The Billionaire's Christmas Baby(39)

“I thought you’d see it my way,” he said, grabbing her hand again and starting for his car. “Well, I didn’t really have a choice, now did I?” Hannah huffed as they reached his Range Rover. Jackson braced his arm on the SUV, sheltering her from the view of the office. She could see from his eyes that he was still irate. He stood close enough that the wind was laced with his cologne, and she felt the heat of his breath on her as he spoke. She ignored the twinge of excitement that teased her at his nearness. Her body was a traitor to her mind.

“Oh, I gave you a choice, but you took the chicken’s way out,” Jackson whispered.

Hannah was about to open her mouth to make a smart reply when Santa jingled his way over to them. Santa, Hannah noticed with a frown, had a slight limp, a very disheveled appearance, and a tummy that looked like it had one too many beers in it. Jackson shoved a twenty-dollar bill at the man without taking his eyes off her. Santa rewarded him by jingling the bell in his ear. Hannah burst out laughing. Jackson cursed under his breath and opened the door for her. He grumbled something about small towns as he closed her door.

Five minutes later they were pulling up outside her home. It was the only place they could have complete privacy, but it was also a little unsettling to know that Jackson was now entering her territory. Her house was her own private sanctuary, the only home that had ever truly been hers.

Neither of them said anything on the way. Hannah knew that if she spoke she was only going to end up yelling at him, and considering that his hands were white as he gripped the steering wheel she figured he’d had about all he could handle at the moment. Which was fine, because now she was out of a job and she had Jean launching an all-out war against her and the adoption. She truly hoped Jackson was still as confident as he said he was about adopting Emily.

…

“This is your house?” Jackson asked, shutting the ignition and leaning forward to get a better look.#p#分页标题#e#

“This is it,” she said, her voice still standoffish.

It had taken them only minutes to cross the little village of Hope’s Crossing. From what he saw of the town, through his haze of red, was that it was that Norman Rockwell, picture perfect type of place. Cutesy, put-it-in-a-snow globe type of village. But he wasn’t really interested in the town. His mind worked overtime trying to process everything. He felt like he was starring in some bizarre movie of himself. When had his life become so unpredictable?

He stared through the window at the red brick Victorian before him and his throat constricted involuntarily. It was so damn idyllic. It was small, ornate. There was cedar roping with dark red ribbons that framed the heavy molding on the windows and the pristine white porch. Urns were overflowing with cedar and other greenery. The white plump snowflakes that floated down from the sky only made it more magical.

He actually found himself unable to speak for a moment because never in his life had something ever evoked in him such a need to have a home. A real home. A house. With a wife. With kids. Hell, maybe even a white picket fence. But Jackson Pierce was not your white picket-fence kind of man. No, he was the guy who lived in a penthouse surrounded by skylines and anonymity. Steel and glass. Money and ambition. Shallowness and greed. Loneliness.

“It may not be a mansion, Jackson, but it’s perfect for me.” He heard her unlatch her seatbelt and he knew she was seconds from jumping out of the SUV.

“It’s you. Totally you.” It’s beautiful, sentimental, nostalgic, pure Hannah. Her cheeks bloomed with that gorgeous blush he found himself utterly hooked on and those lips that made him curse the fact that they’d never slept together that night.

“Oh,” Hannah said, furrowing her brow and looking out the windshield.

“What, no smart-ass retort?” he teased, feeling better for a moment. Then he pictured some jerk’s hands on Hannah and he felt the need to bash his fist through the windshield. So he frowned. And then she frowned back at him.

“Let’s go inside and see how we can straighten out this mess you got us into.” She didn’t give him a chance to argue as the door shut on his reply. Funny how she was the one giving him the cold shoulder.

He followed her up to the covered porch. They had a lot of straightening out to do, all right. He braced himself for a hell of a battle. She was so damn secretive about her life he wondered how he could feel such an intense connection with someone he knew so little about. But he’d found out way more than he’d bargained for thanks to that Jean woman.

He waited while Hannah fumbled with the old lock. Moments later he stood in her entranceway while she walked around turning on lights. He was struck by the hominess. Feminine and cheerful, with pale yellow walls, deep trim and molding, and wide-plank pine floors scattered with brightly colored rugs. He followed her into the kitchen, where she had already started brewing a fresh pot of coffee. She took out cups and was banging things around a little too loudly.