by Anna Mara
In his favor, he didn't have any experience with what jealousy felt like. He'd never really been in love before so he'd never been jealous. All of his past relationships had been casual and fun—and if anyone had wanted more than that, he usually broke it off. No woman had ever brought out in him the range of emotions like this one had. And no woman had ever made a jackass out of him either—like this one had.
But she was right.
He had no business asking her where she'd spent the night. It wasn't like they were really engaged. They only had a deal between them and he had no rights where she was concerned.
If she wanted to sleep with every Tom, Dick, Harry and Joe, that was for her to decide—even if it killed him inside. And it would kill him, because he loved her.
William noticed his son was not paying attention. He was instead doodling on the sales report and his head was down.
Hastily, William ended the meeting and all the executives filed out. The only one who remained seated was Bill. Lost in his thoughts, he hadn't heard his father dismiss everyone.
William studied his son's bent head. He knew what was going on. He had a suspicion that Bill had fallen for the girl—and fallen hard. Bentley had called him this morning with the news that Bill and Christina could be heard yelling at each other in the salon. Apparently, Christina had spent last night elsewhere and Bill had demanded to know where she'd been.
That had resulted in a major fight that could be heard through the closed doors. His son had thought Christina had spent the night with her lover and his son had been wild with jealousy this morning.
That could only mean one thing, William reasoned. His son had fallen for her, maybe even loved her? He certainly was attracted to the girl; even William had noticed that. And the girl had been good for his lazy, good-for-nothing son. Look at him. Bill was actually sitting in the Fido Foods boardroom taking a meeting—even if his mind was elsewhere. When had Bill ever shown up for work on time, let alone a meeting?
William's calculator brain fired up. What if—the girl were to marry his son for real? William liked Christina a lot. She had grit, sass and smarts—and seemed to be shaping up his son whereas all of William's efforts had failed. Maybe the love of a good woman really did work miracles on a man? It certainly seemed to be working for his lazy, drunken, bum-of-a-son.
William had given up hope of his son finding a woman to love and settling down. All Bill had ever been interested in was partying, drinking and whoring—and nothing William said could change his ways.
But this girl had.
Of course, Christina didn't come from wealth and her parents were middle class, working people. And of course, William would have preferred his son to marry into some pedigreed, old money, Mayflower family; but beggars couldn't be choosers—and he'd begged his son enough times to smarten up to no avail.
Maybe this girl was the one?
Besides—middle class, working blood was good for breeding strong, ambitious grandbabies—and he certainly wanted those. And if his son married the girl for real, William would get those grandbabies in spades. Christina was definitely good breeding stock.
At that moment, Bill looked up from his doodling and seeing that everyone had left, mumbled a 'sorry' and got up from his chair.
William folded his arms across his chest. "You had a fight with Christina, didn't you?"
Bill went on the defensive. "Who told you that?"
"No one told me." Yes, they had. "You didn't hear a word I said throughout the meeting."
"Does it really matter? You never take my suggestions anyway."
"Son?"
Bill was suddenly wary. He couldn't remember the last time his father had called him 'son'. "Yes?"
William came over and put a consoling arm around his son's shoulders "Son, you're going to be a husband soon and I think it's a father's duty to talk to his offspring about the birds and the bees."
"I think I know all about that stuff, dad."
William smirked. "Yes, I'm sure you could give me lessons; but that's not what I'm talking about. The birds and the bees have to do with the facts of life. And the facts of life are this—when you marry a woman and she becomes your wife, you, the husband must learn to grovel."
"What?"
"It's called groveling. You get down on your knees and beg for forgiveness, even if you were right and she was wrong. Now, groveling is an art form and you will perfect it as your marriage continues, so don't expect to do it right the first time."
Bill burst out laughing. "That has to be the most insane thing I've ever heard you say." And about the nicest, he added to himself. He couldn't remember the last time his father had been nice to him. "I bet you never groveled with mom."
"Then you, sonny boy, would bet wrong. You weren't privy to everything that went on in our marriage and if your mother were here right now, dressed in one of her hippy, gypsy outfits, she'd tell you that I groveled many times."
"I don't believe you."
"Believe it. Now, go back home to Christina and grovel. Beg for forgiveness. She'll listen, I promise."
Bill gave his father a slow smile. "You're pretty smart for an old, conniving coot."
William smiled back. "That's about the nicest thing you've ever said to me."
Giving his father a look of newfound respect, Bill walked out.
William watched him walk out. Sure, he knew all about their scheme to deceive him—and sure he'd done everything to have their scheme backfire; but now there was going to be a change of plans.
Suddenly, he wanted the girl to marry his son for real. And he wanted his grandbabies. He desperately wanted his grandbabies. And she was good for him—and he'd be happy with her.
William wasn't a complete ogre. Deep down, he loved his son very much and only wanted the best for him. It was just that they, father and son, usually disagreed on what that was.
Yes—those two were going to marry and he, William, would bring it about; but how?
