Vanessa wasn’t in the wrong. Part of him knew that as clearly as another part of him knew he wasn’t in the wrong for being stunned and hurt by her acceptance of Tamara McKenna. How could he reconcile the two? Vanessa’s generosity of spirit warmed him and tangled him in equal measure.
Clear thinking was required; a number of Vanessa’s comments had settled deep in his chest and squeezed tight with ropes of truth he couldn’t deny. Perhaps if he ran long enough he might outrun that fact.
Or not.
He ached to rest in mental and physical peace, but couldn’t find its pathway, even after a half-hour session in the workout room.
Vanessa’s ferocity of conviction pumped something unbidden into his bloodstream: the notion of relegating Tamara to the past and embracing love anew. He wanted to explore the facets of a complex, tantalizing, even if logistically challenging relationship with Vanessa. Gregarious, sassy and beautiful Vanessa was as formidable as she was compelling.
Yet, still, his nerves jumped.
This moment felt like no other—as though his heart executed its lasting and most powerful dance toward the woman destined to be his.
All the same, confidence wavered. Could he—should he—try to make this relationship work?
His heart and spirit rang with an instant yes. His head, however, remained resolute and shuttered—just as Vanessa had observed…
Jackson used a few finger taps to increase the incline of the treadmill. Like everyone else, Tamara lived in a world of shadows and light—good and bad struggling for dominion. All the same, God pushed at the woman’s heart and chased her with as much love and fervor as anyone else in His kingdom. Wrongs and all. Despite Vanessa’s protests to the contrary, he did trust her judgment. He did realize she understood his pain and attitudes. Most important, he knew she wasn’t the type of person to be swayed by phony behavior. All the same, that knowledge didn’t answer the most important question of all.
Where to from here?
Clearly the answer needed to come from him. That meant he had a number of important decisions to make. Could he thoroughly forgive—from the heart—and cut away the past so he could embrace love anew? Raw and battered, could he risk proposing a loving future to Vanessa, whose existence was so firmly entrenched in the UK? Would she even want to consider such a challenging set of circumstances?
Questions pulled, leaving him in a state of mental overload. He collapsed into bed, doused the light, and tucked beneath a stack of blankets. That’s when a heart-shaped face, flowing dark hair, a seductive smile and deep green eyes formed into the enticing swirl of Vanessa’s image, an image that followed him into turbulent sleep.
****
A soft, tentative rap sounded against the doorframe of Jackson’s office at Harrods. His back to the entrance, his attention hyper-focused on the final beta test set to launch for the IT network, he took a moment before turning away from the pair of monitors before him.
“Yes?” The polite, courteous greeting nearly died on his lips when he discovered his visitor was Tamara.
Seeming to sense his unease, she lifted her hands in surrender and crossed the threshold. “I’m only here to say goodbye.” She expelled a breath. “A final goodbye. I’m on my way to Heathrow in just a few minutes.”
“Safe flight to you.”
The words were succinct, cautious, but he thought of Vanessa’s kindness to the woman and carefully schooled any sense of bitterness and anger from his tone. His wish was authentic.
“Thank you.” She entered just far enough to take a seat in the chair across from his desk. “I’m so sorry, Jackson. For everything.”
He held his breath—and waited.
“I’m going back to Los Angeles, and I’m going to sort out the mess of my life.”
“And then?” He leaned forward on the arms of his chair, studying Tamara. Well put together as always, comfortable but stylish travel clothes and upswept hair perfectly in place, she presented a cultured and elegant image. Yet her eyes raged with storms.
“And then I’m going to see if I can somehow make sense of my marriage. I’m going to try to move past the harsh and brazen way I behaved toward you and attempt a fresh start all around.” She straightened, met his gaze squarely. “I…I really am sorry for what I did.”
It amazed Jackson the way a simple set of heartfelt words could inspire a rush of forgiveness…and hope.
“I hurt you, and at the start that’s precisely what I intended. I wanted to hurt you, or make you mine. That was wrong. You deserved better. I deceived you.”
