The Billionaire's Christmas Baby (6 page)

A moment later the sound of Bing Crosby’s cheerful voice permeated the room, and
White Christmas
filled the cabin. Hannah sat across from him. Her green eyes sparkled and her smile was infectious. “Public broadcasting,” she said smugly, picking up her BlackBerry.

He threw back his head and laughed.

She had put on small tortoise-shell rimmed glasses. He found them inexplicably attractive. “I tried it a few times and can’t get a signal,” she said, scrolling with her thumb.

“Yeah, mine’s gone too.”

She looked up at him, worry all over her face. “Is your land line working?”

He shook his head. “Gone when I woke up.”

She bit on her lower lip, but nodded.

“I might have to get some firewood from the shed in case the power goes out for a while.”

“Does that usually happen?”

“It’s pretty typical for around here, but the power usually comes on within a day or so. I have more than enough wood in case that happens.” He wanted her to feel safe and he didn’t care to analyze why that was suddenly so important.

He was rewarded by a relieved smile tossed his way before she ducked her head back into her book. He didn’t want the conversation to end.

“So what made you go into social work?”

She didn’t answer him right away, almost as though she was carefully choosing her words before she looked up. “I knew I wanted to go into a profession that would help children, mostly because children can’t help themselves. We live in a crazy world and they need someone to defend them and make sure they’re safe.”

Jackson swallowed hard as she stared him directly in the eye across the table. “Must be hard work.”

“If I can make a difference in someone’s life, then it’s worth it.”

“So why do you want to leave?”

She took a deep breath. “I chose this career for the kids. I hadn’t counted on the bureaucracy, the constant red tape that is always holding me back from doing what I think needs to be done.”

“So I’m guessing you coming up here and tracking down a man who changed his name and trying to force me to adopt my niece isn’t exactly the way things are done down at the child services bureau?” He didn’t mean for that bite to enter his voice, and he obviously wasn’t the only one who heard it. A flush, one that he found attractive even though he knew it was there because she was insulted, infused her face.

“I’d do anything to help a child,
especially
a baby. Besides, I’m doing what I should—the baby’s mother asked me to find you.”

He knew when to back down from an irate woman, and right now Hannah looked like she was ready to jump across the table and hit him. And he also knew she wouldn’t appreciate knowing how cute she looked when she was angry. He admired her passion, and couldn’t help but wonder if it extended itself to the bedroom.
Okay…
it looked like he was going to be battling that thought all day.

He held up his hands in surrender. She settled back into her chair, her posture not quite so rigid. “I don’t have anything to lose, no one except the kids depend on me, so I don’t care what bridges I burn to get the job done.”

There was something in that statement, uttered so matter-of-factly, that irked him. She made it sound like all she had was her job, that she had no one else. As much as he resented why she was here, he couldn’t deny the fact that she impressed him. A woman like her shouldn’t be alone. She should have more than just the kids she helped through her job, more than her career.

Her head was back in her book, and after a few minutes of staring at his darkened computer screen he figured it out. They were very alike. He didn’t have anyone worth caring about, and his job, his company was everything to him. He wasn’t willing to let anyone come between his work and him—including a baby. He clenched his teeth, because it started to sound wrong, this line of thinking. He scowled at his computer. Before she crashed his escape-Christmas bash his world had been easy. Black and white. Now all this damn color trickled through. And Hannah. He didn’t want to like her. He didn’t want her to intrigue him.

…

Hannah tore the zipper of her purse open, acutely aware that Jackson wandered around the room. She wasn’t going to get any studying done. So she looked for her favorite book to settle in front of the fire with. She looked up when she heard a rough sigh.

“What’s this?”

“What’s what?” She looked down to see that one of her books had fallen out of her bag and was now in Jackson’s large, tanned hands.

She snatched it. Or tried to snatch it. “Let go.”

He moved back a step, taking the book with him. She felt her cheeks ignite like a torch. He flipped it over and began to read the back blurb. The book was her favorite holiday read, but it was as personal to her as her past. Books had gotten her through many years of loneliness. They kept dreams alive inside her soul and taught her of love that always seemed so far from her reach. And until this moment she’d been glad it was with her. Ever since she could read, she was never without a book, especially at night, when all the disappointments haunted her mind as she tried to fall asleep. She’d huddle down under threadbare covers, in a room that never truly felt safe, and let herself be carried away to places where dreams actually came true. The words in her books would drown out the endless voices in whatever home she lived in. Her one drab red suitcase was filled with favorite books, each promising her an escape from her real life and she brought it with her to every home.

