The Billionaire's Christmas Baby(53)

He stared out the window and then at his reflection. His mother was dead. His father was dead. His sister was dead. It was just him and Emily. They were family and he could never let her go now. Feelings of protectiveness ignited a part of him he thought had been dead after Louise. No one was going to come in and threaten the life they were going to build.

Jackson paused at the doorway of the bedroom, watching Hannah sleep. Peaceful. Beautiful. He hated that he was going to lie, knowing it was the only way to keep her from pain. But the serenity on her face reinforced that he was making the right decision by not telling her. She deserved happiness.

She opened her eyes, and his gut clenched as she immediately looked over for him.

“Hi,” he said walking into the room, pushing aside his guilt. He was doing this for her, that’s all he had to remember.

“That was better than I ever thought possible,” she whispered.

Jackson smiled, startled by her candor. He climbed into bed next to her, kissing her smooth shoulder. He felt goose bumps rise on her soft skin.

“Oh, I knew this was possible.” He inhaled her fragrant skin, unable to keep his hands and mouth off her.

“Do you remember that day at the cabin when you found my stash of books?” she asked, completely taking him by surprise. He nodded.

“I started reading romance a long time ago.” The corner of her mouth curled upward slightly, but somehow he knew it wasn’t the smile of a person about to recount a happy tale of their youth. Maybe because he felt like he knew her so well already, or maybe it was because he understood that posture, that rueful smile, as one he’d practiced many times.

“I started out a lot like Emily,” she said softly. “I was left in the cold, on a church doorstep, except there was no uncle, no long-lost relative, so I entered the foster care system.”

Jackson couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. He watched her blink rapidly, her eyes focused on the ceiling. It all clicked together so quickly, he wondered how he’d missed it.

“All I remember is never feeling loved. I didn’t have much I could call my own. I didn’t have a house, parents, anyone or anything…” Hannah paused for a moment and Jackson used every ounce of self-control to not say anything, to let her continue speaking. “Everything I had was in a suitcase, ready to be packed in case it was time for me to move to another home. I never had anything that was truly mine until I bought my house.”

Jackson clenched his teeth, angry on her behalf, hurt for her.

“When I was old enough to realize that I could get out of the system as an adult, that’s what I concentrated on. But there were times, depending on which foster home I was in, that getting out of the system seemed too far away. Some foster homes were better than others.”

He heard the catch in her voice and caught the faint tremble in her chin, but she continued on, telling him things that he wished to God she’d never had to endure. “And then on my way home from school one day, I passed by the library and they were having a used book sale. I stopped at a pale purple book, and the title on the spine was A Kingdom of Dreams. And from the moment I opened that book until I shut it, I was a goner. It took me to a place where love conquered all, where men were honorable and—” She paused for a moment and he suspected when she cleared her throat it was to stop the tears. He waited for her to finish, feeling his own tension at her words, imagining her as this young teenager who learned to believe in happily-ever-after.

“The heroine actually got her kingdom in the end—her knight, his love.” She touched his cheek, then pulled him down to her, and he kissed her, met and understood her need for him because it matched his own.

He pushed aside his guilt again—he was protecting her. He’d make everything right for her, for all of them. As their bodies melded, Jackson vowed that one day he’d give Hannah her kingdom.





Chapter Twelve

“Would you like to help?”

He shook his head quickly to be safe. He had absolutely no idea what Hannah was up to. He’d gotten home from work, and instead of greeting Hannah at her usual post, amidst a stack of psychology books, she was in the kitchen. She looked sexy as hell in jeans and a snug-fitting sweater, her hair up in a ponytail and her cheeks rosy from…he had no idea what.

“I’d help you if I knew what you were doing,” he said, planting a kiss on her soft lips.

“Excellent!” Hannah said, and thrust an apron in his direction. “I’m baking, Jackson. It’s almost Christmas and we don’t have any treats in this house,” she said, sidestepping him to take out a tray of cookies from the oven.