A Billionaire for Christmas

by Janice Maynard

  When he had a healthy stack of logs tucked just outside the front door in easy reach, he knew it was time to go in and face the music. His throat was dry. His heart pounded far harder than warranted by his current task. But the worst part was his semipermanent erection. He literally ached all over…wanting Phoebe. Needing her with a ferocious appetite that made him grateful to be a man with a beating heart.

  He told himself he was close to having everything he craved. All he had to do was make it through the evening. But he was jittery with arousal. Testosterone charged through his bloodstream like a devil on his shoulder. Urging him on to stake a claim. Dismissing the need for gentleness.

  Phoebe was his for the taking. She’d told him as much. A few more hours, and everything he wanted would be his.

  * * *

  Phoebe moved the portable crib into the living room near the fireplace, on the opposite side from the tree. Her hope was that Teddy would amuse himself for a while. He’d been fed, changed, and was now playing happily with several of his favorite teething toys.

  When Leo came through the door on a blast of cold air, her stomach flipped. She’d given herself multiple lectures on remaining calm and cool. No need for him to know how agitated she was about the evening to come. Her giddiness was an odd mixture of anticipation and reservation.

  Never in her life had she been intimate with a man of whom she knew so little. And likewise, never had she contemplated sex with someone for recreational purposes. She and Leo were taking advantage of a serendipitous place and time. Neither of them made any pretense that this was more. No passionate declarations of love. No tentative plans for the future.

  Just sex.

  Did that cheapen what she felt for him?

  As he removed his coat and boots, she stared. The look in his eyes was hot and predatory. A shiver snaked down her spine. Leo was a big man, both in body and in personality. His charisma seduced her equally as much as his honed, masculine body.

  She licked her lips, biting the lower one. “Um…there’s hot chocolate on the stove. I made the real stuff. Seemed appropriate.”

  He rubbed his hands together, his cheeks ruddy from the cold. “Thanks.”

  The single syllable was gruff. Phoebe knew then, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that Leo was as enmeshed in whatever was happening between them as she was. The knowledge settled her nerves. She had been afraid of seeming gauche or awkward. Leo’s intensity indicated that he was perhaps as off balance as she felt.

  As he poured his drink, she expected him to come sit on the sofa. Instead, he lingered in the kitchen. She dragged a large red plastic tub nearer the tree. “If you’ll do the lights, I’ll sort through the ornaments and put hangers on them so that part will go quickly.”

  He set his mug in the sink. “Lights?”

  She shot him an innocent look. “It’s the man’s job. Always.”

  “And if there were no man around?”

  “I’d have to handle it. But I’m sure the tree would not look nearly as pretty.”

  Finally, he joined her, his body language somewhat more relaxed. “You are so full of it,” he said with a fake glower as he bent and picked up the first strand. “You realize, don’t you, that many people buy pre-lit trees these days.”

  “True.” She plugged in the extension cord and handed him the end. “But not live ones. Think how proud you’re going to be when we’re finished, how satisfied with a job well done.”

  Tugging her braid, he deliberately brushed the backs of his fingers down her neck. “I’m a long way from satisfied.” His chocolate-scented breath was warm on her cheek. If she turned her head an inch or two, their lips would meet.

  She closed her eyes involuntarily, her body weak with longing. Leo had to know what he was doing to her. And judging by the smirk on his face when she finally managed to look at him, he was enjoying her discomfiture.

  Turnabout was fair play. “Good things come to those who wait,” she whispered. She stroked a hand down the middle of his rib cage, stopping just above his belt buckle.

  Leo sucked in a sharp breath as his hands clenched on her shoulders. “Phoebe…”

  “Phoebe, what?” Toying with the hem of his shirt, she lifted it and touched his bare skin with two fingertips. Teasing him like this was more fun than she could have imagined. Her long-buried sensual side came out to play. Taking one step closer so that their bodies touched chest to knee, she laid her cheek against him, hearing the steady, though rapid, beat of his heart.