Posture taut, Jackson longed to fidget with the nearby pen, or drum his fingertips against the cool, shiny wood of his desk. Instead, he forced himself to stillness so he could listen. Absorb. “I appreciate you saying so. Emotions got the best of us, Tamara.”
“True.” She folded her hands in her lap, studied them for a moment. “I don’t intend to make trouble for you, or Colby Intellilink. I endorsed your firm to John Kensington the night of the party.”
“Thank you for that.”
Though the words were quiet, they rang with sincerity. She looked at him, gave a brief nod. “I did it for me as much as you. I met someone afterward who helped me realize I can make better choices. Live a better life.”
“And a good life is what you deserve.”
Visibly forthright, resolved, she stood and smoothed the line of her shirt, slinging her purse strap against her shoulder. “It’s time for me to find home, and live my life in a way that will bring me happiness rather than twist my heart.”
Only then did Jackson lift from his seat and round the desk. He took hold of her arms, pecked her cheek. “Stand strong, Tamara. If you do, you’re going to be just fine.”
Her chin wobbled. “I hope so, Jax. Say a little prayer for me?”
He smiled into her eyes. “Count on it.”
10
Peter and Vanessa’s apartment was imbued by the earthy aroma of evergreen spice from boughs outlining the doorframes of the lounge and kitchen. Fat green candles flickered and glowed atop a fireplace mantle of dark wood. Their scent added a subtle layer of cinnamon and apple to the air. That appealing blend soothed Jackson and welcomed him to Christmas as he folded comfortably into a leather easy chair as Vanessa entered the lounge.
Less than forty-eight hours from departure, Peter had invited him to join the family for a last private dinner. The gesture was wonderful, but here and now, Jackson longed for just one thing: to make amends with Vanessa and thereby treat his heart with the honor and respect it deserved.
Finished with a sumptuous dinner of roast turkey and stuffing, Peter and Alexa tended to Christopher in the upstairs nursery, leaving Jackson alone with Vanessa, who settled a tray stocked with dessert plates, forks, and napkins on the nearby coffee table. Smartly outfitted in a black skirt, a green cashmere sweater and spiky heels, the most adorable accent to her wardrobe was the red apron she wore, complete with a Christmas tree and white trimming along the bottom edge meant to look like snow drifts.
“Once Peter and Lexie have CC settled we’ll slice into the chocolate Yule log. Lexie made it from scratch. It’s going to be heavenly.”
All evening long she had been kind and polite, the picture of class and perfection as a hostess. Now, before their privacy was interrupted, Jackson needed to build a bridge that he hoped—and prayed—would span the subtle bands of tension that rippled between them.
When she lowered onto the ottoman in front of Jackson’s chair, he took hold of her hands, drawing her to face him. For a tender, meaningful moment, he held her emerald gaze with his. A rush of contentment washed through him, cleansing away pain—doubts—fears.
With her, he wanted one thing alone—a chance for forever.
“Vannie, I owe you an apology.” The opening held her attention in full. “I wasn’t fair to you at all. I rushed into an emotional reaction and a tremendous error in judgment. I was wrong to lash out at you when you didn’t deserve it.”
/> Her brows furrowed, but she regarded him steadily. “Your reaction was understandable. I simply wanted you to comprehend my point of view about Tamara.”
“And at the time, that’s something I couldn’t do.” He held her hands, brushed his thumbs gently against her fingertips. “I give you tremendous credit. It took me a while to understand what you were doing, and to see that it was the right way to handle the situation. You behaved far more like a Christian than I did.”
“But I was equally harsh with you. She ripped your heart out. You were deeply invested. Me? I could take her or leave her. You had your emotions trampled, and I wasn’t as sensitive to that fact as I should have been. I didn’t make it clear that I understand your pain. The last thing I wanted to do was befriend her. Anyone who’s hurt you has hurt me, too.”
Jackson received those words with gratitude, and a quickened pulse. She still cared, then. Deeply.