Seeing the book in Jackson’s hand bothered her. It was too personal. She tugged at the book again. She thought she spotted the corner of his mouth twitch with a hint of a smile. She placed her hands on her hips and used her sternest voice. “Give me back the book.”

He lifted his head. “Romance, huh? I wouldn’t have you pegged as a romance reader.”

She narrowed her eyes. “That happens to be one of my all-time favorite books, so if you’ll excuse me.” She grabbed the book from his hand. “I’d like to put it back in my bag.”

He held up his hands and grinned boyishly, with an expression completely at odds with the angry, standoffish man that she was getting used to.

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

She frowned at him. The way he said it made it perfectly clear that he thought she should be very,
very
embarrassed. “You should probably read that book and take a few pointers on how to act with a woman.” She couldn’t believe she’d said that aloud.

He threw back his head and laughed.

She fought the urge to smile that gripped her out of nowhere. But it was tough, because his laugh was deep and a little throaty and a whole lot sexy. It transformed him.

He stopped laughing, but his smile remained, his perfect white teeth gleaming. “Really? So you think I’m lacking in the skills necessary to attract a woman?”

She crossed her arms in front of her. “Well, you
did
slam a door in my face.”

He stopped smiling. “I did not
slam
it. I closed it.”

“Twice. You slammed it twice,” she said holding up two wiggling fingers.

He scowled at her and jammed his fists into his pockets.

“And then you yelled in my face, using your height and… er…
largeness
to intimidate me.”

“I was not trying to intimidate you.”

“And left me out in a blizzard.”

He rubbed the back of his neck and then looked up at the ceiling. She could swear he counted to ten silently. “I came after you.”

“And then let me fall because you
had
to hold the windshield scraper.”

His eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched and unclenched. “I was not trying to hold the scraper, I was trying to convince you to come inside.”

“And ruined all my Christmas cookies.”

“I helped you pick them up. I had no idea there were cookies in that tin.”

“Whatever, Jackson, you definitely don’t know how to treat a lady.” She grabbed her bag and dropped the book back in. There was a power and energy that emanated from him that was impossible to ignore.

“Hannah, if you weren’t connected to my family, there would be no doubt in your mind that I know how to treat a lady.”

She knew her neck and face were red. Jackson was obviously the type of man who would have no trouble attracting women, but hearing the words come out of his mouth made it sound delicious, decadent.

“Nice line.” She kept yanking at the zipper of her bag, wishing it would close.

She ignored him and what sounded like a muffled laugh. She needed to get this visit back on track. She needed him to be with Emily, to get him to slowly melt towards his adorable niece. Somehow, in the next twenty-four hours, she needed to break down Jackson Pierce’s seemingly impenetrable walls…
bells.
She heard bells. Hannah looked up at Jackson who was still staring at her.

“Did you hear that?”

He shook his head. “Hear what?”

“Bells!” Hannah squealed, as they jingled again.

“Bells?”

She nodded and ran passed him to the window. Hannah inhaled sharply as a sleigh driven by two horses pulled up in front of the house. And the driver of the sleigh, well…

“Jackson?” she whispered with disbelief over her shoulder. “I think Mr. and Mrs. Claus are here.”

“You expect me to believe that Santa and his wife are trolling around my front yard?” he asked, joining her at the window.

“They aren’t
trolling
”

“Oh, God,” he whispered, his face going white as he stared through the glass. Finally she had gotten through to him! Hannah ran to the door, but he beat her to it and blocked it. Arms crossed and giant frown across that handsome face did nothing to sway her determination.

Hannah tapped her foot. “I’m letting them in.”

“No, you’re not.”

“
Yes
, I am,” she said, trying to push him to the side. All that hard muscle didn’t budge an inch. He just let out an irritated sigh. She stepped back and glared at him. “You can’t honestly deny them entry!”

“It’s not Santa,” Jackson groaned, rubbing his temples.

“Well, who is it?”

“It’s my crazy neighbors from down the street,” he said, his voice sounding strained as the jingling grew louder.

“The house with all the decorations?” Hannah asked, thinking of the little cottage she’d driven past last night. It had been lit and decorated with such care that Hannah had slowed her car for a second to admire the lights.

