his expression. He looked like he was ready to kill someone. Maybe the reality of what he proposed had sunk in, or maybe he really was upset about her letting Louise down.

“What the hell was that woman talking about?” The trademark jaw clenching was back so Hannah knew he was royally peeved about something.

“What? How about explaining what
you
were talking about?” Hannah glanced over each shoulder. In small towns there was always someone ready to eavesdrop on a conversation. He must have sensed her trepidation since he grabbed her hand and started walking towards his car. He walked so quickly that she had to run to keep up. Hannah jerked to a stop, yanking him to a halt with her. Jackson turned to glare at her.

He closed his eyes briefly before speaking. “Come on. Get in the car and let’s go.”

Hannah crossed her arms in front of her. “I’m not going anywhere until you answer my question.” She raised her eyebrows expectantly while he took a few deep breaths.

“Hannah.”

“Yes,” she answered serenely, linking her hands together in front of her.

He sighed. “Get in the car because everyone from that stupid office is not-so-subtly staring at us through the window, and my foot feels like it needs to be amputated. So either plant a massive kiss on my lips right now or get in the car, okay?”

Hannah debated the kiss for a half a second. “Fine, let’s go to your car,” she said haughtily.

“I thought you’d see it my way,” he said, grabbing her hand again and starting for his car. “Well, I didn’t really have a choice, now did I?” Hannah huffed as they reached his Range Rover. Jackson braced his arm on the SUV, sheltering her from the view of the office. She could see from his eyes that he was still irate. He stood close enough that the wind was laced with his cologne, and she felt the heat of his breath on her as he spoke. She ignored the twinge of excitement that teased her at his nearness. Her body was a traitor to her mind.

“Oh, I gave you a choice, but you took the chicken’s way out,” Jackson whispered.

Hannah was about to open her mouth to make a smart reply when Santa jingled his way over to them. Santa, Hannah noticed with a frown, had a slight limp, a very disheveled appearance, and a tummy that looked like it had one too many beers in it. Jackson shoved a twenty-dollar bill at the man without taking his eyes off her. Santa rewarded him by jingling the bell in his ear. Hannah burst out laughing. Jackson cursed under his breath and opened the door for her. He grumbled something about small towns as he closed her door.

Five minutes later they were pulling up outside her home. It was the only place they could have complete privacy, but it was also a little unsettling to know that Jackson was now entering her territory. Her house was her own private sanctuary, the only home that had ever truly been hers.

Neither of them said anything on the way. Hannah knew that if she spoke she was only going to end up yelling at him, and considering that his hands were white as he gripped the steering wheel she figured he’d had about all he could handle at the moment. Which was fine, because now she was out of a job and she had Jean launching an all-out war against her and the adoption. She truly hoped Jackson was still as confident as he said he was about adopting Emily.

…

“This is your house?” Jackson asked, shutting the ignition and leaning forward to get a better look.

“This is it,” she said, her voice still standoffish.

It had taken them only minutes to cross the little village of Hope’s Crossing. From what he saw of the town, through his haze of red, was that it was that Norman Rockwell, picture perfect type of place. Cutesy, put-it-in-a-snow globe type of village. But he wasn’t really interested in the town. His mind worked overtime trying to process everything. He felt like he was starring in some bizarre movie of himself. When had his life become so unpredictable?

He stared through the window at the red brick Victorian before him and his throat constricted involuntarily. It was so damn idyllic. It was small, ornate. There was cedar roping with dark red ribbons that framed the heavy molding on the windows and the pristine white porch. Urns were overflowing with cedar and other greenery. The white plump snowflakes that floated down from the sky only made it more magical.

He actually found himself unable to speak for a moment because never in his life had something ever evoked in him such a need to have a home. A real home. A house. With a wife. With kids. Hell, maybe even a white picket fence. But Jackson Pierce was not your white picket-fence kind of man. No, he was the guy who lived in a penthouse surrounded by skylines and anonymity. Steel and glass. Money and ambition. Shallowness and greed. Loneliness.

