'Tis the Season

by Jennifer Gracen

  “They’re adorable.” He rose from the chair and moved slowly around the desk, noting how her eyes followed his every move. He’d discarded his jacket and tie before dinner, but still wore his slacks and dress shirt, the top two buttons open and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. “So what’s up? What brings you here?”

  “I, um . . .” She licked her luscious lips before her gaze rose to his, unleashing a warm pull low in his belly. “I came downstairs to read for a while, but I saw the light on and the door open, so I thought I’d . . . Well, I wanted to tell you something.”

  He nodded, encouraging her to continue, and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

  “I know you said you wanted to be a better father, spend more time with the kids and all.” Her fingertips kept sliding along the edge of her e-reader, slow but steady. “And I just wanted to say—I mean, I really hope this isn’t out of line, and I don’t mean it to be—but I think you’re doing a good job at it. They’ve seemed happier lately. I mean it. You’re great with them, and I think they’re really appreciative of it, even if they don’t always show it. Even Thomas. Especially Thomas.” She flashed a tiny grin. “So, I just wanted to tell you that. Just to affirm that what you’re doing is working, if you were unsure. For what it’s worth.”

  “It’s worth a lot, actually.” A warm feeling spread through his chest, and he smiled. “Thank you. That means a lot to me. Especially coming from you. Because you know them better than anyone, so you’d see any subtle nuances or changes.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” she hedged.

  “You’re too modest,” he said, leaning back casually against his desk. He sat on top and crossed his arms against his chest. “I appreciate your observation, and that you wanted to tell me. I hope you’re right.”

  She smiled, but said nothing, fidgeting endlessly with the cover of her e-reader.

  “I was about to pour myself a glass of scotch,” he said. He held up two fingers, barely an inch apart. “Only about this much, I swear.”

  A giggle escaped her lips, and she clamped them together.

  “Kids aren’t here now.” His eyes met hers and held. “Join me for one drink?”

  Her smile fell away. “I don’t know if that’s appropriate . . .”

  “We keep dancing around what’s appropriate, don’t we?” He pushed off the desk and walked around her to the small wet bar. “I took you right there on that couch, and there was nothing remotely appropriate about it. I don’t think having a few sips of scotch with me will push any untoward boundaries that we haven’t already smashed.”

  As he opened the bottle of Laphroaig 18, he glanced up to gauge her reaction. The blush was quick, spreading from her chest, up her neck, darkening her face right up to her hairline. But she gave a tiny nod and said, “You have a point.” She cleared her throat, and her chin lifted a notch. “Okay. Fine. But just a little.”

  “Excellent.” Adrenaline rushed through his limbs. He strove for nonchalance as he poured the scotch into two short, round glasses, but something stirred in him. The last time she’d wandered into his study wearing a robe . . .

  “Please, sit down.” He gestured toward the couch with his glass as he handed her the other. She placed her e-reader on the mahogany coffee table before joining him. They sat on the leather sofa, at opposite ends, as much space as possible between them.

  He raised his glass to her. “Cheers.”

  “Cheers,” she murmured back, lifting hers in return before taking a sip. “Whoa.”

  “Yeah. It’s good stuff.” He grinned before taking a swallow of it, then swirled it around slowly in the glass, watching the dark gold liquid catch the light. She shifted slightly, and he caught a peek of a V-neck top, the same blue as the pajama pants. His fingers itched to touch it, to slide his hands inside the robe and skim them over that top and over her full breasts. He took another slow sip.

  “I’m going to ask you a strange, kind of forward question,” he said, “but I’m seriously curious, and I hope you’ll be honest with me.”

  She stared back. “All right.”

  He paused, wondering how to phrase what he wanted to say. After torturing himself with the question countless times in his own mind, suddenly it was hard as hell to verbalize it to her. He ran his free hand across his jaw, feeling the late-day stubble. “When we . . . had sex.” He saw her brow pucker, knowing she was already trying to figure out where he was going with this. Shit, why was this so hard to say out loud? Her dark eyes were locked on him, waiting. “It was really hot. For me, anyway. It was intense. And I was kind of wondering if, even though it was crazy and spontaneous and all that . . . if you liked it too. Or am I building this up in my head and it wasn’t like that.” He raked his free hand through his hair and hissed out a breath. “Jesus, this is so awkward. Am I making any sense?”