He could try to offer Christina money but he knew she wouldn't be interested. He'd already seen that she wasn't interested in anything the Havenwoods materially had—which of course, was another gold star in her favor. So, what could he do?
William needed time to think—and to plot—and to plan.
Chapter 37
Having spent the day shopping, Christina was in her bedroom at the mansion trying on her new slingback shoes. There was a knock at her door.
Opening it, she saw Bill sheepishly standing there with a bouquet of flowers.
"Christina, I'm sorry."
She slammed the door hard in his face. She was still fuming about what had happened that morning and the last person she wanted to see right now was him. He knocked again. She ignored the knock.
He pleaded through the door. "Christina… please, open up. I want to apologize."
"Go away," she yelled back.
"I'm sorry about what happened, what I said. You were right. I had no business acting that way." The door remained closed and there was silence on the other end. "Christina?" Had she even heard him, Bill wondered?
There was a pause and then he heard her say, "I'm listening."
"Can you please open this door so I can at least apologize to your face?"
More silence; and the door remained closed. Bill nervously shuffled from foot to foot. He'd never had to work this hard for a woman before and he wasn't sure what she wanted from him.
He racked his brain. "Okay, I was a jerk."
Suddenly, he heard her say, "And…?"
"And… a jackass; and I'm sorry."
"Keep going."
Defeated, Bill sighed. "And you were right and I was wrong."
Slowly, the door opened and she stood there with a snotty expression on her beautiful face.
Bill launched then into his prepared speech. "Christina, you were right. We have no claims on each other and what we each do in our private lives doesn't concern the other. I'm sorry." She continued to stare at him as if he we
re a gob of spit on the sidewalk. Bill cleared his throat. God, he was nervous. He was actually nervous around a woman. That had never happened to him before. "I… was wondering… if you'd go out to dinner with me tonight?"
Christina's eyes narrowed. Suddenly, she snatched the flowers from his hand and announced, "Pick me up in an hour and a half." Then she slammed the door back in his face.
Stunned, Bill stared at the closed door. So, this was what his father had meant by groveling. A slow smile crept along his face. Pathetic? Maybe. But she'd said 'yes'.
* * *
Christina slipped on her new black stiletto shoes and stood up. She went to stand at the full-length mirror and studied her glamorous reflection. Her hair was up, her makeup was perfect and she was wearing her new black halter dress that she'd just bought this afternoon. The dress molded enticingly over her curves and if there was ever a dress that was made for sex, it was this one. Christina knew she looked good.
Satisfied with her appearance, she glided to her dresser to spritz on perfume. She really shouldn't have accepted this invitation but when he'd asked her, he looked like a little boy waiting for a present from Santa and not knowing if he was going to get one. Something in her had cracked and she'd instinctively said yes to him.
She smiled when she thought about his apology. Bill Havenwood had actually apologized to her about something? Amazing! And from the awkward way he'd said it, it was obvious he hadn't had much practice but it looked good on the bastard.
There was a quiet knock at her bedroom door and she checked her watch. An hour and a half to the minute, and not one second more. Good. He was treating her like a lady.
Christina opened the door and her breathing stopped.
Wow—did he look good. He was wearing a black tuxedo and black tie—and he looked like one of those heroes on a romance book cover. The expensive fabric of his dinner suit skimmed over his lean physique, making him look like a big, black jungle cat with power stored in its muscles—ready to pounce on its prey. He looked deliciously dangerous—and Christina began to feel heat creep into her face. Maybe this dinner hadn't been such a good idea, after all?
She stammered a little, "I'll… I'll just get my purse." She walked away from him to her bed to get her clutch.
As he stood at her open door, Bill hungrily watched her walk away from him. That dress on her did amazing things to her ass—and he immediately felt his longing for her spring into action. How the hell was he going to get through an entire meal without touching her? He needed a cold shower, that's what he needed.
She turned to him then and he immediately pasted a gentlemanly smile on his face. If she knew what he was thinking right now, she'd slap his face and slam this door back on him again.
"Shall we go?" he offered politely.
She politely smiled back, "Why not?"
They walked side by side out of the house and to his parked Jaguar—each physically aware of the other.
Chapter 38
Both Christina and Bill were sitting in a very dark, intimate corner of the small restaurant. The table held one lit candle that cast a romantic glow about them.
Christina could tell that this place was very understated but very expensive. Only the rich could truly appreciate eating here where the decor, the food and the ambiance were elegant, simple but never the less cost a fortune. Bill Havenwood certainly had good taste.
She glanced at him as he was studying the menu. Their conversation in the car had been on neutral ground, mostly about the weather. But the weather wasn't what she'd been thinking about. She'd been thinking how handsome he looked and she'd remembered how soft his lips felt and how electrical his touch had been on her body.
He looked up then and caught her staring at him. Hiding her embarrassment, she stammered, "I… was thinking about how everyone thinks we're engaged and yet this feels like our first date." Oh no—why had she referred to this as a date?
He laughed. "Well, my father always says I do everything backwards."
In spite of herself, she laughed too. He really did have a good sense of humor about things. That was one of the first things she'd noticed about him these past few weeks. Oh no—why had she just admitted something positive about him in her own mind?