“It may not be a mansion, Jackson, but it’s perfect for me.” He heard her unlatch her seatbelt and he knew she was seconds from jumping out of the SUV.

“It’s you. Totally you.”
It’s beautiful, sentimental, nostalgic, pure Hannah.
Her cheeks bloomed with that gorgeous blush he found himself utterly hooked on and those lips that made him curse the fact that they’d never slept together that night.

“Oh,” Hannah said, furrowing her brow and looking out the windshield.

“What, no smart-ass retort?” he teased, feeling better for a moment. Then he pictured some jerk’s hands on Hannah and he felt the need to bash his fist through the windshield. So he frowned. And then she frowned back at him.

“Let’s go inside and see how we can straighten out this mess you got us into.” She didn’t give him a chance to argue as the door shut on his reply. Funny how she was the one giving him the cold shoulder.

He followed her up to the covered porch. They had a lot of straightening out to do, all right. He braced himself for a hell of a battle. She was so damn secretive about her life he wondered how he could feel such an intense connection with someone he knew so little about. But he’d found out way more than he’d bargained for thanks to that Jean woman.

He waited while Hannah fumbled with the old lock. Moments later he stood in her entranceway while she walked around turning on lights. He was struck by the hominess. Feminine and cheerful, with pale yellow walls, deep trim and molding, and wide-plank pine floors scattered with brightly colored rugs. He followed her into the kitchen, where she had already started brewing a fresh pot of coffee. She took out cups and was banging things around a little too loudly.

“Hannah.” His voice came out harsher than he intended, but he needed answers. He didn’t want a cup of coffee and he didn’t want to beat around the bush. “Care to tell me what that battle-axe was talking about back there?”

“What do you mean?” she asked stiffly, her shoulders squared, her back ramrod straight. A part of him wanted to cross the distance between them and knead the tension out of her slender shoulders, to whisper and coax whatever she hid out of her. But he knew she wouldn’t respond to that. He knew that she would see it as being weak.

“Don’t play games with me, Hannah.”

“I don’t play games,” she said, whipping around to face him.

He nodded, softening his features, his tone, hating that he had to ask something that was already killing him to think about let alone speak about. “Hannah, she said you were beaten and almost raped.” He watched as every single speck of color drained from her face. “What happened?” He caught a faint quiver in her chin when he spoke.

“That’s what this is about…what you’re angry about?” she asked, her voice shaky, her eyes wide and so heartbreakingly vulnerable that he just wanted to walk over and hold her. Hannah never let her vulnerability show, which meant…he clenched his stomach, not able to breathe at the thought…it confirmed what he already suspected…her reaction to things…the night he’d touched her arm…her withdrawal from him sexually.

“Jackson?”

He focused in on her pale face and nodded. “What did you think?”

“About your sister.” She took a deep breath, her eyes filled with pain. “It’s my fault that she killed herself. I missed the signs—”

“God, you can’t blame yourself. Of course I don’t blame you for that. How could anyone?” He walked across the room, unable to stop himself from offering her comfort. “Hannah,” he said roughly, gathering her against him. “I could never blame you.” His arms tightened around her. He felt all the tension leave her body, and she wrapped her arms around him. He wanted to reassure her, comfort her. How could she blame herself for Louise’s death? How could she hold more guilt than he? He had failed his sister. Not Hannah. He kissed the top of her head, the soft hair at her temples, his hands moving to stroke that tender spot on her neck. He wanted to shut out the rest of the world and stay in this Victorian cottage.

“If anyone is to blame it’s me. I’m the one who turned my back on her.” He had never admitted that out loud. He had spent most of his adult life feeling angry at Louise, but deep down he knew he’d given up on her. He could have tried one more time. He felt Hannah take a steadying breath against him and slowly step out of his arms. Just like that, like a flurry of clouds suddenly taking away the sun, Hannah put distance between them.

