How the Hitman Stole Christmas

It’s a really sweet gesture, one that I love more than he knows. I’m so distracted by how nice it is, it takes a moment before the details of what he just said fully register.

I guess it always does with me.

I was so swept up in the roaring fire and the twinkling Christmas tree, in the private gift exchange and the gorgeous man sitting next to me, I didn’t realize…

“My babies,” I repeat.

He doesn’t say anything.

“You said my babies, not… our babies.”

He still doesn’t say anything for several seconds that seem to stretch on forever, but finally he says, “They can’t be mine, Autumn.”

I sit back against the couch, feeling like he just knocked all the wind out of me.

It was mere hours ago when I surrendered to the idea of throwing caution to the wind, of going all in on the wild card and taking a risk instead of playing it safe.

I’d leave my whole life behind me and run away to Chicago with him if he wanted me to.

And now…

Now I guess he’s telling me that he doesn’t.

I try to swallow past the knot in my throat. I try to breathe, but it’s harder than it should be. “I see.”

My voice sounds faint even to my own ears, so naturally Jasper notices.

He reaches over and takes my hand, commanding my attention without words.

A million different emotions swirl inside me like the start of a particularly devastating tornado, but still I meet his gaze.

What I see in his intense blue eyes incapacitates me even more. I think… I think this hurts him, too.

“I wish it could be me,” he says fervently, holding my hands between his much larger ones. “I do.”

Tears sting my eyes, then well up before I can stop them.

His words sound nice, but it feels like a hollow wish.

When Jasper wanted me that first night, he took me—even when I wasn’t willing.

When he wanted me in the shower, he took me again—even though I told him not to.

If he really wanted that life with me, if he really wanted me…

He’d take me.

Jasper lets go of one of my hands, bringing his up to cradle my face. “Look at me.”

I resent it a little, but my gaze shifts back to him.

It’s hardly fair of him to demand I look him in the eye while he breaks my heart, but maybe I shouldn’t have expected a man like Jasper to play fair.

“I’ve never been in love before,” he tells me.

His gaze holds mine in such a raw, aggressive way, like he’s being ripped to shreds by this emotional storm, too.

I want to flee. I want to get in out of the rain, but he demands I stay here with him, so I do.

“But I could fall in love with you. It’d be so easy… like breathing.”

I have to look away from him so I can blink away the tears. My chest feels like it’s caving in. Memories of last night assault me—giggling in bed, holding each other, kissing and touching, and…

“Then why?” I ask softly, not trusting my voice not to break if I speak any louder.

He drops his hand from my face, hanging his head as he draws his hand away from mine, too. “I don’t know that I can keep you safe, and I can’t put you in danger. I’d never be able to live with myself if something happened to you and I knew it was because of me.”

I sniffle, dashing tears from my face. “We talked about this. You said you could—”

“Autumn,” he interrupts, gently.

My gaze shifts back to him. His eyes glint with remorse I know is real, but I can feel the steel underneath. I know he won’t be moved, no matter what I say.

“You won’t,” I say more honestly. “You don’t even have to do it now, I wasn’t asking for that kind of commitment, but you won’t even consider that maybe down the road…?”

I feel myself starting to drift. The need to bargain with him, to talk him out of this and change his mind…

But I shouldn’t have to.

If I want him enough to take the risks I’m willing to take to be with him, he should want me enough to take a risk himself.

He’s not, and I’m done chasing men who only want me a little bit.

His silence says all I need to know, so I don’t argue anymore.

I nod slowly, then I stand. I leave the wrapping paper, but I take the book he bought me.

“Good night, Jasper. Merry Christmas.”Chapter Twenty-FourJasperLike every Christmas in recent memory, I end this one drunk off my ass and all alone.

My own damn fault.

It’s the way it has to be, though.

After polishing off the very last of the top shelf whiskey Tom keeps stashed in his den, I plant the empty bottle on the floor in front of me and roll off the leather couch.