The Billionaire's Christmas Baby

by Victoria James

  “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.

  She raised a brow and tipped her head in silent challenge.

  Jackson handed Hannah her glass and the moment her fingers brushed against his he felt the heat and fire that he’d been experiencing whenever he made close contact with her. She raised her glass to his and he wondered if he imagined the faint tremor in her hand.

  “Cheers,” she said, her voice husky. Jackson took a sip and sat beside her on the leather couch. He noticed she scooted a little further away—she definitely felt the attraction too.

  “So how about a game of truth or dare?”

  “That seems a little juvenile for you, Jackson.”

  He leaned back and watched her over the rim of his glass. “I’m really just a kid at heart.” He smiled at her shout of laughter, her whiskey swishing precariously close to the rim of her glass. “Besides, once we get a few of these in us,” he said holding up his drink, “the game gets really interesting.” He couldn’t stop his smile at the thought of the petite brunette trying to drink him under the table.

  “I’ll bet. Okay, I’m up for it. But I’ve got to warn you, I’m not a cheap drunk, I know how to hold my liquor. Besides, there’s a baby in the other room—I have to be responsible.”

  “All right, let the game begin.”

  “I go first,” she said, leaning forward to pat Charlie on head.

  “Shoot,” he said, forcing himself not to look at the cleavage peaking out when she leaned over to pat his dog. It was impressive cleavage too. Dammit.

  “Truth or dare?” she asked wriggling her eyebrows.

  He folded his arms across his chest. “Dare.”

  She frowned. “Really? Dare?”

  “Hannah, you didn’t actually think I’d say truth, did you?”

  She looked thoroughly disappointed. “No one ever picks dare!”

  “Seriously? I always pick dare.”

  “But I haven’t thought of a dare,” she said, taking a long drink. She licked the corner of her mouth and his stomach clenched involuntarily.

  “Time’s a tickin’,” he said, enjoying teasing her.
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  “No, it’s not. There’s no time limit. Okay, I’ve thought of something!” she said, looking very pleased with herself. “I dare you to tell me why you changed your name.”

  He laughed. “Nice work-around, but are you sure you want to waste a dare on something as mundane as my name?”

  “Somehow I don’t think this is going to be mundane at all.” She lifted her eyebrows in silent challenge.

  He groaned theatrically and then leaned further into the cushions. “Fine. When I…” He paused for a second searching for the right words. He’d never had to explain this before, and suddenly, not looking like a complete jerk to Hannah seemed important. “I knew that if I was ever going to make it I would have to disassociate myself from my family. I didn’t want to be contacted by them anymore. I needed to move on with my life. I didn’t do it out of embarrassment or shame. I don’t really give a damn what people think of me.” He finished off his glass and didn’t look at her. Hannah was dangerously easy to talk to.

  “I can understand that.” The lack of sympathy in her voice startled him and he looked over at her. She shoved her empty glass in front of his face. “I’d love a refill, please.”

  “You and me both.” He stood up and walked across the room. He felt a little slighted that she hadn’t seemed more compassionate.

  “Jackson?”

  “Yeah,” he said over his shoulder.

  “Just bring the whole bottle.”

  His shoulders shook with laughter and did as asked, joining her on the couch. She surprised him by lifting her glass for a toast.

  “To screwed up childhoods and bad Christmases,” she said. He clinked his glass with hers and held her gaze.

  “Really, bad Christmases? Screwed up childhood?” That wasn’t what he expected at all from her.

  She nodded. It was the first time she’d volunteered anything about her life.

  “I had horrible Christmases,” she said, looking into her glass then up at him again.

  “Then why do you love it so much?”

  She smiled wryly. “I’m an eternal optimist, Jackson. I can’t let my past dictate my future. I refuse to believe that it’s an indicator of what I’m entitled to. I’m holding out for something better. I’m holding out for the best. I know that one Christmas I’m going to have everything I ever wanted. All the things that can’t be giftwrapped, the important things…” Her voice caught at the end and he felt his own stomach twist at what she said. How the hell could they both have these similarities and yet be polar opposites?