Billionaire's Christmas Vixen (5 page)

She couldn’t pinpoint her reason for not wanting to tell him about Eric, but something just didn’t feel right about it. Or could it be that she didn’t truly know the answer to the question? Perhaps she was having a difficult time with tell him because she honestly didn’t know what was so amazing about Eric. They had dated for two years, but had known one another since they had been toddlers. They had been pushed together from day one. Because of it, Brea had dated no one else since him. It felt wrong, dirty. Even if they weren’t technically together, even if he’d told her that he didn’t really love her, she could think of no one else.

But what made him special? She couldn’t say. “I don’t know,” she replied quietly, her eyes focusing on the swirls of white and brown as they melded with one another. She didn’t want to think about this, about Eric. She’d spent so long focusing on him, on being his wife, on finally pleasing her family. To do anything but that just seemed wrong.

“How can you not know? Do you love him or do you not? Do you want to marry him or do you not? Are you going to go home and fight for him, or are you going to just let him walk back out of the door once Christmas is over?”

She was surprised to hear these words coming from him. It almost sounded like support. “Your mother may have overstepped her boundaries with inviting him, but if he’s the man that you want to spend your life with, then you should take advantage of it.” He smiled, sipping down the last of his coffee, which was probably cool by now. “So what do
you
want, Ms. Nelson? Do you want to marry the man that didn’t want to marry you, or do you want to chase him down and show him what he’s missing by
not
marrying you?”

Brea only watched him, taking in his words, knowing that they were true, but not wanting to listen. She did love Eric, even if at this point, it was only out of habit. He was quite possibly the only way she was going to ever build a relationship with her family.

She had been blamed for the breakup. She had been reprimanded for not being good enough, for not being who Eric wanted and needed, and in part, Brea thought that they might be right. She wasn’t good enough. She wasn’t strong enough for him, she didn’t have a good enough job to impress his circle of friends; she wasn’t beautiful enough, not classy enough. Her idea of dressing up was a pair of jeans without holes in them. She cried over everything and had no idea how to be strong in the face of pressure. She was nearly 30 and still had no idea what she wanted to do with her life. She was a mess, and because of it, Eric had left her.

“I’m not entirely sure if that’s even what I want,” she admitted out loud. She wasn’t sure if she believed the words until she’d actually spoken them. She wasn’t sure, and she thought that she hadn’t been in quite some time. Even as Eric was calling things off with her and she spent the next weeks broken with devastation, that she might have even known then. Her tears had soaked her pillow, her sister spent a week with her to help her recover, and she had even called in sick at work for a handful of days because she just couldn’t face the world. But now, now she thought that some of those tears were tears of relief. Even if her family had been disappointed and blamed her for what had happened, she had felt relief that she could finally make her own choice. And Eric would not have been it.

“If he isn’t who or what you want, then why spend so much energy on him?”

She sighed. “My parents. I’ve tried impressing them, I’ve tried making them proud for my entire life, and always come up short. But Eric was my shot at that. Eric was my shot at finally getting into their good graces, so I took it and ran and tried hanging on, but I couldn’t. I think that, in a way, I may have once loved him.” George’s head was cocked to the side questioningly. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s a great man. Truly. But he isn’t the man that I want to be with. Nor am I the woman he wants.”

She bowed her head into her hands, humiliated.

“I loved him as a brother more than anything, I suppose. I loved him in the way you love a childhood friend that you share everything with. I love him in the way that you love your protector, your confidant. But I never loved him as a boyfriend, much less a husband. I wanted to, but I never did.” She paused. “He knew it too.” She was talking to herself more than to George at this point. She let out a low, disbelieving laugh. “He knew, and that’s what it was all about.”

“He knew? That you didn’t truly love him, or that he didn’t truly love you?”

“Both, I think. He realized well before I did that we weren’t right for one another.” She replayed their final conversation in her head. The conversation where he walked out of her apartment and never looked back. The conversation that left her curled in a heap on her living room floor because it was the end of the world. “He tried telling me. Many times. He tried but I didn’t want to listen. I only thought he had cold feet, that he was nervous.” She shook her head, still talking to herself. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it before.”

For a moment, she envied George. Not for his many conquests, but for the fact that he could remain so detached from relationships. She wished that she had been able to do the same, both with her parents and Eric. Even her sister had seen, to some extent, that Eric wasn’t right for her. It was odd that, of all people, George was the one to help her to finally open her eyes.

“You clung to him because he was all you knew. It’s difficult to do something new when you’ve always done the same thing. You get comfortable, you get into a routine, and when that routine is disrupted, when everything you know changes, chaos ensues. But only if you let it. Embrace the change and move forward. Don’t live in your past, Brea.”