She looked up at him and he wanted to know what she saw, uncomfortably aware that he hadn’t given a damn in a long time what someone thought of him. Once he’d become wealthy and successful he’d thought that was all he needed. He had made it and nothing could touch him. But now, standing here in this tiny kitchen, with her beautiful face and glorious eyes staring up at him, he questioned all of it. Everything he had achieved, he wondered if it was enough.

“We all do what we have to do to survive. You gave her so much. No one can blame you for finally taking care of yourself.” How did she do it? How could she see through him like that?

She turned to get the coffee.

“Hannah?”

“Mm-hmm,” she murmured, stepping around him to pull out a carton of milk from the fridge, as though nothing had happened, as though they were merely casual acquaintances about to share a cup of coffee.

“You never answered my question.” He caught the tremor in her hand as she poured the coffee. She was a master at avoidance.

“Are you hungry?” she asked, peering into her fridge.

He shut the fridge and she frowned up at him.

“You’re not going to let this go are you?”

He shook his head.

“It’s really not as dramatic as she made it sound,” Hannah said, and he knew she was trying to act casual as she walked passed him to sit at the round table. He followed her, picking up his mug of coffee, sitting across from her at the table.

“So then it shouldn’t be too difficult for you to talk about it,” Jackson said, watching her eyes flash with annoyance. He took a sip of his coffee, his fingers gripping the handle tightly, waiting for her to speak. He was half expecting her to tell him she wasn’t going to talk about it.

She cleared her throat after taking a long drink. “It was one of my first cases I’d been assigned to. She was a teenager, living with an abusive, alcoholic father. Long story short, when she didn’t return my calls I found out she had gotten approval to get out of our system.” She traced the rim of the smooth cup and he could tell she was getting lost in the memory. He felt his muscles tense in anticipation of where this story was going.

“I had a gut feeling that things didn’t magically get better at home. So one night, I stopped by their place. I was a total rookie,” she said with a small laugh that didn’t hold an ounce of amusement. “I heard yelling. Men’s voices. Then I heard Jen’s voice, but it was more of a scream.”

Jackson held his breath and waited for her to continue.

“At that point I should have called in for help, but I was young, and stupid, and I ran in there and, God, did I learn a lesson that night,” Hannah said with laugh that was so self-critical, so deprecating that Jackson felt his throat tighten. She looked up at the ceiling, blinking back tears that she couldn’t hide from him. “Her dad was gone and two of his friends had her pinned down on the sofa, half naked. And uh…I was no match for them,” she said, turning her eyes to him. And at that moment he hated more than he ever thought he could hate someone. Hannah’s eyes didn’t leave his when she continued.

“They pushed me down before I could run, before I could think of how to defend myself. They laughed, they slapped me around, ripped my clothes. The harder I fought, the harder they laughed. They touched me and when I thought…when I thought that was it, Jen came up from behind and whacked the guy that was on top of me with a frying pan. We managed to knock the other one unconscious too. We ran out to my car and drove to the police station.” Jackson was torn between wanting to hold her and wanting to smash something. He knew, based on her stiff posture, the tilt of her chin and her cool tone that she didn’t want him to touch her. And he knew it was because she would lose it if he did. That stranglehold she had on her emotions would come undone.

But he couldn’t sit still anymore. He couldn’t get the image of Hannah being thrown on the ground and touched by those animals out of his mind. Jackson had lived through his own hell. He wasn’t a naive man. But hearing this, hearing someone try and hurt someone so good, someone he cared for, made him want to go out and inflict some serious bodily harm.

“They didn’t—uh—” How the hell could he finish that sentence? He gripped the side of the thick pine table as Hannah shook her head.

“No. And I have no regrets for going in there that night. If I hadn’t gone in, they would have raped her, Jackson,” she said, emotion returning to her eyes, softening her voice…and ultimately melting his heart. “I only regret not having a plan, walking in there by myself. The next morning I registered for self defense classes.” He knew they were both thinking about that night in his bed, when she’d told him she could have knocked him to the ground. He almost wanted to smile with pride for her, for her strength and determination, and that unwavering courage. Then he thought of the last night when she was in his arms and had stopped him from making love to her. She was still afraid.