  Between them, she felt the press of his erection, full and hard, at her stomach. For so long she had hidden from the richness of life, afraid of making another tragic misstep. But one lesson she had learned well. No matter how terrible the mistake and how long the resultant fall, the world kept on turning.

  Leo might well be her next blunder. But at least she was living. Feeling. Wanting. Her emotions had begun to thaw with the advent of Teddy. Leo’s arrival in the midst of her reawakening had been fortuitous. Six months ago, she would not have had the courage to act on her attraction.

  Now, feeling the vestiges of her grief slide into the realm of the past, her heart swelled with joy in the realization that the Phoebe Kemper she had once known was still alive. It had been a long road. And she didn’t think she would ever want to go back and reclaim certain remnants of that woman’s life.

  But she was ready to move forward. With Leo.

  He set her away from him, his expression strained. “Give me the damn lights.”

  * * *

  Leo was at sixes and sevens, his head muddled with a million thoughts, his body near crippled with desire. Fortunately for him, Phoebe was the meticulous sort. There were no knots of wire to untangle. Every strand of lights had been neatly wrapped around pieces of plywood before being stored away. He sensed that this Christmas decorating ritual was far more important to Phoebe than perhaps he realized. So despite his mental and physical discomfort, he set his mind to weaving lights in amongst the branches.

  Phoebe worked nearby, unwrapping tissue-wrapped ornaments, discarding broken ones, tending to Teddy now and again. Music played softly in the background. One tune in particular he recognized. He had always enjoyed the verve and tempo of the popular modern classic by Mariah Carey. But not until this exact minute had he understood the songwriter’s simple message.

  Some things were visceral. It was true. He needed no other gift but Phoebe. When a man was rich enough to buy anything he wanted, the act of exchanging presents took on new meaning. He had always given generously to his employees. And he and Luc knew each other well enough to come up with the occasional surprise gift that demonstrated thought and care.

  But he couldn’t remember a Christmas when he’d been willing to strip the holiday down to its basic component. Love.

  His mind shied away from that thought. Surely a man of his age and experience and sophistication didn’t believe in love at first sight. The heart attack had left him floundering, grasping at things to stay afloat in a suddenly changing world. Phoebe was here. And it was almost Christmas. He wanted her badly. No need to tear the situation apart with questions.

  He finished the last of the lights and dragged one final tub over to the edge of the coffee table so he could sit and sift through the contents. Though the tree was large, he wasn’t sure they were going to be able to fit everything on the limbs.

  Spying a small, unopened green box, he picked it up and turned it over. Visible through the clear plastic covering was a sterling sliver rocking horse with the words Baby’s First Christmas engraved on the base. And a date. An old date. His stomach clenched.

  When he looked up, Phoebe was staring at the item in his hands, her face ashen. Cursing himself for not moving more quickly to tuck it out of sight, he stood, not knowing what to say. A dozen theories rushed through his mind. But only one made sense.

/>   Tears rolled from Phoebe’s huge pain-darkened eyes, though he was fairly certain she didn’t know she was crying. It was as if she had frozen, sensing danger, not sure where to run.

  He approached her slowly, his hands outstretched. “Phoebe, sweetheart. Talk to me.”

  Her eyes were uncomprehending…even when she wiped one wet cheek with the back of her hand.

  “Let me see it,” she whispered, walking toward the tub of ornaments.

  He put his body in front of hers, cupping her face in his hands. “No. It doesn’t matter. You’re shaking.” Wrapping his arms around her and holding her as tightly as he could, he tried to still the tremors that tore through her body cruelly.

  Phoebe never weakened. She stood erect, not leaning into him, not accepting his comfort. He might as well have been holding a statue. At last, he stepped back, staring into her eyes. “Let me get you a drink.”

  “No.” She wiped her nose.

  Leo reached into his pocket for a handkerchief and handed it to her. He was torn, unsure if talking about it would make things better or worse. As he stood there, trying to decide how to navigate the chasm that had opened at his feet, the fraught moment was broken by a baby’s cry.

