The Billionaire's Christmas Baby

Hannah stared into Emily’s wide blue eyes. So much for her plan.

…

Jackson told himself that all babies were cute. Emily was not a special baby. Human adults were biologically programmed to respond to babies. It was how the human race propagated. His wanting to keep holding the baby was only natural. And the connection he felt when he stared into those wide, curious eyes was completely ridiculous. That was that. A figment of his imagination. He needed to get down to work and count the hours until Hannah and his… the baby left.

He settled himself at the table in the great room and opened his laptop and briefcase. He came out here every year not to escape work, because he loved work and he loved the company he’d built with his best friend. No, he came out here to escape a season filled with year after year of bad memories. Here, there was no pressure to act like Christmas meant something more to him than any other day on the calendar. Until, of course, Hannah came crashing into his world.

He pretended to be deep in concentration at his computer an hour later when he heard Hannah enter the room. She had that giant bag that looked ready to burst with books sitting on her shoulder along with a fresh mug of coffee. He ignored the smell of lavender as she passed him to sit at the opposite end of the table.

“I hope you don’t mind if I sit here. I put Emily down for a nap so I’d like to try and catch up on some work,” she said, placing her bag on the table.

“Not at all,” he said and looked back at his computer screen.

“She downed that bottle super fast,” she said with a laugh. “She’s always ravenous after a bath.” He gave her a polite nod. He was not going to engage her in a discussion about babies. He concentrated on the spreadsheet on his computer screen, pleased that she finally took the hint that he didn’t want to talk anymore.

Ten minutes later he tried to ignore the humming coming from across the table. Sounded something like jingle bells, slightly more than off-tune. He looked up with an exaggerated sigh. She didn’t get the hint as she started tapping her foot in time with her humming. She highlighted something from a book.

“What are you working on?”

She looked up from her book, obviously startled. “Oh, I’m studying.”

He frowned. “For what?”

She bent her head again. “My PhD.”

“PhD?”

She nodded.

“In social work?”

“No. Psychology.” She took a sip of coffee then bent her head back in her book. He stared at the top of her head as she resumed her Christmas humming. He tried not to be impressed by her, but dammit, the more he learned about this woman the more he was intrigued by her and attracted to her. It was damn inconvenient.

“Why are you getting a degree in psychology?”

“Well, next year when I save enough money, I’d like to finish my degree and then ultimately I’d like to be a child psychologist.”

He didn’t say a thing as he stared at the gorgeous woman across the table. Run, Jackson, run far away. She was beautiful, sweet, and smart. It was a hell of a combination. The women he dated were not nearly as dangerous as Hannah.

“Do you have any Christmas CDs?” Hannah stared at him from across the table, seemingly oblivious to his thoughts.

“Christmas?” Her preoccupation with all things Christmas wasn’t the least bit attractive.

He rolled his eyes at her theatrical intake of breath, her hand flying to her chest. He refused to glance down at her chest again, knowing exactly where those thoughts would lead.

“Not even one?”

He smiled smugly. “Nope.”

“I should have known,” she said into her mug before she took a sip.

“Really? What gave it away?” He enjoyed talking to her way too much. For the first time in a long, long time, he felt like enjoying someone’s company and not doing work. For the last ten years, he’d lived and breathed his company. He went to bed at night, sometimes with a woman by his side, sometimes alone, but always with work on his mind. When he wasn’t working he thought about work. He hated holidays because it meant business couldn’t be done. Work had been his salvation. Work was everything. But right now he could allow himself a brief respite with a beautiful, intriguing woman, couldn’t he?

“I knew last night that anyone who didn’t have a single decoration up must be a miserable, Ebenezer Scrooge type of person,” she said jabbing her highlighter in the air at his direction.

A choked laugh escaped his lips. “Really, so because I don’t have decorations you’ve come to the conclusion that I’m miserable and like Scrooge?”

She raised her eyebrows and folded her arms across her chest. “Then your subsequent behavior confirmed my hypothesis.”

“That again. I already explained my behavior.”

“Nothing you can say can excuse that behavior, Jackson. But not to worry, I understand that there are people in the world who are untouched by the spirit of Christmas—”

“Do you get commission from Santa Claus?” Jackson felt a smile spread across his face as she frowned at him.

“It happens to be my favorite holiday, that’s all.”

“Hannah, Christmas, as it exists in North America, is a commercially driven holiday. We’re told we need to spend hundreds or thousands of dollars on loved ones in order to show we care. People tack on thousands in consumer debt and justify it by saying they have to for Christmas. I mean look at you, you’re equating Christmas with something you need to buy—like a CD—with having Christmas spirit.” He figured his high-handed tone was not at all appreciated when her frown turned into a glare. She didn’t answer as she looked down into her book. He was surprised by the disappointment he felt when she didn’t engage him anymore. He pretended to focus on the spreadsheet that didn’t interest him at all.

Hannah’s voice interrupted the silence a few seconds later and he ignored the surge of happiness he felt.

“Would you mind if I had a look at your stereo?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Be my guest.”

She rose and walked over to the entertainment center. He let his eyes wander over her very enticing figure in the form fitting jeans she wore. If she could ease up on the holiday stuff and not mention his family again, they might even make it out of here tomorrow without an argument.

A moment later the sound of Bing Crosby’s cheerful voice permeated the room, and White Christmas filled the cabin. Hannah sat across from him. Her green eyes sparkled and her smile was infectious. “Public broadcasting,” she said smugly, picking up her BlackBerry.

He threw back his head and laughed.

She had put on small tortoise-shell rimmed glasses. He found them inexplicably attractive. “I tried it a few times and can’t get a signal,” she said, scrolling with her thumb.

“Yeah, mine’s gone too.”

She looked up at him, worry all over her face. “Is your land line working?”

He shook his head. “Gone when I woke up.”

She bit on her lower lip, but nodded.

“I might have to get some firewood from the shed in case the power goes out for a while.”

“Does that usually happen?”

“It’s pretty typical for around here, but the power usually comes on within a day or so. I have more than enough wood in case that happens.” He wanted her to feel safe and he didn’t care to analyze why that was suddenly so important.

He was rewarded by a relieved smile tossed his way before she ducked her head back into her book. He didn’t want the conversation to end.

“So what made you go into social work?”

She didn’t answer him right away, almost as though she was carefully choosing her words before she looked up. “I knew I wanted to go into a profession that would help children, mostly because children can’t help themselves. We live in a crazy world and they need someone to defend them and make sure they’re safe.”

Jackson swallowed hard as she stared him directly in the eye across the table. “Must be hard work.”

“If I can make a difference in someone’s life, then it’s worth it.”

“So why do you want to leave?”

She took a deep breath. “I chose this career for the kids. I hadn’t counted on the bureaucracy, the constant red tape that is always holding me back from doing what I think needs to be done.”

“So I’m guessing you coming up here and tracking down a man who changed his name and trying to force me to adopt my niece isn’t exactly the way things are done down at the child services bureau?” He didn’t mean for that bite to enter his voice, and he obviously wasn’t the only one who heard it. A flush, one that he found attractive even though he knew it was there because she was insulted, infused her face.

“I’d do anything to help a child, especially a baby. Besides, I’m doing what I should—the baby’s mother asked me to find you.”