Bill admired her beautiful face. She looked mind-blowing when she laughed and her eyes lit up like that, just mind-blowing…
Christina continued, "Your father does have an opinion on everything." She suddenly looked into his eyes, "Do you hate him for it?"
"No, I just don't like him very much sometimes. And he doesn't like me. We're two different peas in the same Havenwood pod."
Christina sensed the pain behind his remark. "I'm sure he loves you," she replied.
"Are you? Because I'm not." Smiling, he tried to hide his hurt feelings.
Christina sat back in her chair and studied him. "You and your father care more about each other than you're willing to admit. Take it from me, an impartial observer. I hadn't been in that monstrosity of a house more than a day before I saw that. And besides, Eudora thinks so too and she's been with you forever. So you have that on two good sources, one new and one old…although I don't think Eudora would appreciate being called old."
"Thanks for saying that. It means a lot to me." He smiled at her then—one of his devastating, pearly-white, movie star smiles—and butterflies fluttered in Christina's stomach. Oh no—why had she said something nice to him that made him feel better?
Bill suddenly patted his jacket pocket. "I almost forgot." He pulled out a small, blue box with the words Tiffany on it. "This is for you." He placed it on the table.
Christina looked at it as if it was an explosive device about to detonate. "What is it?"
"Open it," he challenged her, his eyes intent on every expression crossing her stunning face.
Slowly, Christina opened the box. Inside was a platinum stickpin encrusted with real diamonds. It was about three inches in length and the shimmering stones cascaded down the platinum metal.
Her stunned eyes fluttered up to his. "This is… for me? To keep?"
He nodded yes. "When I saw it, it reminded me of you."
"Really? Why?"
Bill had a bad boy twinkle in his eyes. "Because it's sharp and dangerous. And for some strange reason, you always seem to enjoy 'sticking it' to me," he laughed, "But in a very beautiful way, of course; hence the diamonds."
Christina giggled. She appreciated his humor and was flattered by his comments. He had described her to a tee. Obviously, the bastard was perceptive. She glanced at him from under her lashes. "I like that description of myself, Mr. Havenwood."
"I figured you would," he cagily replied. Any other woman would have taken his comments as an insult but not this one. He’d known that she'd get a kick out of it.
As Christina took the pin from the box, Bill gallantly reached for it and said, "Let me."
Gently, he pinned it high up on her shoulder, letting his fingers linger there a second too long as the diamonds glistened in the candlelight.
"Beautiful," he softly commented, his eyes glued to her face.
Christina's hand instinctively went up to touch the piece. She wasn't sure she liked this. The way he was looking at her and the way he'd placed the pin on her dress made her feel like an animal who'd just been branded by its owner—his to keep forever. But the feeling gave her goosebumps—sexy, tingling goosebumps. No—she didn't like this at all.
"You didn't have to do this, you know," she said.
"I know but the best way to say I'm sorry is with diamonds. It's the Havenwood way," he laughed.
At that moment, the waiter approached their table with a bottle of wine. He expertly filled Christina's glass, then left. He hadn't filled Bill's. Obviously, Bill was a regular customer here and they knew he didn't drink alcohol.
Suddenly, Christina just had to know why. The words spilled out before she even knew what she was saying. "You don't drink anymore, do you?"
Surprised, he looked
at her for a few seconds. "No, I don't."
"But your father—he's always saying how you're coming home drunk and how you're drinking all the time—but you don't?"
"My father doesn't know everything about me, although he thinks he does."
"When did you stop?"
"About a year and a half ago. I've been sober for eighteen months." He looked at her, desperately wanting her to understand. "I'm a recovering alcoholic, Christina. I'm in AA."
"But… why haven't you told your father? It would ease a lot of the tension between you."
"Because there are certain things I shouldn't have to tell him. He should love me enough to notice on his own, like you just did."
Suddenly, Christina felt very guilty. She'd only found out because she'd spied on him—not because she'd 'noticed'.
"How long had you been drinking?" Christina already knew the answer.
"All my life, since I was a kid. I'm a drunk, Christina, always have been, always will be but today I choose not to drink. That's all I can do. One day at a time. Does the fact that I'm a drunk disgust you?" Bill held his breath as he waited for her answer. He just had to know what she thought and how she felt.
"Yes, it does," she answered him honestly.
He felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. "You don't pull any punches, do you?"
"I'm not going to sugar coat my answer for you but I will explain it."
His gaze was so fixed on hers that a nuclear explosion couldn't have taken him away from her. "I'd appreciate that," he said.
"Just because I don't like your behavior, doesn't mean I don't like you." She gasped—stunned at her words. God, what had she just said? Like him? She didn't like him. But the words had just popped out of her mouth.
He smiled wickedly, "So, you're saying you like me?"
"What I mean to say is… you're not your behavior." She stopped. What had she just said again? He wasn't his behavior? Then if that was the case, she shouldn't be blaming him and trying to get revenge for his 'drunken behavior' in the past?