Jackson nodded, his face grim. “That’s the one.”

They both jumped at the exuberant knock.

Hannah smiled up at him.

Jackson closed his eyes and mumbled something under his breath, turning around to open the door. A gust of arctic wind and a blast of boisterous bells greeted them.

Chapter Six

Hannah poured the Sampsons a second cup of coffee, listening with delight to their tale about the time they rescued a squirrel in a blizzard. Jackson was sprawled on the couch next to her, his legs crossed at the ankles, looking bored out of his mind. He caught her eye and held up a finger to his temple, pretending to pull the imaginary trigger with his thumb. Hannah frowned disapprovingly at him. How could he not like this couple?

“Oh, Hannah, what a delight you are, my dear. We’ve been cooped up for days with no one to speak to! We always worry about Jackson when he comes up to this cabin,” Mrs. Sampson said, tsking at Jackson. “It’s not healthy to be alone during the holidays. Do you know,” Mrs. Sampson said, dropping her voice to a feverish whisper and leaning forward, “it’s one of the most difficult times of year for many people?”

“I can’t imagine why,” Jackson’s deep voice drawled. Hannah tried not to spill the contents of her mug of coffee.

The elderly woman nodded, her curly white hair bouncing in time, completely oblivious to Jackson’s sarcasm. “Loneliness, dear. And that is why we came around to check on you. There have been so many times we’ve come over here looking for you, and in the distance we think we see lights on, but then when we get closer the house is always dark. It’s a shame we always miss you!”

Hannah gasped and frowned at Jackson who shrugged slightly. How could he actually pretend he wasn’t home?

“That is a shame, Mrs. Sampson. I suggest next time you try knocking harder. Jackson is a little hard of hearing I noticed. Sometimes, I think he’s heard what I’ve said, but in fact he hasn’t heard a word!” Hannah said, ignoring Jackson’s loud coughing.

“I can assure you there’s nothing wrong with my hearing,” Jackson said, his mouth twitching slightly at the corner.

“Well, that’s good. Looks like this little lady is worried about you though,” Mr. Sampson said with a wink. “I can tell she’s got a heart of gold, just like my Harriet.” Hannah looked into her mug of coffee. She raised her head to clarify their relationship, but Jackson spoke first.

“She does have a heart of gold, Harry. She even baked a bunch of Christmas cookies and drove through a blizzard to see me.” Hannah could hear the smile in his voice as he played along with this charade. She ignored the warmth that spread through her body from his words, knowing he didn’t mean them.

Emily’s soft cry interrupted her reply.

“Is that a baby?” Mrs. Sampson gasped, sitting up straight.

“No,” Jackson snapped.

“Oh my, Jackson. You really do need to get your hearing checked, it is most definitely a baby!” Mrs. Sampson said, rising as Emily’s cries continued. Mrs. Sampson looked as though she was going to explode if the baby’s cries weren’t answered. Hannah was trying to contain her smile as she crossed the great room.

“I’ll make sure he gets a specialist to check him out, Mrs. Sampson. And I’ll be right back, there is someone very important I’d like you to meet,” she said, saying a silent prayer of thanks. This was exactly what she needed. Hannah tried not to skip down the hall on the way to her room.

She returned moments later to find Mrs. Sampson waiting at the end of the corridor, wringing her hands. “Mrs. Sampson, I’d like you to meet Emily.” Mrs. Sampson rushed over to her side.

“Oh, she’s precious, just precious! May I hold her, Hannah?” the woman asked with such joy in her eyes. “Look Harry, she’s so little.” Mrs. Sampson walked slowly into the great room and sat down next to her husband, as though she were holding the most fragile piece of crystal.

“She’s a real cutie,” Mr. Sampson said, touching a little tuft of Emily’s hair. “A little angel,” he whispered.

“Yes, an angel,” Mrs. Sampson said, nodding.

Hannah stole a quick glance at Jackson. His calm, laughing demeanor was gone and she could see the tension in his body. He was standing in front of the hearth now, fire poker in his hand as he nudged some logs around.

“We had no idea that you two had a child,” Mrs. Sampson whispered as Emily stared wide-eyed at her.

“Well,” Hannah said, folding her hands together, “she’s not really ours.”

“She’s my sister’s child,” Jackson said, his voice thick and stilted. “My sister died and this is her baby.” Hannah tried to hide her shock that he would say anything to the Sampson’s about Louise or Emily. He was trying. He was trying to be honest and her heart swelled with sympathy at the lines around his mouth.