  She nodded, gnawing on her bottom lip for a few seconds. Then she said, so quietly he almost couldn’t hear her, “It was like that for me too. We were like . . . It was so . . .” Hot pink stained her cheeks, and her eyes fell to her drink as she tried to hide a smile. “I liked it too. You’re not imagining it.”

  His breath stuck in his chest. “Wow. Okay.”

  She laughed softly, then peeked up at him from beneath her lashes. “Yeah, it was wow all right. Why do you think it’s been so hard to go back to the way things were? For both of us. If the sex had been bad, we’d both be able to forget what happened. Hell, we’d be dying to, right?” She pressed her lips together to suppress a giggle.

  Amused and charmed, he sat back a little to gulp down a swallow of scotch. “Yeah, probably. So . . . thank you. For being brave enough to admit that.”

  “Well, you did it first, so . . .” She shrugged and bit down on her lip. The gesture sent blood rushing to his groin.

  “We do seem to have some chemistry,” he said. “Don’t we?”

  She nodded, gazing back at him in wonder. “I thought it was just me.”

  “No. No way.” His heart started thumping in heavier beats.

  The weight of the mutual admission hung in the air as they stared into each other’s eyes, wondering what to say next.

  “Well, while we’re making bold declarations,” he said, “I need to tell you something else. I think it needs to be addressed. Just once, and that’ll be the end of it.”

  Her eyes widened a bit, but she only nodded.

  “When we . . .” He motioned to the couch, then between them, with the hand that held the glass. “I didn’t use any protection. I know you said pregnancy wasn’t an issue, but if you were worried about . . . anything else . . . I just wanted to assure you it’s not an issue either. That you don’t have to worry.”

  Her brows puckered in obvious confusion. “I’m sorry. I’m not following you.”

  “Diseases,” he said flatly. “I’m clean.”

  Her mouth dropped open as the telltale blush flooded her face. “I . . . I never even thought of that. I mean, you’re . . . I wouldn’t . . . Wow.” Her dark gaze slid away, and she took another sip, a bigger one this time.

  “Before that night, I hadn’t been with a woman in over a year.” He kept his voice mild and businesslike. “I’d been tested before that, as part of my annual physical. I get a full screening for just about everything. Insurance and all that . . .” He eyed her with a touch of remorse. “I didn’t mean to be so blunt. But it had to be said. I didn’t want you to have any lingering concerns, if you had any.”

  “I hadn’t. But thank you,” she murmured. Suddenly her eyes widened again as they lifted to his. “Wait. Are you also wondering if I . . . ?”

  He shrugged as casually as possible. “It crossed my mind.”

  “Huh. Well.” She lifted the glass to her lips and stole yet another sip before saying, “I’m clean too. Trust me.”

  “Because you’ve been tested?”

  “No . . . Because it’d been a very long time. For me. Before that night.” Her voice now sounded strangled in her thr
oat. “And I’d been tested back then, so . . .”

  “I’m not trying to embarrass you,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry about this.”

  She shrugged and stared down into her glass. She moved as if to take another sip, but apparently thought better of it and lowered the glass back into her lap. One hand gripped the glass, while a fingertip of the other traced slow circles around the rim.

  “I’m afraid I have to ask,” he said, trying to make his voice as gentle as possible. “If you haven’t been tested recently, how do I know . . . I mean, what do you consider a ‘long time’? A year? Two?”

  He’d never seen her face the way it was now. A deep red flush, her eyes wide, her lips pressed into a thin line. She was horrified. Christ, he felt awful for making her feel so uncomfortable. When he’d realized they hadn’t used protection and all the other implications, he’d known sooner or later he’d have to ask. But hell, thinking it and actually asking her were much different things, weren’t they? “Look, you can tell me. Anything you ever say to me stays between us, Lisette. You have to know that.”

