'Tis the Season (12 page)

Chapter Eleven

Lisette watched as Charles froze where he sat, his eyes rounded and glued to her face. She wondered if he'd actually fall off the couch. Then he leaned over, set his drink down on the table, shifted his position slightly, and said, “I can't believe that.”

“Ohhh, believe it.” She took another sip of scotch, welcoming the burn of it down her throat and the soft buzz that was starting to take hold. If they were actually going to talk about this, she'd need half the bottle to get her through it. “So yeah. No worries. I'm clean too.”

All the emotions she'd expected to see in his face—horror, shock, pity—weren't there. Surprise, sure, of course, but not that aghast surprise she'd predicted. More like . . . stunned curiosity. Okay. As long as it wasn't pity, she was all right with that. “I suppose now you want to hear why.”

“I do, yes, I admit it.” He cleared his throat and added, “But only if you want to tell me. I mean . . . it's a sensitive subject . . .”

“Charles. Please. I'm not made of glass.” She looked down at her hands, then at the intricate pattern of the glass she held. “I've never told anyone. Because I didn't have to. The only people who know the story are my father and Karen, my best friend from college. Because they were there.” She stole a glance at Charles, then looked back down to her lap. “It's not in my file because it doesn't need to be. My personal history has nothing to do with my ability to do my job. I've never been arrested; I've never done anything wrong. It was just . . . extremely painful.” A lump formed in her throat, and she swallowed it back.

“Lisette.” Charles's voice was like a caress. He leaned in slightly. “You don't have to tell me any more. I believe you, and also, I don't want to bring up painful memories for you. But just know that if you want to talk about it . . . you can trust me.”

She looked up. He was gazing at her with such softness. He was so good-natured, so kind. The COO of Harrison Enterprises, one of the most powerful men in the country, her usually stoic boss, was being downright tender with her. It was stunning. “I was engaged,” she said quietly. “I was with Brandon for my last two years of college. My first serious boyfriend ever. A few months after we graduated, I realized I was pregnant. We got engaged.” Long-repressed memories trickled through her mind. Taking the third and final pregnancy test . . . then the next night, when Brandon took her out to dinner and ended it with an engagement ring on top of her chocolate cake . . .

“Go on,” Charles nudged gently. “I'm listening.”

“A baby wasn't part of the plan,” she said. “As you know, I graduated with honors in linguistics, and I was going to be a translator. I had an internship at the United Nations, and then a position. You can look it up if you don't believe me.”

“Why wouldn't I believe you?” His voice was so soft. She swallowed hard. She hadn't spoken of these things out loud in such a long time. She'd locked them all away. Now that she was . . . She had had no idea it'd be so hard. “I didn't want to give up that dream, but I didn't think I'd
have
to. I thought I'd have it all.” A dry wisp of a laugh floated out of her. “I was going to have everything I'd ever wanted. The awesome career, the loving husband, the baby . . . just a little sooner than I'd planned, that's all.” Brandon's face appeared in her mind. His lazy smile, his short, dark blond hair that she used to run her fingers through, the glint of his gray eyes . . . then the cold emptiness in them the last time he'd looked at her, standing at the door of their apartment as he left.

“What happened?” Charles asked, bringing her back to the present.

“I got in an accident.” Lisette took a breath and cleared her dry throat again. “I was in the city, in the back of a cab, on my way to a meeting for work. A truck pulled out too fast and slammed into the cab. I wasn't wearing a seat belt.”

Charles winced, but said, “Few passengers do. I know I don't. We feel as if we're somehow safe in the back of a cab; people don't even think about it.”

“I never did,” she said plainly. “And at twenty-three, you never think something like that will happen to you.” Her throat felt tight, her breaths were shallow, and her skin felt clammy all of a sudden. The usual physical reactions when she thought about the accident. It didn't alarm her much; she was used to that.