  Phoebe whirled around. “Oh, Teddy. We were ignoring you.” She rushed to pick him up, holding him close as new tears wet her lashes. “It’s your bedtime, isn’t it, my sweet? Don’t worry. Aunt Phoebe is here.”

  Leo tried to take the boy. “You need to sit down, Phoebe.” He was fairly certain she was in shock. Her hands were icy cold and her lips had a blue tinge.

  Phoebe fought him. “No. You don’t like babies. I can do it.”

  The belligerence in her wild gaze shocked him, coming as it did out of nowhere. “I never said that.” He spoke softly, as though gentling a spooked animal. “Let me help you.”

  Ignoring his plea, she exited the room, Teddy clutched to her chest. He followed the pair of them down the hall and into the baby’s nursery cum storage room. He had never seen this door open. Phoebe always used her own bedroom to access Teddy’s.

  She put the child on the changing table and stood there. Leo realized she didn’t know what to do next.

  Quietly, not making a fuss, he reached for the little pair of pajamas hanging from a hook on the wall nearby. The diapers were tucked into a cheerful yellow plastic basket at the boy’s feet. Easing Phoebe aside with nothing more than a nudge of his hip, he unfastened what seemed like a hundred snaps, top and bottom, and drew the cloth up over Teddy’s head. Teddy cooed, smiling trustingly as Leo stripped him naked. The baby’s skin was soft, his flailing arms and legs pudgy and strong.

  The diaper posed a momentary problem, but only until Leo’s brain clicked into gear and he saw how the assembly worked. Cleaning the little bottom with a baby wipe, he gave thanks that he was only dealing with a wet diaper, not a messy one.

  Phoebe hadn’t moved. Her hands were clenched on the decorative edge of the wooden table so hard that her knuckles were white.

  Leo closed up the diaper, checked it for structural integrity, and then held up the pajamas. He couldn’t really see much difference between these pj’s and the daytime outfits the kid wore, but apparently there was one. This piece of clothing was even more of a challenge, because the snaps ran from the throat all the way down one leg. It took him three tries to get it right.

  Through it all, Phoebe stood unaware. Or at least it seemed that way.

  Cradling the child in one arm, Leo used his free hand to steer Phoebe out of the room. “You’ll have to help me with the bottle,” he said softly, hoping she was hearing him.

  Her brief nod was a relief.

  Leo installed Phoebe in a kitchen chair. Squatting in front of her, he waited until her eyes met his. “Can you hold him?”

  She took the small, squirmy bundle and bowed her head, teardrops wetting the front of the sleeper. “I have a bottle ready,” she said, the words almost inaudible. “Put it in a bowl of hot water two or three times until the formula feels warm when you sprinkle it on your wrist.”

  He had seen her perform that task several times, so it was easy to follow the instructions. When the bottle was ready, he turned back to Phoebe. Her grip on Teddy was firm. The child was in no danger of being dropped. But Phoebe had ceased interacting with her nephew.

  Leo put a hand on her shoulder. “Would you like to feed him, or do you want me to do it? I’m happy to.”

  Long seconds ticked by. Phoebe stood abruptly, handing him the baby. “You can. I’m going to my room.”

  He grabbed her wrist. “No. You’re not. Come sit with us on the sofa.”

  Thirteen

  Phoebe didn’t have the emotional energy to fight him. Leo’s gaze was kind but firm. She followed him to the living room and sat down with her legs curled beneath her. Leo sat beside her with Teddy in his arms. Fortunately, Teddy didn’t protest the change in leadership. He took his bottle from Leo as if it were an everyday occurrence.

  Despite the roaring fire that Leo had built, which still leaped and danced vigorously, she felt cold all over. Clenching her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering, she wished she had thought to pick up an afghan. But the pile neatly folded on the hearth was too far away. She couldn’t seem to make her legs move.

  Trying to distract her thoughts, she studied Leo out of the corner of her eye. The powerful picture of the big man and the small baby affected her at a gut-deep level. Despite Leo’s professed lack of experience, he was doing well. His large hands were careful as he adjusted Teddy’s position now and again or moved the bottle to a better angle.