“Oh, Jackson, we’re so sorry,” Mr. Sampson said, rising and patting Jackson on the arm. Jackson’s expression softened as the much slighter, older man showed such compassion.

“Thank you,” Jackson said with a terse nod.

“What about her father?” Mrs. Sampson said, her voice heavy with unshod tears.

“No father,” Jackson said with a frown.

Hannah’s body tensed. These people were here for a reason and she was going to use this opportunity to her full advantage.

“I want Jackson to be her father,” Hannah said softly, though her voice sounded loud to her ears. She stared straight into Jackson’s eyes, the silent challenge not evoking a response from him at all. He didn’t look surprised by her statement, his mouth set in a grim line.

“What an honor that must be. She is a precious gift. There is nothing more special than a baby. Nothing on earth,” Mrs. Sampson said, her eyes filled with tears as she looked from Jackson to Emily. Hannah’s eyes didn’t leave his face. His jaw clenched and he gave the woman a short nod. Hannah noticed he wouldn’t look at Emily.

“Do you have children of your own?” Hannah asked, looking away from Jackson’s intense stare.

Mrs. Sampson continued to rub Emily’s back and a soft smile pulled at the corners of her mouth, the lines on her face deepening as she whispered, “We always wanted children. Always. But, well, Harry and I just weren’t blessed in that way.”

Hannah’s heart ached as Harry ambled over to his wife, his own faded blue eyes shiny. She glanced over at Jackson, whose back had been to them, his shoulders rigid. She felt her own ache. What she would have given to have parents like the Sampsons. Their love was so real, their actions so pure.

“But we were blessed to have found each other,” Mr. Sampson said brightly. His wife looked at him, nodding. She stood slowly and handed Emily over to Hannah.

“I think we’ve intruded on your time together long enough,” Mrs. Sampson said, as Harry slipped his Santa hat over his head. Hannah followed them to the door as Jackson retrieved their red coats.

“It’s been so nice to meet you,” Hannah said with a smile as she stroked the back of Emily’s head.

“Uh, yeah. Thanks for stopping by,” Jackson said gruffly, standing next to her after he’d helped Mrs. Sampson into her coat.

“Are you sure you’ll be all right getting back in this weather?” Hannah asked, as she glanced out at the blowing snow in the window. She ignored Jackson’s nudge.

“Oh we’ll be fine, I’ve been driving around in worse storms than this!” Mr. Sampson said, slapping Jackson on the shoulder. Jackson shook his hand and Hannah could have sworn she saw him smile. But when Mrs. Sampson leaned up on her tiptoes to give Jackson a kiss, his facade cracked and he gave the woman a smile that had her blushing and beaming. Moments later, as they were waving goodbye to the Sampsons, Hannah wondered if this visit had done it. Maybe it was that added piece of wisdom and insight that would compel Jackson to rise up.

“That was a fun night, don’t you think?” Hannah said brightly, walking with Emily toward the kitchen to heat up a bottle.

“I’d rather dress up as a Santa in a shopping mall and have obnoxious kids sit on my lap. Good night.”

Hannah stood in the doorway of the kitchen, baby bottle in one hand, Emily in the other, as she watched Jackson walk down the hallway. She was torn between chucking the bottle in the direction of his retreating figure and crying like a baby.

…

Jackson was done for. Seriously, cooked.

They were on day two of this horrid forced arrangement. After an evening straight from Hell thanks to the neighbors he’d managed to avoid for the last five years, he had woken up to the gorgeous sound of Hannah’s laughter, which put him in an even fouler mood.

He’d trudged over to the window only to find the snow hadn’t let up at all. It was the worst storm he’d seen in at least ten years. And for a guy that had gotten used to not feeling, he had spent the entire two days on some sort of roller-coaster ride of emotions. His biggest problem was that he began to
not
hate being cooped up in this cabin with Hannah and the baby. Hannah and his, er,
the
baby puttered around the house making all sorts of noises and happy baby-type sounds. Everywhere he looked Hannah was about. Cooking, singing to the baby, playing with the baby, changing the baby. And she was so damned loud that he’d been forced on more than a few occasions to glance over at them. When he did, he got an odd feeling in his chest when he saw that baby girl gurgling and staring at Hannah. And then he got some other, very inconvenient feelings when he looked at Hannah. Her smile, her hair, the sound of her voice—it drove him to distraction. He didn’t get a speck of work done thanks to Hannah. He ended up losing game after game of solitaire on his computer while pretending to work.