But Charles must have picked up on it. With the gentlest touch, he lifted the glass from her hands to set it on the table, then took both of her hands in his. “Jesus, your hands have turned to ice.” He rubbed hers between his. The kind gesture made her heart stutter in her chest. Her eyes slipped closed.

“Obviously, you were okay,” he offered. “I mean, you're here, and you're fine.”

“Not 100 percent.” She made herself open her eyes to look right into his as she told him the truth. “I had a concussion, three broken ribs, broken left arm, sprained left ankle . . . and I lost the baby. I was five months along.”

“Damn. I'm so sorry,” he murmured, genuine empathy in his voice and his gaze.

“Long story short, when I woke up, the doctors told me there was scarring; there was too much damage . . . that I'd never get pregnant or, if I did, never carry a baby to term.” She drew a long breath and pulled one hand free to rub at her tight chest, making small circles in the center of her sternum. After all this time, she had thought it'd be easier to tell this story.

Charles kept rubbing her other hand, still clasped in his. “That's horrible. And you were so young. I just . . . Lisette, I'm so sorry that happened to you.”

She nodded, her eyes drifting down, away, looking anywhere but at his face. His sweetness and caring were palpable, and as good as it felt, it lanced her heart. She'd always thought Charles was deeply kind underneath all the assured poise and polish. But this show of tenderness and empathy, when she felt raw and vulnerable, was overwhelming. Half of her wanted to bathe in it, and half of her wanted to turn away. It was as though he was looking
into
her with those blazing blue eyes.

“So . . .” Charles asked carefully, “what happened with Brandon?”

Her stomach clenched. “Brandon.”

“Yes, you said that was your fiancé's name, right? But your file said you've never been married. So . . .”

Her chin lifted, almost in defiance, but her voice came out all gravelly. “He dumped me, as soon as he found out. Said he was young and wanted a family of his own, so if I could never have kids, what was the point of our staying together?”

Charles hissed a curse under his breath.

“He told me that I was basically useless if I couldn't have children.” She swallowed, hating the tremor in her voice. “That what guy would want to
marry
me? Maybe a much older man who already had kids and wanted some pretty young thing on his arm, but no man our own age would ever seriously consider me. Damaged goods and all that.”

“And you believed that garbage?” Charles ground out.

“I didn't want to. But I . . . I was a mess.” Her shoulders lifted and sagged dejectedly. “You have to understand, I was in the hospital for ten days. Between the concussion and the broken bones and the blood loss, I was
very
weak . . . and by the time I got home, he'd thought it all over and made up his mind.” She saw it all in her mind, as clearly as if it'd happened yesterday. “He took me home from the hospital . . . I was so weak I literally couldn't make it to the bedroom; I collapsed onto the living room couch. And that was where I got the ‘welcome home, we're over' speech. For him, it was already done, and I just had to understand and catch up with the program.”

“Despicable bastard,” Charles spit. He raked his hands through his hair, looking as if he wanted to hit something. “I can't imagine how you felt. That's cruel! I . . . God. What did you do? Did he leave, like, that
day?
”

“No. The next day.” Lisette shut her eyes for a moment, wishing she could shut out remembering the devastation, the sense of abandonment, the disbelief that had taken hold of her. How he had locked himself in the bedroom while she cried on the couch for hours, too weak to do anything . . . “I took too many hits in too short a time. I was completely broken. Inside and out.” She pulled her hand from Charles's and wrapped her arms around her middle. “I didn't care about anything anymore. I felt like my life had ended. Melodramatic, I know, but I was young.”

“No,” Charles cut in. “You were dealing with so much pain, and more loss, and a bad breakup, and . . . Lisette,
anyone
would've shut down from all that. Come on.”

“Yeah, well . . . I called Karen, and she came and stayed with me for two weeks. I quit my job. I didn't want to stay in the apartment, and I couldn't have afforded it on my own even if I had wanted to stay. Karen insisted I move in with her, and she's in upstate New York, near Rochester. So I went. She and her family took care of me for almost three months while I healed. Well, physically healed. The blood loss and the concussion took a lot out of me . . .”

