Redemption's Kiss. Ann Christopher
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return my phone calls.”
Oh. She fidgeted with nerves and guilt. So that’s what those voice-mail messages had been about. She’d deleted them all, the way she’d deleted him from her life.
It was all part of her policy to never speak to him again, if she could help it. A little harsh, true, but she’d managed remarkably well. In the three years since the divorce, she’d only seen and talked to him once, in the hospital after his accident, and that didn’t really count because he’d been unconscious at the time.
What else could she do? Why would she talk to this man if she could avoid it? So he could hurt her again? Uh—no, thanks.
Direct communication wasn’t necessary, anyway. He’d lived in Miami, she’d lived here, Barbara Jean had shuttled Allegra back and forth between them and e-mail had worked perfectly well to discuss parenting issues. Now here he was, bringing in stormy seas to rock the boat and ruining things the way he always ruined everything.
She jammed her fists on her hips. “Why didn’t you e-mail me?”
“E-mail doesn’t work for everything.” That bright gaze held hers, but revealed none of his secrets. She was sure there were secrets; there always were with Beau. “I’ve decided to take a more proactive approach with several things in my life from now on.”
“Such as what?”
He paused and stared, drawing out the tension and letting the panic grow in her chest. In no particular hurry to answer, he made his slow way to the only piece of furniture in the room, a console by the far wall, and leaned against it.
“For one thing, I want to be much more involved in Allegra’s life. Seeing her for a couple of weekends a month isn’t enough.”
More time with Allegra? Over Jillian’s cold, dead body. It was hard enough to part with Allegra for those weekend visits—how would she deal with her precious daughter being gone more often?
“I beg your pardon, but you haven’t filed any paperwork to change—”
One hand came up, stopping her bluster in its tracks. “We don’t need to involve the court with this, Jillian. We’re both reasonable human beings and we can work together to find a system for me to see Allegra during the week. How hard could it be with me living right down the street?”
“Why would I want to work with you on anything?”
“Because.” Unmistakable sadness darkened his eyes until they were almost brown. “Even though I was a lousy husband, I’m a good father. Since you’re a good mother, you know how important it is for a young girl to have her father actively involved in her life.”
Shut down on this issue—he was a good father and Allegra did miss him between visits—Jillian hitched up her chin and changed the subject.
“What about your job? You can’t just up and quit—”
“I did up and quit. That’s one of the benefits of having a little money.”
A little money. Hah. Good one. He had a big enough stake in his family’s beer distribution empire to support him and several small countries for decades to come.
“Anyway, my heart wasn’t in the big-firm, corporate-lawyer life.”
Jillian laughed sourly. “Well, I can certainly understand that since your heart has never stayed in one place for very long.”
His jaw tightened, but he said nothing, and her anxiety increased.
“What, pray tell, is your heart into these days?”
“My heart,” he said in the velvety tone that tightened her nipples and resonated deep in her belly every time she heard it, “has only ever been in one place—”
His disquieting gaze swept over her, making her shiver involuntarily.
“—but we’ll get to that another time. If you’re asking what I’m doing with myself these days, you can be one of the first to know. I’ve endowed a new charitable foundation, Phoenix Legacies. I’m running it.”
Jillian couldn’t tamp down her surprise or her growing sense of dread. If Beau was doing good works, she didn’t need to know. Any information that interfered with her unmitigated hatred of him was a bad thing.
“Phoenix Legacies?”
“We give micro loans to worthy applicants who’ve taken a wrong turn with their lives and need a little help getting back on their feet.”
This was too stunning for words. Beau? The former governor of Virginia and current king of Miami’s fast-living, hard-partying lifestyle? A philanthropist now? Beau?
And she didn’t want to ask—was afraid to ask—but she had to know.
“Phoenix? Why would you do that?”
He stared her in the face, deadly serious. “I like the idea of rising from the ashes. If I can help people put their life on the right track, then maybe my life will mean something.” He paused, his jaw flexing with the effort to hold back his words, but the words won. “For a change.”
So that’s what this was about. Redemption for Beau. Fine. He could do all the saintly works he wanted, as long as it had nothing to do with her. Big deal; God knew he had a lot to make up for and he certainly had money to spare. She would not be impressed or interested. It would not matter to her—
“And how much of your fortune did you use to bankroll this little venture?” she demanded because her curiosity had her in a stranglehold. A million or two was nothing to him—
“Ninety-eight percent,” he said, unsmiling.
Jillian’s jaw dropped. He’d given it all away—everything his family had ever worked for or stood for. Gone. He still had enough to live well on, but—
Heavy male footsteps and voices distracted them just then. They looked around to see several uniformed movers descending the steps.
“Still working on the bedroom,” one of them told Beau as they trooped out the front door toward the van.
“Great,” he said.
“What’s gotten into you?” Jillian asked the second they were alone again.
Though he stilled and didn’t move by so much as a blink or a breath, Jillian felt the change come over him, the intensification of his focus on her. As though he’d wanted her to ask this exact question and they were now circling toward the heart of something important and terrifying.
“I almost died,” he said simply.
This reminder did nothing for her nerves, which were already stretching and unraveling. Did he think she’d forgotten the middle-of-the-night phone call that had told her the father of her child and the only man she’d ever loved was near death in a Miami hospital?
Though she hadn’t seen him in years at that point—didn’t want to see him—she’d never forget the blinding horror she felt, especially when she’d heard that his companion du jour, Sabrina something, and the driver had been killed when the driver of that semi fell asleep at the wheel.
In that moment, all her rage fell away and the only thing that mattered was Beau and her need to see him again, not to let him go. So she left Allegra with Blanche and hopped on the next plane and prayed for him not to die or, if he had to die, for him not to die until she got there.
And then she’d arrived at the hospital and survived the shock of seeing the biggest, strongest, most vital man she’d ever known swollen and broken, bruised and slashed, more dead than alive, with internal injuries and a badly broken leg that was begging for amputation.
He’d coded once, the nurse told her. Probably would again, and the next time—if there was a next time—they most likely wouldn’t be able to bring him back.
All through that