And now that the baby slept it was the two of them in the great room again. The scene was annoyingly perfect. A storm blustered away outside while they were warm and toasty in his cabin. Even the constant Christmas songs were becoming less irritating. He was with a woman he found irresistibly sexy, who was also funny as hell, and smarter than anyone he’d ever slept with or contemplated sleeping with. But he couldn’t even consider being with her because of who she was.

“Do you play cards?”

Jackson just stared at her. Had she said something?

“Hello-ooo? Earth to Jackson.” Clearly exasperated with him she rolled her eyes. “I
said
, do you want to play a game of cards?” How was it possible a woman this intelligent could be this oblivious to the one thing they could be doing tonight?
Cards?
The last thing he felt like doing in a secluded cabin with a sexy, intriguing, and utterly beautiful woman was playing cards.

“Cards?” he spat out finally.

His derision did nothing to hamper her enthusiasm. “Yes, cards! Maybe we could have a game of crazy eights?”

“Crazy eights?”

She frowned at him. “Stop repeating everything I’m saying like all my suggestions are imbecilic.”

“What the hell is crazy eights? That must be a game only small-town people play,” he said, purposely baiting her.

She crossed her arms. “How do you know I’m from a small town?”

“Honey, you’ve got small town written all over you.” His grin widened as her frown deepened.

“Oh really?”

“The books, the grandma hat, and bag—”

“Grandma hat! I’ll have you know that a nice—”

He made a sweeping gesture with his hand, trying not to laugh. “A grandmother.”

She stopped talking for a moment and tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Well, yes she is
a
grandmother. Just not my grandmother. Whatever. It may be a small town, but it’s still close to civilization. Hope’s Crossing is a charming—”

“
Hope’s Crossing?
What kind of a name is that?”

She narrowed her eyes to slits and gave him a death glare. “It’s a town filled with good old fashioned values, and people who care about each other. Everyone knows everyone—”

“Ugh, that sounds awful.”

“But for your information, I grew up in the city.”

“Really?”

She nodded but looked as though she was ready to shut down that conversation. He realized that whenever she told him something about herself, she seemed to regret it. He wasn’t going to let her off that easy. “Why’d you leave?”

“I like small towns,” she said, crossing her legs and not looking at him.

“I hate them.”

“Of course someone like you would.”

“Someone like me?”

She held out her hand and began rattling off a list on her fingers. “Closed-off, antisocial, miserly—”

“Miserly?” he said, laughing.

“I think we need to get back to deciding what game of cards we’re going to play.”

“I like hearing about you,” he said, knowing she didn’t want to tell him anything more about herself.

She turned her nose and then leaned forward in her chair, unrelenting. “I know what game we can play. How about asshole? Surely
you
must be very familiar with asshole”

He’d never known any woman to openly insult him as much as Hannah. And he liked the sound of her laughter when she joined in with him, and the way it lit up her face and gave him a glimpse of the woman she was when she wasn’t afraid or worried. She was intoxicating. That realization made him stop laughing. “I’m not familiar with that game,” he drawled out, and stood up. He walked over to the liquor cabinet. “Do you want a drink?” He certainly needed one.

“What are you having?” She stared at him with a sparkle and a lofty smile.

“Scotch.”

“I’ll have the same.” He gave a half laugh, half grunt. Since when did he do a half-laugh? With Hannah he was constantly on the verge of laughing or yelling. She was full of contradictions.

“Maybe we should have the Sampsons over,” Hannah said with a suspiciously cheerful grin.

He rolled his eyes. “I think once this season is enough.”

“You’re horrible. I can’t believe you pretend you’re not home when they knock at your door.” She looked adorable as she tried to give him a stern frown even though her eyes twinkled.

“If I let them in once, that would be it. I’d never get rid of them,” he said, walking back to her. He didn’t want to think about all the things the Sampsons said about Emily being a gift. An angel.

“I think they’re charming, and so in love after so many years. What wonderful spirit to have matching Santa hats…”

“I’ve got to start drinking.”

Hannah threw her head back and laughed.

“Now if we’re drinking this straight, we’ve got to do something more interesting than playing cards,” Jackson said standing in front of her.