The Billionaire Who Bought Christmas(31)

"I was paying her to be here," he said. "She knew you were my wife. So of course she's going to be polite."

Kristy squared her bare shoulders. "So, you don't believe in me."

"Ofcourse I believe in you."

"No. You believe in yourself. If you truly believed in me, you'd take a chance. You can't always do the safe thing, Jack."

The safe thing?Jack came into a sitting position. "When have I ever done the safe thing around you?"                       
       
           



       

"Marrying me wasn't mitigating risk?"

"You know what I thought back then."

"Yes, I do know what you thought," she said. "And you were mitigating the risk to your family."

Okay, he'd agree with that. Not that it was a crime.

"And you've been mitigating it ever since."

Nowthat he could not agree with. "I haven't been doing anything ever since."

She held out one arm expansively. "You bought me the finest materials, the finest equipment, the finest advice and assistance."

"And this is a problem, why?"

"Because you practically hired a babysitter in Zenia. You built me a safety net ten miles wide."

"That's what you do when the stakes are high. You play it safe." He was making good business decisions, simple as that.

"No, that's not what you do when the stakes are high."

"And this is based on your years of experience dealing in high stakes?"

She sat back, compressing her lips. "There's no need to get insulting."

"I'm not-"

"You hired me to do a job," she tersely reminded him. "It would be nice if you'd let me do it."

"Wedid let you do it." The woman had been sewing for three weeks straight.

"No, you didn't. You were so busy circling the wagons-"


"That's ridiculous."

"No … " Her voice trailed away, and a faraway look came into her eyes. "In fact, it's all been pretty insulting."

His spine stiffened. "So sorry to haveinsulted you."

She gave a chopped laugh. "You know, now that I think about it, I was so    busy convincing myself to be grateful, that I didn't even see you  were   smothering me."

Oh, so now he was smothering her? "Did you happen tosee that I was    spending a fortune? Or did you happen tosee that you were consuming a    fortune?"

She clamped her mouth shut.

He figured he'd made his point. But then her eyes turned to green fire,    and he realized how harsh their words had become. They were  practically   yelling at each other.

He didn't want that.

He didn't want to fight with her, and he didn't want to hurt her. All he wanted was for her to be happy.

"Can we please stop?" he asked.

The fight seemed to go out of her, and her voice dropped to a whisper. "No. I don't think we can."

"I don't want to fight with you, Kristy."

"You simply want to do things your way?"

Well, yeah. That was basically what he had in mind.

His expression must have said as much because she shrank back.

"Kristy." He reached for her, but she was too fast.

She was off the bed, dragging the sheet with her. "I need to go," she choked out.

"We can talk about this."

"Talk about what? We can't talk about my career. Shall we talk about how you want to sleep with me, but it's only temporary?"

He opened his mouth to protest, but she kept talking.

"I thought it wouldn't matter, Jack. I thought I could take your money    and your great sex, and whatever crumbs of respect you threw my way."

Crumbs?Crumbs? He'd given her everything that was in his power to give.

"But, I can't," she said. "I just-"

"Fine," he cut her off, his instincts turning to self-protection. "If    you want it to end, by all means, pick a guest room. You've done your    duty and then some."

He looked away, clenching his fists, ordering himself not to beg her to stay.



It was four in the morning on Christmas Day when Kristy finished packing    the shipping trunks. She needed some kind of closure, and the simple    work also kept her from trudging back to the lonely guest room.

She took one last, long look at her waterfall dress, the hot-air-balloon    pants, the sunset and casino dresses, the bikini and the roulette    evening gown. With a lump in her throat, she closed the trunk, leaving    it with the boxes Isabella had agreed to ship to her in New York after    the holidays. The other collection would come with her.

She told herself the Irene collection would be fine. It was a strong    entry and a really great step for a young designer like her. She could    make some connections at the show, build on the technical merit Zenia    had seen in the collection, maybe get a chance to do something more    creative in the future. Maybe she could even show the desert collection.                       
       
           



       

She'd see Zenia in London at the show, and Cleveland would fly over to    represent Sierra Sanchez. But, after today, Kristy would likely never    see Jack again.

She told herself it was for the best. What they'd had together wasn't    real. It had never been real. It had started on a lie and gone downhill    from there.

She latched the last trunk, shrugged into her coat, then wandered down    the stairs and outside to the spectacular, twinkling gardens and the    softly sprinkling snow. It was turning into a picture-perfect Christmas    Day.

Her boots crunched on the driveway as she passed lighted trees, sweeping    arches and the meticulously decorated porch and pillars that flanked    the double doors. A wreath of boughs and pine cones hung on each one,    encircling the polished brass knockers.

Kristy carefully pressed on the left-hand door. The hinges glided open,    revealing the festooned, marble entryway. All was still and silent. It    was as if the entire house held its breath waiting for Christmas Day  to   burst upon it.

Even though she was feeling tired and melancholy, Kristy couldn't resist    a peek into the great room. A fifteen-foot tree overwhelmed one   corner.  A huge array of brightly decorated presents stretched halfway   into the  room, all but burying the stone fireplace. The tree lights   were still  on, and Kristy smelled fragrant smoke.

Her attention moved to a wisp of white curling into the air from a leather wing chair. It was Hunter.

"Hey," he greeted quietly.

"Hey," she responded, moving to the opposite chair. She had to pick her way around a couple of gifts to get there.

"You're still up?" he asked, swirling a measure of deep amber cognac in a    blown crystal snifter. The cognac bottle and a tray with three other    glasses sat on the low table between the chairs.

"I was in the workshop." She plunked down.

He held up the cigar. "You mind?"

Kristy shook her head.

Hunter leaned forward and poured a measure of the cognac into a new    glass, handing it to Kristy. The fire crackled, and sparks flew off the    wood, pinging against the glass front.

"Your last full day," he said.

"It is," Kristy agreed.

He raised his glass in a silent toast, watching her expression carefully.

"Merry Christmas, Kristy Mahoney."

She followed suit. "Merry Christmas to you, Hunter Osland." She took a sip of the expensive cognac.

He considered her over the rim of his glass. "You moved out of his room."

"It was time for me to go."

"But you moved out early."

She shrugged.

"Why?"

She shrugged again.

"Are you in love with him?"

Kristy nearly dropped the glass. "No."

She wasn't in love with Jack. He had simply shown his true    colors-absolute allegiance to his corporation, his family and his    precious experts.

"You married him," said Hunter.

"That was infatuation. Nobody falls in love in a weekend." She knew that. She'd always known that.

She'd just forgotten it for a little while.

"I guess not. I am sorry you got hurt."

"I'm not hurt," she lied.

They both stared silently at the fire.

"What about you?" Kristy finally asked.

"Nothing hurts me."

"You ever been in love?"

He shook his head.

Kristy couldn't help but smile to herself. "Not even with the redheaded girl?"

"Not even with her."

"You know, Sinclair is a redhead."

He turned to Kristy. "Sinclair has a big mouth. And it's auburn."