  Beyond Leo’s knee she could see the abandoned ornaments. But not the little green box. He must have shoved it out of sight beneath the table. She remembered vividly the day she’d purchased it. After leaving her doctor’s office, she was on her way back to work. On a whim, she stopped by the mall to grab a bite of lunch and to walk off some of her giddy euphoria.

  It was September, but a Christmas shop had already opened its doors in preparation for the holidays. On a table near the front, a display of ornaments caught her eyes. Feeling crazily joyful and foolishly furtive, she picked one out and paid for it.

  Until this evening she had suppressed that memory. In fact, she didn’t even realize she had kept the ornament and moved it three years ago.

  Leo wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to his side. “Lean on me,” he said.

  She obeyed gladly, inhaling the scent of his aftershave and the warm “man” smell of him. Gradually, lulled by the fire and the utter security of Leo’s embrace, she closed her eyes. Pain hovered just offstage, but she chose not to confront it at the moment. She had believed herself to be virtually healed. As though all the dark edges of her life had been sanded away by her sojourn in the woods.

  How terribly unfair to find out it wasn’t true. How devastating to know that something so simple could trip her up.

  Perhaps because the afternoon and evening had been so enjoyable, so delightfully homey, the harshness of being thrust into a past she didn’t want to remember was all the more devastating.

  Teddy drained the last of the bottle, his little eyelashes drooping. Leo coaxed a muffled burp from him and then put a hand on Phoebe’s knee. “Is it okay for me to lay him down? Anything I need to know?”

  “I’ll take him,” she said halfheartedly, not sure if she could make the effort to stand up.

  He squeezed her hand. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

  She stared into space, barely even noticing when he returned and began moving about the kitchen with muffled sounds. A few minutes later he handed her a mug of cocoa. She wrapped her fingers around the warm stoneware, welcoming the heat against her frozen skin.

  Leo had topped her serving with whipped cream. She sipped delicately, wary of burning her tongu
e.

  He sat down beside her and smiled. “You have a mustache,” he teased. Using his thumb, he rubbed her upper lip. Somewhere deep inside her, regret surfaced. She had ruined their sexy, fun-filled evening.

  Leo appeared unperturbed. He leaned back, his legs outstretched, and propped his feet on the coffee table. With his mug resting against his chest, he shot her a sideways glance. “When you’re ready, Phoebe, I want you to tell me the story.”

  She nodded, her eyes downcast as she studied the pale swirls of melted topping in the hot brown liquid. It was time. It was beyond time. Even her sister didn’t know all the details. When the unthinkable had happened, the pain was too fresh. Phoebe had floundered in a sea of confused grief, not knowing how to claw her way out.

  In the end, her only choice had been to wait until the waves abated and finally receded. Peace had eventually replaced the hurt. But her hard-won composure had been fragile at best. Judging by today, she had a long way to go.

  Leo got up to stoke the fire and to add more music to the stereo. She was struck by how comfortable it felt to have him in her cabin, in her life. He was an easy man to be with. Quiet when the occasion demanded it, and drolly amusing when he wanted to be.

  He settled back onto the couch and covered both of them with a wool throw. Fingering the cloth, he wrinkled his nose. “We should burn this,” he said with a grin. “Imported fabric, cheap construction. I could hook you up with something far nicer.”

  “I’ll put it on my Christmas list.” She managed a smile, not wanting him to think she was a total mental case. “I’m sorry I checked out on you,” she muttered.

  “We’re all entitled now and then.”

  The quiet response took some of the sting out of her embarrassment. He was being remarkably patient. “I owe you an explanation.”

  “You don’t owe me anything, sweet Phoebe. But it helps to talk about it. I know that from experience. When our parents were killed, Grandfather was wise enough to get us counseling almost immediately. We would never have shown weakness to him. He was and still is a sharp-browed, blustering tyrant, though we love him, of course. But he knew we would need an outlet for what we were feeling.”