“When she and I met, I could have sworn I saw straight through her. I had to go on faith that treating her with compassion was the right thing to do. She was miserable.”
“And your instincts were absolutely correct.” For a moment he gathered his thoughts, forming the words to explain himself. “Let me tell you what happened this afternoon.”
Jackson detailed his farewell meeting with Tamara. In the distance, Alexa and Peter could be heard cooing and laughing with baby Christopher while bath water poured and CC’s gurgles occasionally punctuated the air.
“In the end,” Jackson concluded, “I found I’m the one who needed to mature.”
“We’re all works in progress. It took me a long time to realize I needed to look at the world through different eyes. Embracing Christianity didn’t come easy, just ask Peter and Lexie. In a number of ways, God pulled me into his fold kicking and screaming. Much of my faith is still brand new, maybe that’s why I forced myself to see God at work in Tamara rather than simply write her off.”
“I think you’re right; and new to the faith or not, you’re an angel.”
“I don’t know about that. Believe me, I’m still growing. I still get taken by complete surprise. After all, look at you and me and the way our lives have come together. It’s a perfect example of God in control—in control of protecting me, and in control of showing me a wonderful man.”
“Thanks for that, but you’ve seen me in the role of a hero when I’ve behaved in a manner that’s anything but.”
“You’ll always be my hero, Jackson. Always.”
The tender declaration drifted between them, prompting him forward. He slipped his fingertips against her warm neck, beneath the silky fall of her hair. He drew her in, eyes closing as the subtle spice of ginger and jasmine filled his world. He fell into a kiss that spun through his spirit and danced through his blood. Vanessa wrapped her arms around his neck, holding tight as pleasured sighs mixed together.
Could there be any great gift?
“Time for dessert!” Trotting down the stairs with Peter close behind, Alexa made the declaration, jarring Jackson into releasing his hold and surrendering the quiet intimacy of the moment.
Unaware of flowing undercurrents, Alexa crossed through the lounge and moved straight for the kitchen. “C’mon, Vannie. Help me slice the Yule log and pour tea for the two of us. Peter’s requested a serving of brandy for himself and Jackson.”
“Fair enough.” Moving slowly away, Vanessa gave Jackson a wry, wistful smile and followed her sister-in-law into the kitchen. “I’ve got the serving dishes settled and ready to go.”
While dessert was consumed, conversations swirled about parties to come, traditions to be observed; Jackson couldn’t focus. Words hummed and buzzed like so much noise. At length, he forced himself to participate.
“I meant to say from the start how great the tree looks now that it’s all trimmed.” Jackson scanned the multi-colored fairy lights strung artfully through the branches of a full, thick tree that claimed the space of honor in front of a large picture window. Small white bows were paired with glittering ornaments of gold, burgundy, and silver. An angel perched upon the uppermost reaches, her luminous white gown and gossamer wings polishing the tree beautifully. More lovely Christmas memories to tuck into his heart and soul.
“Vanessa’s handiwork. Lexie and I simply followed her lead. She has quite an eye.”
“I’ll never argue the point.”
Vanessa’s cheeks went pink. Fingertips trembling a bit, she brushed a wave of hair behind her ear and attraction sang through his blood.
“No snow tonight,” Peter observed, eyes twinkling as he sipped from a snifter of brandy. Jackson followed suit with his own drink after carefully swirling and hand-warming the rich amber liquid.
“On the cab ride over I noticed a crescent moon, and a sky full of stars. I won’t complain.”
“Hard to believe we’re counting down to your last few sleeps in London. The trip certainly started and ended with a bang, eh?”
Jackson’s gaze went straight to Vanessa. From so much tension and uncertainty, love had sprung to life. “With no collateral damage in either instance, I’m relieved to say.”
Before long, Vanessa set aside her dishes, went to the tree, and retrieved a pair of gifts, which she handed to Jackson. She bent to kiss his cheek. “In honor of the season. Happy Christmas, Jackson.”