  Her gaze lifted to meet his, and her whole body went still. Rigid.

  “Three years?” he guessed, trying to help her along.

  She snorted out the tiniest laugh and said, “No. More than that.”

  Surprise rippled through him. Wow. “Okay. Um . . . five?”

  Softly biting down on her bottom lip, she shook her head, then finally whispered, “Eleven.”

  Charles’s heart stopped in his chest. Hell no. Surely he hadn’t heard her right. “Excuse me?”

  “Eleven,” she said, her voice soft but sure. She looked directly into his eyes. “Before that night with you, I hadn’t slept with a man in about eleven years.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Lisette watched as Charles froze where he sat, his eyes rounded and glued to her face. She wondered if he’d actually fall off the couch. Then he leaned over, set his drink down on the table, shifted his position slightly, and said, “I can’t believe that.”

  “Ohhh, believe it.” She took another sip of scotch, welcoming the burn of it down her throat and the soft buzz that was starting to take hold. If they were actually going to talk about this, she’d need half the bottle to get her through it. “So yeah. No worries. I’m clean too.”

  All the emotions she’d expected to see in his face—horror, shock, pity—weren’t there. Surprise, sure, of course, but not that aghast surprise she’d predicted. More like . . . stunned curiosity. Okay. As long as it wasn’t pity, she was all right with that. “I suppose now you want to hear why.”

  “I do, yes, I admit it.” He cleared his throat and added, “But only if you want to tell me. I mean . . . it’s a sensitive subject . . .”

  “Charles. Please. I’m not made of glass.” She looked down at her hands, then at the intricate pattern of the glass she held. “I’ve never told anyone. Because I didn’t have to. The only people who know the story are my father and Karen, my best friend from college. Because they were there.” She stole a glance at Charles, then looked back down to her lap. “It’s not in my file because it doesn’t need to be. My personal history has nothing to do with my ability to do my job. I’ve never been arrested; I’ve never done anything wrong. It was just . . . extremely painful.” A lump formed in her throat, and she swallowed it back.

  “Lisette.” Charles’s voice was like a caress. He leaned in slightly. “You don’t have to tell me any more. I believe you, and also, I don’t want to bring up painful memories for you. But just know that if you want to talk about it . . . you can trust me.”

  She looked up. He was gazing at her with such softness. He was so good-natured, so kind. The COO of Harrison Enterprises, one of the most powerful men in the country, her usually stoic boss, was being downright tender with her. It was stunning. “I was engaged,” she said quietly. “I was with Brandon for my last two years of college. My first serious boyfriend ever. A few months after we graduated, I realized I was pregnant. We got engaged.” Long-repressed memories trickled through her mind. Taking the third and final pregnancy test . . . then the next night, when Brandon took her out to dinner and ended it with an engagement ring on top of her chocolate cake . . .

  “Go on,” Charles nudged gently. “I’m listening.”

  “A baby wasn’t part of the plan,” she said. “As you know, I graduated with honors in linguistics, and I was going to be a translator. I had an internship at the United Nations, and then a position. You can look it up if you don’t believe me.”

  “Why wouldn’t I believe you?” His voice was so soft. She swallowed hard. She hadn’t spoken of these things out loud in such a long time. She’d locked them all away. Now that she was . . . She had had no idea it’d be so hard. “I didn’t want to give up that dream, but I didn’t think I’d have to. I thought I’d have it all.” A dry wisp of a laugh floated out of her. “I was going to have everything I’d ever wanted. The awesome career, the loving husband, the baby . . . just a little sooner than I’d planned, that’s all.” Brandon’s face appeared in her mind. His lazy smile, his short, dark blond hair that she used to run her fingers through, the glint of his gray eyes . . . then the cold emptiness in them the last time he’d looked at her, standing at the door of their apartment as he left.

  “What happened?” Charles asked, bringing her back to the present.

  “I got in an accident.” Lisette took a breath and cleared her dry throat again. “I was in the city, in the back of a cab, on my way to a meeting for work. A truck pulled out too fast and slammed into the cab. I wasn’t wearing a seat belt.”