She started at her name on his lips. She liked it. “You’re right. I was scared. Scared that everything I had known was wrong, everything I had tried for was a failure. I don’t need another one of those notches on my belt.”

There was silence as they both watched the rumbling fire. George rose to add another log and to encourage the flames to continue. He returned to the couch, but only after draping a blanket over Brea, who had begun to shiver. Grabbing a blanket for himself, he sat back down, a bit closer to Brea. “My parents live in Livingston.”

“But, that’s only an hour from here,” she stated, eying him curiously. “You said you have no family.”

It was George’s turn to show shame. “I haven’t spoken to them in five years. When the company took off, I turned away from them and let my only concern be myself and my career.”

She reached out and placed a hand on his arm. She was shocked that he could turn away from his family so easily. They must have done something horrible. More horrible than her own family? She thought it was possible. She knew that families could get far worse than her own. “What happened?”

              “Nothing. My parents are wonderful and kind.” He shrugged as he looked away. “Unfortunately, they didn’t fit into my plan for success.”

“Your plan for success is to disassociate yourself from your family?”

“No,” he said harshly, but she could see his face soften just as quickly as the word came out. “I’m sorry. No, it wasn’t originally my plan. My plan was to be successful. To never struggle in the ways that my parents did. My plan was to make a name for myself. I don’t have time to waste on a family.”

He said this without emotion. He did not have time for anyone but himself. Brea was disappointed. She had seen a glimmer of something. Hadn’t she? A glimmer of the real George, or rather, who the real George
could
be if he only allowed it. The problem was, he didn’t want to be that George.

“But aren’t you lonely? Spending every morning, every night, every holiday with only yourself? How can you stand being so alone?”

George turned to the fire and closed his eyes. He heard her, her words cutting into him. He didn’t want to feel. He didn’t want to think about his past or his family. The conversation was over. He was done with talking, done with Brea.

He pushed the blanket away and pushed up from the couch. “Good night, Ms. Nelson.” He walked to the stairs, but did not ascend just yet. “If the fire dies down and you become cold, wake me and I’ll build it back up for you.”

“George?” She called softly. “Mr. Clark?”

He stopped on the stairs, but didn’t reply.

“I’m sorry if I said something to offend you. I just can’t imagine not having a family, especially if by choice. But it is
your
choice, and I’ve no right to assume your situation or position.”

She did not ask him to stay, but he suddenly realized that he wanted to. He sighed, the foreign emotions taking over. Why in the hell did it hurt? The only things he cared about were the numbers in his bank account, the number of clients he had, and the size of their contracts.

Reluctantly, as he stood at the base of the steps, he recalled a Christmas Eve twenty years before. He recalled baking cookies with his mother in the kitchen around the corner, hanging stockings (quite literally, George’s father’s long socks), and decorating the tree with homemade ornaments. Writing Santa a letter, his father reading him a bedtime story, then urging him off to bed before the sleigh bells could be heard. He recalled the magic of the snow falling outside and waking up Christmas morning, surrounded by white blankets across the wooded floor. He’d run outside to greet the cold, looking for signs that Santa had been there the night before. George would always find hoof prints and crumbs.

He recalled the warmth he had felt, both inside and out, as his mother hugged him good morning, placed a stack of hot buttermilk pancakes in front of him, and told him to eat up so they could open presents. He would look to the tree, always a scraggly Charlie Brown-type tree, but beautifully decorated, given what they had. There was never brightly-colored paper wrapped around big boxes and topped with red oversized bows. But there were presents, wrapped roughly in old newspaper and bound tightly with twine. It might not have been perfect for some families, but at the time, it was perfect for him. He had love, and that was all he needed for happiness.

George returned to the couch and pulled the blanket back over him, though the fire was in full swing. The only chill he had was from what he was going to reveal to Brea. And to himself.

“My parents…” he started, “my parents were very much in love, and they were loving when it came to being parents. I never went without affection or the basic needs.” He glanced at Brea, who was listening intently. “Neither of them had much in the ways of an education, so the majority of my life saw them working multiple jobs, sometimes each pulling eighteen-hour days, multiple days a week. I rarely saw them, as I was usually cared for by the elderly woman down the street.

‘Mom was usually the first to come home, carrying me to the car, driving home, and then tucking me into bed. She would kiss me goodnight, sometimes sing me a lullaby if she wasn’t completely exhausted. Dad would come home in the early morning hours, just as I was getting up for school. He would always cook me breakfast and then split the comics with me so we could read them together. Then he would shuffle me out the door to school, and he would shuffle off to bed.”

