The Billionaire's Christmas Baby(11)

Hannah despised showing her hand. Hated showing that she was afraid of anything or anyone. Hated having someone know that she could be weak. But when he took a step closer to her, waiting for her answer, she took a step back, because he reminded her of a different man, of a different world, when she had no one, when she was helpless. But she wasn’t that same girl anymore. She was a grown woman. She had confronted her demons years ago. She held her chin up and looked him squarely in the eye. Don’t show your fear. Don’t show your fear.

“I’ll tell you everything you want to know, but I need you to back away from me and I need you to calm down,” she whispered holding up a hand between them.

…

He nodded slowly. “I am calm. I’m in control. I’ve never been out of control. I’m not going to touch you. I won’t hurt you. I’m angry as hell right now, but I don’t want you to spend another second thinking that you are being physically threatened by me. I’ve never, ever raised my hand to a woman.” He was surprised at how gruff his voice sounded. He watched her try to figure out if she could trust what he was saying. She looked into his eyes and he could swear she saw things that he’d managed to keep hidden from those closest to him. He backed up a step and put his hands in his pockets, willing himself to look relaxed.

She finally gave him a small smile, and it tore at him, more than it should have. He barely knew her, but that expression on her undeniably beautiful face made his gut clench. It made him forget for a moment why he was so angry with her. For a second, the relief of her not being afraid replaced his rage.

She folded her arms in front of her and nodded. “Okay. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, for God’s sake.” Jackson ran his hands down the front of his face roughly, trying to stay in control of a situation that had the power to tear him down. He needed to get out of the room, away from her and everything she represented. He needed to gather his composure. He turned on his heel and walked out. When he reached the great room, Charlie came up to greet him, his scruffy tail wagging. Jackson patted the top of his head absently.

He heard her footsteps approaching.

“Jackson…” Her hesitant voice was barely audible against the wind and ice pellets drumming on the windows. He didn’t really feel like turning around. He avoided looking anywhere but straight ahead because he was acutely aware of the baby asleep in the room. He did not want to acknowledge what or who she might be.

“I’m a child services worker.” Hannah’s voice halted his emotional auto-shutdown mode. He hadn’t had to use that defense mechanism for a while, but it seemed whenever family was involved it was instinctual.

“Do you want a drink?” Right now, he was thinking he could down the whole bottle of his favorite whiskey.

He glanced over at her when she didn’t reply. She shook her head. Her face was pale, but she didn’t look afraid. He walked passed her to the mahogany liquor cabinet and poured himself a double shot. When he turned around, Hannah was sitting in front of the fireplace, her hands folded in her lap. His disloyal dog was contentedly sprawled across her feet. So much for man’s best friend.

Jackson sat in the club chair opposite her. He stared into the fire, the cool crystal cradled in the palm of his hand, a contrast to the heat that raged through him. He took another drink and then spoke. “So, you’re a social worker.”

She nodded, turning her eyes away from the crackling flames to meet his. He read her expression easily and it made his tight muscles ease slightly. His gut told him that Hannah wasn’t a liar. Unfortunately for her, he wasn’t in the mood to mince words.

“I can’t stand social workers.”

He wasn’t sure how she was going to respond to that one. A few seconds later she broke the silence. “So that means you’ve been let down by the system.”

She obviously knew about his childhood. Yeah, he’d been let down. Abandoned. He didn’t bother looking at her. “Every social worker that has ever come my way was completely useless to me. Full of empty promises and false hope. Hope is the last thing you give to kids who have nothing.” The first time he told someone about the demented man who called himself a father he’d actually thought they might get help. Not for himself. If it were up to him he would have left, but his sister had refused to leave their home. So he stuck around for her. They lived in a dark, miserable hole of a house that reflected their father’s state of mind. That man that had the power to strike terror with one look, to rule over them like a dictator, had destroyed his sister. But not him. Jackson had shut himself off emotionally, and then he grew. He grew taller and stronger until father and son stood nose to nose and the man that once thought he was so mighty learned to put his fists back in his pocket.