  Charles winced, but said, “Few passengers do. I know I don’t. We feel as if we’re somehow safe in the back of a cab; people don’t even think about it.”

  “I never did,” she said plainly. “And at twenty-three, you never think something like that will happen to you.” Her throat felt tight, her breaths were shallow, and her skin felt clammy all of a sudden. The usual physical reactions when she thought about the accident. It didn’t alarm her much; she was used to that.

  But Charles must have picked up on it. With the gentlest touch, he lifted the glass from her hands to set it on the table, then took both of her hands in his. “Jesus, your hands have turned to ice.” He rubbed hers between his. The kind gesture made her heart stutter in her chest. Her eyes slipped closed.

  “Obviously, you were okay,” he offered. “I mean, you’re here, and you’re fine.”

  “Not 100 percent.” She made herself open her eyes to look right into his as she told him the truth. “I had a concussion, three broken ribs, broken left arm, sprained left ankle . . . and I lost the baby. I was five months along.”

  “Damn. I’m so sorry,” he murmured, genuine empathy in his voice and his gaze.

  “Long story short, when I woke up, the doctors told me there was scarring; there was too much damage . . . that I’d never get pregnant or, if I did, never carry a baby to term.” She drew a long breath and pulled one hand free to rub at her tight chest, making small circles in the center of her sternum. After all this time, she had thought it’d be easier to tell this story.

  Charles kept rubbing her other hand, still clasped in his. “That’s horrible. And you were so young. I just . . . Lisette, I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

  She nodded, her eyes drifting down, away, looking anywhere but at his face. His sweetness and caring were palpable, and as good as it felt, it lanced her heart. She’d always thought Charles was deeply kind underneath all the assured poise and polish. But this show of tenderness and empathy, when she felt raw and vulnerable, was overwhelming. Half of her wanted to bathe in it, and half of her wanted to turn away. It was as though he was looking into her with those blazing blue eyes.

  “So . . .” Charles asked carefully, “what happened with Brandon?”

  Her stomach clenched. “Brandon.”

  “Yes, you said that was your fiancé’s name, right? But your file said you’ve never been marr
ied. So . . .”

  Her chin lifted, almost in defiance, but her voice came out all gravelly. “He dumped me, as soon as he found out. Said he was young and wanted a family of his own, so if I could never have kids, what was the point of our staying together?”

  Charles hissed a curse under his breath.

  “He told me that I was basically useless if I couldn’t have children.” She swallowed, hating the tremor in her voice. “That what guy would want to marry me? Maybe a much older man who already had kids and wanted some pretty young thing on his arm, but no man our own age would ever seriously consider me. Damaged goods and all that.”

  “And you believed that garbage?” Charles ground out.

  “I didn’t want to. But I . . . I was a mess.” Her shoulders lifted and sagged dejectedly. “You have to understand, I was in the hospital for ten days. Between the concussion and the broken bones and the blood loss, I was very weak . . . and by the time I got home, he’d thought it all over and made up his mind.” She saw it all in her mind, as clearly as if it’d happened yesterday. “He took me home from the hospital . . . I was so weak I literally couldn’t make it to the bedroom; I collapsed onto the living room couch. And that was where I got the ‘welcome home, we’re over’ speech. For him, it was already done, and I just had to understand and catch up with the program.”

  “Despicable bastard,” Charles spit. He raked his hands through his hair, looking as if he wanted to hit something. “I can’t imagine how you felt. That’s cruel! I . . . God. What did you do? Did he leave, like, that day?”

  “No. The next day.” Lisette shut her eyes for a moment, wishing she could shut out remembering the devastation, the sense of abandonment, the disbelief that had taken hold of her. How he had locked himself in the bedroom while she cried on the couch for hours, too weak to do anything . . . “I took too many hits in too short a time. I was completely broken. Inside and out.” She pulled her hand from Charles’s and wrapped her arms around her middle. “I didn’t care about anything anymore. I felt like my life had ended. Melodramatic, I know, but I was young.”