He was tempted to stop here, but Brea looked hungry for more.

“I barely knew them,” he continued. “They worked so that I would have all of my needs cared for, but every day was a struggle for them. Every day, I wondered who they really were.”

Brea was watching him with compassion, but he couldn’t look back. He was shocked at how much it hurt for him to relive those moments, though they were so far in his past. “Now, now that I’m older and able to understand the world better, I wonder who they would or could have been, had I not been in the picture.”

He was shocked to hear himself say such a thing, but even as the words escaped, he knew that they were true. He had blamed himself for their struggle, for his parents never being able to enjoy their lives to the fullest. He was a burden. He had stood in their way of true happiness because they had a duty to their son.

Brea said nothing, but her hand found his and held it tightly. She was warm, her hands small and soft, delicate, considering that she worked with them. He clutched her hand tightly, appreciative of the fact that she was there. Whoever the mysterious woman was, he was glad. It hurt for him to relive the past, but he couldn’t have imagined the amount of relief that he would feel as well.

His skin was soft and thick, his fingers wrapped tightly around hers. His head  hung low, and she felt a tug at her heart for him. Maybe he didn’t deserve her sympathy, but she had been wrong to judge him and assume that he had had a privileged upbringing. She felt guilty for that.

“They loved you, though. Right?”

“Yes, they were always very loving. The little time that we had together, they made every effort to make me happy, but we were always broke. The pantry was always half empty, the milk always a day away from being poured out, the lights getting turned off every other month. There was love, but that’s pretty much all we had.”

“But they loved you,” was all she could say.

George knit his brows together. “Yes, they did.”

“I only mean, well, it’s just that, having come from parents who rarely showed affection, if at all, I know that I would much rather have had their love than the material things.” She paused, testing George’s reaction in hopes that he would understand. “We had everything we needed and wanted and then some, but the love wasn’t there. I would have, and still would do anything, to have that love.”

He gave her hand a squeeze, his fingers sending a spark down her spine. She wasn’t sure what the little shock wave meant, but she didn’t want to let go of his fingers because of it. She wanted to feel it again. Even with Eric, in their years together and all the time she had thought that she had been in love with him, she’d never felt a bolt of electricity with him.

Yet here, with George Clark, she had felt that much desired spark. But had George felt it as well? She looked up, over the rim of her glasses, and saw that he was watching her as well. His eyes were intense and dark in the shadow, but she could see that they were directed right at her.

Her heart pounded in her ears, her breath catching in her chest. Had he always been so attractive or had she ignored the fact that he was simply because of her opinion of him? She could see what other women were attracted to, but as he moved in, brushing her hair from her face, all she could think about was all those women and how she refused to be one of them.

Brea gently backed away before he could kiss her. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

He didn’t seem offended as he pulled back from her, shrugging his shoulders. “That’s okay,” he laughed lightly. Even though he seemed to brush it off, she got the feeling that there was more to it than that.

She wanted him to kiss her. She wanted to feel his arms wrapped around her. She was amazed at her own desire for him, but it was there and she couldn’t deny it. But she wasn’t going to just be another woman. Not for George, not for any man. “I’m sorry. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about me.”

“And what idea is that?”

She opened her mouth and then closed it. How did she tell this man that she just did not sleep around? “

It’s okay,” he chuckled. “I’m not offended. I understand.”

She smiled in appreciation as he motioned for her to come near, laying back slightly against the arm of the couch. “Come here. It’s starting to get chilly again, and I’d rather not go outside just yet to grab more wood.”

She could hear the wind howling, beating anxiously at the sides of the house. The fire was still going strong, but she could tell that it wouldn’t be long before it faded. She nudged over to him, unsure if she was doing it because she didn’t want to feel guilt at forcing him out into the snow, or because she wanted to feel his arms around her and his heart thudding against his chest. She told herself that it was the first, but she feared that it might be the second. The Clark charm was getting to her.

He wasn’t just warm as she curled up beside him, placing her glasses on the table so that she could press her face against him comfortably. He was burning up. Or was that her? She was small enough that his arm wrapped around her like a cocoon. She felt safe, and for the first time in a long time. Her parents had never made her feel this way, and her relationship with Eric had been so detached and serious that it had been difficult for their intimate moments to actually feel intimate.

As she thought about feeling safe in his arms, her thoughts went back to the news report she had heard over the radio that evening, the one about this very man who had a protective arm wrapped around her. She had to know. She tread lightly across the subject, knowing that approaching it in the wrong way might cause him to close right back up.