The large bay window appeared in her mind, clear as could be. She'd spent that winter lying in bed a lot, staring out the window beside her bed at the snowy ground outside, thinking, hurting, thinking . . . “And in the spring, when I was stronger, and I was functional and could be independent again, I started a different path. Forged a new life.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I just wanted to be left alone. So yes, I guess you could say I hid in other people's families, since I figured I'd never have one of my own.”

Charles's jaw clenched so hard, a muscle jumped. “I want to find this bastard and kill him. I swear to God. How could anyone . . . when you needed . . . when you'd just . . . I mean . . .” He shook his head and huffed furiously. “I can't wrap my head around it! Lisette . . .” He reached for her hands, pulling them into his. “He was dead wrong. He just hit you when you were at your most vulnerable.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “Thank you. But back then, I had nothing, Charles. No one but Karen, really . . . In less than two weeks, I lost everything I had. I was devastated. And so I . . . saw myself the way he did.”

Shaking his head, Charles's hand lifted to hold her cheek. “He was so wrong. Jesus, I want to find him. I want to hunt him down like the animal he is and—”

“No!” she said quickly. “Don't even say that. Because I know very well you could if you wanted to, with the power you have. I don't ever want to see him again. I don't care where he is now or what he's doing.” She sniffed hard, trying to stem the tears, trying to compose herself. “So. Now you know everything. I know it's a horrible sob story, but it was a long time ago, and like you said, I'm fine now.”

“You're not fine, sweetheart.” His eyes scanned her face, searching. “If talking about it still brings you to tears, it still hurts. And of course it would. Horrible things happened. And that man . . . He's not a man. He's scum.”

“You're right. But I didn't even date after him,” she said, again sniffing back the unwanted tears. “I didn't want to get hurt like that ever again. Besides, I didn't think any man my age would want me. If he wanted a family, I could never give that to him. So I . . . yeah.” She hiccupped out a watery laugh. “Basically, I've been a nun. Eleven years, give or take.”

Charles shook his head, then dropped his gaze to his glass. “I'm disgusted with myself right now, even more than before. God, if I'd known—”

“Stop it,” she said. “I could've said no. But I didn't.”

At that his head lifted, and he peered into her eyes. “Why didn't you?”

Oh, God.
Because I'm crazy about you.
But she could tell him most of the truth and still withhold the one crucial piece. “Because you felt so good,” she whispered. “Because of the chemistry we've admitted we have. It was instant; it was like wildfire. I got swept away by it.” She couldn't believe she was saying these things, but they were pouring out. “Because no one had touched me like that in forever, and because I . . . at that moment, I was just so happy to
feel
something again. I'd been numb for so long. And I . . .” She shook her head, not able to say the rest.
I wanted you. I've had a thing for you since I met you. You're beautiful and sexy and a good, decent man, and for that one moment in time, I wanted to be with you.
She shot to her feet. “I've said too much.
Way
too much. Oh my God . . .” She looked around wildly, pulling her robe tighter around herself, needing to escape.

He was at her side in a second. “Don't run away. Come here.” He tried to pull her into his arms, but she resisted. “Lisette . . .” His eyes radiated kindness. “Goddammit, you just need a hug. Let me.”

The velvety yet insistent tone of his voice melted what was left of her reserve. He drew her in, nudged her head to rest on his chest, and wrapped her in his embrace. “Shhhh,” he whispered. “It's all right.” The delicate tenderness of it all brought the tears back and made them spill over. As if her strings had been cut, she melted into him.

“That's it,” he whispered, holding her close. “Shhhh.”

Her mind went blank, and she welcomed it. For a few seconds, the incredible feeling of being held and soothed was like a lifeline, and she let herself take it.

“That's all in the past now,” he murmured against her hair, rubbing her back in slow circles. “You made it through all that, and you're standing tall. You made a good life for yourself. Don't you know how strong you are?”