One Night Before Christmas: A Billionaire for Christmas / One Night, Second Chance / It Happened One Night. Robyn Grady
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How terribly unfair to find out it wasn’t true. How devastating to know that something so simple could trip her up.
Perhaps because the afternoon and evening had been so enjoyable, so delightfully homey, the harshness of being thrust into a past she didn’t want to remember was all the more devastating.
Teddy drained the last of the bottle, his little eyelashes drooping. Leo coaxed a muffled burp from him and then put a hand on Phoebe’s knee. “Is it okay for me to lay him down? Anything I need to know?”
“I’ll take him,” she said halfheartedly, not sure if she could make the effort to stand up.
He squeezed her hand. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
She stared into space, barely even noticing when he returned and began moving about the kitchen with muffled sounds. A few minutes later he handed her a mug of cocoa. She wrapped her fingers around the warm stoneware, welcoming the heat against her frozen skin.
Leo had topped her serving with whipped cream. She sipped delicately, wary of burning her tongue.
He sat down beside her and smiled. “You have a mustache,” he teased. Using his thumb, he rubbed her upper lip. Somewhere deep inside her, regret surfaced. She had ruined their sexy, fun-filled evening.
Leo appeared unperturbed. He leaned back, his legs outstretched, and propped his feet on the coffee table. With his mug resting against his chest, he shot her a sideways glance. “When you’re ready, Phoebe, I want you to tell me the story.”
She nodded, her eyes downcast as she studied the pale swirls of melted topping in the hot brown liquid. It was time. It was beyond time. Even her sister didn’t know all the details. When the unthinkable had happened, the pain was too fresh. Phoebe had floundered in a sea of confused grief, not knowing how to claw her way out.
In the end, her only choice had been to wait until the waves abated and finally receded. Peace had eventually replaced the hurt. But her hard-won composure had been fragile at best. Judging by today, she had a long way to go.
Leo got up to stoke the fire and to add more music to the stereo. She was struck by how comfortable it felt to have him in her cabin, in her life. He was an easy man to be with. Quiet when the occasion demanded it, and drolly amusing when he wanted to be.
He settled back onto the couch and covered both of them with a wool throw. Fingering the cloth, he wrinkled his nose. “We should burn this,” he said with a grin. “Imported fabric, cheap construction. I could hook you up with something far nicer.”
“I’ll put it on my Christmas list.” She managed a smile, not wanting him to think she was a total mental case. “I’m sorry I checked out on you,” she muttered.
“We’re all entitled now and then.”
The quiet response took some of the sting out of her embarrassment. He was being remarkably patient. “I owe you an explanation.”
“You don’t owe me anything, sweet Phoebe. But it helps to talk about it. I know that from experience. When our parents were killed, Grandfather was wise enough to get us counseling almost immediately. We would never have shown weakness to him. He was and still is a sharp-browed, blustering tyrant, though we love him, of course. But he knew we would need an outlet for what we were feeling.”
“Did it work?”
“In time. We were at a vulnerable age. Not quite men, but more than boys. It was hard to admit that our world had come crashing down around us.” He took her hand. She had twisted one piece of blanket fringe so tightly it was almost severed. Linking their fingers, he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Is that what happened to you?”
Despite her emotional state, she was not above being moved by the feel of his lips against her skin. Hot tears stung her eyes, not because she was so sad, but in simple recognition of his genuine empathy. “You could say that.”
“Tell me about your baby.”
There was nothing to be gained from denial. But he would understand more if she began elsewhere. “I’ll go back to the beginning if you don’t mind.”
“A good place to start.” He kissed her fingers again before tucking her hand against his chest. The warmth of him, even through his clothing, calmed and comforted her.
“I told you that I was a stockbroker in Charlotte.”
“Yes.”
“Well, I was good, really good at my job. There were a half dozen of us, and competition was fierce. Gracious for the most part, but inescapable. I had a knack for putting together portfolios, and people liked working with me, because I didn’t make them feel stupid or uninformed about their money. We had a number of very wealthy clients with neither the time nor the inclination to grow their fortunes, so we did it for them.”
“I’m having a hard time reconciling killer Phoebe with the woman who bakes her own bread.”
His wry observation actually made her laugh. “I can understand your confusion. Back then I focused on getting ahead in my profession. I was determined to be successful and financially comfortable.”
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