“This afternoon?” she started, hoping that it would be enough to entice him into sharing the story, but he only grunted against her hair. “This afternoon, when someone took a shot at you…” she let the open end of the sentence just hang there, allowing him the opportunity to fill in the blank.

George sighed, his reluctance obvious. For a moment, Brea thought that once again she would get nowhere with her question. “I don’t know who it was, but I have an idea.” She could feel his discomfort from the subject, but he continued none the less. “A few months back, a partner and I had a disagreement over the way to handle a couple of our clients. He didn’t like the way I was doing things, and when he refused to follow protocol, well essentially he lost his position with the company.”

She felt his body tense under her as he forced himself to admit the details to her. “He had been with the company since the beginning. Sort of my right hand man. He lost a lot of money, and anytime someone loses that much money, or anything close to that amount, I can imagine it would make someone go a bit crazy.”

She gave him a gentle squeeze, her mind racing. She wasn’t sure who she felt sorrier for. “And, were you hurt?”

George chuckled. “Other than Jim toppling me to the ground? No. I wasn’t at the time. My adrenaline was pumping, and my ego inflated. Someone shot at me? Do you know what kind of publicity that’s going to get me? But in the car, with John still searching the crowds and Jim sitting across from me in the limo, his eyes constantly moving across the masses in search of the attacker…

“I don’t think I really took the entire scene seriously until then. I think that until that moment, speeding away from the scene and being rushed off to my family cabin, I don’t think I even considered the possibility that I could be killed or that someone would hate me that much. But at that moment, I did, and yes, I felt fear.” He sounded almost ashamed at the admission.

She thought that, for once, he seemed to be human.

She closed her eyes as he kissed her forehead, but he made no other move. She couldn’t help but to feel disappointed, although she had been the one to turn him down only moments before. Her hair fell freely across his chest as she draped her arm across him, his hands wrapped around her back, softly caressing it. The light faded slowly, the corners of the room, every nook of the room, beginning to blend with one another. Was the fire dying, or was her mind allowing her to wander? She imagined that those lips had been elsewhere, and she could feel herself blush from those thoughts. She just wasn’t that type of woman.

But what if she was? What if she was the type of woman who took chances? Who chased her dreams and not others ideals? What if she was the type of woman who jumped right now, reaching up to kiss the playboy, pulling him to her in a want too strong for her to ignore? What if she was the type of woman who went home tomorrow morning and told her parents that enough was enough, that she was going to finally live her life for her and stop living it for them?

His breathing had slowed against her, and she felt a clenching in her stomach. She took one deep breath after another, feeling the quickening thud, thud, thud as her pulse sped. She glanced up at his closed eyes, and at the close range, was able to finally study his features. His firm jaw, his thick nose that wasn’t quite perfectly aligned, as if it had been broken in his past (probably in one of those childhood moments that he was so reluctant to share with her). Tentatively, she reached a hand up to his chin and ran her fingers across the slight show of stubble, feeling it scratch and tickle at her fingertips. He stirred as she traced his jaw line up to his cheek and then back again.

She turned into him so that her chest was pressed lightly against him. He moved beside her, but did not let her go. Raising up, face to face with him, she could feel his breath on her lips, tasting of the remnants of his coffee, sweet and heavy. She breathed him in and leaned forward so she could place her lips to his. In the last moment, however, she jerked her head to the side and pressed her lips to his cheek instead, cursing herself for her forwardness, even if he was asleep and would know no better.

She couldn’t have been more wrong in her thoughts that he would sleep through her adoring touch, through her unsolicited kiss. She pulled away slowly, hoping to not rouse him from his sleep. He still woke, his hand around her lower back pulling her to him, raising her up so that her lips were only inches from his. His eyes fluttered open sleepily and met with hers. He said nothing, only studying her. He did not touch or glance at any part of her other than her eyes, but still, she felt naked in his arms.

She waited for him to make the move, but when he didn’t, she felt herself grow frustrated. Leave it to George Clark to be the type to hold back, to restrain himself in a moment like this. She pictured George as the type of man that would take advantage of any and every situation. Had he not told her to do the same thing early that evening? She had expected that he would be the type that wouldn’t hesitate, but here he was, hesitating.

Brea sank back from him. There must have been something wrong with her if even George Clark turned her down. What the hell, though? She was never going to see him again, was never going to speak to him again, was never going to have to worry over the humiliation of him turning her away, so why not make the move herself? Why wait for him to do it when she had just as much control over the situation as he? Breathing in sharply, she leaned in.