He stared into her eyes for an extra beat or two, brushing his knuckles against her silky cheek. According to the tags, one package came from Peter and Alexa, the other from Vanessa.
“It’s sad you won’t be here for Christmas, but we couldn’t let you leave without a proper show of affection.” Alexa beamed him a smile, propping her head against Peter’s shoulder and tucking her legs beneath her.
Jackson fingered the chunky square box from Vanessa then positioned the longer, heavier box from Peter and Alexa on his lap. “When I arrived, I tucked a few packages beneath the tree. There’s one for Lexi and Peter, and I picked up a little something for CC as well.” He paused deliberately, egging Vanessa on while she waited with breath held and eager eyes. “And there’s and an envelope for you, but you have to open yours last.”
Her answering pout was adorable. “That’s so not fair. CC’s already asleep. He can’t open his until morning.”
She had him there. Jackson chuckled. “Then I suppose you can take your turn after Peter and Lexie.”
“You’re redeemed.” Vanessa gave a satisfied nod. “As such, you get to unwrap first.”
Jackson dispensed with the bow and wrappings of Peter and Alexa’s gift, lifting the lid of a thick, sturdy box and peeling back a layer of tissue paper. Tucked within was a gilt-edged, leather-bound book. The scripted name of the author was the first thing to catch his eye: Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
Peter leaned forward on his knees, as swept into the moment as any child. “It’s an heirloom edition of the complete Sherlock Holmes. I know how much you enjoyed visiting the museum on Baker Street.”
Alexa nodded in earnest. “That was such fun. We hope you enjoy it.”
It was incredible, and would claim a spot of honor in his den. In America. That idea stirred a painful twinge—leaving Vanessa would be near impossible…
Jackson cleared the tightness from his throat. “This is amazing—thank you.”
The box from Vanessa was a challenge for him to figure. Lightweight, smallish, the shape gave no hint to the contents. Meanwhile, she waited in shy stillness, watching.
For fun, he took his time about tearing away golden ribbons and shimmery red paper. Vanessa, thumped the edge of the envelope impatiently against her palm, which elicited a grin. “That thing is burning a hole in your hand, isn’t it, Vannie?”
She clucked her tongue and flipped a fall of deep brown hair over her shoulder. “Hush and open yours all the way already. I want to know if you like your prezzie.”
“I’m sure I will. I…” Playfulness stalled once he lifted the lid of a jeweler’s box. Nestled inside he discovered a gold pocket watch that stoppe
d him short. It was perfect. Perfectly Vanessa—perfectly British—and perfectly heart-tugging. “The gift of time. Vannie…this is incredible.”
Her features softened at his murmured words. “I wanted to gift you a beautiful timepiece that would help to mark the milestones of your life.”
Like our first Christmas together. The thought dawned instantly, sealing his heart to hers with a tight ribbon of love.
Admiring the delicate etching, the old English inscription of his initials on the back, he stroked the front of the timepiece then clicked it open. Concise, dark Roman numerals marked each hour and the proper time had already been set. Something in that realization touched him like nothing else could.
He met her gaze directly. “No matter where my travels lead, I’m always going to keep this watch on British time.”
Tears formed a sparkling sheen against Vanessa’s eyes. As she blinked them away, a pair trickled down her cheek so Jackson caressed them away before reexamining the piece. It would mark not just the passing of hours, but the motion of his heart toward this remarkable woman.
“Thank you, Vannie.” Following those whispered words and a lingering kiss, he delivered a nod. “OK, go ahead now, it’s your turn.”
“It’s about time, I say.” Putting on a show, of course, huffing with playful impatience, she sniffled and dashed excess moisture from her lashes before sliding her finger beneath the envelope flap and removing the contents—a glossy, envelope-sized piece of cardstock. Following a brief read of its inscription, her eyes went wide. “You can’t possibly be serious.”
“I am, and we have just enough time to make our appointment if we leave in the next fifteen minutes.”
“So, you’re not joking.” She whispered the words, covering her mouth, gaze pinging from him to Alexa, to Peter—who knew nothing of what he had done.
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